Birthday Books

Isn't this like looking at a nice juicy steak? I mean, if you eat meat that is. Are y'all reading anything good? Today is my birthday, and this seems to be the year for book gifts. Really I bought The Annotated Christmas Carol for myself, and I borrowed Serena from my parents. So not actually gifts. I wanted to show you Serena, though, because I finished it last night, and it is amazing. How have I never heard of this author? Serena is set in western North Carolina in the 1930's, at a logging camp. Note to self: never get a job cutting timber in the 1930's. Anyway, if Lady MacBeth and Cormac McCarthy had a love child, that offspring would be the title character. I loved the book for its sense of place and also its style that doesn't announce itself as STYLE, you know? It's funny, too, and gothic, and suspenseful. A good yarn.

We had cake and a little celebration on Friday night with Kelly and Jane and their husbands, who I can't link to because they don't have blogs. I hate it when I can't link to someone. Cosmos were consumed, and Lego Rock Band (my gift from the kids) was played.

This morning I told Matt that I'd had a realization. "When you're turning 37," I said, "all the bullshit that was okay in your twenties and that you got away with even into your thirties is officially no longer cute." He replied, "Hmmm." He was in the shower and not that talkative, which is too bad because I always like to stand in the steamy bathroom and chat. Anyway, I guess I need to figure out which parts of my whole act need to get the ax. Maybe the part of me that tends to make bold, categorical pronouncements. Food for thought.

I Will Allow It

Part of me feels like I shouldn't permit Hank to eat jelly straight from the jar, but I just can't work up the necessary mom energy. So you know how there are things in your house you just let happen? This is one of those things. (I also let the dog lick plates, and even summon her to clean up kitchen spills. She's a poor man's Roomba.)



I feel more okay with the jelly thing since I found a source of good jelly. Remember how, months ago, I was all like, "OMG, what jelly do I buy that isn't loaded with HFCS, is acceptable to the people who live here, and costs less per ounce than uranium?" I even made a Venn diagram to explain my dilemma. Then one weekend we were up in North Carolina, and I was shopping at the lovable local grocer, Harold's Supermarket in Sylva. I highly doubt they have Google alerts set up for themselves, but if so, hey Harold! Anyway, I rounded the corner and was greeted with this happy sight.

A LOT of jellies and jams of every conceivable variety that seem to be canned just for Harold's, with all natural ingredients. Yes, I took photos with my iphone, because I was agog at all the industry. They have everything: two different kinds of jalapeno jelly; plus other pepper jellies; and tons of hyphenate jellies, you know, like strawberry-kiwi, strawberry-guava, you name it. Hank is working his way through a jar of blackberry preserves right now. I want to be clear that Harold's is NOT a chi-chi all-natural store, it's kind of grungy, the prices aren't great, and they sell weird cuts of meat. So the home canned jelly comes more from their countrified orientation than an all-natural orientation. But I've carted lots of this jelly home in the last few months.

At $2.99 a jar, it's not rock-bottom cheap, but my calculation is that, in North Carolina I'm on vacation and it's okay to pay more for things when you're on vacation. Again, look for my book on personal finance soon. After my book on child nutrition.

It Came from Far, Far Away

On Tuesday I went to Costco and walked out of there with a huge poinsettia. It was kind of an impulse purchase. They have big 10-inch plants for about 16 bucks, so not bad. I have it sitting by fireplace as part of the first wave of Christmas decorations. Seeing it in that familiar Christmas context reminded me of last summer, when Matt and I went to Vanuatu. Poinsettias grow huge all over the place down there.



That's a place we stayed for a few nights on Tanna, one of the outer islands of Vanuatu. There were big poinsettias all along the road, in both red and white. I didn't notice them so much at the time, because there are luxuriant flowering things all over the place. At night the air was fragrant. I've always read that in books: "The night air was fragrant," but I've never really experienced it until being down there. Seeing the poinsettia pots all arrayed at Costco made me think of them growing huge and tall in Tanna, truly a world away.

According to the interwebs, the poinsettia is native to Mexico and Central America, but they must have been brought to the South Pacific and cultivated a long time ago. You know how when you bring home a poinsettia, it lives long after Christmas, and you get a little tired of the red and green come late January? I'm describing myself here. Last year, with that in mind, I bought white poinsettias, thinking they would look fresh longer, which they did. The one I got at Costco is a big ol' red one though. How do you deal with poinsettias after Christmas?

