My Mountains

Rather a possessive title, no?  I love mountains.  Give me mountains and you'll find me in a perfect state of happiness.  I love the jagged edges, the abrupt beginnings and endings, I love trees and rocks and rivers that run through them.  So when Chris suggested that we spend a week camping in the mountains (July 2015) I jumped at the chance.  I knew it would be tricky with the 3 kids, but even if you do nothing at all in the mountains, it's my happy place.

So we loaded up the kids and the dog and headed West.

Chris's Mom keeps a trailer over in the mountains west of Asheville, so that's where we stayed.  It was hot over there, but who cares?  You're in the mountains!  We settled in and the kids had to share a sleeping space, which they weren't wild about, and Chris and I shared our sleeping space with still, very wee Maggie.  It was cozy...or would have been if it hadn't been 90 degrees every single day.

Still we hiked, and may I just say?  Cameron blew me AWAY.  He was a champion.  He hiked the whole length of the upper and lower falls of the Yellowstone river, and didn't complain, not once.  I think he rather enjoyed himself because the trail offered lots of variation.  Sometimes it was an easy boardwalk, sometimes it was a smooth dirt path, and other times, it was a stone staircase carved into the mountain itself.  Lilu rode in the backpack with Chris, and Maggie was in the sling with me.

Highlight of the trip?  We got to the top and stopped to snack before heading back down the trail, and Maggie started to fuss, so I loosened the sling and latched her on and we continued hiking, Chris turned around and saw me and said, "We can stop!"  And I said, "Naw, I'm good, I'm a Mama and a canteen!  Life is good!"  Though, some of the other hikers looked at me a little strangely.  I just smiled and said, "I love my little ones!" 

Other highlight?  Chris NOT careening over the edge of the precipice with our middle child.  So we were headed down said trail (this was before the breastfeeding) and Chris stepped down wrong and his ankle turned, his knee buckled and Lilu is heavy enough that the forward momentum pushed them both down.  The edge of the trail was only 12 inches from the side of the mountain, so I immediately thought they were going right over the edge.  But he stopped them and then hobbled back down the trail on a completely sprained and quickly swelling ankle. 

Kids best highlight?  The s'mores in the rain!  We had promised them s'mores.  REAL s'mores, over a FIRE s'mores.  So even though it rained every night, Chris dutifully built a fire, with lovely oak wood, and we roasted marshmallow after marshmallow after marshmallow until the kids were so sticky that no amount of wiping would clean them EVER.  So we took them in the showers and hosed them off before putting them to bed.  That was really fun.

Looking Glass Rock

And, the moral of this story is Always Plan in Advance.  Also, maybe tell your spouse about any existing family curses.

We had climbed Chimney Rock on Wednesday so Thursday we just sort of futzed around.  We drove out to Cherokee in the hopes of some living history but what we found was lots of cheese and expensive cheese at that.  So, somewhat bummed but not out of the ball game, we headed back to the camper to think about Friday.

Now, before we ever got to the mountains we had talked about what we were interested in seeing.   Chris wanted to see waterfalls, I love me an old growth forest.  So on Friday, not really having a plan, we drove out to the Pisgah National Forest ranger station to browse some trials.

Chris had wanted to hike to Looking Glass Falls, but it's really just a sidewalk by the side of the road down to the falls area.  It's easy-peasy and a little boring.  So in looking around I came across a postcard for Looking Glass Rock.  It's a big beautiful rock in the middle of NOWHERE.   Perfect!  So I may have sort of talked him into hiking it.

I will admit that the hike was listed as moderately difficult.  I will admit that I took note of the distance (a little over 3 miles one way--not very long) out and BACK.  But in my defense, I saw the POSTCARD.  I thought for sure the hike would take us through the woods and into a nice little clearing where we could SEE Looking Glass Rock, in the far DISTANCE.

Hm.

That thought is not quite what we experienced.  And in some respects that's a good thing because at one point Chris said that if we came out the trail head and all we saw was a big ROCK he was going to be very mad at me.  And that's NOT what we saw, so by rights he shouldn't have been upset.

Of course, at another point he said that if the view didn't make fireworks shoot out of his eyes he was going to be really upset and that didn't happen either.

But perhaps I should begin with the hike.

We parked at the trail head, and I shall admit that we were getting started a bit late for the Boy.  The Boy usually has lunch at 11:30 and naps at 12.  And even when traveling we try, try, TRY to maintain this schedule.  But when we left the trail head it was 10:30.  Now, delusional me, I'm thinking, I can walk 3 miles in an hour--no problem!  What I hadn't banked on was the out AND back.  Also, the fact that my wonderful husband, normally Christopher the Inert, is patiently schlepping the 30 pound wonder.

