We Are 5 for 5: Big Finish

A couple of days ago I was enjoying a TED link put up by Turkey Feathers... it was a great talk given by Elizabeth Gilbert, of Eat, Talk, Pray fame, which reminded me that I still haven't read the book my mom sent me, but happily I found it in my sewing room, and then it reminded me that I really do love TED, which is why I have their link in my sidebar; they have such brilliant and succinct speakers, none of whom would write a sentence like this. One thing led to another and I discovered Gever Tulley and 5 Dangerous Things You Should Let Your Children Do. I fancied myself a brilliant Mother, because I can roughly claim that I am letting my children do all 5 dangerous things. Don't Panic: Gever Tulley uses a provocative title to illustrate a point about safety. Denying that danger exists or fearfully avoiding it, does not protect us or our children.


Gever Tulley wants to remind us that we are safer when we learn how to handle sharp objects and responsibly explore the elements, tools and heavy machinery that exist in our world. Knowledge is power, yeah? I think so, and I've written about fire and then I covered sharp things.

To illustrate my story I went through lots of photo archives looking for examples of us playing with fire, knives, and throwing things, and I tried to find good examples of us taking stuff apart and handling heavy machinery, and I have to say it's been kind of hard to find pictures. The 3 boys have knives and they use them, but I haven't taken pictures. We did have campfire pictures...cool.


4. Deconstruct Appliances

The children are welcome to take things apart. We haven't handed over any large appliances, yet, because we repair them or trade them in, but there are several VCRs and toasters that have been disassembled in their hands. Last year Geoff and William took apart 2 broken laptops swapped parts, added new ones and then gave my mom and Geoff's grandma functioning laptops. And there was the built from the ground up computer that the boys built with their dad in early 2004. But I don't have pictures of any of this. I love to capture "everyday" life, but somehow these activities seemed so blandly everyday I missed documenting them. One of Tulley's points is that children should be encouraged to explore, and with a hands on approach learn how things work, how they are made and perhaps they will discover how to make them work better.

I decided to include the picture of Maria stringing beads... very tiny, choking hazard, hard to manipulate beads. She sat on her daddy's lap and spent 2 hours patiently and deftly slipping beads over the string and marveling at how they stacked up. Discovery and perseverance, these experiences are super valuable, and I know this because of that look. I know, it's not exactly a scientific statement, but the look is valid, it's good. When children solve problems, unravel mysteries, accomplish new tasks... they enjoy a sense of self and an awareness of their own abilities. Maria was keenly aware that she was doing a big girl activity and she was devoted to meeting the challenge and responsibility.


I love the look. I just know there are serious neuron-synapse-muscle memory-motor function-eye-hand coordination, joy things going on, and that thrills me.


And I think the outdoors can provide a similar opportunity... taking things apart and figuring-out doesn't have to be limited to manufactured, material things. When Max asked to cross the creek and climb a fallen tree, I was aware that we were trying uncharted territory, that we were risking a fall, wet clothes, mud, maybe some scrapes; I considered the weather, the depth of the creek, the current, the height of the tree, and in 3 seconds I said, "Go for it!" We ought to spend more time taking nature apart, getting dirty, sweating on a trail and crossing creeks. I am a long way from hiking the backcountry with a compass and a stick, but I am willing to get wet at low tide, try a new trail, and discover new ways of relating to the world, and finding new bridges to cross.


5. Break The DMCA- Drive A Car

Years ago, again in Mexico, I let my boys drive our Big Blue Whale. No takers. I repeated the offer when we returned in 2003, and they were still not interested. Our family land in Mexico is ideal for underage driving... most days there is zero traffic and there are plenty of wide open, even cow-free, spaces. My boys have internalized values and a strong sense of right from wrong. They keep me honest and sometimes they say, "No." I love it when they say no, when they show their own resolve and willingness to express their internalized values. They have driven tractors and Alex tried his Grandpa Corm's riding mower, but they declined underage driving. Maybe this is why I am so comfortable about letting them do the 5 Dangerous Things... maybe it's because they instinctually want to be careful and safe, and I agree with Jennifer, that when we take away the mystery, then the allure-the unknown attraction is diminished.

Eva left an interesting comment on the first post, and she asks, "but do you think there (are) things in life everyone would be wise to be afraid of? like drugs, for one. or is fear inappropriate even here?" Yes, we are wise to be fearful or aware, respectful. Bungee jumping, driving under the influence of alcohol, sexu@l promiscuity, feeding bears, texting while driving... there are a lot of things that people choose to do that can have very dangerous consequences, that have risks not just to the one trying a behavior, but to others as well. Drunk driving and bear feeding are not included in my list of dangerous things I let my children try. The risks are too great. I find that often times risky behaviors that are not worth pursuing have a natural way of weeding themselves out... let the bears feed themselves and never operate anything when your senses are impaired, because it is a foolish thing to do. Period. Other things are tempting or alluring when they are not understood. I am not afraid of drugs, but I have no interest in using drugs. I know they have good and bad effects, but on careful consideration, I believe the risks far outweigh the benefits. I could not limit myself to, "Just say no," when discussing drugs with my children, not as they mature and have an ability to reason, to be curious. Neither will I act as though they are free to experiment or imply that I am cool with whatever. I will not hesitate to show them what happens to cr@ck addicts, or calculate for them the cost of a smoking habit. At some point they will have to make choices and when that time comes, I hope they are educated, informed, and sure enough of their own beliefs and convictions that they will say No to those risks that jeopardize their dignity, health and intelligence. I agree, Eva, we can learn respect without fear, and I hope you can find a safe, comfortable opportunity to learn to start a fire...

This has been fun and interesting to ponder, and it has all been especially meaningful and interesting because of your comments. So, thank you for sharing your thoughts and experiences. Maybe the 6th dangerous thing would be "Saying what you think, out loud."

We Are 5 for 5: Part 2

5 Dangerous Things You Should Let Your Children Do.
I wondered where we would stand, how our list of dangerous things would compare with Gever Tulley's list of dangerous things and I have to say I am pleasantly surprised. My first post on this topic covered fire. I really feel like I put myself in the line of fire, so to speak, by admitting that I let very young children hold hot sticks and burn leaves, but I think it's important to create an environment for safe danger, for careful risks. We learn when we go outside of our comfort zone, by experiencing physical actions and objects, so we know hot from cold, sharp from dull. I am not trying to preach... it's more like being defensive, because I believe in my methods, but I know some people will think I am nuts. I really cannot fathom parenting without carefully, rationally, attentively providing real life experiences for my children, and real life can be dangerous.


2. Own a Pocketknife

Knives are sharp. Good knives are very sharp. I have never met a single person who has not cut themselves. Young, old, expert, novice... who has not cut themselves? Even just a little bit. Hopefully not fatally. I worked in a bakery and cut myself at least twice when slicing bagels. Geoff worked in fast food and did nasty things while prepping food and cooking burgers... you don't even want to know. But before he was injuring himself in a professional setting he was a kid with knives and Exacto tools and he cut himself then too.

Hold on. Funny story: When my brothers and I were little squirts, we got to buy pocket knives in Mexico and they were mostly a novelty because they were ridiculously small. Closed, the knives were not bigger than 1"... they were seriously tiny and really kind of cute and we loved them. One day we were visiting the mall and the knife cutlery store was advertising free sharpening for all pocket knives. Cool! We stepped in to the very professional boutique, with the samurai swords, katana and coats of arms on the walls and presented the clerk with our pocketknives. He scoffed. He ridiculed and scoffed some more. He was so mocking and dismissive about our knives that he refused to sharpen them, but we insisted. He said they could not be sharpened, because they were 'just toys' and as he was saying this he opened one up and to demonstrate their toyness he dragged his thumb across the 1/2" blade. He would have done less damage if he had not dragged so much of his thumb, so vigorously, but he was evidently not that clever. He slit his thumb wide open and sent us away with one duller, bloody little knife. Incidentally, we never hurt ourselves with those knives.


So what to do? Banish all sharp things? No scissors, no pins? With some possible exceptions, I think children can be trusted to learn that sharp things must be used with care and respect. I think adults can take the time to instruct and observe, and facilitate opportunities to teach children how to use all kinds of tools, including knives and scissors. Maria has been sitting beside me and cutting fabric since she was 3 years old... no cuts. She has been loading and unloading the pincushion since she was 2 years old... not more than 2 pokes. And when we were camping at El Capitan State Beach 2 years ago, I let her help chop the veggies. When Max was 3, and showed an interest I taught him how to hold a knife and sat with him while he worked. He loved peeling and chopping garlic. LOVED it. I taught William. I taught Alex. They keep their fingers out of the way. They know to be attentive and patient. They know to use the right tool for the job. A dull dinner knife can do a lot more damage than a sharp paring knife; if the knife cannot slice efficiently it will slip and do damage. Sharp knives work.

I have to admit, this one, owning pocketknives got me in to trouble. It was 4 years ago when Alex says, "I was walking down the street when all of a sudden a bunch of Ninjas flipped out and tried to kill me, but then we realized that we were equally matched and we went our separate ways" and in the melee he cut something, a little bit. We cannot remember what he cut (finger?) I vividly recall how mad the doctor was, at me. Alex needed a tetanus shot, but no stitches or butterfly bandages. And apparently I needed a parenting lecture from the peds doctor about children and pocketknives. She told me to 'take the knife from him and to never let children play with knives and that if I didn't take it away he was sure to get cut again or worse.' She was very mad at me, very finger wagging-incredulous, you bad mother mad. He was almost 11 years old, extremely responsible and well-behaved, not in the least bit stupid, reckless, blind, ignorant, or self destructive. I imagined this small cut, the memory of it and all it entailed would make a suitable and instructive impression, so that I need not ever worry about his next cut. And, there will be a next cut, because we use tools.


3. Throw A Spear

I am claiming this on a technicality. We do not have spears, but if we did, we would totally throw them. We do have bows and arrows and I think the danger/learning opportunity is comparable to spear throwing. When we were Jolly Green Rancheros, living on our 2 acres of El Rancho goodness, I bought the boys a bow and arrows. 3 boys: 1 bow... a safe ratio, when the only target will be a straw bale. Hand-eye coordination... when I Googled this I mostly found articles on improving the connection between what we see and how we can physically control and guide our movements. I recall from university courses and reading about child development, language acquisition, and fine motor development... hand-eye coordination is important. Gever Tulley goes in to some of the specifics about how throwing things strengthens coordination, improves 3-D and structural problem solving. Brain stuff working in conjunction with body stuff... it's good stuff!

We never once had a single bad incident with the bow and arrows. Alex took great interest in the activity and it led to a deeper appreciation for Medieval history, a subject he is very well read on, and it greatly improved his coordination and visual acuity. I wonder if target practice with the bow and arrows is what gave him such remarkable skills in rendering his ideas into elaborate and detailed designs and illustrations... yeah, I think so. Max also embraced the activity and he spent hours a day practicing when we moved to the Treehouse. He had to develop strength and coordination to manage the sizable bow. He had to overcome the frustration of not being as skilled as his brothers, and he worked very hard to successfully close the gap. Somewhere in our garage is a book that Max made, papers stapled together, and it is full of numbers... hundreds and hundreds of numbers and tallies, reflecting Max's scorekeeping. He's a numbers guy. He logged every score made on their homemade targets, so that bow and arrow time was physical and academic for Max.

We miss having a yard big and safe enough for the bow and arrow. We look forward to being some place where we can take aim at a bulls-eye or straw bale, pull back on the string and hit the spot we aim for. I know from personal experience that hitting what we aim for is deeply satisfying. And, now that I have thought about it, I think we might see about making some spears.

Coming up:

4. Deconstruct Appliances
5. Break The DMCA- Drive A Car

Our Turn


A brief history...

We have been renting since October 2003. We made huge, sweeping changes in hopes of moving to Hawaii. Life made huge, sweeping changes in hopes of providing us with challenging, interesting obstacles... you know, to "build character." We have hit more bumps in life's road than a Tijuana taxi. We currently have 2 offers on 2 different properties, and one more offer we are thinking about and another place came up today that I think we should definitely try for. We have looked at hundreds, possibly thousands of properties. We are experts. We are savvy. We know the market better than the market knows itself. I don't know how it is possible, but I am the most pessimistic optimist I know. I am hopelessly hopeful. I am grief stricken and worn out and I am looking for the sign, for the turning point. We are staying afloat, waiting for the current that will give us the chance to leave the riptide and swim for shore.

And why am I putting all of this out there?
I do not know.
Maybe because you understood my Martha Stewart last chance letter dilemma. Maybe because I want to believe that we are at the gate of that turning point, the sign of our hopes and dreams may be before us and I want to believe.
I want to believe that dreams come true, even if they are rundown, foreclosed, sorry-@ssed fixer-uppers.


It may be our turn.

Most people buy their house by acquiring a structure on land, or they may purchase a lot and build their home. We are buying our house by the knob.
Yup.
One knob at a time.
We were together in an after Christmas stroll through shops and I stopped to sigh and admire all the pretty hardware. Geoff thought they were priced fairly and way more fun than typical kitchen drawer pulls. Maria kept gathering her favorites and William found one he really liked. Geoff and I lit up and agreed: We can buy our house now. And we don't have to adhere to someone else's aesthetic. We can decide that our design, our style, is Family Favorites.


Maybe it's Funky Family Favorites!
Here are a few of the knobs and drawer pulls that will grace our house. It might be fun to guess who chose which. I am looking forward to the day when they are a part of our lives that I take for granted... when I can tell a guest, "The tape and scissors are in the clock drawer.

If all of our offers are turned down, if we are outbid, again, and again, at least we have our start. We have our knobs, and sooner or later it will be our turn.

The More Things Change... Or Do They?


William, 14, Alex, Max and Geoff, October 2005... Disneyland

Sometimes I look back and see where we've been. I pick a year and read the archives from this week in 2002 or 2003 or '04, '05, '06, '07. This time I chose October 18-22, 2005. Regrettably, I see that not much has changed. Since then we moved again, but not to our own place. Geoff was in Hawaii again. He did look for a place for us, like he did 3 years ago, but mostly he was there to say a final farewell to a place we had held dear. Happily, the things that cheer and sustain me have not changed... except that they have grown... the children are as enthused and kind, as wonderful to be with as ever. Geoff is still intent on making our lives full and safe. I did wish for 3 hens, and I think we have hens now... is that progress? I'm not so sure.


Alex, 11 years old, upstairs in the TreeHouse

One big improvement is that the boys have bedrooms now. No more bunk bed in the kitchen/dining room/living room. It was cozy. Truthfully, I would be happy to return to smaller quarters if the space were a space all our own. Our zest for pumpkins... pie, bread, cake, roasted seeds, decorations, carving... that has not changed a bit. We still love it.


Maria, 11 months old, at the Wild Animal Park... oh, and Me, 38

We still love exploring in our community and making road trips north and east and south, and as far west as we can get. For all my longing and disappointments about housing, I cannot complain about our adventures. We have been many places and taken full advantage of our homeschool flexibility. I can see missing that, if we ever get tied up in a mortgage and house repairs. I relish the chance to complain about something new.


Max, 7, and Alex with baby Maria

I wonder what they will remember... what they will carry with them, what they will discard.


Remember last spring, when I moved all of the sewing things in to the garage? Alex and I have shared a section of the garage all summer. Surrounded by stacks of boxes, tools and treasures, he and I played and worked at our hobbies. Alex with robots, circuit boards and wires, and Maria and me with fabrics, pens, papers, chalk and thread. It's been a nice arrangement, but this week I am making a whole new mess arrangement. Alex needs more room, and we need to make better use of the odd square footage at the top of the stairs. The house is big, but there are a lot of useless spaces... we do not need a dining room or formal sitting room, or a foyer with pillars, or a landing. Now the landing is a sewing room, or it's becoming a sewing room, and soon the extra space in the garage will accommodate garage kinds of activities, like building robots, making toasters, designing rockets etc... I hope everyone will enjoy the new possibilities.


Alex's entertainment for Maria, October 2005

Our bed is green now. We still share our room with Maria, or does she share her room with us? I still love that quilt... not one that I made.

And now it is time to get William and Alex from school. It's 2008 again, and time to move forward.

An OCYD Update


Did everyone see Anna Banana's comment? She found a link to a TP cosy, and I swear I thought it was a top hat! I was staring at it for the longest time and humming Putting on the Ritz. I know that art is subjective... do I need to post an apologetic disclaimer, in case I am hurting anyone's feelings? I have to say though, this is the line, for me, where art and craft parts way with aesthetic beauty, function and form. I am also uncomfortable with coconut monkeys, googly eyes on seashells and this.

There were a lot of good and funny comments from the OCYD post. Sara, I don't know why I suggested that knit hats on chickens would be too much... the very idea is gaining favor with me by the hour. And some mini croissants would be good too. And I see Nikki appreciates the possibility that the chicas might look spiffy in hats and knit accessories.

Hello River, of Australia. You are so right: I wouldn't want to send out homemade gifts that are not unique. In my post what I meant by "unique" was that they might be a bit unpolished or a little too amateurish, or less gently put... ugly. I am laughing, when I say this, so no worries.

I think Mtn. Child is right to suggest I try Afghans. I am not disciplined or ambitious enough to try anything as cute as this dress from "Oiyi's Crafts." But I really, really want to try my hand at a ripple blanket, like the one I saw at "Cats and Quilts."


I finished another brown hat last night. I love it. But I am not unaware that it may resemble a toasted acorn. Now I am working on another scarf... same brown with flecks of orange and lichen green. I am laughing again... I've been so drawn to this color palette, the seasonal browns and pistachio green, deep oranges and golden ambers, and I wasn't even aware how drawn I have become until I looked at my picture. I am wearing the same brown with orange and green as I am crocheting, and I may even try to fix a dinner to match.