Another plant I see associated with Christmas here, the Norfolk Island Pine, is also from the South Pacific. From Norfolk Island in fact. We saw them growing tall everywhere, even in Sydney.

Here you can only really find them in nurseries around this time of year, in my experience. They are sold labeled as "living Christmas trees" because people like to put lights on their sturdy branches. I had one a couple of years ago in my sunroom. When I bought it in the winter, it still had an undignified sprinkling of glitter from the nursery's Christmas display. I loved it but it died anyway. They need a lot of light, and are a little fussy. I'm not so good with the plants, and am in the process of killing an Ikea yucca. So I've got that going on.

Looking through my Vanuatu pictures got me seriously wishing I were back there. And it made me realize there are tons of cool things I haven't shown you guys from that trip. In the dead of winter, I may have a return-to-summer series and show the last of my vacation pics. Like, return-to-summer as in, last summer we went to the southern hemisphere where it was winter. Mindbender.

Tuesday is for Lovers

Lovers of randomness, that is. Please come in and cop a squat, because there are a few things on my mind.

When I first got caught up on this whole Tiger Woods situation, the most surprising thing about it to me was that he lives in Orlando. No slight to Orlando, it's nice enough I guess, but dude can live anywhere he likes. Anywhere. Like he could probably live at Hogwarts if he wanted to. So, Orlando? Maybe Tiger and fam love visiting the big mouse.

I just did the shred for the first time since Friday. Pardon me while I pop this lung back inside. Skipping one day seems to have no effect, but I noticed a definite loss of cardio stamina after skipping three or four. After shredding through Thanksgiving, I've been letting my cold and sinus headache keep me from working out the last few days. But it's funny, in the middle of a set of plank jacks, I don't notice my face hurting. So there's some more fear leaving my body. One thing that inspired me to hop to it was that Pretty Neighbor has started level 3. Must catch up. And as crap as I feel right at this moment, that workout is still only twenty minutes. And now I'm covered in the perspiration of righteousness.

Yesterday I gave Normal Neighbor's daughter a ride home from the bus stop, because it was raining. Normal Neighbor asked me if I had gotten a call from Frenemy on Saturday. I told her that FN had texted me on Friday, asking if we were back home from the mountains. I had told her that we wouldn't be home until Sunday, and she'd wished us a nice time. Then, she texted me on Saturday, asking me if we were home yet, and I ignored her. Normal Neighbor told me that FN had called her on Saturday, when the Normal family had just returned from a week in Florida, and asked if Mrs. Normal could keep FN's daughter from 5-8 that night so they could go to a wedding reception. Normal told me that they begged off because they were exhausted from their trip. Then we exchanged a shrug and a head shake. I mean, you know well in advance that you're going to a wedding reception, right? Kind of like you know that your anniversary is coming up. So get a babysitter. Yes, I am being a bitch right now, but I think I'm in respiratory distress from my shred.

Looks like Dooce is giving away 5 Xboxes. I wish I could be that awesome, and I wish we didn't already have an Xbox, or I would totally win one of hers, but she's inspired me to do a little giveaway of my own. I won't spill the secret just yet, but the item rhymes with "schmea schmowel." I have some super sweet ones I've been hoarding since Australia. So please get very excited. And stay tuned.

At Laura's ortho appointment today, she was told she didn't have to wear her nighttime headgear anymore. Woohoo! She said it was the best day of her life, but she also says that if I let her make a cake from a box. In January she'll get braces on her top and bottom front teeth. I know that a geometrically, mathematically perfect bite is right around the corner, if we just stretch out our arms farther, and run faster. Oh, and the orthodontist told me that my chin is crooked, and that Laura probably got it from me. Watch it, buster.

And check out more randomization at Keely's place. She is such a doll face to host this business every week.

Wintry Trek

A big pastime last week at the mountain house was journeying to various remote spots, preferably locations that require at least some use of all-wheel drive to access. One day we went to the top of Cowee Mountain, to a fire tower there, a drive that involves fording three creeks. Dad said, "Y'all drive the Pilot, and I'll have the jeep with the chain in case I need to pull you out." It's possible that he was secretly hoping for that outcome, because in my experience, men have some special relish for anything that brings them into close contact with chain. (Matt's emergency tree surgery comes to mind here.) It could be a stuck car, snow chains, anything that needs an impromptu binding, tugging, or strapping.