We start out and it's beautiful, it's lovely!  It's a walk in the woods!  It's shady and green and charming.  Look, honey!  It's a pretty little waterfall!  And then we hit the switchbacks.  And I'm thinking, "Hey!  Switchbacks!  I've missed these!"  And Chris is lagging behind, so I perkily call back encouragement.

(Encouragement that wasn't so much working as annoying the crap out of him.)

We hadn't made it to the half-way point, but had gone up many mighty fine switchbacks when my dear, dear husband calls from 20 feet behind me:

"THIS IS STARTING TO FEEL LIKE A DEATH MARCH!"

We pause for water and I try another form of encouragement:

"We have to be close to the top, look how short the switchbacks are!"

That didn't work either.  And the Boy had had quite enough.  After lunching on a granola bar he slept in a fit of displeasure.

What he's really thinking is, "My Mama is crazy."

So we soldiered on.  And on.  And on.  And at one point I said..."I may have found the trail that just never ends."

And I'm pretty sure that Chris was cursing me from down the trail, but he persevered too.  And I'm quite proud of him actually, because, as you are about to witness, he totally saved the day.

We had met a few people heading up the trail.  They passed us and then we passed them and then they passed us and we just never caught up with them again.

Until they headed back DOWN and we hadn't even reached the end of the trail yet.

It was actually a lovely metaphor for our marriage.  I'm much better with the day-to-day doldrums of life.  And poor Chris, he gets bogged down in a deathmarch.  But when there's a crisis.  My man, he pulls through in spades.

We finally did get to the top.  Fireworks didn't shoot out his eyes or anything, but he was really pleased, and for good reason.

We were both STUNNED by the view.  Instead of hiking to a hill or a meadow and looking directly at the rock, we had climbed up the south face of it and were standing ON the rock.  It was amazing.  It was vertigo inspiring.  The trail comes out onto a rock that isn't quite flat.  It slopes gradually down about 12 feet from the trail head and then it just drops into nothing.  In fact, the only other people up there were a couple of rock climbers who had climbed UP the north face and another small group of hikers who had passed us on the trail.

After pausing to soak up the view and feel the open air on our very much sweat soaked faces, we headed back down the trail to a campsite that wasn't far from the top.  We let the Boy walk around for a bit and we all snacked and hydrated.  I apologized for having coerced my forbearing husband unwittingly up the side of a mountain.  And so we peaceably packed up and headed back down the mountain.

At this point I take a moment to observe to Chris how unearthly quiet it is up here.  There weren't even any birds about.  It was sort of eery and disconcerting.  But Chris thought it lovely so I shrugged it off and followed him down the trail.  We hadn't gone a quarter of a mile before I observe that there seem to be some ominous looking clouds above us and do we think that we'll make it back to the car before the rain?

At which point big fat drops begin to plop onto our heads.  Chris cheerfully calls back, "Nope.  I don't think we'll make it back to the car before the rain."

When I say the heavens opened and a deluge, the like of which I have not seen in several years began to descend, I am not exaggerating.

After 5 minutes or so, we were all soaked to the skin, the boy is bellowing in protest so loudly his cries echoed off the mountain and I realize that I have failed to inform Chris of something important.

See.  My family is CURSED.

I thought it was maybe just my Dad.  The incidents only ever seemed to happen with HIM.  But in this moment, I am feeling the full weight of a genealogical CURSE.  Every time we would go camping.  Or hiking.  Or do anything remotely related to the outdoors, it would RAIN.  Every. Single. Time.

So whilst we're both hurrying as quickly as we can down the mountain and the Boy is still bellowing at the top of his lungs, I say, "I may have neglected to mention that my family is cursed!"

At which point Chris asks for clarification and when I explain to him the nature of the familial curse he says, "NOW YOU MENTION IT!"  I try to explain that I thought it was maybe just my DAD!  We had beautiful weather for Chimney Rock!  But to no avail.

The Boy is still screaming.

It's still, STILL pouring rain.  It's also thundering.  The trail is now running freely with water, the waterfalls have acheived the measure of their creation and are indeed falling fully into greater widths and depths than we had to cross on our way up.  We are all soaking wet.  I am beginning to feel awash in all manner of parental guilt.

After all, the Boy has now missed, lunch, and his nap and he's soaking wet.  In his short life, he's never known such deplorable childhood conditions.

I attempt to soothe him how my father would have soothed me.  By reminding him of all the impoverished children in the Phillipines who spend months of the year soaking wet during monsoon season.

It doesn't work.

We are nearer to the end of the trail, we're all soaking wet, muddy, I've managed to slip and fall on a rock splitting my knee open and I have an open wound on the back of my ankle because wet shoes rub very differently than dry ones.

And all through this, Chris was absolutely amazing.  He was cheerful and optimistic and tried to soothe and comfort the Boy, all while walking as quickly as possible down the trail to get him into dry clothes and into the car.  I can't tell you enough how Chris totally saved the day.  What humor he was utterly lacking on the way up, he more than made up for on the way down.  And more than once he stopped to remind me of how beautiful it was.