And the owl is my other crush. This summer Max and I read a wonderful thrift shop find, called "Owls in the Family" by Farley Mowat. We absolutely loved this book with its adventures and suspense, and it's rather politically incorrect narrative about boys, nature, bullies and life's hard lessons. I like its open and honest approach to describing the good and bad antics of these children's lives. And I have become fascinated with the beauty and charm of owls. I miss hearing the pair of owls that called to each other when we were perched high up in the home we called the Tree House. I miss seeing the collection of dear owls Grandma Eunice kept in her home... she has an owl crush too... she might like to read that book.


Last year I added this tiny owl to the Halloween decoration I made.


So far we have 3 costumes ready for Halloween this year. Max gathered articles from different closets so he can be young Indiana Jones. He looks really good, ready for an adventure in history and archaeology, like Henry "Indiana" Jones. Alex has been preparing to portray Dex of "Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow." Alex was born to this role, an inventor in a steampunk world, with a high moral code, impromptu skills and a ray gun. Maria consistently tells everyone she is going to be a pumpkin for Halloween. She wore this costume last year, the same one I made for William's first Halloween in Minnesota, 1991! Maybe I can crochet some kind of pumpkin hat to cap the pumpkin suit...

A Polka Dot Tennis Skirt, A Cookie and A Horse


When Maria was about 3 weeks old, so tiny and new, Geoff called me from his perch in the kitchen, where he used to read his laptop: "What size is Maria?"

In my postpartum haze, his question was fuzzy. He never asked about sizes and measurements, unless we were in a lumberyard. At first I thought he was concerned about her petite height and her less than average weight. He worried about things like this, and I replied, "She's fine sweetheart. She's just a lot smaller than her brothers were."

"No." He answered, still talking to me through the walls. "I mean what size clothes does she wear. Would she be a 2?"

I was nursing Maria, stuck in that tired old chair we stuck between our bed and the crib, otherwise I would have gone to him, to see his face, to discern if what I was hearing was possible. Could Geoff actually be thinking about clothing, about fashion and sizes, and what people wear? It seemed improbable. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Shopping." He does not elaborate, not willingly.
"Shopping for what?"
"Shopping for Maria." He does not elaborate, not willingly.
"What are you doing?" I try not to wake the dozing baby.


Geoff appears in our bedroom, and says, "I'm on Ebay trying to get Maria a tennis outfit. Is she a size 2?" He looks excited and agitated. The clock must be ticking on an auction. The bidding must be fast and furious. I cannot believe what I am hearing, the giddy look in his eyes. He has never bought a stitch of clothing, voluntarily, ever. Not for me or for William, not for Alex and not for Max. He buys his shorts 3 at a time every 4 years and his T-shirts are from conferences. He looks at me impatiently, "Would a 2 be big enough?"

"A size 2 or 2T is for toddlers. You need to look for sizes by month, like 3 months or 6 months." And he's already gone, back to the kitchen and the auction. For about half an hour he asked me about sizes and ages, and he ran stuff by me, about styles and colors. I was laughing. He was determined to get this child a tennis outfit before she was big enough to rollover or hold her head up. He was so preciously obsessed with his mission, that it was endearing and sweet and I will never forget the happy realization of his love for his daughter. It's not that there was any doubt, or that shopping is an indicator of love. It was his willingness to venture forth into uncharted territory, to envision the future, when she would be big enough to play tennis, to run and jump and catch. He saw all of the possibilities and he wanted to embrace them, to make way for them, and that is a very dear sign of love.


A week later the skirt arrived. A size 3T.


She wore it for the first time last summer, and it kept sliding down her slender waist. Our tennis pro. Our girl, healthy and happy, and loved.


This morning she went into our shared closet and shut the door, first turning to me saying, "Please, go away. I am getting dressed." Honestly, I can't say where she learned this. I don't have the sense to expect privacy, and never bother asking for it.


She came out in her apple shirt and tennis skirt, which still slips a bit.


She skinned her knee a few days ago. She walks with a limp and insists on a fresh band-aid every morning. Her friend Jack lives behind the suitcase. The suitcase is sometimes Jack's shop, and sometimes a horse.


Today the horse is taking to her Grandma's house, and she is bringing her "homework."

By the way, in yesterday's post, the photograph was of a very small section of a property Geoff had been hoping to buy. I was less certain about its potential, and I regret to say its too late anyway. Someone else made the first move. Geoff is very sad about the missed opportunity. As we look for a home we keep reminding each other that we must remain detached. We cannot let our emotions get the best of us, and yet... it's when we let our hearts decide, when we feel inspired... when we see all of the possibilities and embrace them, then we make way for good things to happen. So, perhaps we should allow ourselves to become attached and emotional, to be hopeful. We must venture forth with knowledge, and optimism and love.

Carrots and Honey
Last night I ate carrots cooked in honey. It was a suggestion from Maria B. to Janice R., to cook the baby carrots with a bit of honey. I wonder how much exactly. I have carrots and honey. I even have a ham, and Janice R.'s amazing carrot cake recipe, and somewhere in the garage I have a packed box full of Easter decorations and Spring touches. I could go on for a long bit about Easter and how it catches me off-guard and unprepared most every year, fortunately I have labels, including an "Easter" category of past posts, so no need. It's all been said before. I really do try. I try to plan and clean and decorate and I even imagine going to church, but somehow my efforts fall short. Last year, probably around 4th of July, when I packed all of the Easter bunnies, baskets and egg decor, I really believed I was packing for another move. I did not think we would still be here. Not that we had a plan or even much hope, so I guess it's just a habit. It makes me sad how I dread holidays, even my favorites. Gad. I wasn't going to do this. Carrots cooked in honey is really very nice.


Maria and Jordan riding the ottoman, sister cowgirls of the living-range. I found this pair of feathered $1.87 bonnets at a thrift shop in Madison, Wisconsin. I love Willy Street and St. Vincent's. I love discovering an unexpected treasure and seeing it open up a new world for someone. I need to grab my camera again, the next time Maria is brandishing the inflatable sword, and wearing her brother's leather belt and her purple pirate hat. William says she appears in his room, dressed in her piratey garb, and thunders pirate words... Oooh arggh! I'm a pirate!

Suddenly It Is Spring


William initiated this Spring cleaning weeks ago and they are still at it. They are methodically, diligently sorting and organizing Lego bricks, components, characters and gears.
I tried to get a picture that included the cats; the cats like to tiptoe through the maze and find a spot to roll in, but they came to me when I showed up with my camera. This is Alex's room. This is the first time the boys have had their own rooms. In the "TreeHouse" their beds were in the dining room/kitchen/living room. In our "Rancho" they slept in one room and played in another. At "Neptune" they shared a room in the little house we had. Maria shares our room. I think the boys would just as soon share a room as not, or at least they agree that they enjoy sharing a playroom, er a "Lego Room."

They love Lego bricks. Love. Don't talk to me about the expense or the waste or the volume... I have a thoughtful and tested response to every negative comment I have ever heard against Legos. Even Maria uses Lego bricks to make things and she brightens when her brothers invite her into their world. She is very helpful with sorting and finding heads. I imagine she will be an engineer, like her brothers, able to comprehend the function of gears and pistons, and how to increase the speed of vehicles. Maybe she will have Alex's design skills, or some of William's creative abilities. She'll be lucky if she can be as methodical and disciplined as Max is with his creations.

Sometimes the house gets very quiet, and I call their names... William? Alex? Max? Maria?
Then I hear back, "We're up here. Maria's with us."
They are playing together. They often do.
They plan and design together, and share ideas for future creations.
They read aloud to each other and have sleep-overs in each other's bedrooms.
No, they are not always perfect angels... they get moody and mean, but it's quite rare and even understandable.
Truthfully, I think they are 4 of my favorite people in the world. I love their company and their ideas, their attitudes.
I love that they care for each other and that they have no qualms about sharing their love.
I marvel at their intelligence and curiosity, their appetite for learning.
Even when I think of our challenges, the areas we need to improve, the setbacks we want to overcome, I think that I am not so disappointed or dismayed. They fill my heart with so much pride and joy, that I can only expect good things, bright paths. Perhaps our paths are unconventional, and maybe we cannot always see the most direct route, but at the end of the day, you will find us together and happy, and I would not want to have it any other way.

Looking Back: Nine Hundred and Eighty-Four Pretty Good Posts
See that long list of dates in Chickenblog's sidebar? Those aren't randomly generated, they aren't pay per view ads... those represent the times I couldn't help but express my deep thoughts,


Max, Alex and William: December 31, 2002. Hawaii

share family news,


The Boys with Deanne: May 4, 2003. Legoland

congratulate friends,


Holly, Nick and Rich: June 13, 2003. El Rancho


pass along recipes,


Anne and Max: October 24, 2003: The TreeHouse

announce a birth,


Alex and Tamsyn: March 30, 2004

beg for help,


Sam, James and Deanne: December 21, 2004

feeling the love

or promote world, and local peace.


Geoff, Maria and Natalie: March 27, 2005

I never imagined I would keep it up for this long or that it would matter to me as much as it does... I certainly dragged my feet, when Geoff suggested I start a blog. My first post was just a fanciful daydream, meant to convince Geoff that I would give blogging an earnest go. In those early days, blogging could be supremely aggravating... oh, wait, it can still be supremely aggravating!


William, Geoff, Maria, Max, Nancy, Alex, Rich, Sophie, Lily, Nick, Phil. Kayla and Holly: June 12, 2005. The TreeHouse

I am glad Geoff insisted I blog. We have a colorful journal of the last five years, with photos, and remembrances, silliness, frustrations, and a lot of happy reflections. I am glad Holly makes tasteful banners, so Chickenblog can look polished and inviting. I am glad that, very recently, more than 2 people have discovered Chickenblog and they have joined the conversation, shared the laughs... blogging is so about dialogue and connections. I am glad that my friend Anna Banana is blogging too... she and I appreciate how cool it is to keep track of things that matter and to amuse ourselves with stuff that probably matters very little.


Alex, Alison, Dominic, Bill, Max and William: June 30, 2007

All this gladness cannot be contained... Geoff has been nudging me: You better get busy making a 1000th post contest to celebrate. I was remembering my very first contest, when I asked readers to identify something the cat coughed-up... that was April 26, 2003, but no one took a chance at my grand prize offer (too bad the Grand Prize was a pony and a Hawaiian cruise... too late now.) But now we can have a new contest, and I will think up a new grand prize, so sharpen your pencils, put on your party hat, and be on the look out for the 1000th Chickenblog post.

In Stitches

Instead of complaining that I was cleaning, all alone, and whining about unpacking boxes, because we still haven't moved-in completely, rather than plummet into a deep funk about life's futility and frustrations... instead of all of that, I am going to share what I found in one of those unpacked boxes. I am going to reflect on the silver felt lining. When Maria was nearly a year old and the children were home, unschooling at the TreeHouse, I introduced them to applique, embroidery and acrylic felt. Tamsyn was with us too, up from her house and hanging out. I wonder if she remembers when we did this little project.

I wish I knew where their projects are. They made reindeer and trees and other charming symbols of the season. Maria was crawling around, and Alex, Max and Tamsyn were keeping me busy threading needles and ironing on little felt pieces, untangling floss, and of course I was as eager to play as they were, so I was making my own little felt community. We thought they might be little pockets or ornaments for the tree. I remember the room was a mess. How can such a little project make such a huge mess? Who cares? It's all in the past, and the good memories, the experience is what remains.



Every time we move, the upheaval is so pervasive that a lot gets lost, misplaced and forgotten... I am not whining. This is an observation. Anyway, my sewing and crafty career has been derailed many, many times and I lose track of what I've done and what supplies I have stashed away. LOL I have way more WIPs than I knew!


I wish I had known the difference between acrylic felt and wool felt when I put the time into these little winter scenes. I was aware that wool is better, but none of our local fabric stores carries the good stuff, and I was enchanted with the color choices and ready affordability of cheap acrylic squares... I'm sure I have 99 acrylic squares packed in another box in the garage! My mind is buzzing and humming with ideas and plans... I want to pick-up a threaded needle and go! I'll meet-up with Julie and Kim and we can all embroider together. Synchronized Stitching! What fun.


OKay, back to cleaning. Just enough to satisfy the board of health... then I am off to find wool felt... tee hee

Catching-Up and A Fond Farewell


I really could not bring myself to fully realize what it means: Tamsyn is moving away. We've known for quite some time that they would be looking for a new home state, a place to retire to, where they could have room for horses, six cats, two dogs and two birds. I sheltered my heart from the actual day we would have to say good-bye. I did not want to imagine not seeing her face, hearing her laugh, and knowing that we could not expect her to pop over to play. Now that I am thinking about it, I am crying. I will miss her too much. I am very sad.


I remember quite clearly the first time she knocked at our Treehouse door. She was tiny and polite, introducing herself and asking so sweetly if anyone would like to come out and play. And it seems like they haven't stopped playing since that first day.


Since January of 2004 we have been to parks and ponds, and camping. We've shared birthdays and hikes, dinners, sleep-overs, picnics, good times and sad times, horse rides, kittens, and lost cats, berry picking, apple picking and lemon picking and all kinds of pies.


Our homes were open and the children enjoyed countless days running around together, exploring yards and trees, playing games, and celebrating seasons. Did they ever not get along? Maybe there were debates or minor misunderstandings, but nothing lasting or too upsetting. They maintained friendships that were full of good will and kindness. They shared common interests, like computer games and fantasy, hiking around the trails that led from the backyards at the Treehouse and their house next door. They built wonderful Lego structures together, including one that won a prize from Lego Magazine.


Tamsyn has been a member of our family, a sister to my children, and like a daughter to me. And when my children were in her home, with Carol and Gene, they were as welcome as family, happy to help look after Jasper and Pippin, thankful for the chance to try horse riding and find constellations through their telescope.


We want whatever is best for the people we love and I know that Tamsyn is destined for great adventures and success, that she will be happy in her new Virginia home. But I wish they were staying close by... close enough that I could still hear her singing. She sings beautifully. Close enough that we can carve pumpkins, build gingerbread houses and bake apple pies together, then build a fort out of fallen branches and thrift shop sheets anytime... whenever we want. Close enough that I can hear the children laughing in the backyard.


I will miss our friends. I will miss the simple pleasures we enjoyed when we got together.

I was going to post about how many things I have been neglecting to take care of, like correspondence and phone calls. I've been meaning to answer emails and get organized, and other usual chores. I want to clear out all the school related clutter that we've been accumulating. There are important points on my list of things to do, but my thoughts are elsewhere. My heart is distracted. I think I'll go find the children, hug them, invite them out for a little silliness.

I think we are simply exhausted.

I bought groceries and made lunches, but I left out perishables... There's so much to do, just to catch up and I only seem to manage to fall further and further behind. I haven't communicated with Cristina, Holly or Jola, or confirmed plans for Thanksgiving. I never reached Grandma before she left for Colorado. It's time to take down the few Halloween decorations we put up, and make some attempt to assemble our bed. Geoff estimates that if we unpack 10 boxes a day, then we will be unpacked in 2 weeks... please don't do the math and call to tell us we have too much stuff. Even up to yesterday we had a moving truck. Have I ever mentioned we have a 700 lb "Discs of Tron" Arcade game, circa 1981? Oh, I guess that only fuels speculation that we might have too much stuff. Never mind.

Okay, allow me one little sort of pity party. Actually it's more regret than pity. Back at the Treehouse, Bob's new victims, er I mean tenants, have already painted most of the interior and thrown out all the ugly and tacky things that I chose to overlook. The new tenant "hated" the pink master suite, so he painted it a hip green. The downstairs is midnight blue and the entry is a sophiticated rum raisin red. Hey!! I hated the pink master suite first! I hated the ancient, faded, gross carpets too. 3 years ago when we moved in to the Treehouse it was totally a temporary situation, so I was not going to bother with the waste of painting or making it our own. And I lived with ugly walls and I missed ever having a decorated nursery or unscary carpets. I chose to endure yuck and 6 months became a year and two years slipped in to three years. So, have I learned anything? Can my frustration and regret evolve in to a life lesson? Does paint matter? Do drapes and functioning mini-blinds make a happier home? I am having deep thoughts on all of this. I know I can't fix the past and I really, really need to do better in the present. Garage Mahal may only be temporary, but this is my life.

Alright. Time to shut up and find a box to unpack. And if it seems like I have neglected you, my friend, I am sorry. And if you have suggestions for painting the mint green rag-painted wall in the living room please share with me.

No, we aren't moved in yet. We aren't moved out yet either. It's down to the wire, as usual. Everything hurts. I feel pulled in every direction. Tomorrow you may find me cleaning an oven and trying to spot treat carpet, or possibly trying make three Halloween costumes complete. The entire month has been dedicated to packng and moving, and I was almost Martha-like in my success at keeping the new home organized, orderly and pleasant to be in, but that has gone to pieces and now there's no place like home... meaning we don't feel homey here, or there or anywhere. Too bad I never want to move again.

I dreamt that someone was selling me fertilized hen eggs for $5.08 and that we were going to raise just two little hens here at Garage Mahal. The dream was realistic enough for me to fear the landlord's wrath, and real enough to wake me with a powerful chicken longing. Sigh.

moving sucks.
lost things
broken things
missing things
tired bodies
weary spirits
frazzled minds
it just sucks

First Law of Moving: No One Gets Left Behind!