That's Hank all bundled up to ride in the back of the open jeep. Usually the kids like that spot the best, but it was chilly that day. Hank didn't make it down to the valley before he complained that the wind was in his eyes. I think it could have been the dog butt in his eyes too, but we stopped on the road and I moved him into the other car. Then, bundled up like the little brother in A Christmas Story, he fell into a stuporous coma in the warm backseat. When we woke him up, he was a little pissy at being rousted out on top of a mountain and told, "It's time for our hike!" He looked around and said, "I don't want to go to this far, I want to go to a different far!" Even with the weird choice of words, I knew what he meant. But we did what any good parents would do and said, "Well we ain't carryin' you, so you have to walk." So walk he did, and he got with the progam pretty fast.

Please do not be alarmed by my giant head in this picture. I was wearing a baseball cap that I covered with a jumbo fleece hat. Like a head Snuggie. I look a little like one of those kids who has to wear a safety helmet at all times. But let's take a closer look at how Hank was equipped.

That's a small, travel-sized teddy bear and a sippy cup. Into the wild! He is truly my son, because I never step out of the house without a beverage either. Here are a few (okay, several) more pictures from that outing.

I love how, in the winter, you can see far through the woods. We drove a long way on dirt roads, going up and up the mountain, and everything was just as brown and bare as it could be. The rhododendrons are always green, though, and when all the other leaves are gone, the huge rhododendron groves show themselves. It is hard to believe that it will all leaf out again. Anyway, we made it back over the three creeks, and nobody whined or fussed, and nobody needed to be pulled with a chain. Success.

Today I am a bit whiny and fussy, because I have the tail-end of a cold that may be settling into my sinuses. My hair kind of hurts, if you know what I mean. I think I need a toddy.

I Didn't Hear of Anyone Being Trampled To Death, At Least

When I got up Friday morning, at the mountain house, I was told that a small party had set out to Wal-Mart. Apparently my dad had said he needed to buy birdseed. I couldn't believe that he was going to Wal-Mart on Black Friday. I called him. He was down off the mountain. I said, "Are you really going to Wal-Mart?" And he said, "Well yeah. . .hey, wait a minute. It's that Hell Day thing isn't it."

Hell Day. He is so adorable. So I said, "If you're really going, would you check the price of the Xbox Lego Indiana Jones 2: The Adventure Continues"? He said he would. As it happened, they missed the terrible crush of humanity by a couple of hours, and the Xbox game wasn't even on sale (WTF Wal-Mart?), but they did get the birdseed.

Did you guys shop? In the store? Online? I never shop this weekend--I can't stand getting up early, and I think the whole Black Friday sale thing is overdetermined. But I do like to hear the war stories of others.

We are still in the mountains, until tomorrow. Which means, yes, I'm sitting in the Arby's enjoying the free wifi. 'Tis the season!

In Which I Retell a Story

Happy Thanksgiving, my dears! I hope that at this point, you are relaxing on the couch with your feet tucked under you while other people clean the kitchen. To honor the holiday, I'm offering you a rerun of my Thanksgiving post from last year. It is called "recycling," and all the best bloggers do it, or that's what I'm telling myself. Anyway, this is one of my favorite posts. Enjoy!

We Are Not Navy SEALs: A Thanksgiving Story

Late last Thursday night I got a call from my sister Amy. Amy, who has posted here before, lives in Australia with her husband and two kids. There was much glumness in the family, because they weren’t going to be able to come to the States for Christmas. My mom had been giving me weekly reports on the degree of wistfulness she detected in Amy’s voice when the holidays were discussed. And her own voice was growing more wistful by the day.

Amy told me that she had a plan. A plan so crazy, she said, that it might actually work. If she booked a last minute ticket to Atlanta, could I pick her up Monday night, and spirit her up to the mountain house to surprise Mom and Dad for Thanksgiving? Um, yes, I thought I could do that. Her adoring husband agreed to hold down the fort there and give her a solo getaway, so the only trick was keeping the secret from Mom and Dad. This is easier said than done. Our mother is nearly psychic, especially about things having to do with her kids. I decided that the best plan was to speak to her as little as possible. The woman notices precise shades of tone of voice, choice of words, and what is said or left unsaid. I am accused, in the family, of having broken the news of Amy’s pregnancy by asking mom, “Have you talked to Amy lately?” So I just went into radio silence. My brother, who was in on the secret, declared that we would only refer to Amy, even between ourselves, as The Package. As in, “I’m on my way to retrieve The Package”, or “The Package’s hair looks really cute.”