And it really was.

Just as we caught sight of the car, the rain stopped and we both started to chuckle about it. 

I had packed dry shirts for us in the backpack but they--and everything else in BOTH packs--were absolutely soaking wet.  We dry off as best we can and I ask Chris if he thinks the reason it was so quiet on top of the mountain was maybe because the birds had all taken cover from that lovely little piece of dampness.

And he says, "I think that might be a reasonable deduction."

The Boy was just grand.  Once he got dried off and was comforted by his beloved binkit he was good as gold.

I'll need someone to remind me to tell him about the family curse, when he gets a little older.

Chimney Rock

When Chris and I started talking about spending a week in the mountains we put together an impressive wish list of hikes that we wanted to take.  So impressive we had to whittle it down.

What survived the cuts and made it to the top of the list was Chimney Rock.  We'd seen the signs for years on our trips from Athens to Durham but never actually made it there.  We'd been watching the scenery go by from the vantage point of our futon on movie nights when Daniel Day-Lewis was the order of the evening.

(Incidentally, this scene is filmed on top of the waterfall we hiked to.  We were at the bottom of the falls, but it was beautiful nonetheless.)



Chris had bought a great child-backpack off of ebay and so we set off.

Now, you should probably understand a couple of things before we get started.  I love hiking.  I lurve it.  More than once I have considered just walking off the path and going native.  But...I haven't really been hiking since Chris and I got together.  Why?  Because my man doesn't really hike.  He doesn't particularly enjoy physical exercise of any kind.  It's important to know this at the start because he's going to say some things that are just funny in any language, but you have to know this little quirk about my favorite computer junkie--let's call him Christopher the Inert.

But in the spirit of marital harmony he agrees to hike with me so long as I periodically watch movies and vegetate with him.  And since I'm all about marital harmony, I agree.  At least I get my hiking.

We were handed a map of the trails at the entrance gate and Chris was thinking that a nice leisurely walk in the woods would be good.  I managed to talk him into the Hickory Nut Falls trail.  After all, it was nice and short and shouldn't be too difficult.  So we head down there.

And by down there I mean down down DOWN about 80 flights of stairs.  And I'm chattering away to distract Chris from the reality that eventually we'll have to climb back UP the stairs.  Maybe he just won't notice...la la LA.

We get down there and I confess, I am so happy that I'm all but trotting...like those annoying yappy happy dogs that run circles around their people.  Poor Chris is schlepping the Boy, heretofore known as the 30 pound Wonder, on his back and here I am trotting and bouncing up and down the trail.

He really was a great sport though.

He has a very forbearing face, no? 

Want to see how happy I was?  It's a little nauseating...

Big, tough M scampering down the trial, annoying her husband by climbing OFF the trail and onto enormous piles of fallen rocks.

We finally got to the falls.  Lo, it was beautiful.

Ok, so you can't really see the falls here...what you can sort of see through the trees is the sheer rock face...

That's better.

We climbed over the fallen rocks to the pool that the water falls into.  We took a nice break with our boy, drank some water, chased some butterflies and then headed back out.

Now.  I'm not bragging or anything.  I'm pretty woefully out of shape as well, having not really exercised since the Spring, but I was feeling pretty good so I was totally up for climbing all the way to the ROCK.  Even after 4000 stairs back up.  At which point I started to wonder if Chris would ever go hiking with me again.

But Chris and the 30 pound Wonder nixed the hike up to the Rock in favor of taking the ELEVATOR up and then hiking back down.  Which is an example of a perfect compromise.

The views were AMAZING.

But I guess if you don't really want to hike you could just watch Last of the Mohicans instead.

The Sacred Spaces

When I got back to NC, my mom asked me what my favorite thing was that I had done while in New York.

I thought for a minute and replied with the Public Library and St. Patrick's Cathedral.

Which surprised even me because I hadn't planned to see either of them.

Thursday morning came. Chris got up too early, headed down and was the first one at early registration. He registered and came back up stairs to hang out with me while I pondered and planned. We watched the news and chatted sleepily--something we never get to do and therefore a novelty. He finally headed back downstairs for breakfast and his first class and I headed for a hot shower and my Search for Bagels.

My plan was just to wander until I found bagels and then to head in the general direction of the Public Library. I had been told, when we joined the group for drinks the night before (we were the only ones drinking water), that the Public Library was indeed impressive as was St. Patrick's Cathedral and they were relatively close and FREE so I thought I would check them out.

I found the Bagel Bar. And a choir of angels started to sing. Their bagels were full and soft and chewy and once toasted they achieved a perfectly crunchy crust. I ordered 2 whole wheat ones, both toasted but only one with cream cheese. I picked up a diet coke, double-checked the map and off I walked. I knew that Bryant Park was adjacent to the library so I had intended to settle myself there in order to fully appreciate my bagels.