Hello. Testing... testing. This is me, blogging from Garage Mahal. We are nearly almost moved in, and Geoff set up my computer. I thought I would just check if everything is working. A lot of heavy furniture remains at the Treehouse and even more of those hard to pack odds and ends. Right now everyone is going to sleep. William just came downstairs for a glass of water. Holly, Nicholas and Isabella came by earlier for a visit. This is a disjointed, awkward paragraph with little or no point, except to sort of touch base with anyone out there... just proves I shouldn't blog in my sleep. I feel like I have been farway for a long time.

Professional packers and movers never stop to sort through boxes of old letters, scraps of fabric, broken crayons. I am trying to be professional, to stay on track with pure packing and no reminiscing in photo boxes. I guess stopping to blog is not efficient, but I wanted to share a piece of art I just uncovered. William was drawing, the date says '05.

Old cheese. I'm supposed to be packing, and it stinks, because I don't want to pack anymore. No more boxes. No more "what's under the dresser?" No more clutter and odds and ends, no more oddities or "what are these?"

I am really tired of people telling us we have a lot of stuff. They say it with a hint of alarm, or maybe I am only hearing judgement in their tone. Okay, yes, we have a lot of stuff. We have clothes and food, and toys and books for 6 people. Six people! Compare six people's needs and interests with two or four people; these things can really add up. We have papers and supplies enough for homeschooling three grades. We have suitcases for our trips to see faraway grandmas and grandpas. We have fingerpaints, sidewalk chalk, a tent, two butterfly nets, three sleeping bags and a piano. I gave a way the extra Crockpot. Max sold his Hot Wheels. The crib is going and so are the back issues of Oprah. I will not buy another pencil or Crayola, or stickers, candles, Duplos, harmonicas, plastic pools or Easter baskets ever again. Honest.

I do have a point to make, but I am begininng to suspect that I am mostly trying to avoid packing. Ugh. I just wanna go home.

Let's catch up, with some pictures...


The weekend is precious to Max, now that he's at school all week. He likes to give Maria rides down the driveway on the extra long Gravity board.

Here's William enjoying a cooled down Fall evening. I like this picture of my camera shy boy.

Last weekend's mellow fun has been replaced with heavy lifting and lots of hauling, 'cause it's moving time. We put everyone to work, even Maria the Denim Princess had to heave-ho! After a full day of packing and loading we estimate we are about one 5th finished...

We still haven't named our new house. "Garage Mahal" is the foremost contender. William submitted "Generic House." Some of the inspiring features include faux granite columns, three fireplaces and many giant spiders that descend from the trees. We LOVE that the kitchen is downstairs. We love that there are actual bedrooms. And the view? Well, we can clearly see all the other garages in our quiet neighborhood, and from the end of the street we can look across the way to HomeDepot and Barnes and Noble.

Let us take a moment and acknowledge that "the view" must sometimes be seen with the heart. I see happy, healthy children, doing well in school and life, loved and loving. I see comfort and warmth, shelter and light. I see a safe place to play and rest. And I see Geoff's brand new big screen TV... oh, ya, life is still good.

3 hours and forty minutes from now we are going to take a walk-through with the new landlord. We get to see that everything is clean and working and he gets a big fat check, then we get keys... then we get to move, then we get to clean the Treehouse and settle in to the New House... etc, etc... I feel very nervous. I hope the boys like their new home. I hope it's big enough to contain us and our worldly treasures. I hope the neighbors are nice. I hope the new landlord doesn't intend to drop by often. I hope our move does not coincide with natural disasters or acts of terror...

There is a lot to be done between now and our last day at the Treehouse. The hard part is clearing, sorting, packing, organizing, and the other hard part is accepting that this won't be our last move, that we have to answer to the landlord when it comes to paint on the wall and pets in the yard. No chickens for me. No garden beds either. I've been thinking a lot about what makes a house a home, and what it is about our personal things that contributes to our identities. For three years I have felt like I a temp; here for a while, about to move on. The boys are looking forward to not sleeping 2 feet from the dining table and 3 feet from the kitchen, and I harbor fantasies of decorating their rooms and setting them up in spaces that reflect their interests and my affection for them... I just feel so incapable, like this is just another holding pattern. I know this is my life, not a dress rehearsal, but I haven't felt at home in a very long time, and I don't know how to get there.

I am sitting downstairs at the computer, surrounded by half a dozen half packed boxes and feeling an overwhelming sense of nameless dread and anxiety. Do you ever get that? I'll spare you the details, but I do wish I could find some relief. It's a good thing there is so much I can be grateful for, otherwise I might be feeling really, truly, deeply overwhelmed.

I thought backing off on Chickenblog would be good for something... maybe distancing myself, maybe shutting up, maybe having more time to play online games... but I miss sorting out events, recording the daily doings, goings and showings. I realize the kids like the regular reflections on where we've been and the interesting points along the way. Blogging is sometimes trivial, sometimes whiney or shallow, but as I cruise the archives at Chickenblog I have found that blogging has also been a time capsule of our highs and lows. Chickenblog keeps track of good times and reflects on what we have done with our days and months. I like that I can be reminded that we had chickens and we were snowed in on a roadtrip, that we saw bison, elk, prairie dogs and redwoods. We oversaw the construction of a swimming pool, we ice skated at the beach and rapelled Stonewall Peak.

I haven't blogged much lately and perhaps a year from now it will seem like that there was a gap in our lives, a lull. No lull here! We've been very busy, but I haven't been writing and I miss it.

Tree House Update: The trees that make this house The Tree House, the rubber tree and the three melaleuca, the oak, the plum, apricot and apple tree are all being removed, chopped down, turned to mulch. This will not be the same place we came to. We are very sad. Small hope: Do you want a fruit tree? Do you know if rubber trees can grow from cuttings? Max is losing his favorite tree, but it would be so nice to say we are saving it a bit.

... ahh... here it is...


Plants with a solid stem (Rubber Tree Plant)

- choose a point along the stem between two buds; a few inches below an existing leaf.
- make a horizontal cut around the stem in the spot where you want the new roots to form.
- cut completely through the bark.
- make another cut an inch above or below the first cut.
- then make a vertical cut between the two cuts.
- peel the bark off between the two original cuts.
- apply rooting compound to the upper cut surface.
- continue with instructions for air-layering plants without a solid stem.

Plants without a solid stem (Dieffenbachias & Philodendrons).

- choose a point along the stem between two buds.
- remove leaves from the stem about 3" above and below the point to be rooted.
- make an upward slanting cut, about a 1/3 through the stem.
- don't cut too deeply or the main stem may break off.
- dip or roll a moist wooden toothpick in a rooting hormone.
- insert the toothpick into the cut on the stem to prevent the cut from closing and heeling.
- obtain a 12 X 15" piece of plastic and two handfuls of moist spagnum moss.
- wrap the cut on the stem with moist spagnum moss to form a ball about the size of a grapefruit around the stem.
- wrap with plastic and seal edges with twistems.
- check the moss every two weeks during the 8-10 week rooting period to ensure that it is still moist.
- after a good sized set of root have developed, remove the plastic. Be careful not to damage roots.
- carefully cut the newly rooted plant from the mother plant.
- pot plant in a fairly small pot using porous well drained soil.
- plant will be fairly top heavy and should be supported.
- water plant in well.

Rental open house. Beautiful place, bit pricey... well, ya, very pricey, but it beats the d-u-m-p I saw yesterday by light-years... The woman showing the pricey and stunning house turns out to be a way long time ago friend of my mom's. Mom must remember Lin C. ...? Anyway, Lin C. is not only the renting agent she is also the next door neighbor. The big bummer (you knew there had to be a *big bummer*) is the size... tight squeeze. And that is today's housing update. How was your day?

Our favorite rental ad, this week... sounds like a weiner, ... er I mean winner.
"$3000 Luxury 7Br/4Ba., 4400sf, 2 kitchen, 3 DR's, cul de sac, 2 car gar, 2 fplcs, baloney."

I've been having the kind of week (or has it been the whole year...) that makes me see and feel much of what I believed-in in a whole new light. It makes me want to wipe my slate clean, and maybe begin again. Keep husband and children, some dear friends and our pets, of course, though maybe not Zelda, because she bites. Keep all that as the focus and center of my plans and thoughts. It has been in my nature to overextend my concern and love and money and thoughts and efforts in directions where it wasn't required, or appreciated or respected. Now I feel embarrassed, hurt and sad. I also feel a sense that it's time to move on and recommit to the people who need me most, the people I need too.

It has come to my attention that because we have been generous, people assume that our success or lifestyle has come easily, and that we live easily. Some have even said that we don’t live like most people, and that any hardship we might have would only serve to show us how the rest of the world lives… I’m paraphrasing, so it’s not as harshly put as it was stated to me.

I try to be polite and articulate and not to intentionally offend, but sometimes you have to say it like it is: Bullshit. We’ve been generous because we are too nice, because we love to share, even at the expense of our personal needs and dreams. What success we have comes from some luck, true, but it comes more from working long hours, skipped vacations, working holidays, passing on things and opportunities. We have made choices that we both embrace and regret, and we assume responsibility for all of it. I guess we don’t live like the rest of the world. Who does? I won’t assume anyone’s circumstances reflects their worth, whether they live in a tiny apartment, or enjoy new cars, boats and decorated homes.

Sorry Mom. I know you don’t like it when I rant in public, but this is my outlet, my therapy, my voice. I’m not trying to hurt anyone or be needy. I simply have thoughts and feelings that I gotta get out of my head, and if you think this is too much, you should hear what I am not saying. I guess too, that I don’t worry, because the readers that give me feedback are actually honest, interested, and they are in an active dialogue with me about life and family and the good and bad events that shape our lives. Anyone else reading from the shadows either doesn’t care or is not participating in the conversation.

So, back to the ‘whole new light’ thing: I thought my circle was wider and more encompassing than it actually is, and I have been putting too much energy out ‘there.’ Am I describing co-dependency? Hmmm… Well, we can’t be wholly independent, not when we are spouses, mommies and daddies, but I can see now that my responsibilities are under one roof. My time, thoughts, and concerns should flow in circles where they are received and returned, in a loving, kind cycle. In the new light, I can see none of us has the resources, or perhaps even the interest, to love everyone, to share with everyone. Families can grow quite large, they extend, but they can also recede and we can hardly be expected to hold on to everyone as we had, or as we might like… sad, but true.

I’ve said a lot. Maybe too much, and yet it’s all too vague and incomplete. My Mom’s probably right, though, so I’ll stop. There’s no need to put more out there.

New Plan. Everyone should be prepared for a new plan. You may think you know what's up, but life can be shifty, so never rely on one path, one goal, one exit. Think of it as disaster preparedness. I made my list of things to do this week, and some of the stuff I accomplished and some of it I have to undo and some of it will never come together. Oh well.

I am taking a deep breath and sitting down to write The List.

clean car
take laundry to laundromat
clean house, yea, all of it
send "thank you" to Steve and Andrea
finish shower gift for Alison
keep cleaning house
shower
diet
exercise
exfolliate
pack. yup, pack.
pack house
pack for road-trip
water garden
clean refrigerator
clean RV
confirm appointment to repair clothes washer
return to laundromat
find a new home
go to bank
flea medicine on cats
call vet: did we have an appointment?
pay bills
oh yes, and feed children, remind them to brush and bathe etc...
leave at end of week for 2nd summer road trip to Monterey

And always remember to smile.

How hot is it? It's so hot we eat watermelon for dinner then run in the sprinklers before bed. It's so hot we actually enjoyed taking the car to be serviced and waiting several hours for it... in the air-conditioned lobby. Well, it has cooled down a bit. Any other time today's temperatures would be complaint worthy, but compared with yesterday, it is an improvement. Here I present photo evidence of our sumptuous feast


A big melon fan, Max is always ready to eat watermelon.

Another fan. Alex may dream of guavas, but he is happy to have cool, crisp watermelon, and he eats it right down to the rind!

Speaking of rind... Maria loves fruit too, but she's still working on her technique.

Ahh! That's much better.

And would you believe? Yes, Chango, who also loves raw pumpkin, had his share of the buffet too.

What do you do to keep cool?

I know that all four of you that read Chickenblog are sick of hearing about the heat... except Tarie, who is surviving Philippine winter. But what else can I write about? I've had my second shower of the day, and one hour after my last shower I am sweat soaked and funky. Gross! But most of you know what I mean, because the whole continent seems to be suffering the same cruel fate. Hot. Hot. Hot. Thank God we aren't in Phoenix, or Barstow or even ten miles east of here. Last night our house was 88 degrees! Blecchh...

Tonight is MNO, and it's an invite to swim and dine. If your swim suit was so old that it was frayed in the butt what would you do? Too late to shop. Should I pull up Geoff's trunks and cinch the cord under my arms? Should I sit demurely, and decline a dip in Yanina's deep, cool pool? Sigh. There's more to this topic than I care to admit.

Oy. I want to say something deep and meaningful here, but sweat has seeped in to my skull and shorted-out brain connections.

When it's late afternoon and outside the worst of the heat is dissipating, our house radiates, swelters, broils and roasts. It maintains an Easy Bake Oven temperature of 85 degrees. I swear, between the humidity and the heat we could poach an egg on the kitchen floor. The heat is in the walls and the sofa cushions, and swirling irritatingly around my head. Sweat is a first and second layer between me and my clothes and it slides down my neck, pools in the small of my back and makes my skirt feel like a swamp washed rag. The cats lay stretched out, succumbed and resigned. They move as little as possible. I move as little as possible; it can't be helped. In spite of what I can accomplish, everyday our home is slipping further and further away from order and comfort. Fruit spoils instantly, and the bread sweats in the plastic bag from the market. We haven't slept in the house in a week, but find relief in the RV. I am too hot to clean much, cook much, think much, be much use at all.

Last week I thought I could manage to see a movie with Maria, while the boys saw Pirates. Waiting at the theater I was so hot and frumpy, I thought I'd shop for a decent shirt before the movie started. It's been a while since I write about how much I loathe clothes shopping... I could not find one pretty, or pleasant or well-fitting blouse and being hot, sticky and in the presence of a three way mirror at a discount store was devastating to my morale...

"The Devil Wears Prada" was starting soon, so Maria and I walked back to the theater where I let her run around before the start. She was happy and I was was having second thoughts about seeing a movie about beautiful people that become even more beautiful, because of the *right* outfit. In two hours the protagonist would be transformed and radiant, but not me... The lights dimmed. Maria and I sat at the back, and I nursed her. "She'll sleep," I prayed. She fussed, so I switched sides, (meaning I was sweaty, frumpy and undone) which is when she grabbed my glasses and threw them in the aisle. Her scream of delight turned heads. I grabbed her, my blouse, my bra and boobs and dropped to the floor, feeling in the dark for my last pair of functioning glasses. She screamed some more, but now in displeasure and I could not feel my glasses any where on the bon bon, Coca-Cola, pop-corned floor. She got away from me and made for the exit just as a couple walked in. In one direction lay my helpless glasses, somewhere in the dark, and in the opposite direction goes my 19 month old headstrong, precious baby girl.

Let's acknowledge that bad situations are likely far worse in our minds than they appear to the rest of the world. So, in this theater of childless couples, retired folks and other sophisticates, I was the frumpy woman with a screaming baby, blouse open, on all fours, feeling around on the floor for what? A pacifier? Nachos? In my mind I was feeling defeated, tired, sad, embarrassed, anxious, oh yes and hot, sweaty and frumpy. The couple stepped around me just as Maria got out the door, so I abandoned my search and leapt to catch her in the hall, which is when I heard the distinct cracking crunch of the man's shoe on my glasses.

I never saw the movie. I am wearing broken glasses, that were once considered ridiculously unwearable until recently, and as for finding a decent shirt? Last night I opened the dryer and discovered that an errant blue crayon took a ride with all of my clothes... Looking worse than ever, I will have to go shopping again soon.

Randomness...

Zoo day. We met Holly, Rich, Nick and Izzy and their neighbor friend, Riley. The zoo was fun, but according to Max it was not as fun as running around his cousin's yard and soaking up the H2O from Mt. Tiki-soki... more on that later.

Okay, Tiki-soki aside, who can resist a baby meerkat? Pure cuteness.

Maria enjoyed seeing the sights and getting around on her own. She did need a boost from Alex to become a butterfly.

Alex is experimenting with charcoal. He did several animal sketches at the zoo, including this snake. I'll post a completed picture soon.

I guess those weren't so very random. Maybe I just feel kind of random, vague, unsettled. Between the heat and my natural instinct for failure, I have not been making much progress on the home-front. Our washer died. I've had to switch deodorants twice and I still stink. My phone charger will not reveal itself. The pump in the spare bathroom is toast, as are most of the light-bulbs in the house... it just goes on and on.

Okay. Let's share something positive... Max, Alex and William are all signed up for computer camps. They start next week. Geoff is looking in to getting them in drawing classes again. Geoff is taking a drawing class through work, and his teacher has a studio nearby. What else... Ruth and Jim are coming from Hawaii at the end of August, and before that there is a baby shower up north for Alison and Bill's bundle. And of course we're finalizing party details for Max's upcoming 8th birthday. As for good luck, we won a 2 night stay at a local resort, and even more impressive: Alex won a design contest in the Lego Magazine. His original creation will be published in the July issue and he got a big gift certificate for free Legos. He's sharing credit with Max and Tamsyn.

Yes, it feels good to accentuate the positive, and I'd like to write more, but it's still freakin' hot. Too hot, so I am going outside. When I come back I hope to find a word or two from you, because I like news and updates, feedback, perspectives, stories, insights, jokes, party invitations, get well cards and even a little gossip now and then... You've heard this one: *I never repeat gossip, so listen carefully the first time.*

Well wasn't that an interesting time for the server to drop out on me?

"I" had more to say, but "I" can't remember what it was.