So Monday night I picked up The Package. I was afraid that I would be unable to restrain myself from blogging about it. I hated keeping the secret from you, Internets! And indeed, on Monday night, Amy had to turn off her Facebook wall, because her friends in Sydney were posting things like, “Was your mom surprised?” and our mom is on Facebook. She’s hip like that. So we were plugging leaks right and left, worrying that our covert op would get blown wide open.

Tuesday, Amy helped host Pre-Thanksgiving with Matt’s family, then Wednesday afternoon we headed up to North Carolina. We had exhaustively discussed among ourselves the best way to go about the big reveal. We didn’t have a cake she could jump out of, so we were left with deciding how to configure the main elements: Amy, our minivan, the mountain house, Mom and Dad, and time and space. The simple way would have been to have her in the back of the van with the kids, and when Mom and Dad came out to open the doors to greet the kids, there she would be. Surprise! My brother Dave was more in favor of the Gradual Surprise, where Amy was let out of the car before we arrived at the house, and would walk up the road after we were in. They would either see her from a distance, thus prolonging the pleasure of realizing it was she, or she would come up to the house and let herself in. I hoped that in this scenario, neither of my parents would have a cardiac arrest.

I was driving the van, and when we got up on the mountain road to the house, I was amazed at how bare the trees were. All of the leaves were gone, and we could see Dad on the deck (and he could see us, I think) from really far away. We were reaching the critical decision-making point, where Amy would either have to deploy or abort mission. Dad was walking around the house, ready to greet us, but I stopped the car where I thought there were enough tree trunks between us to obscure the car a little. Amy got into position, and I yelled, “Go! Go! Dive!” while she rolled out the door and ran around behind the car. I took off again in a spray of gravel while Amy pulled up her hood and crouched behind a tree. Did I mention that she is 14 weeks pregnant? Take that, Delta Force.

So I pulled up in front of the house and we all acted as naturally as we could while being greeted. Which was not working because I did not feel natural. I don’t think I will win any Oscars for playing myself. Inside, Mom followed Hank to his train table in another room, while Dad went back out onto the deck to check his rotisserie meat situation. I decided to go back out to the van to get my camera, and when I did, I could see Amy jogging towards the house. I ducked back inside and tried unsuccessfully to get everyone in the same room. The front door opened and Amy peeked in. When she saw me standing there alone, she closed the door again. So I started, in a so very natural manner, to say, “Hey Mom, come look at this!” I gestured vaguely in the air. “Hey Dad, come in here!” More gesturing.

Finally Amy opened the door again and walked in saying, “Boy, it’s cold out there.” I have never seen anyone more surprised than my Mom. She said later that she thought she was hallucinating, and she actually had her mouth hanging open. The way people look in comic strips when they are really surprised? That’s how she looked. Then Dad came in and made the same face. Then there was much hugging and kissing. We just finished eating dinner. Today is Mom and Dad’s 40th wedding anniversary, and we are all together, and we are very thankful for that and for many things.

Tonight there will be karaoke and hot tubbing, though sadly, not at the same time. I hope you and yours are having a wonderful day.

Home Haircuttery

I don't quite know why my brother Dave brought his hair clippers to the mountain house, as he had a fresh haircut himself. But once they were on the scene, they were like the loaded gun in Chekhov's famous remark about playwriting and theatre. If you put a gun on stage, he said, before the play is over, that gun has to go off.

Last Saturday night, after a few whiskey-and-honeys, Matt and Dave began to discuss the idea of Dave cutting Matt's hair. But how short? That was the question. Then it seemed like a good idea for Matt to roll a die to pick the guard thingies that attach to the clippers. I hadn't taken much interest in the proceedings until there was an element of chance involved. He rolled twice, once for the top and once for the sides. He came up with a 6 and a 3, and we all decided that we could live with that.

Here's the before shot. As in, before Dave started cutting and also before he mentioned that he had never done this. Again, this piqued my interest in the proceedings considerably.

The "after" shot. We all thought it turned out quite well. Nice and short but no visible scalp. He did a great job around the ears, and I believe he used a #4 to blend the sides with the top. Cutting each other's hair: it's what dudes do, I guess. I give myself credit for urging them to wait until the light of day and sobriety to do the shearing. I think this should be a Thanksgiving tradition, as long as I never have to take a turn.