I found Bryant Park with no problem at all. I found a quiet seat with a table on a tree-lined walk and a view of 2 men playing chess and a couple of cops eating donuts. I pulled out my Isaac Babel and my bagels and settled down for breakfast. The story I just happened to be on was "Public Library" which I thought fitting. I read and I ate and I people-watched and I listened to the sounds of the city and the people around me.

I sent Chris a text message that said, "Do two bagels and a diet coke consumed in Bryant Park make for a perfect breakfast? Why yes, I think they do." He got a chuckle out of that, but I'm pretty sure he was jealous.

The Library didn't open until 10am and while I was waiting a woman (a NATIVE) walked up and asked me for directions. I hesitated for a minute, not sure if she was serious but then shrugged and gave her directions and then laughed after she was gone.

Once the library opened, I headed in. There was the habitual security line with the obligatory bag search and then up up up the long staircase and along the hallway and then...then...

The main reading room.


There's a reason the light is golden and the ceiling is painted with clouds like the heavens.


Because this is what Heaven looks like. Books line the walls, long and wide tables with soft lighting. Plenty of space to spread out. The chair wrap around your back so you can sit up or slouch comfortably. I settled down and read two more stories before getting up to wander.

The New York Public Library is a library like European libraries where the public doesn't actually have ACCESS to the Books. But they do have an ample staff of qualified librarians who will obtain the books you want and bring them to you at your request. I didn't request anything, I had hoped to wander the Slavic section, but instead contented myself with the reading room and in my wanderings, who did I happen to find?

Jane Austen.

And?

Charles Dickens.

I swear. It's like I have some kind of programming that leads me to them where e'er I may wander.

I found another hall that had some lovely paintings of authors, but then realized that I was starting to run short on time, so I headed down to St. Patrick's Cathedral.

Now. I'm not Catholic. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But I am someone who can appreciate a wide variety of sacred spaces. I actually find it quite thought provoking to visit the sacred spaces of other religions and cultures...it says A LOT about the people who build them and worship there.

I've visited a variety of cathedrals before, but not for quite some time. It was awe-inspiring to be in one again.

The space itself is amazing. It's HUGE. With stained-glass windows all around. They were getting ready for 12 o'clock mass so the organist was playing and there were Catholics praying in various languages all around me. I sat down in the middle and said a quiet prayer for my Boy, my Husband, my family.

And I thought about that wonderful story from Elijah:

He's hiding, fearing for his life, and he begins to despair and as he prays he says, "I, even I only, am left; they seek my life, to take it away. And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a still, small voice." (1 Kings 19: 11-12)

I was thinking of how we build the grand, spacious, beautiful, intimidating spaces in which to worship God. And yet. He's not in those Grand, Expansive, Elaborate spaces. He is in the still, small voice. He's in our Homes. He's in our families. He's in the quiet (well, mostly quiet), comfortable, cozy, simple spaces where we live our daily lives. If we let Him in.

I got up quietly and slipped out.

The Not-so-Fun Friday: Getting Lost, Getting Found

So, I've mentioned before that Friday was the only day I got lost. I shall now commence the Tale of the Friday.

This was the only day I felt indecisive while plotting my day. I had originally planned to see the Ukrainian museum and Little Odessa (out in QUEENS), but then I double-checked the hours and discovered that it wouldn't be possible. I had wanted to see the Jewish Heritage Museum, but it was WAY far away and I didn't relish the idea of taking the subway by myself.

So I laid in bed and stewed and stewed and stewed.

I carefully planned out another itinerary which was all within walking distance, but comprised of sights that I was indifferent about.

So I laid in bed and stewed and stewed and stewed.

The problem was that I could hear my sister's voice in my head. Rolling her eyes and saying, "Oh, M, don't be DUMB. You can take the Subway! Don't be DUMB and you'll be FINE! Just GO. And don't be DUMB. GO." I hated the thought of having to face her and tell her that I hadn't seen the museum because I was too scared to ride the subway by myself.

So I screwed up my courage and got out of bed.

I showered and dressed and headed out with the intention of stopping at the same bagel place I had stopped at the day before, loading up with my bagels and my diet coke and then marching myself to the subway and down to the Jewish Heritage museum. I remembered that I had headed out 46th street the day before so that's the way I headed. But I couldn't remember if the bagel shop was on 9th or 8th and the subway station I needed was on 7th, so I figured I would just walk and keep my eyes open and I would find it.

HAAAAAAAAAA.

Yeah. I never did find it. I walked and I walked and I walked and I thought SURE I should have found that bagel shop and if not THAT one, then I should have found ANOTHER bagel shop because, dude, this is NEW YORK, Land of the Hallowed Bagel! But no. I found no other bagel shop. I counted 6 (SIX) Starbucks and 2 diners and 4 pizza joints but NO bagel shops. So in a Low Blood Sugar desperation, I stopped at one of the SIX Starbucks, bought a scone and a big glass of milk and marched myself to the Subway and admitted Bagel Defeat.