It's late now. Maria is sleeping soundly. Max is tucked in. William and Alex are browsing through books, doodling, dozing. Geoff is checking the pulse of the housing market.

Someone sent a message praising the weather... bah, humbug. We think we cooked the hermit crabs. Our happy trio died suddenly. Their little home was probably like an Easy Bake Oven. It's too hot to think.

Tomorrow I will submit the "Chicken-Blogedition of Anniversary Gifts..." be sure to tune in.

Good night.

No pictures. I left my camera on the desk and so there are no pictures of me cooking, cleaning, buying groceries, and labeling the shelves I moved from the bathroom to the entryway. There are no pictures of Geoff coming home unexpectedly. No pictures of us having a bonfire-weenie roast, and sampling peanut butter cookies. No pictures of the contraband items we lit on fire and observed with exclamations of delight and awe... just kidding... or am I? No pictures of the kids sleeping in the yard, or all of us playing charades until after 11:00. No pictures of Alex and Geoff acting out "Never-ending Story." No picture of me guessing "Superman" before Geoff could even hold out his arms in mock flight. You should have been here.

Well, that was yesterday. Now, about today... It's somewhat cooler. I realize some of you LOVE this weather; the heat, the sun glaring etc. Some of you have pools, air conditioning, ceiling fans, insulated homes, and a lack of inhibition about wearing very little. We have heat, and no relief. It’s blaawwwchhfwwwughy! (Real word. Honest.)

On the bright side, I heard about a study that shows people living without air conditioning are losing more weight by sweating through their summers. Oh, boy! Let me just calculate: 1 apple martini - 2 quarts of sweat + 2 turkey hotdogs with mustard - X calories burnt from bitchin' and moaning = ....

… Hold on a sec… let’s see, carry the one and … how many pounds are in a pint?

And Geoff heard about this other study that concludes renters are better off than homeowners. We renters are healthier, happier and have more sex than people with a mortgage. I don’t have to site the study; it’s gospel.

I guess I should just resign myself to my skinny, sweaty, renty, happy, healthy life.

Happy Fourth of July!

(insert sparklers here)

Geoff is at work. The house is a mess.

(insert swag of red, white and blue bunting here)

Yesterday Geoff and William installed heat blocking film in the dining-room/living-room/bedroom windows. I resuscitated my planter garden.

(cue "Star Spangled Banner")

Around midnight the house should cool down to 83 degrees.

(grand finale rockets)

Some people thought that our housing situation was resolved because of the house down the street coming up for rent... I guess I didn't make it very clear: The house across the street is for rent, but it became available After I agreed to stay here for 3 months. Also, the other house is small and has no yard... well, it has small and rubble rattled patio on the edge of a high bluff. That is the deal, or it was the deal.

Here is the new deal: Bob the landlord and I talked again yesterday, and he has decided that this gem of a house is not worth remodeling after all, so he is resubmitting plans to the city. They will completely tear down this house and build new. The new plans and permitting process allow us to stay in the Tree House for 6-8 months, if we'd like. Obviously there are pros and cons, so let's consider...

pros:

we live here already
the rent is low
we live here already
the rent is low
nice neighbors
we live here already

cons:
I packed all the good stuff
the utility closet has this *smell*
we need to change a lot of light bulbs (What?! It's a factor, trust me.)
upstairs it's 85 degrees in summer
downstairs it's 58 degrees in winter
the laundry room has a mystery leak
the kitchen faucet is broken, so are the blinds and the stove exhaust
the boys sleep in the dining room
I am plagued with suburban regret, because I never got to decorate a nursery

Well I think it's clear: We should stay.

And for all my friends that still can't find my address or phone number, I am going to send out fancy "We are here for now cards" with all the relevant information.

Me, reading thermometer: It's 85 degrees in here! We might as well be in Hawaii.

Maria: Ha-wow-wow...

Me: Can you say Hawaii?

Maria: Ha-wow-wow? Ha-wow-wow.

Oh, ya... she's a genius.

Tell me: Who here likes irony? I've got a good one...

We give up the fight, and sign on to live in Bob's house for another 4 months. After 3 months of futile searching for a rental, we quit, and enjoy our first day free of classified ads. There is a house for rent across the street; it's available for immediate occupancy, as of last night. Okay. I'm done.

We saw the Pixar movie "Cars" last night. We laughed. NASCAR is a foreign country to me, but Pixar animation, story writing and humor is universal. We all loved it. Vrrrmmm Vrrrmmm

You might not think Geoff is working as much as he is, because of how much fun we've been having lately. He's only home 12-15 hours per week, but we have been making the most of his time. Today we were at Legoland (I can hear my cousin Steve: 'I read Chickenblog... you guys go to Legoland a lot, don't you?') Legoland is awesome. Geoff and I were always Lego fans, and now we have three boys that are practically engineers and a daughter that is definitely interested in sorting and stacking, so let's face it, we belong at Legoland! They are opening a new theme area... Lego's founder acknowledged that Lego bricks were only the third favorite plaything of children; balls and water are the second and first favorite playthings of children. Last summer the park opened mini-golf, and today they introduced a pirate themed water park. If water is your favorite thing to play with, then you would love the splashing, soaking, run around, creative activities we saw today. Next time I go, I'll be in my board shorts...


Every boat equipped with 4 water canons: Sweet!

There was no way to stay dry… water was pouring, spraying, sloshing and soaking everywhere. It was beautiful to hear and fascinating to witness. Everyone wore expressions of surprise and delight.

Even little mateys were welcome to soak up the fun. This cushiony area was loaded with squirters and pools, fountains, and even bouncing swings to sit in and ride over the puddles.

This may be the beginning of a beautiful relationship: Alex introduced himself to Legoland’s president, and Max did too. Alex and Max were completely thrilled; they thanked John for the new rides and for special treats, they told him all about their favorite themes and what they like to do with their Legos; their designs and creations. John asked them questions, shared his favorite themes, and finished by giving Alex his business card, saying “My email is right here. Write to me anytime.” Very nice.

Everyday I check three different sources for available homes. Everyday I make phone calls, leave messages, send emails and wait for replies from prospective landlords. Because I am an emotional person all of this involves anticipation, anxiety, tension, a sense of hope, followed by disappointment. I mentally move in to every house that seems remotely like our future home; I calculate all the pluses and minuses and sum up our projected contentedness. It is too consuming, and try as I might I can’t seem to do it any other way.

But there is a new way… I mustered the nerve to call Bob and ask about yesterday’s mystery guest, the guy I assumed was an architect. I was reluctant to talk to Bob, because I was not prepared to hear that he was ready for us to move out a.s.a.p.

1. The mystery guy is an electrician
2. Bob was meeting him to check the power panel on the back of the house
3. Bob was delayed
4. They are meeting here tomorrow; it shouldn’t require coming in to the house
5. Everything is going v e r y s l o w l y with the plans and the city
6. Bob can’t believe it’s almost July
7. I can’t believe it’s almost July
8. We agree we would all be relieved to extend the lease through September!
9. After September we may stay month to month

Here I will insert a quote that Janece shared today; it’s fitting:

“Make it a rule of life never to regret and never to look back. Regret is an appalling waste of energy, you can’t build on it, it’s only good for wallowing in.” Katherine Mansfield.

So never mind I thought we would be out of here by now. Never mind that I wasted a lot of time and energy on house hunting. Let’s look forward with our new circumstances in mind:

1. We like it here
2. We can enjoy another summer of apricots, then plums and finally apples
3. I can shift my energy from searching to everything else (cleaning, packing, teaching, nursing, reading The Hobbit aloud in the tent in the yard…)
4. We can replace light bulbs (we’ve been such short-timers we haven’t been replacing difficult to access recessed light bulbs; it’s been getting quite dark in some rooms)
5. We can make the most of our proximity to Tamsyn, Adam, Jacob, MNO, this, that and the other
6. Enough time may pass that the universe will smile on us and direct us to an ideal home

Thank you Janece… things are opening up for us in unexpected ways.

Welcome... please come in... I was just meditating...

Did you hear knocking? We all heard knocking, from downstairs. The doorbell went out ages ago, so you have to knock and hard to be heard over our daily din.
Our front door is all glass, and there are large sidelights on either side, so going downstairs is a risk and commitment. You will not get even half way down the stairs unseen by anyone at the front door. Cleaning up breakfast in pigtails, pajama bottoms and a freshly tie-dyed sports bra, I was in no state to be greeting whoever it was. It was too late to sit quietly as though no one were home. All the windows are open to breeze the early heat, so the knocker surely heard dishes clattering, laughter and "Is someone knocking?" I stood mouth agape: "O-h my Gawd," I scrambled around looking for jeans, a blouse, a hairbrush. Nothing. My jeans are downstairs in the basket of clean laundry. The hairbrush must be in the car. I pulled on a T-shirt and went to the window, just as the gentleman knocked even harder.

He's looking for Bob the landlord. They're supposed to meet. He has files or plans, something. He looks like an architect. He studied his watch, turned over his cell phone. He said Bob was going to meet him here...

Are you feeling my panic? Okay, I admit it: The house is a mess. I jack-up all trades and master none. Oh, let's be fair... I've been packing, teaching, cooking, nursing, and did I mention the tie-dye? Why is Bob meeting him here? Is it a mix-up? Are they coming back later? Should I leave town for a few days? Should I quit blogging and clean like crazy (That is crazy. I know futility when I meet it.) We all agree, don't we, Bob should have called 72 hours in advance? And what about the greater implications, not just of my immediate shame and domestic embarrassment, but does this visit mean that Bob's permits are granted? Does this mean our moving day is really and truly looming? Are you feeling my panic now?

And where are we on house hunting? Answer: Square 1. We may apply for a place north of here, which means a longer commute for Geoff. He went to Ikea and bought two beanbags, which he keeps under the desk in his cubicle, so he can work his 19 hour shift then pass out.

Let's sum up... I am in a state of simultaneous embarrassment, shock, despair, denial and reality overload. Our tie-dyed T-shirts came out really neat. I'm running low on moving boxes. Any questions, suggestions and/or prescriptions can be sent to our forwarding address... eventually.

Sing "Happy Birthday" to Alex. He's 12 today.
He likes Lego bricks, robots, frogs, drawing, cooking, body surfing, riding his bicycle, reading, playing Oblivion, guavas, gardening, and camping. He lost two teeth this week. He wants to go to Monterey Bay this summer, see the movies "Cars" and "Pirates," and read more books like, Eragon, by Christopher Paolini and The Golden Compass, by Philip Pullman. His favorite color is blue, like the ocean in Hawaii. His favorite food is still stuffed French toast, "It hasn't changed." He likes Legoland, building towers from blocks, and sleeping outside. He wants to take more cooking classes.

He's fun to be with; his attitude is bright and caring. He helps and inspires. He is dedicated, responsible and considerate. His humor is spontaneous and intelligent. We love this wonderful boy.

Here's the first Soquel baby... baby George lives with Bill and Alison, and I have the feeling he'll be in for a rude awakening when his baby brother is born in September.


He looks like a big honey of a cat. I look forward to meeting him someday.

June is a birthday month. 3 birthdays were being celebrated this weekend, when Bill, Alison, Gretchen and Hans went to Oregon and saw Delia and Ron. Looks as though they had a good time. Happy birthdays Mom, Hans and Bill!

This morning on the phone:
Dave (prospective landlord): What can I tell you?
Me: Can we bring pets?
Dave: What do you have?
Me (lying): We have a rabbit and a cat.
Dave: No. No. A rabbit will eat all of my flowers. The whole garden will be destroyed.
Me: Actually, he's in a cage.
Dave: What else?
Me: The cat.
Dave: Are you interested in getting rid of it?
Me: No... I think we'll look elsewhere... thanks...
Dave: How about more rent?
Me: Raise the rent month to month for 1 cat?!
Dave: Yes.
Me: No. We'll find something else. Thank you. Good-bye.
Dave: Well, I have to tell you: You are not what we are looking for. You are not a good fit.

Friday was a busy day, a *Wild* day.
"Wild" was the aptly chosen theme of Alex's 12th birthday celebration. We started with a breakfast out with Geoff, then we sent him to work and we went to the vet with Benjamin F. Thunder Cat. Kitty checked out well and survived his booster shot. Our next stop was at Daniel's for Alex's haircut. Max was going to have his haircut too, but when he described the kind of cut he wanted ("I don't want it to have a shape, and I want it to stay the exact same length it is now,") Daniel wisely suggested a no-cut haircut. While Alex's hair was cut, Max sang and Maria danced.



When we got home we prepared for the evening's festivities by baking a wild chocolate-raspberry cake, and cooking enchiladas. There was also a little cleaning to do, naturally. Let's cut to the good part: Tamysn, Nicholas, Adam and Jacob came to our house to meet Ben the radical reptile dude. Ben is an old friend of my brother Bill, and he LOVES creepers, crawlers, slitherers, hoppers and other atypical pets. He brought some of his special collection, including hissing roaches, a hedgehog, a huge scorpion, a tarantula and several snakes. We got to hold, or pet or observe all of the above and more. It was Wild!


Alex actually turns twelve tomorrow. It never hurts to start the celebrating early.


Max did not shy away from any of the creatures that came to visit. He even held giant cock-a-roaches, and this boa-constrictor.


We didn't skip school, we just shifted it to an evening class and invited a guest speaker. I think we all learned some interesting new facts.


I think there were more volunteers to hold the big snake than anything else. But the tarantula, for me, was the most surprising discovery. The tarantula felt light and delicate, like barely being brushed by a downy feather. I even convinced Anne to let the hairy, eight legged beast crawl across her hands... I think she agreed: It's not as bad as you might imagine.

The Wild theme was for fun and amusement. We had crazy straws and pop rocks, paper crowns and a cake that looked like it was tossed by monkeys. Alex may be a year older but he's just as sweet and bright as ever. He was eager to see all his friends and to share a good time with everyone. He put a lot of thought in to the details of the party. He had a very good time. He hopes his friends had fun too.

After everyone left, when leftovers were stored and the house was quiet, Alex, Max, William and Geoff dragged pillows and blankets out to the screened tent in the yard. They took a flashlight and "The Hobbit." Maria and I stretched out on the sofa, near the garden door, where we fell asleep listening to crickets and night birds, and Geoff reading aloud. The wild day was through... do you want to see more pictures?

Maria had her 18 month check-up this morning. I think she knows the routine. She left home in a good mood, but by the time she was undressed, weighed and measured, she knew she was in for trouble and it made her eyes brim with pools of grief in anticipation. She did get a shot, and the doctor dared to check her in-coming teeth, which are very tender. Maria is hanging on to her 49th percentile spot on the growth chart for height and weight. Actually everything measures very well. She's learning, growing, exploring, listening, dancing, climbing... she even knows how to lay face down and kick her legs... it's a classic, practically cliche tantrum, that I rate with high marks for both technique and style.

Did you know if we were in the Philippines our summer would be over? Talk about a time difference! Before our California summer is over, I hope to make some plans. If we could get the move behind us, unpack, settle in, there may just be time to sneak in a road trip. We've made 3 trips to the beach which has been very nice. I'd like to think I could handle the 3-4 days it would take to drive to Oregon on my own, but maybe I should be content to enjoy local sights. I used to feel like I had places, destinations to land, like the times I drove to Santa Cruz and Monterey, but life is complicated, things change.

Max, Maria and I have been enjoying N O G G I N, both online and on television. It's a safe and generous place for small children, with fun music and amusing games. Maria especially loves Jack Johnson's music video for "Upside Down." I intended to write a complete and elaborate explanantion for what we enjoy about Noggin and why it is an exceptional source of entertainment... but I am too tired... the heart of it is: We like it. It makes us happy. Now watch Jack and Curious George swim together in Hawaii... it might make you happy too.

It's June. Again. I still remember being in shock from it suddenly being June last year. 6 months ago it was Christmas. I'm not suggesting that you need a lesson in counting or an explanation of holidays and months. I'm just stunned and trying to grapple with the whole idea that days, weeks and months are whizzing by. I think that because my mind is still trapped in the *housing-moving-what-the-#$%!-are we doing?* mode, I lose perspective about the rest of life. 6 months ago it was Christmas and June was a distant reality, when our questions were going to have answers, and our answers would be good ones. June was the month when we would be moved out of one house and in to another, when we would be gathered together to honor my mom with a big Happy 60th Birthday, We Love You Party. June is still a birthday month, for Hans, Bill, Alex, Julie, Phil and my mom, but I am hardly prepared to make my way to Oregon. June is still moving month, if we can ever find a place to move to.

I woke up looking like a 1970’s Kentucky Hair-doed country singer, and Geoff said, “Well good morning Loretta,” and that made me laugh.

Recently Max asked “How many days until Alex’s birthday?”
Not certain what day it was I figured it was “About 3 weeks.”
Max needs exactness, so he asked again, “But, exactly how many days until the party?” I’m driving. Maria’s crying. Life is complicated, and Max needs numbers, now.
“Max,” I know I sound exasperated, “The party is in about three weeks. I don’t know what today’s date is, so I can’t tell you right now.”
Max, undaunted by my short fuse, raises his voice and asks, “Isn’t 3 weeks 21 days? The party must be in 21 days.”
If Max gets me to agree that the party is in 21 days he will hold me to those figures and a whole new crises will ensue if the dates are inaccurate.
With withered patience I rattle, “I AM ESTIMATING THE DAYS MAX. 3 WEEKS IS ONLY A GUESS…”
He calmly replied, “Yes mom, I know. You are only estimating, but I am calculating.”
And that made me laugh too.

Look for us outside.

Breakfast sausages were on sale, and I bought enough boxes of the frozen staples that I saved forty dollars, which was more than enough to cover the cost of this year's cheap, plastic water toy. Lucky we like turkey sausage *and* I'm a financial genius!