I picked up the subway with no trouble, other than being in a car full of Italian students. I drank my milk and people watched and scowled at the Italians with their skinny jeans and high heels.

I got off the subway and walked right down to the museum. I bought my ticket and headed in. And it was absolutely amazing. The first floor was Jewish heritage up to 1930. The second floor was the Holocaust and World War II. The third floor was the Jewish resurgency. It was all amazing...full of life and tradition and hope. I cried three times...well, I'll just show you.


There were ELEVEN (11) of these wall displays. They were 6 feet tall and probably 3 feet wide and filled with tiled photographs of Jews and Jewish families killed in the Holocaust. Attached to each display was a notebook inscribed with the words, "They had homes and families and names." and the notebooks were filled with identifying information of the people in the photographs. It was amazing, you were walking through this maze of faces and the curators had carefully named every one of them.

There was a separate section on each floor for the experience of Jewish children and I have to admit that I cried every time. It was hard to transition from the joy and affection of the children in the pre-1930 section to the absolute horrors of the Holocaust for the children affected by it. Aside from the pictures of the children starving and horrifically abused, there were interviews of adults who had been sent away by their parents before the war began in earnest and how all those years later they still wept for the childhood they had lost, the parents they had lost, the innocence they had lost. It was marvelous and so SO sad.

And then to get up to the third floor and to see the happy faces of Jewish children around the world, in spite of the current violence in Israel. It was lovely.

Chris called just as I was finishing up so we arranged to meet in a cemetery near Ground Zero and to view the sight together. I walked and walked and walked right past Ground Zero and peered into the MASS that the site is now. I expected to feel slightly sick, scared, small, torn. But...I don't know. It's a big construction zone now. It doesn't feel empty or frightening. It feels like a beehive.

We headed up to Central Park for a long meander and then on to the Museum of Modern Art.

Please understand, I am a walker. I prefer to get around on my two feet as God intended. I've walked all over, in Seattle, in Athens, in Germany and Ireland, in Boston and Savannah. But by Friday, I had walked myself into the GROUND. I was exhausted and my feet were killing me. But I had never been to Central Park and I wanted to see it and spend time with Chris. So off we went.

We got off somewhere in the middle on the West side of Central Park and just wandered. And it's GORGEOUS. Right there in the middle of this enormous city is this great swath of green and almost fresh air. It's not quiet, but it's quieter than the city bits. We walked and chatted and laughed. We pointed out New York Hair for the Blog Post that Was Not to Be. We stopped and bought frozen custard cones and they were DELICIOUS.

mmmmm...frozen custard.

We were looking for an Alice in Wonderland sculpture because Chris really wanted to see it. He said he felt like Alice the whole time, lost in Wonderland and not sure of how to get out again. Unfortunately we weren't sure of where we were at this point, nor of how to get to the Alice and Wonderland sculpture, so we just kept on wandering.

We found this awesome bridge with an amazing view...


You'll just have to take our word for it that the view was great. What? Chris NEVER smooches me in public, I was enjoying my fleeting moment of Public Affection.

We actually DID find the Alice in Wonderland statue but some film students were filming some scene for some amateur film that will very probably suck, so we didn't get a picture.

We were trying to kill time because the Museum of Modern Art is free of charge from 4-8 on Fridays and we were trying to see Monet's Waterlilies. It was painted in 3 panels and they're almost never displayed together, but the MoMA had them all three hung together and we really wanted to see it, but my husband is CHEAP, so we were trying to time it just right so as to not have to PAY to see it.

So in our rambles through Central Park we saw these crazy street performers. They were pretty funny and moderately talented.

After walking and walking and walking (until I could no longer feel my weary feet) we ended up on 5th avenue and headed towards the museum.

We walked through the doors and oh, my...someone catch me I am going to FAINT for it was literally body to body PACKED. LOADED. AT CAPACITY. FULL of PEOPLE. We got two of the last tickets available and headed up to see the Waterlilies.

You have to understand, at this point, I was at maximum saturation, overstimulation, need-to-hide in order to absorb everything. But Chris? Chris had been stuck in a boring conference all morning! This was an ADVENTURE! FUN! C'mon! Let's GO! So up up up the stairs we went. We joined the throngs there to see the paintings. I have to admit, it was impressive. But I was relieved to be out of there.

We headed back to the hotel because Chris finally realized that I had had ENOUGH. I ran a warm bath and soaked for a while before we had to head out to dinner.

Which is another story for another time...

The Grown-up World

The last time I was in New York I was much younger. Still an adult (in my early 20s) but not quite an adult...you know. Still reliant on my sister to get us around, content to go where she decided and to see what she deemed necessary. Before that I had been when I was 17 and I was with my parents and my older sister and her family. So I have never really been to New York in a situation where I had to make the decisions and get myself around town.

It was weird.

The other element to this comparative exercise is that both of those earlier visits were pre-9/11. The are glossed over with a golden light. In truth, I remember very little. I know that on the first visit the World Cup was being held there and the hockey team...not the Knicks, or the Jets or the Yankees or the Mets the other ones...the RANGERS! (and yes, I had to ask Chris what their name was...) had just won the Stanely Cup. I remember this because there was a ticker-take parade and I had never seen anything like it. I remember Jeff got us all sandwiches from Carnegie Deli that were so big they wouldn't fit in your mouth...I remember the statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. But that's it. I think maybe we took the subway. I can't remember if we walked all over, I don't remember shopping or anything specific. After that, in my 20s I remember the Natural History museum. They were having an exhibit on Native North Americans and it was very good. But again, I don't really remember anything else, other than being with my sister. I never felt indecisive, I never looked at a map, I never felt unsure or nervous about anything.

Now? Well, it's just different when you're the grown-up. And well, we live in a different world now.

Now there are mandatory bag checks in almost all public places. There are metal detectors almost everywhere. There are police and mean looking security gaurds everywhere. And no one, NO ONE questions any of this. No one feels like it's an imposition, people wait patiently in the long security lines, people happily strip off shoes, belts, scarves, hats, bags, headphones, and empty pockets every where you go. It's this extraordinary apathy, this acceptance that this is simply the world in which we live now. What is depressing is that no one seems to remember that other time. That time before when we could just walk in to a building, when security gaurds smiled and a woman could carry tampons in her bag without everyone else visiting a building knowing about it.

The planning part was puzzling but also fun. Chris would get up and get dressed for the conference and I lounged in bed with my guidebook and my map and plotted my day based on the sights I wanted to see and the routes I would take to get there. Up and dressed. Game face on. Long strides and a quick pace. Act like you know what you're doing and no one will question you.

Except to ask you for directions, which I got on my second day there. I smiled and told the woman exactly how to get to where she was headed.

The difficulty factor was raised by trying to mesh my agenda with Chris' and our determination to spend time together. And then there are the limitations of certain museums or sights. The Ukrainian museum was only open 1-5pm Wednesday through Saturday, and since Chris wasn't interested in seeing it, it was quickly axed. Ground Zero and the Jewish Heritage museum were sort of in the same area so I saw the museum and Chris met me at Ground Zero. Ellis Island would take the most time so we went the first day before the conference started. And then there was the pull of the group and the need to network...which, when it wasn't actively complicating things, it was making us feel twinges of guilt for NOT being with the group.

Friday, the only day I got lost, I was bemoaning the loss of my youth and the blessing of having a wonderful and smart older sister to tell me where to go and what to do and how to get there and don't be DUMB. But once I found my feet again, I realized that while it has it's own difficulty, it's still better to be the adult and be free to go and to do and to decide than otherwise.

I wish I could say the same for the world in which we live. I wish I could say that I think we're in a better place, a safer place now than we once were, but...I can't help feeling that something good has gone.

The Blog Posts that Weren't

So, I sent Whimsy this text on the first day in New York about the blog posts that I wanted to write (so badly!) but knew that I could not. I simply could not. So for your amusement, on this Tuesday morning, I provide you with an explanatory list of the Blog Posts that should have been (if I were a meaner girl).

1. A Photo Essay of New York HAIR. I can't tell you how many bizarre, unkempt or just ugly heads of hair I saw while I was there. There was the long and shaggy 70s man-do, there were mullets to bring a swell of pride to any redneck heart, there were long chunky spikes, bad dye-jobs, mohawks and afros that should NOT have been. There were comb-overs and helmet hair and people who obviously thought they looked fabulous when they left their apartment that morning. When asked why I do not have photographic evidence of this Tour de Force, the reason is simple. I cannot bring myself to surrepitiously take a picture of someone's hair in order to mock them. I just could not do it. I wanted to do it. Chris and I continued to point out examples of horrific hair to one another throughout the visit, but I just couldn't do it. You'll have to take my word for it. It was something else.
2. A Photo Essay of How all New York Women Look the SAME. I was surprised by this one, but it's true. They all wear the same scarves, they have the same spikey shoes--how they walk in those, I have no idea--they carry the same handbags, they use the same phones and ipods, wear the same style jeans (it's all skinny jeans all the time and really, is there anyone who looks good in those?). It was moderately discomforting to look around and see how homogenous the world is.
3. A Scratch and Sniff Essay on the following places: the Subway, Hell's Kitchen, Times Square and Ellis Island. Really, people, this is what the internet is MISSING. SMELL. WHEN is Bill Gates going to work this one out? Anyway, I wish you could imagine the variety of these smells. The Subway...oh how it stinks. It's this weird mix of stale air, exhaust fumes, body odor, and bad breath...really bad breath. And what made it even stranger was how you'd find a perfectly tolerable pocket of air and then woosh! you'd get this breeze of stench that would make your face wrinkle up and leave you gasping. Then there was Hell's Kitchen--a neighborhood not far from Times Square. There are TONS of restaurants there, it's eatery after eatery after eatery, a foodie paradise! And you can literally find any ethnicity of food you can imagine, Afghan, Thai, Barbeque, Mexican, Vietnamese, pastries, fresh food markets, delis, diners and Starbucks! Starbucks on every corner imaginable. But the smells! It was AMAZING! You'd be walking down the street and smell something spicey and aromatic and then walk 6 feet and it would be pungent or floral, or sweet or sour or limey. It was extraordinary. I could have spent the day just walking up and down and smelling. Times Square was a bit more exotic than the Subway. Still smelly, but with greater variety...more colognes, more tabacco, more alcohol. Ellis Island? Ellis Island is a treat! You get all of those human smells, soap, sweat, whatever, but then you also have random food smells, and then there's this aromatic patina that's leftover from the years and years that Ellis Island was in operation. It's amazing and indescribable, which is why we need Bill Gates to get on that internet-scratch-and-sniff.