Maria is drenched and happy. She shovels water in to her tea cup. Max spins the water wheel, creating a current that moves the boat or damsel or knight around the moat. He made up a game where he tries to get the boat to float passed Maria and her shovel without getting caught... challenging, but he managed to rack up 7 points.

Glitchy. Whenever I post a comment, the comment publishes twice. It's like I'm repeating myself. It's like I'm repeating myself.

Went to see the only hopeful on the short list of house rentals; too small. Tell me not to despair. Too late.

Maria and I cleaned bathroom drawers and under the sink. I threw away about 42 old toothbrushes, expired Cipro, tubes of stuff that looked suspicious, and a couple of completely squeezed-out toothpaste tubes. I sorted bobby pins, nail clippers and eyeliners. Maria passed me bottles and buttons, and countless little things. None of my work seems sufficient, in terms of getting us out of here. Chipper me smiles and says, "It will all pay-off on moving day. Every bit counts!" And sober, bitter me says very little, but sneers and moans a lot.

Sober-bitter me paid a visit to the boy's playroom today, and I had plenty to say about that. After threatning to withold all joys, including TV, allowance, food and shelter until the room is clean, the boys came through and returned their playroom to a state of cleanliness.

Before Geoff started working again, he read me an article by an anonymous and disgruntled wife of a game programmer. She lamented the hours and the expectations of employees and their families, she decried the conditions and held her fist high, angry for all the injustice. Her husband was working 50-60 hours a week, then 80 and at times more. Hah! She'll get no sympathy here. I'd defend her and give her my shoulder to cry on, because she does have a point, but my only reward is bragging about how much worse I've got it. Besides, who wants to complain now? The time to get really freaked-out will be when the remaining programming jobs go to Shanghai and Bangalore.

I guess I'll clear out the pantry tomorrow. Every bit counts. Grumble, grumble.

On the go...

A little of this, a little of that… during my Mom’s stay we’ve done some packing, some cleaning, some talking, some cooking… We stopped by Holly’s and Delia met Isabella. We went bead shopping, which is a vital activity for my Mom and her art. We almost made it to Olvera Street and/or the Zoo. We even scoped out a few rentals. And we enjoyed a visit from my brother, Hans.



Hans came with treasures from his adventures abroad. He brought each of us unique and beautiful gifts. You can’t say “treasure” without prompting Max to share his treasures. He keeps them organized and safely stowed away in his special box, and bringing out each coin, rubber frog, geode, and Lego commemorative brick is one of Max’s favorite pastimes. Uncle Hans is seen examining Max’s tooth. Hans may have shopped Middle Eastern bazaars for Persian rugs, but it’s not every day you get to hold a cracked tooth.



Delia and Frankie have been getting along fabulously. He loves to chew on her sterling silver bracelets, but he better not even lay a paw on the beautiful shawl Hans brought her. Hans and kitty hit it off too. Hans thinks he needs a kitten to keep his cat company; I’d love to find him one. Before Hans left the boys serenaded him with “Magical Trevor” and Maria danced.



Last night Alex and Delia made the dinner. Alex worked especially hard on his homemade strawberry muffins, which were delicious. Before his Grandma leaves he's going to learn how to make pie crust and quiche... lucky me! Max was trying to teach his Grandma how to play Zelda on the Nintendo 64, and she slipped in some reading lessons for him. Before she leaves, I think she may be asking William to teach her the words to "Magical Trevor."

Magical Trevor Lyrics

Everyone loves Magical Trevor,
'cos the tricks that he does are ever so clever,
Look at him now, disappearing the cow,
Where is the cow, hidden right now?

Taking a bow, it's Magical Trevor,
Everybody's seen that the trick is clever,
Look at him there, with his leathery, leathery whip,
It's made of magic, and with a little flick,

Yeah, yeah, yeah, the cow is back,
Yeah, yeah, yeah, the cow is back,
Back back, back from his magical journey.

What did he see, in the parallel dimension?
He saw beans, lots of beans, lots of beans, lots of beans,
Oh, beans lots of beans, lots of beans, lots of beans, yeah yeah...

I try to make my bed at least once a week, whether it needs it or not. My mom sent me an article about the benefits of not making your bed: Bed-bugs, dust mites, cooties etc. die when left exposed to sunlight and multiply faster when they are tucked-in to a made bed. She knew I would appreciate this highly evolved perspective on the dangers of bed-making This did not change my habits, it reinforced my laziness, or you could say it 'supported my good intuitions.' Maria loves it when we make the bed, or at least all the upheaval and blanket piles that preceed bed making. She amassed all the pillows and made a nest of the blankets and sheets. It looks like pure coziness. Alex is the one who most often stands on the other side of the bed and helps me smooth the sheets, stack the pillows and spread the quilt. I don't ask for the help, but it's one of the nicest and most supportive experiences to have him there working with me. I love when he's around to help me, and we exchange happy words, make a few plans. I don't want the dust mites to thrive, but when I consider the simple pleasures that come on bed making day, I think I should consider doing it more often. Maybe.

We had a little visitor on Saturday: Bella-Bella!
She looks like a beautiful, little, blue eyed baby doll.
Holly, Rich, Nicholas and Isabella, along with friend Jack, came by after a day at Legoland. Fortunately, our house makes an ideal rest stop between the park and their home, because Bella-Bella needed fuel and hugs. Holly and I 'exchanged' babies; she got to meet and play with Benjamin Franklin Thunder Cat and I got some aunty time with Isabella. Maria was happy to just hold on to her daddy. Now that Geoff is home one day a week she makes the most of it. It won't be so very long before Maria and Isabella are playing together.

What else... Geoff met Cyrus for Sunday morning coffee. They're working in the same company again, which is good. There is comfort, and continuity in their paths crossing. I don't think corporations have the same 'family' feel they supposedly had a generation ago, but when Geoff can be with people like John, Mark, Cyrus... it's reassuring.

What else... I don't remember: Did I mention Bill and Alison and the baby? It bears repeating. Their baby is coming in September and their first baby will be a boy baby! My mom is on her way to visit them now and rumor has it her car trunk is laden with blue and green outfits and other goodies. I sent a blue puppy that plays music, which is evidently irritating... (what?! Maria likes her music bunny.) Being a far away aunt I will need some clues about their baby style and preferences.

Also...

Cristina and Spencer will be welcoming a healthy baby boy in October.
Tennessee cousin Kristin is graduating from high school! Awesome.
Betsy and Gabe are getting married in June. Congratulations.
Anne and I got to visit a bit on Sunday, and it was nice to have our relaxed chat.


And…

We found a beautiful house for rent. It’s big and lovely. It’s unique and special. Am I superstitious? I really, really want to live in this house, and I want to ask everyone to pray and meditate and send positive vibes for us to get this house, but I think that if I apply too much hope to something it will backfire. There were many people seeing the house and leaving applications, so I need to be realistic. Pets and kids probably don’t make us the favored candidates. Max came with us, and he was very good, polite and enthusiastic. We sat together on the fireplace hearth and in soft voices we talked about the yard, which needs work, and the many bedrooms and the fun bathroom. He said, “This is the second best house I’ve ever seen. Of course you know our house with the chickens and the play-set was the best, but this a really good one.” More people streamed in to see the rental and Max asked me why. When I explained he whispered apologetically, “I hate them for wanting this house too.”

Have you ever seen a toilet that works with a pump? Ours needs replacing, again.

Grinding through the minutes, days, week. I can't seem to find the joy and motivation to get over the funk. House hunting is going bad... there is so little out there. Even when we finally do find something suitable or adequate, I don't know how I will manage to get excited about another indefinite stay in someone else's house, with someone else's paint on the walls. I've moved a lot of times; it sucks. I know how to pack. I know how to unpack. I know how to kiss-up to a prospective landlord and hope they will accept our application... I wonder what stress experts have to say about the demoralizing effects of renting, moving frequently and feeling out of the mainstream?

I want to go camping again. Geoff and I were happily realizing that our RV is our home. We feel at home in it. I am so glad we have it, because it is our closest idea of a home base, a constant, physical representation of home. And the little county park where we camped... it's like going home too. I can remember the first time I went there. I think I was 4 or 5 years old and the park was just being completed. And we have played, celebrated, camped, fished, explored and grown there ever since. I know the trails and the old playground. I know the pond, the lilacs in spring, the acorns in fall, and the creek that appears in rainy years. The smell of sage on my jeans, the sight of scrub jays in the manzanita, the sound of children running around the trails, these familiar sensations are reassuring and comforting to me. Do we need a grandmother’s home, family reunions, Sunday dinners, familiar, and stable touchstones, like a place to call home, to feel safe, secure, comfortable? I know for some life is all about adventure and independence, and that striking out on your own is the ultimate expression of self and success. I find myself longing for roots and extended family gatherings, for places and people that I know, and which know me.

There is only one new listing for rentals today. I left a message with the owner.


Forward.


I just downloaded images from the camera...
Maria. We have so much fun with this child. She runs around the house singing, and dancing. I would like to capture in pictures the special connections she makes with each of her brothers. She goes to them for fun, for comfort, to play... and she is learning, every day, new ways to express her affection and love, her interests.

Quite possibly, perhaps even likely, on a subconscious level, yet less obtuse, I like going out east to our old neighborhood. By error or by design the rent never got in the mail, so I had to drive it over to Bob’s, out where we used to live. We were hungry, so we stopped first for sandwiches and lemonade, which put us on the path to the Country store, where they sell tack and feed, heirloom tomatoes, chicks, straw bales and Stetsons. It smells good there, like seedlings in the sun and sweet alfalfa. Our sandwiches were good. Mine had basil and grilled onions, sun-dried tomatoes, toasted whole grain bread. The lemonade was fresh. Max ate two bagels. When we had our fill we made our way to the Country store for a quick visit. At the Country store we were surprised to find that the ice-cream saloon was closed. Closed for good. We liked to go there for the atmosphere. The woman behind the bar could toss a scoop of wild mountain blackberry or double chocolate high overhead and catch it in the cone. That was a sight. On the walls were old movie and rodeo posters, with romantic scenes of the ol’ west. The beautiful marble topped bar was wood, carved and polished. The people, patrons and servers, were friendly, and happy. Today we weren’t there for ice cream. We were there for the feel of the place, for a peek at the goats, to see what’s new, and because the Country store is on the way to Bob’s house, where we had to pay the rent.

It is spring, and I had a suspicion we might see lots of chicks, bunnies, kids (the goat kind) and calves, maybe even puppies. We’ve seen ducklings and goslings there, baby pigs, ponies, guinea fowl and even baby ostriches. Our chicas came from another feed store, but we found them on a spring day like this. A hot spring day, when things like heirloom tomatoes and ice cream seem like good ideas. Stepping out of the afternoon sun
and in to the cool cavern of the feed store is good. We noticed they have hayracks for guinea pigs, so their food stays off the floor of their cage. We filed past the saddles, harnesses, and feed sacks to the back of the store and the double doors that open to the back lot and the corrals. I could see there was a butter-blonde pony, and several goats. I could hear doves cooing and the chatter of finches. And because I suspected that we might see kittens I had a succession of thoughts, leading up to a plan, which I kept in my mind, but felt in my heart. Quite possibly and even likely, there would be kittens here. It is spring and kittens are part of spring. For quite sometime I have resisted many cute kittens. I have seen plenty of kitties in need of a home. We came close to adopting two kitties in San Luis Obispo last November, but we were over come with reason and our wait and see lifestyle. But on this day my succession of thoughts went this way: There may be kittens, they may be particularly cute, young, endearing and irresistible, and I will take one home, on our way to pay the rent.

The rest is just details…





The kitty is joy. The children are joy. Being in freakin' housing limbo bites...

Dear God,
Please let me write a bestselling novel that gets picked up for a movie, and brings us lots of money so that we can buy a home.

Totally objectionable. To begin with, you cannot decide to become a writer just because you want a huge paycheck. Writing takes skill and discipline. Also, praying for personal gain is tacky. Back to the skill and discipline: You have to write daily and with a plan, and you have to know your grammar, tenses, good word usage and you have to be engaging, as well as intelligent. Novels don’t come out of wishful thinking and desperation. And lets not forget Rejection. Writers are rejected, criticized, corrected, censored, and sent to the discount shelve. Writers need space and time, backbone.

Oh, God. Enough. I am discouraged enough already. What if I just keep telling a story that is reasonably entertaining, or at least honest and hope that someone will think it’s good enough to share?

I just got off the phone with another property management company. The yellow house with four bedrooms sounds awesome. It’s walking distance to the beach and of course in a great school neighborhood. Wanda and I were enjoying good rapport and I was fixing my thoughts on the prospect of our first summer settling in to the cute beach house. The rent is higher than we’d hoped to pay, but that’s the market. Wanda was talking and I was opening my heart and then she said, “There are two units in the back, so the front house has street parking only.” Her words came to me in slow motion and my open heart cinched up and withered just a bit. Street parking within 3 miles of any beach is “No Parking.” And ‘two units in the back’ is the equivalent of raising children next to a frat house.

The yellow house is the only new listing that looked possible. Even the Navy Nirvana Bachelor Base is gone. Someone must have been happy to have a wet bar instead of a dining room, for $3300 a month.

I just took a peek at houses for sale in the area… bad idea from a personal depression stand. There are more houses on the market than a year ago, which is a good sign. The prices seem to be holding, so please, please let this be the beginning of hope. But if the Fed isn’t going to raise interest rates, and if salaries aren’t going up, but fuel and housing prices are rising… does anyone have a clear understanding of where this economy is headed? Does anyone care that houses are being sold with no money down and variable rate loans? We may soon hear the delayed outcry over the changes in bankruptcy laws. And again, there was no upset over the death of the estate tax, so that those who ‘have’ can pass it on, but what about meritocracy?

Someone told me ‘renting is like pissing down a rat hole.’ If we don’t find a place to rent, if the bubble doesn’t release some hot air soon, we may be living in our RV, the Green Goose.

Available: Cute home with room for 6. Cozy. Customizable views. Must see!

Weekend get away! Weekend camping! Weekend fun!

It takes advance reservations and a willingness to turn your back on responsibilities and chores, and then you can get to a county park and pitch a tent, build a fire. You can feed ducks, coots and children, ride bicycles, hike, eat hot tortillas from the griddle, and gaze up through the oak branches in to the wide, blue yonder.

The trail was dappled in wildflowers. We spent just enough time there to relax and to realize that a few more days camping would be even better. William, Alex, Max and Tamsyn were happy and free to ride their bicycles along winding paths and through dry creek beds.

Though we weren't far from home, we were far from our daily lives, which was a welcome change.

We are home now, so it's back to school etc...

Would you like to join us in this week's lesson? Link up to PBS and watch Texas Ranch House tonight. We are preparing a cattle drive dinner before the program airs, then we'll settle in to the comforts of not being in 1867 Texas!

For four or more years we were convinced that we were moving somewhere new, Hawaii most likely. We planned, we saved, we cleared out our belongings, we sold our home, we packed away boxes and marked them "Hele on." We visited favorite places for a last goodbye. In my heart I practiced a letting go of familiar sights and paths. I braced myself for missing friends, being further away from some family and closer to others. I anticipated the challenges that are sure to come with new places and changes in latitude. We constantly grappled with the issues of what we could and could not do, because we weren't going to be here long. No kitty, we are moving soon. No new television, better to wait until we are moved. Don't get settled, don't unpack, don't decorate, and don’t enroll in that program, because we are leaving soon. We put a lot on hold, we held our breaths, and we didn't commit to here and now, because the real thing was coming, anytime now. We have been healthy and had fun adventures, we have Maria, the boys have friends and a climbing tree, but throughout we have been living with the voice in our heads, the common denominator: Not now, wait, we are leaving.

But we aren't leaving. We are looking for a place to move, another place to rent, and we'll be staying for a while. We don't have long term plans any more. We know we need to stay in the county, and close to the office would be nice. We know that the housing prices here and in Hawaii have exceeded the expectations of reason and ration. Houses
are no longer homes, sweet refuges, but trading cards for profit... oops! Off-topic housing bubble rant... redirect...

Sometimes I run into someone and they're surprised to see me. "Weren't you moving to Hawaii or something?" And in conversations, after friends ask about our Move and I reply "Not yet, " then there doesn't seem to be much more to say. With so much build-up for our big goodbye, I think it's embarrassing to be found 'still here.' And not just here,
but renting, not buying, renting. When 70% of Americans own homes, it isn't surprising to find people incredulous about our choice, but it does make one feel left out, sub par. It's a fascinating, and humbling, experience to realize how integral home ownership and happiness are in American culture. No sour grapes from me; I'd love to be putting some nails in my own walls, matching drapes to Lego bricks, calling chickens to breakfast, planting a garden.

For now, I am just trying to rewrite our story. We live here. We rent. We are moving, but staying in the area. Really, a lot has changed, yet not. We are still on hold, waiting. I could add more to our story, I know we have a lot to be glad for, but I do feel a little disoriented, sad, turned around. Helen Keller wrote, "Life is either a daring adventure or nothing," and John Lennon sang, "Life is just what happens to you,
While you're busy making other plans."
Does it have to be so?

Yesterday we drove around looking at rental homes. Yikes. Have I ever complained about the Treehouse? I take it all back, 'cause it's slim pickings out there people. We looked at one place that sits in the middle of a postcard neighborhood, but it's surrounded by light industry and growers, and the steady hum of the freeway is the constant soundtrack. Further south we were in the Navy Bachelor's Taj Mahal. "We figured we don't need a dining room, so we just built this wet bar instead. And outside we want to keep this permanent keg set up." They also need the tenant to keep an eye on the engine block they're storing in the garage. The rest are too small or too, too funky and a great many of them are homes that are not selling; as a last resort desperate owners decide to rent out their lovely, overpriced homes, and hope that some poor tenant will be smitten enough to eventually buy.

How small is too small? No one seems to know. A lot of the houses we go to see are advertised as one size, like 2,200 sq. ft, but in truth are only 1,600 sq. ft. Cozy.

Okay. Time to shower. Time to rouse the children, and convince them to join us on our quest. "Life is an adventure. Isn't this great! Hey, let's see if there's a yard. It could be worse. We think this might be the one. Because I said so..." They're team players. They're wonderful. We're going to find them someplace nice.

No Internet. No email. No excuse to sit at my desk and look busy absorbed in work. Sigh. The cable guy is on his way. They have 45 minutes to make good on their 3-hour window. I am never comfortable with my anxiety and disappointment, because of computer down time. I ought to read a book, to the children or myself. I ought to sort the clutter out of any of the drawers in the kitchen and bathrooms. I could be doing sit-ups, making lemonade, packing, folding the basket of clothes that I folded last night that Maria found and reorganized. It’s no good. I cleaned Zelda’s cage. I collected garbage from all the little receptacles, and swept the walk in front of the house. But I still keep coming back to my computer and trying to open my mail. Sigh.

Zelda. Haven’t I mentioned Zelda? Guess not. Well, she’s small, black with white and she has black, beady eyes. She squeaks. She whistles. She mellows out when sitting on your lap. She is our guinea pig. One of the nicest aspects of being an adult is exercising your right to act on your impulses. Truthfully she was a well thought out plan, and not as much of an impulse as I make out. Yes, some part of her acquisition is a rebellion against feeling like aspects of my life and dreams are on indefinite hold, but the greater part of her introduction is as a Max therapy.

When we had Diego, our dear kitty, Max had an outlet for his anxieties, for his need to hold someone, for his need to systematically provide for the needs of someone, without their objecting or necessarily reciprocating. Maria actually filled that void and Max has been an excellent big brother, always concerned, always eager to help her, hold her, and play with her. But Maria is growing; she is learning to meet her own needs. Max notices she doesn’t always want to be held or fed, or played with, and that she is capable of objecting. Zelda, on the other hand, likes to be held, often, and she has a water bottle to fill and a dish to clean. And while she responds to attention with little whistles and purring sounds, she doesn’t jump or lick, or bark, or insist on much more than a scratch on the back and a warm lap to sit on.

We all love Zelda. Geoff holds her when he gets up in the morning to read the news. William holds Zelda when he is sitting at the computer. Alex and Tamsyn both like visiting Zelda, making sure she is well and happy. Today Max and I cleaned Zelda’s home. He held her in a shoebox and quietly observed that she was happy outside in the sun. He discussed her food and debated whether her treats were healthy and good for every day or if we should restrict them to ‘once in a while.’ He noted that we need more bedding, and that one bag of bedding lasts through two cage cleanings. “Maybe we should buy two bags next time, so we can clean her cage four times before we need more.” Max scratched Zelda. Zelda “whirred,” and Maria turned her face and said “oooohh” affectionately.

By the way, we aren’t moving so far away. Geoff accepted a local job, and he starts Monday. I’ll pack his lunch, and hopefully we’ll find a nice place to live near the new office, so that sometimes he can come home for lunch.

On the radio today...NPR : Music for Kids That Even Parents Might Love

and also NPR : For Hirsch, Reading Poetry Is Fundamental


Ideas for my summer:

1. Host a backyard Miyazaki Film Festival
1.5 Get a backyard
2. Buy a guinea pig
3. Buy 3 chickens, a guinea pig and a cockatiel
4. Take extension courses and become a master gardener
5. Drive somewhere new and soak up the scenery
6. Make another quilt
7. Paint
8. Live in an RV
9. Write a novel about mediocrity and general laziness... maybe not
10. Swim whenever possible
11. Finish slide shows on iMac
12. Embrace a style of living that shuns material wealth, penchant for home ownership, stability, decorator fabrics and *life coaches.*
13. Clean the van really good.

Let them eat cake.

Dinner. Saturday night.
Can you guess what flavor(s)?

As of 3:21 p.m. we have a winner... Janece recognized our smashed potatoes and peas, and underneath all that *frosting* is turkey meatloaf!

Sorting.
Assorted stuff:

1. Holly and Rich will very soon be holding a baby. We were at a baby shower for them, and enjoyed the celebration, the anticipation of new life.

2. Maria can walk. When she wants to. She doesn't often want to.

3. You don't have to walk to get around. Maria is all over the place. She's also very, very messy.

4. I am very, very messy.

5. Another baby is anticipated. This one is arriving in September, and as soon as Bill and Alison ask, I will flood them with my happiness, spare baby goodies, loads of wisdom and free advice... they may not ask... but I'll be ready if they do.

6. Cristina and Spencer won't need any advice from me when they welcome #4 in October!

7. We move in June, if you haven't heard. No, we don't know where we are going. No idea.

8. Geoff is still going to work at Healthmediinsuronet. They're swell.

9. Years ago while waiting for an appointment I read a story in the New Yorker, "Brokeback Mountain." I thought it was a surprisingly horndogger* story. *Horndogger means: Highbrow Porn. I remember thinking "Dang this is so horndogger, who gets the idea to write this stuff?" So, was I just reading the dirty parts? Am I a total ignoramus? Critics are falling all over themselves for the movie and for the short story that inspired it. When I read it I completely missed the true reflection of mountain ranching life, the story of love that will not fade. I did not pick up on the deepness, the richness, the literaryness. What else am I missing? What other treasures of art, literature, culture, discovery and science am I failing to comprehend? Dang.

10. We saw Eight Below Friday night. That was a good movie. I could quibble over details and I don't expect to see Cannes clamoring to show it, but it was an entertaining family movie with a good message.

11. The same good message is in another good movie: "Never give up. Never Surrender." Galaxy Quest.

12. Max is hungry.

We were in Pasadena this weekend, for family, friends, food and art. Isn't life rich?
Family and friends were at Aunt Becky and Uncle Dan's, where we met Julie and Grandma,
cousins Steve and Andi and two of their children, Nicholas and Natalia, and good friend Paul.
We feasted on carnitas and queso fresco, salad, guacamole, empanadas, Julie's sangrias, rice and
beans

.... more later.... the shuttle is coming to take me to the mechanic...

And I'm back.

Okay, so we had good food, obviously. We also had a nice neighborhood walk, meaningful talks, and laughter. It's been too many years since I've seen my cousins, but we slipped right in to easy conversation and the comfortable exchanges that family can share. There was a good game of Scrabble to finish the evening off, as well as talk of plans for the next gathering... some swimming and a barbecue? Count me in!



The next day we made it to The Huntington Library. I want to say a lot about this visit, mention great works of art, the lovely gardens etc... but Maria is nursing, so I am pecking letters on the keyboard with my left hand and she is contentedly kicking my letter pecking hand... too much handicap... Don't Maria and Julie make a lovely sight? They are just two of the beauties we encountered.

Half way through his page of multiplication problems, Max looks somewhat stumped, then asks me, "Did you realize you gave me as many problems as there are chocolates in an advent calendar?"

This Little Piggy. Max likes to do Little Piggy with Maria's toes. And yesterday he drew his own conclusion to his question: "Why do they do This Little Piggy with the toes? I guess it's because when you come to the last toe it's the furthest from the top of Maria's head, so the piggy has a long way to go 'weee, weee, weee,' which is her favorite part."

Have you ever wondered about the: Easter Dating Method? No, not how to find a sweetie to take to the egg hunt, but an explanation for why Easter always comes up on a different March or April Sunday. I have been trying to emphasize to the boys that they should search and research for the answers to all their questions, and I guess I should remember to do the same. Now I know it's about the moon, the Paschal full moon, and I now know that this year Easter comes on April 16th.

Holly may have a more precise count for how many years she and Rich have hosted Easter; they have had us in their home and garden for many Easters. They always have their home tastefully and sweetly decorated for the rite of Spring, and they always have a bounty of favors hidden in their yard. And in recent years Holly has cast-off her 'I can't cook cloak' and prepared an omelette buffet. Scrumptious. Fun for all. Why mess with perfection?

Well, for the past four years Max has struggled and suffered over Easter Sunday. Indeed, Max struggles with many things, particularly anything that involves change, leaving home, traditions, and social situations. He insists that we must celebrate Easter at home. He has begged, pleaded and insisted on this for four years, and every year we have resisted his demands. He has fun at aunt Holly and uncle Rich's. He has come to appreciate their celebration, the attention to bunny decor and Spring ambience. He likes Holly's pancakes and finding his basket in the backyard, but he still wants an at home Easter. How can I emphasize enough the genuine anguish and anxiety Max suffers over these situations? It's not like a bad mood or selfishness. It's Asperger's Syndrome. It's an imperative need to be in the most familiar space possible, to minimize variables, to understand every minutia, which takes step by step literal translating and repeated explaining. He isn't going to be dissuaded, or distracted. He can't be reasoned in to submission.

Last year Max spent several weeks, literally, agonizing over the issue of Easter. We insisted that the plans were made, and would not be changed. He cried. He had to be told many times, over many days where we were going, at what hour, for how long, who we would see, what we would do and in what order. He had to be assured that he would not have to eat certain things, wear anything other than his red shirt and blue shorts, and that it was not possible to simply change the plans. He has remarkable reasoning skills. In fact he is so rational that in a practical sense he is irrational. It takes extraordinary energy to hold my ground and assure him too, to diffuse his anger and frustration, and dispel his fears, which is why I gave in last year and promised him that this year we would host Easter.

Max reminded me, six weeks ago, about my promise: "Remember, you said we can have Easter at our house this time." He asks every few days whether it's time to get ready for Easter. And something else: He clings to tradition and patterns, and he is aware that he actually has more familiarity and comfort with Easter at his aunt's house and what transpires there, so he is in turmoil over whether we should go there or stay here, and if we stay here "can we do everything the same as at Holly's?"

The latest decision is to have Easter here, he feels certain. I am far less certain. "Where are our Easter decorations? Who's coming? What will we eat? When are we decorating for Easter?" These are the questions that Max poses with more and more frequency, urgency, concern. Relentless child. There are no Easter decorations, we had some, once, but they are lost in the moves, the garage. We can decorate for Easter after we've finished more packing, cleaned the clutter, put away the last of the Halloween decorations, clean again. Of course we'll need to buy some bunny bowls, tulip cups and an Easter tree first. And I can't help but feel a little remiss about the Omission: The meaning of Easter, the whole holy day, spiritual aspect. At this point in my life I am feeling far removed from resurrection, from Spring and rebirth, renewal. This must be another one of those maturity moments, an opportunity to model for my children the virtues of hope and optimism, to show them how to graciously prepare for a celebration, welcome friends and family, welcome a renewal and move forward in the great circle of life...

I am far, far removed. I think I will start with slow, regulated breathing. Thank God Easter isn't March 23rd like it will be in 2008.

Return of the Flu!
Max skipped the round of flu that struck a week ago, but somehow he managed to contract the same nasty virus this week.
He was completely wiped out on Friday. Anne and Adam know just how rough it can be; they were sick last week too. I hope you don't get it.

I don't have anything too interesting to share... that's not true... I could share some news of a highly personal nature about two of my favorite people, but I am not sure they are going public just yet. So I need to wait patiently before I spread the news with joyful abandon. So, now I am back to not having much to share...

Periodically people ask whether we have moving updates: Our one update is that our move out date could be as soon as June, which as you may have figured is sooner than July. Bob and I talked. He 'likes us as tenants and he is going to make it as easy as possible for us to stay here as long as possible, BUT they are submitting plans to the city soon, so...'

Have I written about the horrors of California real estate? Nevermind. I have no idea where we are going. Really. It could be anywhere. I know I am not the first person to live in a rental, but I can't quite get over myself and so my pity party goes on. I was already reminded that my blessing way outweigh my hardships, that this is Life... I know. I know. There just seem to be these impossible to swallow lessons about dreams and expectations and how cruelly they can clash with reality. I should be careful not to settle for something in my desperation to resolve the limbo status we are in. Anyway, I am not feeling too proud of my shallow, selfish, weak, mopey self. Someone recommended chocolate... I almost wish retail therapy were my fix. I am tempted to make a road trip. I really should insert a photo now; somehting to distract the reader from the bad writing.

Summer. It seems like just yesterday, but really it was 6 months ago!

Packing. Again. I was thinking that I've written all there is to write about material things and carrying them from place to place, about how much I keep and how much I lose. I was thinking there is no point in going over it all again. It's depressing and boring. I was wondering why am I here again? Why am I repeating this chore? Why are my hobbies, glue sticks, stickers, pens, paints, dictionaries, photo albums, pinking shears, ribbons, and patterns, all of it, going back in to boxes? Why has most of it remained in boxes in the first place? I have sorted it, and purged it and organized it, but what remains is coming with me. I am packing my stuff again. If I never get to see any of it or do anything with any of it, then it will have been truly pointless. I suppose the urge to keep my things is an indication of hope.

The house is dirty. It was cleaned on Monday. It stayed clean through Tuesday. It got slightly messy late on Wednesday. It's bad today. Collectively, I'd say the cleanliness lasted 2 days. Downstairs Maria pulled out 64% of our Cds. Upstairs we have a variety of messes, including dirty dishes, and anything that was in a cabinet within Maria's reach. She's pulled out clothes, Qtips, more clothes, books, magazines, playdough and playdough tools and some more clothes.*

*About 6 weeks ago Geoff recognized the need for childproofing cabinet locks. He immediately went to Home Depot and bought elaborate devices for keeping doors and drawers shut. The special locks are here, next to his laptop.

Hint: If you are currently expecting a baby and have never had one before, childproof now. Now, now. Not later, but right now, because later is a time that arrives when you will be confounded by your lack of time, energy and special skills. Comparatively you now possess time, energy and special skills in abundance. This is one of the gems, or pearls of wisdom, that I have never managed to apply in my own life.


A good book. A good boy. Alex is reading The Golden Compass, again.
Lucky he has a good book to escape with, because like Tuesday, we will be spending another long day in the waiting area of the Honda service department. William is reading The Zombie Survival Guide, which should serve him well. William is a good boy too, though he is campaigning to be left at home rather than join us for the final chapter of the Windshield Chronicles.

Anyone would rather be somewhere other than in a waiting room. Maria would rather be holding the PS2 controls hostage. We tried to give her the spare controller, but she throws it back when she knows it's not the live controller.

Are there signs? Not the obvious signs that ask us to stop, yield, turn left, buy on sale. Are there signs that are meant to direct our destiny, prevent user error, find us a higher purpose?

This morning Geoff discovered that the tailgate window of the Odyssey was totally shattered. Kapoot. There is no impact point or signs of a struggle; the van did not fight back. Something happened. Is there any need to elaborate about the hassle, the clean up, the expense, the uncomfortable mystery aspect? Enough said.

Life being the way it is these days, we were looking for an iterpretation of the windshield event. Hey, we're flipping coins, reading cookie fortunes and doing eenie-meanie too. So what does an open tailgate window mean? Does it mean move someplace open and breezy, like Hawaii? Does it mean don't move to a rainy place like the Pacific Northwest? Does it mean don't go to the tropical paradise if you don't have the income to deal with $$$ windshields?

I do know that before we discovered the minor disaster, we were trying to muster the resolve to stay the course, find our plan, be patient, breath deeply, have courage...I know better than to ask, "Can things be worse?" Of course things can get worse, which is why I don't ask. I am not even saying things are completely desperate or unsatisfactory, but Yeesh. This is probably a good time to take account of my blessings, maybe have a small glass of wine too, and to let go of half of my worries, half of my fears. If there are any signs of where we are heading, or how to get there, I will surely miss them if I am too stressed to pay attention.

The glass is swept, an appointment has been made to replace the window, and I have even called the insurance company, so I can drag $22 (more or less) from their coffers. Now, it's time to breath deeply, be patient, and stay the course.

I love boxes. Max loves boxes.
We love that a box can be anything the imagination wants it to be. Max's box is a rocket ship and inside he has his pillow and red blanket for "rough landings."


Maria loves boxes too.
She likes to open and shut the door on Max's viewport.

Geoff asked me to call Bob today and get him to agree on our move out date. I kept thinking we had until October, but Geoff reminded me that last month Bob said they want to start their remodel in 8 months, which means July or August, right? You may be thinking that summer is a long way off and that we have plenty of time. I know better than to underestimate the swift passage of time. July will be here soon, trust me. Picture me looking a little stunned, making gagging, pitiful little sputters of shock and confusion... I need a plan. I need a destiny. I need the big picture, blue prints, flow charts, maps. I need a big box, some tape and magic markers. I'll make a boat, or a yacht, or a barn with a hay loft and a swing hung from the rafters. Each stall of the barn could be layed out as a room and we could open up the barn doors to let in the morning. We'll live all together with cutout windows and a clawfoot tub, a woodburning stove will keep us warm at night, and we can lay awake listening to the barn owl call to his love and the moon.

Maybe I am underestimating the cold. My cold is making my body ache, and my eyes feel heavy, light sensitive. Maria does not have a fever any more, so I feel some relief about that. Actually none of the children have complained recently. I guess I am the last whiner. Just a thought: Maybe I should go to sleep at 9 or 10 tonight and stay clear of the Scrabble game.