New York: the Preamble

So.

I have many stories to tell regarding New York, and they'll be told in good time. But, by way of a preamble to a whole New York Series, I thought you'd enjoy some statistics.

New York in Numbers:

• Plane rides survived: 2
• taxi rides survived: 1
  
• Days spent in the city: 3
• bagels consumed: 4
• subway rides: 6
• times Chris got us lost: 3
• times I got lost: 1
• knock-off bags acquired: 1
• metro cards bought: 3
• metro cards LOST (on the FIRST DAY!): 1
• museums visited: 3
• population: more than 8 million
• languages spoken there: 170
• languages I heard while there: Russian, French, Yiddish, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Thai, Chinese (no, I don't know which dialect...), Vietnamese, oh, and English.
• blocks walked: 4 million

What we Did:

• Ellis Island
• Times Square
• the NY Public Library
• St. Patrick's Cathedral
• Chinatown
• Museum of Jewish Heritage
• Ground Zero
• Museum of Modern Art
• Broadway
• Rockefeller Center
• Central Park
• the Subway
• Katz's Deli
• TWO fancy dinners (I was only expecting ONE...but that's a whole other story)
  

What we didn't DO:

• Ukrainian Museum
  
• Metropolitan Museum of Art
• Natural History Museum
• Little Odessa

Back on the Ground

Well.

I'm back.

Back in NC that is. My Boy is spoiled rotten and FOUL (with me, he thinks my mom is made of GOLD). We're both exhausted and climbing in the car tomorrow to drive all the way back to GA.

THEN! We get two whole days off and we're off AGAIN! Because I took my extra dose of CRAZY this month.

BUT! I have a TON of new blog posts, some that will be written and posted over the next week, and some that cannot be written but oh how I WISH they could! I shall list them all for your amusement, because after 3 days amusing myself to death, I'm so full of the love for all of you that I'm just going to give give give like the little stream.

For now, I need to go gently wake my sleepy Boy so that he can eat dinner and have a bath and then bed again. I need stretchy pants and curling up on my parents remarkably cozy couch to numb my mind with some television.

So what are your plans for Saturday night?

Weep

Why is it that, right before leaving your only child for the first time, you can't seem to remember how awful those first few weeks were? Or the teething that made you want to die? Or the diapers that haunt your dreams?

Why?

Why is it that the only child is always lovely and sweet and tender and so SO attatched to you? Why does it hurt my heart so much to leave him behind?



*****************************************************************************




Last night, I fed him dinner. I bathed him. I dressed him in his fleecey pajamas. I held him tightly while he drank warm milk. We brushed teeth. We said prayers. We had a long cuddle in the dark. I explained that Mama had to go away for a little while, but that I would come back. I will always come back. That Grandma and Grandpa love him and won't let anything bad happen. And I will always always come back.

And then I laid him down to sleep and left the room.

I woke up this morning, I dressed in the dark. I zipped my bag and walked out the door. I'm trusting that everything will be ok. I believe that everything will be ok.

It still hurts.

We have Arrived

We're here.

The Boy was awesome. Many prayers were said and heard and answered. And here is a brief list of what I've learned:

• October is Road Kill Fest on I-95, I saw 4 dead dear, 2 dead foxes, 2 dead opossums and 1 dead and decidedly still recognizable golden retriever. And yes, it made me SAD.
• A mylar balloon is all it takes to win my Boy over. And endless snack cups.
• Singing will save your life every time. I sang myself hoarse after 7 hours in the car.
• Nobody spoils quite like the Grandparents. They had completely won him over within 10 minutes.
• Some things never change. Home is one of them.