Did I ever mention that I have joined the George Foreman Grilling ranks? Yup. I am a lean, mean, fat reducing, grilling, machine master. I saw Anne has one and she likes hers, except for clean up time, because the unit can't sit in water. For my birthday my mommy sent me an online shopping certificate. I shopped around, considered my needs, interests and deepest dreams... I thought the grill could come in handy in case I were moving to an Island, living in a garage and building a house. And this particular model has cooking plates that come out, so clean up is a snap! I never say *clean up is a snap,* but there's a first time for everything. I like my grill. It cooks evenly. It doesn't manage a huge quantity of food, but it's efficient enough to compensate.

On the menu tonight: Chicken teriyaki, brown rice and steamed vegetables.
Dinner is cooking right now, as I write. Thank you mom and Ron. Thank you George.

Let's see... William is watching Phantom of the Opera. Max is alternating between the movie and magnetic darts. Alex is writing code for a game editor. Maria is looking for more to explore. Geoff is working at restoring an old laptop. I am avoiding any number of chores and responsibilities; I am doing a very good job, thank you. We all seem to have found new colds, but I am determined that these will be minor illnesses that will amount to nothing but waste baskets full of Kleenex. And I am updating Chickenblog.

While I was brushing Maria's hair, separating strands from banana, I imagined that I had many new thoughts to share, insights, wit and poetry. Alas. I've already bored everyone with my lavish descriptions of our Katamari fun; there was only one taker, and I think it may have been more out of concern than interest. I've already discussed chapter 42 of "We're Moving, We Know Not Where," a true story of drama in the suburbs; also boring. That leaves the weather and plans for Geoff's birthday: It's raining, rather pitifully. Geoff won't accept the utter bliss of having a surprise 40th birthday party thrown in his honor, so...

The Phantom of the Opera. I think that with counseling, some cosmetic surgery and maybe some antidepressants, the Phantom could have saved himself and the object of his obsession a lot of heartache and strain. Of course we then would have missed all those catchy, romantic tunes. Andrew Lloyd Weber can write music.

I can't post pictures from this computer. I can't think of anything to write about, and so: Good night.

Bob, the landlord, came by again today. In our first two years here he never came to the house, which was nice. It's no fun to be reminded that the house is our home, but not *ours.* Now I guess he is anxious to get their remodel plans rolling. He brought his tape measure today, and as he measured he passed the numbers to someone on the other end of his cell phone.

Is it hard to believe I am shy? I write tons and send it out in to the world almost daily, and yet I feel more or less anonymous, so no anxiety. But I sat quiet as a mouse while Bob went around the house. I hoped he'd not knock on the door or ask to come in or inquire as to why we still have halloween pumpkins on the front porch... The doorbell has been out of commission for quite some time, so if he tried to ring, I didn't hear it, but of course I knew he was out there, so I am still technically spineless.

Since his last drop-by I have resolved to pack/clean. Rather than put things on a shelf or back in the closet, I try to pack it for our inevitable move. Of course, I can't pack everything, and we don't even know where we are going, or even when we are going. But we are going, no later than October. I'd rather it be sooner. I am very ineffective when I am anticipating upheaval.

Last night I dreamt about Nena. We had pet mice and Nena kept getting in to the cage and swallowing the mice whole. It was a remarkable sight, she hardly let a tail slip from her kitty lips, so perhaps they were very small mice. There are also seemed to be a number of aquariums in the dream, and they were all low on water, which I attributed to Nena drinking the water. Who can say what the significance of any of this is? In life Nena ate birds, not mice.

Da, da, da, da, da... Katamari Damacy. Imagine being serenaded by a Japanese Wayne Newton, while rolling up a ball that gradually grows as it sticks to everything in its path; it starts small and gathers gumdrops, paper clips, erasers, then the ball can pick up plates, yarn, frogs, shoes, and you, the prince player, continue rolling, playing against the clock, and trying to make your Katamari large enough to roll up oil tankers, rainbows, Big Ben, cows, dinosaurs, pedestrians, trees and islands, and on and on.

Please, please say you'll play Katamari with us. We'll come over and share our obsession, then you too will know the elation that comes with rolling up dandelions, reindeer, sumo wrestlers and fruit carts, and the thrill of the race as you grow and grow and GROW. Don't be silly, thinking *what is the point?* There is no point. Remember: A point in every direction is the same as no point at all!

Search your feelings. You know you want to call us...

Bad cabbage. I am not going to read too much in to this, but I had planned to make a salad this morning. I prepared most of the ingredients, and I was feeling good about my healthy choices, then I realized that the cabbage had gone bad. When cabbage *goes* bad it never returns.

Our other option is oatmeal. Maria will eat oatmeal. Max will eat oatmeal if I make it with raisins, but then pull the raisins out. If you are thinking "That's crazy," you're right, and you probably have very little idea about living with Asperger's. Sometimes things work out. Maria loves extra raisins.

Bob, the landlord, came by on Sunday. He came with his wife and two kids. They wanted to scope out the yard, so they can begin to make their plans. They want to build an addition and call this place home... it served as a friendly reminder that time is running out and we need to be moving along.

Me: Did you read Chickenblog?

Him: Yeah...

Me: Was it a good one?

Him: Yeah. I like pictures.

Me: Oh. Okay.


Holly brought a family tradition to our home for Christmas Eve. Don't let her sweet smile fool you. She stayed only long enough to get us hooked, then she left us to toil and puzzle on our own.


FINISHED. I do not share the same obsessive drive to succeed that Geoff does, but I knew if I didn't help him we would never make it to Pasadena in time for Christmas dinner!


Aunt Becky and Grandma serving up the Christmas dinner. We stayed over night and shared the company of Paul, Ruth, Larry and Lupita, Julie and Rebekah, Dan and Olivier. Julie made fudge. Mmmm fudge. We all made Merry.


Last Friday we met Tamsyn, Carol and Gene for downtown skating. Alex and Tamsyn are campaigning for skating lessons. They were quite dedicated, inspite of uncomfortable skates and a very, very wet rink.


I think it was this rubber tree that first attracted me to this house. Soon our lease will be up and Max will not be able to call to me, "Can I go up higher? Please?"

Maria needs some extra TLC right now, but first let me share a bit of our wonderful day. We met Holly and Nicholas in Coronado for brunch, skating, beach time, then a BIG bicycle ride. All day fun.

Caption Contest:

We are still sick. It's bad. It's record breaking. When Maria coughs it's heartbreaking. We are doing *everything* so please don't ask whether we've had vitamin ABC or meditated with healing crystals. We do seem to have turned the corner. The boys have been awake more, eaten more, complained more... it's time.

Check this butt out:



This is a mandrill booty. My camera is not doing it justice. This guy had the biggest rainbow booty ever. His butt was a fleshy, colorful rainbooty. It was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. I'm not saying I was attracted to him, but you can sort of appreciate his appeal with the lady mandrills.

You know, there are many important and significant things happening in the world, and with my family and friends. I am having deep thoughts, serious concerns. Christmas is coming. Loved ones are doing marvelous things and going interesting places. But for now, all I can produce is a grainy baboon butt photo.

Oh woe is me... my camera battery won't charge. I think the battery is good, but the adapter-charger- thingy doesn't seem to be talking to the camera. All of our beautiful pictures from our Oregon Adventure are trapped.

Downstairs is a family room where we hold school. A few months ago, William and I devoted a couple of hours to hanging up posters, timelines and learning graphs. We made the room look a little more like a standard classroom. And even as we slaved away, I thought to myself: 'This sticky adhesive seems kind of weak... I bet it comes down when the weather changes.' Gee, I hate to be right. Charts and graphs have been peeling off the walls with every fluctuation in temperature.

Upstairs we are face to face with Maria's skills: She can open cabinets, climb chairs and sofas and wreak havoc. She pulls out cereal boxes, opens the oatmeal tub and loves to help *sort* the utensils in the dishwasher. Her own kitchen, which Max has generously donated for her use, is a disaster area (she may get this from her mother.) Someone needs to get things under control. Someone needs to purchase ingenious devises that lock cabinets, toilets and dishwashers. Someone needs to sort through the baby's kitchen and organize everything, setting aside the surplus dishes, gadgets and rubber tomatoes.

And while Someone is at it, I hope she will clean the rest of the house and find a safe place for a Christmas tree, and hang new lights outside (the old ones are still up, but inconveniently falling down... it looks really tacky.) Someone could follow my recipe for bourbon pecan cake. Once the cakes are baked they need plenty of time to sit in bourbon soaked cheesecloth. While the pecan cakes are maturing, Someone should set aside an afternoon to prepare tamales. We'd like about 4 dozen. Make that 5, in case we have company. Could Someone find us nice, clean clothes and pose us for a Christmas photo, then get 50 of those printed? The car needs cleaning, inside and out. Chango needs shots...

Good grief.

I was writing all of the above, sort of making fun of how hectic life is, and then I was derailed and never even returned to post it until today... two, three days later. At least we got the battery charging again. Pictures soon, I promise.

Hand over the secret formula. I need the power of unstress. We cannot find a library book. I SPY Treasure Hunt is missing. Hey, that's sort of ironic... I wish I could spy the I SPY book. Humor is not undoing my stress. The house is clean, so why is 1 book so impossible to locate? Seriously, can anyone explain why when we need to find something (keys, wallet, cell phone, library book, nose ring, bundt pan) it remains lost, very inexplicably and profoundly lost?

After much effort in searching Max sighed and said, "Well, I guess it's anywhere we haven't looked." This particular lost article is especially vexing because it is Max's lost library book. Max is diligent, responsible, organized, orderly. Max knows the book was near his bed. Now we don't know what the book is near, but it certainly is anywhere we have not looked yet.

I guess the stress I am experiencing is partly from my bad library Karma. Trying to be a good library patron has been a lifelong ambition. Yet, for as long as I can remember I have failed to fulfill the basic expectations entailed in a library relationship. I have always misplaced books, returned books overdue, owed quarters. This time I resolved to be 100% responsible, efficient, good. I enjoyed library dialogue with the kind women in the library, so that by establishing eye contact and a relationship of trust, I would reinforce my desire to do good. I chose educational, beautifully illustrated and well written books. I separated the borrowed books from our home books and kept them on their shelf. I felt certain that for once my library experience was going to be simple, routine and uncomplicated. Alas. I am undone. Today I must make eye contact again with the kind library women and I must admit my failure.

Here life has provided me with yet another opportunity to pass my knowledge on to my children. "Boys, Maria you too, borrowing is a responsibility and responsibilities must not be taken lightly. We have agreed to take books from the library and we have agreed to return them. The librarians know us, they have helped us and they trust us, and so now we must endeavor to retain their trust by finding the missing book..." and as I tell them all this I must remain calm. They should see the effort it takes to fulfill an obligation, without the drama and teeth gnashing, hair pulling utter frustration from trying to find one frickin' @#$% book. I must show them how to accept consequences with dignity and humility.

Everything is on computer these days. I imagine my 38 year life of library misdemeanors is all on file. I imagine the librarian will type in my whole name, middle name too, like a scolded child, and pages of history will appear on her screen. Every late fee, every missing tome, every misstep will be before her and then the gravity of my sordid past will make her shoulders square and she will suck in her breath and turn slowly to me... Max asked whether we'll be doing any jail time... her look of contempt, of disappointment will be my jail time. I will be caught in her bureaucratic gaze, and writhing in her look of loathing.

Dread, dread, dread, dread.
The library closes at 5.
We've got only 6 hours to find the book.
Everyone. Remain calm.
This is not a drill.

Brrrrr.... Because of the time change, I am waking up earlier, but it's way too cold to consider actually getting up to greet the brand new day. The floors are cold, the shower stall is cold, the air is cold, the kitchen is cold. It's all cold and so I pull the covers up around my shoulders and try to think productively. I try to think of what needs to be accomplished, how I might get things done, what I will put off for another day, what needs to be done as soon as possible, where I should go and who I should see. Then I grope around the bed clothes and under the pillows for the TV remote, and I watch the news. The morning news is my coffee; I need to check on the world as part of my waking up ritual. When an anchor is showing *Dogs that Look Like Celebrities* or debating whether Americans like Diana better than Camilla, then I sigh with relief, because a slow news day beats the hell out of suicide bombings and natural disasters. There are not many slow news days, not really...

Brrrr... it's still cold, especially downstairs, but the day has begun. Max is hungry, so is Maria. William and Alex were brave enough to shower. I guess it's time to gather my productive thoughts and put all my good ideas to work. Rise and shine. Grab a sweater, comb my hair. It's a brand new day. I am sending warm wishes to all, thinking of you and hoping you are enjoying a slow news day, productive thoughts, a tasty breakfast, a bright outlook. Good morning.


Remember I said we've been very busy lately?
Did I mention that before pumpkin carving, after Wild Animal Park, we went to The Big *D?*
Maybe I really am "A-." We played all day and in to the night. Wanna see some more pictures?


Sharpshooters. Not PC? Ah, come on... target shooting is strangely gratfying.


While the boys were hitting fence posts and tombstones, Minnie and I listened to the fiddler playing tunes for Woody and Jessie.

How many trivial things can one person find on the internet? Many.
I wonder whether I would have published the results of this *personality* test, if they didn't sound so flattering?

You Have A Type A- Personality

A- You are one of the most balanced people around Motivated and focused, you are good at getting what you want You rule at success, but success doesn't rule you. When it's playtime, you really know how to kick back Whether it's hanging out with friends or doing something you love! You live life to the fullest - encorporating the best of both worlds

Do You Have a Type A Personality?

I am experiencing another calendar wake-up call: It is November! Panic? Maybe. The sun is setting so early, even Geoff and the boys are caught off guard by the sudden darkness. It's already time to countdown the days until Thanksgiving, Christmas, Maria's first birthday, my 29th birthday... just kidding.... Seriously, time is moving. Shakin' and groovin'. Alex wants to be enrolled in a robotics class. My Mom is inviting us to Oregon for Thanksgiving. Max wants to know what kind of party we will be throwing for Maria. Other things are in the works, and so we are in our usual state of limbo. Wait and see. Wait and see. But it helps to know I am "balanced, motivated and focused." It gives me assurance to realize I know how to "kick back and live life to the fullest." Who knew?

Out of order. We really have been busy this week. Before Halloween, and costume contests, we had friends over for some pumpkin carving fun. Lots of fun. So even though the order is mixed, I think I should share some highlights and the awesome skills these children possess.


Tamsyn and Gene up to their elbows in pumpkin guts.... eewww!


Max's Specialty: 1 pumpkin, many faces.


Adam and his new friend.


I am loving William's happy pumpkin series.


Okay, Jacob borrowed a pumpkin.


Alex recreated his award winning scorpion design.


Tamsyn with her *white is the new orange* creation.


Holly and Nicholas together, carving a ginormous pumpkin. Gee, is it just me, or is Holly glowing like an expectant mother? Looks like a little Pumpkin's coming soon.

Recipe for a Pity Party:
1. We cruised by El Rancho the other day... saw our old place... nostalgia and heartache
2. Geoff is looking at property in Hawaii... can't say what this will lead to...
3. The Pottery Barn Holiday catalog, full of lovely nesting neatly ideas, arrived yesterday...
4. I can't find an X-acto knife

Okay. I am ready to put it out there. I am ready to confess. I am really, really, really tired of being a renter. And more: I want to unpack my Stuff. I want to settle down, organize, decorate, leave my mark, paint my walls. I want to be in a home that I call my own, and stick a nail in the wall. I want to know where the X-acto knife is, and where my big message board ended up. I want to alphabetize our books, just once. I want our address written in ink.

I want to decorate an adorable baby nursery, and 3 clever rooms for 3 bright boys, or 1 clever room for 3 boys that get along remarkably well. I want to have a compost pile, an irrigated, bunny gated vegetable garden, and a charming little chicken coop with 3 fat hens. I want the right kind of door knobs ( not hooks that catch and tear pockets,) and I want an end to popcorn ceilings and fluorescent lighting. I want to invite you to our house for a long weekend, or tea; there's time and room for either.

I am not neat or tidy, or particularly orderly, but I suspect that this could improve tremendously if we were not so often on the move. Every move is an upheaval, and a do-over. Every move means starting the system of setting up life all over again, and the process is time consuming, mind consuming. I want to give my messy, scattered self a chance at redemption; time in one place to be unpacked, moved in, settled, and somewhat certain that another move isn't 6 months away.

Sigh.

Deep sigh.

Groan.

Please don't send me a bumper sticker like, "This is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life" or "Be Happy, You Whining Middle Class, Materialistic American." I need a few more days to wallow in self pity.

New at the Zoo


Actually, this beautiful carousal is new at The Wild Animal Park.
Maria was enthralled with the painted animals: Lions and tigers and frogs, oh my!
When she got to ride she was really thrilled.


The Lion Camp is an exhibit we have been eager to visit. We saw it last December when we went at night for the sledding, but it was dark and cold. How busy are we? It took nearly a year to get our act together, but was it ever worth the effort. I half expected to have to search to see the lions. There were three sitting content as kitties against the window. The dozens of kindergartners and flashing cameras were not annoying enough to cause a feline retreat. They stretched, yawned, and gazed at us indifferently. They might have politely meowed: "Thanks, but no. We already ate."


Three big cats let us get up close and personal. Nice kitty. We fed the deer. We fed the coots and ducks. We even could have fed the giraffes. Happily, we did not feed the lions.


We also fed the lorikeets. For a cup of nectar these little guys are happy to land on your hand, shoulder, head... whatever! Free food is their motivation.


I don't know whether William appreciates my little joke, but after shelling out money all day to feed everyone, I thought of posting a sign: Feed Teenager $2.


This was Max's favorite part of the day.

Hey.
This quick talk is working.
Too little time to devote to elaborate sentences.
Zoo today.
The Wild one.
Stopping for sandwiches at Major Market.
Our favorite market.
Max is carving a second pumpkin.
We are full of roasted seeds.
Talk of going to Renaissance Faire.
What about grilled chicken and hot tortillas for Mom's Night Out?
Max has, so far, carved four faces on his pumpkin. "But there's still plenty of room. You just gotta make 'em really close to each other."
I could grill the chicken ahead of time.
I love hot tortillas.

Geoff is going to Hawaii.
I am not.
It rained, but now the rain has stopped.
On Tuesday I am cooking dinner for ten friends.
We'll eat by the ocean, not in our dining-bedroom.
Geoff is going to look at lots and homes for sale.
We may move soon.
We may stay here longer.
Should I just roast weanies and serve fancy beans?
Should I make enchiladas?
I was going to make enchiladas, but now I'm not so sure.
Geoff may go to a Pumpkin Festival.
He might see Clint Eastwood.
Or maybe he won't.
Maybe he'll find a place for us to build a home with a covered lanai and a laundry room and two or more bathrooms.
Nice.
I am making a ghost out of cheese cloth and diluted Elmer's glue.
It's sticky right now.
I gotta go.
Alex and Max are done detaining Maria.

You write the caption.

We had beans and sweet potatoes for dinner... can you tell? Maria is my Beanie Baby. Can you see her two teeth? Itty bitty little white bumps, like white rice.

Our friend Tamsyn stayed for dinner. We ate nachos with ground turkey and salsa, black beans, sweet potatoes. I threw it together, announced "Nacho Night, come and get it" and we nibbled and munched merrily. I felt almost apologetic for the informality of the one course meal. Apparently we can make an impression even when we feel less than *Martha.* As I threw more beans on the concoction, Tamsyn said sweetly "You guys are always so organized about dinner. We never know what we are going to have..." Hello? Me? Organized? Darling girl. Maybe I should learn to just say 'thank you,' but taking credit for being organized at the dinner table is too, too misleading. I'll say this much: Sometimes we do our best and it turns out good enough to make a meal or a day, or a moment special.

This did not turn out to be the kind of weekend I had hoped for. I was gearing up for a cleaning rush. We are long overdue for deep cleaning, purging, sorting... even Max suggested we clean "until the house actually looks clean." Are you wondering whether I have an embarrassed grin on my face? Yes, I do.

But last night we had a really good dinner, and it came from cooperative, loving, thoughtful effort. Geoff started dishes while I nursed Maria. Then Alex played with Maria while I made turkey burger patties and grilled onions. William took the trash out. Max played I spy. The radio played classical music on NPR. Geoff lit the coals and we washed lettuce and sliced tomatoes together. Geoff found the ketchup, sliced cheese, and we both turned the onions. We ate dinner together. The onions came out as sweet as dessert. And after the table was cleared we walked outside to see the pumpkin lights Max, Geoff and Alex set up in the garden. It's still hot, and the house is still messy, but last night was one of the nicest evenings ever.

I should have written about Fall. I should have praised the fog and cool mornings, chilly evenings, and landscaping trees turning a deep aubergine shade. Autumn, when the heat has passed, the swelter, the too hot brilliance of morning sun. Autumn when we think of pumpkins on vines and in soup, sweaters and frost... I should have written about all of this. But it's hot again. It's the dry, dusty, windblown Autumn that taunts us and teases, and we don't know when it will ever be cool again.

Progress report: it ain't getting easier.

I love the way my brain deludes itself in to believing that I will catch-up. My brain assumes I will catch-up on lost sleep, catch up on dirty laundry, catch-up on filing paper work, catch-up on correspondence, catch-up on sorting, storing, packing, downloading, uploading and unloading.

The only one catching-up is Maria. She can track me down, absorb all my energy and then move on to her next conquest. She can reach me from any room in the house, using the power of her voice. She can pull me in with her intense gaze, her extended arms. She is about to become a walker. She is about to have to bottom teeth. She points to everything and asks, "Tttz?" which means: "Would you be kind enough to tell me what that is?" She peek a boos and patty cakes, knows the remote control is an object to covet. Right now she is on her belly, searching beneath the printer cabinet for any small objects she has not yet tasted.

I would like to hear from every person that said girl babies are "calm, quiet, gentle, docile, easier than boys..." you have some explaining to do.

We had a very full weekend. It was full of quality time spent with family, and rapelling, hiking, cycling, bodysurfing, building sandcastles, munching mini bell peppers with humus and soaking up the love. My mom and dad and brothers and their wives and aunt and uncle and cousin and grandmother, we were all together just hanging out. It was the sort of weekend that makes you wish there could be more weekends just like it. Well, until next time, I will be content with the good memories, and pictures, of course.

I've been meaning to post some important news and bits, like the fact that Talk Like A Pirate Day is just around the corner. Since the holiday comes on a Monday, you might be especially caught off guard and miss all the fun. Oooh arghh matey! We warn't be habin' ye miss all the festivities.

What else...? Well, every other year we host a Halloween party. And even though the 2003 Pirate party got a wee bit wild, we are contemplating the details of this year's party already.

Hmmm. It seemed like I had plenty of other stuff to share. It seems like I could at least make up a few notices. I got nada. Actually, it's as quiet as ever around here, and we have very little on our calendars. I don't want to put anyone on the spot or sound like a groveling social dork, but when was the last time you wrote? When was the last time, and don't make me name names, you shared some tidbits from your life? Chicken Blog can't just be Me and Mine. We'd love to hear from You and Yours. Talk like a Pirate or just be yourself. Tell us what's up.

We are home. It's chaos, so it must be home.

Geoff's phone broke on Saturday, and now I have no way to reach him and beg him to come home, because I can't find where we put my car keys, so I can't go buy groceries and we are really, really hungry. Did I mention we were all sick on our vacation? I think it was a vacation. We were somewhere new everyday and there are 3 suitcases of sandy laundry. After we get rid of congestion, fleas, 42% of the mess, and download 421 pictures then I will tell all about our adventures in Hawaii.

Geoff, seriously: Phone HOME!

Alex and I saw this creature on the morning news a few days ago. Don't click on the link just yet. Prepare yourself. Take a deep breath and exhale slowly, and bear in mind: The unfortunate creature is not abused or unloved, he's simply a really, truly ugly dog. Well just about everyone has a blog, so why not Sam?: Sam & Susie's Blog Can't get enough (we couldn't)... be sure and see the CNN clip, so you can hear Sam too.

Oh, and another thing... someone needs to call landlord Bob and tell him his washer died. It happened Monday, but we didn't hear from the coroner, our extremely competent appliance repairman, until today. "The Calypso Washer is junk." He thinks it could cost as much as $400 to get it running again. Sorry Bob. I don't think Bob's going to rush over and replace it. I think we will switch it with our washer. When Bob's dryer died we paid the hefty repair bill, but it wasn't as hefty as $400... I wonder how long we can put off moving the busted Calypso out and slipping in our machine... laundry do pile up around here. I said "do" instead of "does" intentionally, because "do" sounds like a more present tense than does, and presently the laundry is accumulating. I don't have a picture to post of the silent washer or the laundry. How about a picture of Maria?

Is it really so surprising that I get very little done?

Where am I?
Looking for Chicken Blog on Google resulted in about 3,000,000 chicken blog links in 0.13 seconds, and I can tell you the first 150 were not my Chicken Blog.

It is strange to delve in to the Chicken Blog archives, back in time when there were Chickens to blog about. In the beginning I did not know what to write or why, but Geoff was persuasive, so in I dove. And I have written quite a bit, since, but sometimes I still hesitate and ask 'why?' Apparently there are at least 3 million other people out there with something chicken related to share...

I can share this: Max loved his birthday party. He told me as much at least 4 times. He said it was fun. He said he had a good time. He said it was a good party.


Time passes, children grow, chickens come and go, but we are having a good time.

New battery. New cable.
Back in business.


Priceless.

Pie. Say it aloud, and remember fresh, crisp apples, the warmth of cinnamon, the tang of lemon juice. Apple pie. Mmmm pie. Our little tree, the one along the driveway, is even more full of apples than it was last year. Last year was when we discovered that the tart and tiny apples in the garden were meant to be baked in to pies. They taste good fresh. They are crunchy, and flavorful. When sliced, sweetened, cinnamon seasoned, and tossed with lemon juice from the neighbor's tree, then baked under a crust... oh delight.

It's early for apples, and much too hot to be baking. Most apples ripen in autumn, but our apples are ready now, so we must oblige them.

You know what else tastes good with fresh lemon juice? Tequila, is one answer. But I digress.

Maybe I do not digress.

Last night, after pie, after tequila, I was writing beautiful stuff. I was composing in my head and I specifically recall asking Geoff to take notes, because I could not be sure I would remember my poetry in the morning. We had spent the evening in Nostalgia. Like a faraway land. We were remembering people and places and things we did; things we believed. We sometimes were a bit solemn, because we remembered solemn things, but mostly we were laughing. The air, the temperature of it, was perfect or nearly so. If it had been any cooler it would have felt good, but it might have reminded us of Christmas and it is too soon yet to be reminded of Christmas. If it were any warmer we would wish to be in hammocks, on vacation, near the water, and that's not possible yet either. I meant to record all my thoughts and the things that made us laugh and remember. I meant to, but I never did.

Happened, and happening.
My mom was here and she accomplished quite a bit. She helped her cousin Mary, she hung out with Hans and Gretchen, she kept appointments, and she made her first ever visit to LEGOLAND. Max would tell you that being at LEGOLAND with his grandma was the best part.

We saw March of the Penguins and enjoyed it very much. It seems to me that there were more movies like this one in theaters when I was a kid. It was what these days I would expect to see on PBS or some cable channel. It was a pleasant surprise to see a good, interesting, nonblockbuster, nonDisney movie in an air-conditioned theater.

Yesterday we were picnicking with Deanne and James and Sammy the Dog. It was really nice, low-key, relaxing... we shared good food, and engaging conversation. Sam amused us with his doggy actions and sensibilities.

This week Max will turn 7! The party is Saturday. He wants coffee cake. Coffee cake with cinnamon crumble topping. His theme is reptiles and amphibians and he has a black dragon piñata that he wants to fill with peanut butter cups and sugar free gum.

What else is happening? Mom and grandma are driving back to Oregon and berries and jewelry making. Geoff's game is getting closer and closer to publication, so much so that we have actual plans to leave on a vacation. Geoff and William go to the last night of their extension class this week. Did I mention? William got 96% on his midterm. Tamsyn just returned from her second summer trip, but she leaves again for 3 more weeks; hot summer days are a bit slow and sad without a friend next door. Alex and Max are still working on the castle, but they are in a bit of a slump since they need more bricks.

My camera battery is working. And I would have shared pictures from our picnic or LEGOLAND, but now there is a problem with the cable. I cannot download new pictures to the computer.

I feel a haircut coming on. It happens this way every few years. Suddenly I realize that my long hair fantasy is clashing with my split end reality. It's time for short. And I will regret the shortness soon after, because short cuts require maintenance, and I don't do maintenance. Geoff thinks I should dye my hair red to match my glasses. I must have issues. I feel very insecure about my hair now. Does he think I have too much gray? Does he prefer redheads? And what about maintenance? I'm lucky to get a shower. When will I be finding time and pride to get my brown and gray roots touched up red? Red? In my teens I did an eggplant rinse. It was fun and very temporary. But he said DYE. Permanent dye. Wounded ego... it raises an interesting topic that I may touch upon someday... how long do I intend to go *natural* while everyone else is not?

Chaos week. No, not chaos... just slighlty more stress combined with summer heat and thoughts that keep me up too late. Plus my camera battery won't hold its charge, which for me is like living with a bad flu or a broken thumb.

Hey, my mommy is coming to town. Good news.
William and Geoff are enjoying success at their university extension course. Good news.
Tamsyn is back in USA. Great news for the children who have missed their good friend.

I can't think of going upstairs to turn on the stove, and the fresh fruit I bought is already consumed, so I think I will head over to Pipes and let them fix us a yummy surfer's feast. Then hopefully, fueled and pampered I will have the stamina to meet everyone's needs, answer the Big Questions, answer emails too, clean and sort, inspire.

How about that baby? She's joy. She's a light. She's on the move.

Good morning.

Geoff has been in Hawaii. Yup. We are at it again: House hunting... we are seriously considering storing all our worldly treasures and living in our RV until the Bubble Bursts. We are not destitute. We are not unwilling to work. We don't mind a fixer-upper. The problem is we live in California, and unfortunately the housing mark-up insanity has spread to our back up state, Hawaii. Oregon could work, but there are no jobs there. Basically we are face to face with a disappointing reality, so we keep looking away.

Our 16th wedding anniversary came and went. The boys and I marked the occasion with low carb ice cream sandwiches. Do you know what makes them low carb? They are only 1.75 inches in diameter and taste like the box they came in.

I know, there is greater suffering in the world, but I need just a few more minutes to wallow in my pity party. Sometimes maturity is overrated.

The neighbor's remodel has begun. Actually they started about two weeks ago, but the audible part began this morning at about 7:15. Concrete around the entire perimeter of the ranch style house is being attacked with a jackhammer. I may go over there and encourage them, so that hopefully they complete the jackhammering today. I can handle hammers and nails, an infrequent circular saw, but the jackhammer is loud and emotionally jarring, like a ten hour dentist nightmare that I can't wake from.


Multiple choice:

"The undead have all the advantages."

a. True/False question on the U.S. citizenship exam.
b. Tom Cruise in an interview with Matt Lauer.
c. Suggestion for a new Disney animated musical movie.
d. My children conversing happily in the back of our mini-van.


We made it to the Summer Pops concert last week. My bad: I should not have assumed it would be at the same place we went 4 years ago. I was off target by at least 3 miles, and we ended up grabbing a ride from the bicycle-cabs, which was fun. The concert, at the Embarcadero had a 4th of July theme and finished with a beautiful fire works display. Okay, the music was good and it was nice being out by the Harbor, among fellow citizens, soaking up culture, but Geoff and I were confronted with subjects we don't readily embrace: Baseball and opera. They performed "Casey at Bat" or something like that. It was the marriage of two forms of entertainment that I have yet to develop an appreciation for. I like some opera. I don't mind playing baseball. But when you have an entire chorus of people singing about strike outs and pitchers with the melodramatic fervor typically reserved for adultery, unrequited love, or consumption... it was weird, and nearly boring. And most confusing: Casey, the protagonist, the one they keep cheering for and building up... he strikes out! So it's bad opera, boring baseball and a sad ending.

Later in the season the Pops will be doing a Bugs Bunny tribute. Excellent. Bugs Bunny and The Ride of the Valkyries! Now that's entertainment.

Late morning, sun shining, still in our 'jamas. It's all good.
Maria and I strolled around the yard for a bit, then stopped to water our little garden.

Max and I dropped by a nursery last week and brought home some herbs and a tomato, zinnias, a daisy, marigolds and lemon balm. We rummaged around the yard to collect pots, we chased away spiders, then we potted our new garden. It is small, but gratifying. I wish we had a good spot for more tomatoes, some zucchini (it only takes one zucchini to have plenty) and Alex was asking about pumpkins. It would be nice to plant pumpkins. No room. No room. So we'll make the most of our potted garden. It cheers up the entry to our Treehouse. It cheers me too.


Even a few plants grown in containers can yield a pretty bouquet.

Here is a link to the beautiful Lighthouse photo taken by Janece's dad: Point Loma Lighthouse. Inside it is set up as it was when the lighthouse keeper and his family lived there. The boys and I were imagining what it might have been like living far, far from town, and in such a wonderful spot. Geoff and I took the size in to consideration, and were reminded that it is possible to live in a smaller space. But honestly, I wouldn't want the burden of finding crawl space for a baby in a home as small as the Lighthouse.

Crawl space is a premium around here. Upstairs is dangerous because of the stairs, and putting in a gate is necessary, but still technically unresolved. The railing is metal and slim. I don't think we will easily find a suitable gate. Downstairs is mostly safe, but it leaves me with a limited area for getting things done; the kitchen and school gear being upstairs. Of course summer heat will change things too. As it warms up we will suffer too much living and cooking upstairs, and like last summer we may find ourselves retreating to the family room and the tent in the yard. Wouldn't life be dull without these minor challenges?

Right now Maria is playing at my feet. I was cooking... albondigas are simmering on the stove and I am half-way through making corn tortillas. Masa is caked on my fingers. But Maria was through with her swing in the kitchen, and since she can practically fling herself out of the swing, it seemed like the right time to let her crawl around downstairs. Alex and Max are building with Legos and William is finishing a math assignment. All their friends have left on vacations. Geoff is at work.

I should have mentioned that my brother, Bill, was in Coeur d' Alene doing the Ironman. I should have gone there to help Alison cheer him on. He swam 2.5 miles. He rode a bicycle for 112 miles. He ran a marathon. He did all of this in the light of a single day. He regrets that he "didn't train for the event." ?! He says he rode his mountain bike a lot, took a few swims, but never ran. He says he did climb stairs behind his taqueria, but that he also ate a few too many Trader Joe's cheesecakes. ?! I may be closer to triathlon condition than I knew. Now he and Alison are home, and hopefully recovering from an Ironman is as easy as the training was.

As a recurring theme this may get dull, but I must again express shock and awe: Next week is 4th of July! If time is going to insist on hurtling us through space at a pace that cannot be reckoned with, then I had better hang my Christmas lights this Saturday. I can't keep up. I can only reflect and say, "Huh, was that last week?" Well, happy birthday Phil, Julie, Bill, Hans, Delia, Jared. Happy Flag Day. Congratulations graduates. And while I am thinking of it: Happy birthday Adam, Gretchen, Ruth, Eunice, Sophie, Jola, Henry, Becky-Sioux, Nancy, Corm, Alison, James...