Tomorrow I'm off to catch up with lovely friends. Tuesday is laundry and lots of hugs and kisses for the Boy. Wednesday, off I go...

It's a Seattle Tale...

Post the Second from Whimsy Land!

Yesterday were many errands--some of which she is sure to blog about so check up on her because she'll tell the story much better than me.


But I? I am taking ownership over Customer Service Steve and the Tale of the Kitchen Aid Mixer.

Whimsy's Mama had wanted to give Whimsy a Kitchen Aid for Christmas, because, who wouldn't want to give an expensive mechanical device to their daughter for Christmas? But she couldn't find it for some reason, or maybe it was the shipping the thing over here, I'm not sure--it's immaterial, but it's background, people, so pay attention. She had given a gift card in the amount of the aforementioned desirable Kitchen Aid to the lovely Whimsy.

We were having pedicures and Whimsy's Mama called and said that their Kohl's was having a special sale from some such hour to another and if she went during the sale then the gift card should cover the cost of the Kitchen Aid and she could have this beautiful piece of kitchen machinery for her very own.

We were right there and we are wild and crazy pregnant women (oh dear, I'm really hoping that doesn't affect my Google stats) so we popped over to the Kohl's. We hobbled and wandered around until we found the household goods and then we found the Kitchen Aids and they were so shiny and clean and beautiful and promising delicious baked goods every time we were within their siren's song, but there were no signs about the special sale! There were no fliers! There was no information whatsoever and so I--Brave Wife that I am--went off in quest of Customer Service.

There was literally NO ONE on the sales floor. What is with Kohl's lately? There's never anyone when you need them. So I ended up back in the far corner in Customer Service and that is when I met Customer Service Steve.

Customer Service Steve looked a little miffed. I don't think that he was miffed, I just think he looked that way. He looked like he had been sent back to Customer Service many, many moons ago and someone had forgotten that that is where they sent him.

So I, being a temporarily displaced Southerner, did what any Southern girl would do--I smiled and turned on the Southern Accent. I asked about the special sale and did that happen to apply to the Kitchen Aid mixers--and did he happen to know?

And he said, "Sure. Check the flier. Sale starts at 3pm." So I checked the flier and indeed all kitchen electronics were an additional 10% off, so I thanked him with extra CHARM and trotted off to find Whimsy.

She was standing guard, mesmerized by the shiny Kitchen Aid mixers. So I relayed the appropriate information to her and lo, she was so happy! But Whimsy, y'all is 9 MONTHS PREGNANT! Women who are 9 months pregnant should not be carrying Kitchen Aid mixers, and as I have already mentioned there was NO ONE on the sales floor. I am only 5 months pregnant, I thought that surely that must be the lesser of two pregnant women, so I picked up the one she wanted and took it back to Customer Service Steve.

Why? The gift card was in Whimsy's other bag. We were going to have to put the thing on hold while we ran (I'm speaking figuratively here, people) home to get the gift card and then come back to purchase the Kitchen Aid mixer.

So. We are now two pregnant women walking up to Customer Service Steve with a very large, very heavy Kitchen Aid mixer. It was placed on the counter--you need to get a visual of this, Whimsy and I are both rather...petite. Between the counter and the height of the Kitchen Aid mixer, we could really only see Customer Service Steve's forehead. Alas, we informed him of our ill preparedness and our pregnant states. At which point, Customer Service Steve's head bobs to the side of the Kitchen Aid mixer and checks us out with a very intense frown on his face.

He then demands, "Why did you carry this down here then?!? Why didn't you just ask for help and I would have gone and gotten it!?!"

At which point I'm torn between laughing at the now disgruntled Customer Service Steve and being a little scared of him...the last thing I need is someone else bullying me about "resting" or whatever.

So I shrug and sheepishly reply, "I have issues asking for help."

At which point, he responds that of course he'll hold the mixer until we come back and maybe I should seek out a support group for that issue of asking for help.

That people, is the appropriate and comical use of sarcasm...and props to Customer Service Steve for his use thereof.

Whimsy and I had a little henna done--that story will be posted at the Creamery--so we were really in a fit state to saunter back into Kohl's and purchase the shiny Kitchen Aid mixer, so we did what most pregnant women would do--we sent in Whimsy's Chip.

You have to understand. Chip is...um...not petite. Chip is very tall. And can be a little scary looking when he really wants to be. And I have the feeling he was not terribly amused about having to purchase a Kitchen Aid mixer for his very pregnant wife while she was reclining in the car because of some "exposure" issues.

So, from what I can gather, Chip walked up to Customer Service, met with Customer Service Steve and scared him. More than a little. Apparently, Customer Service Steve contritely explained that he had wanted to help us but that we hadn't asked and he maybe didn't know that we were pregnant and he was awfully sorry.

And Chip purchased the shiny Kitchen Aid mixer and trotted back out to the car where we were waiting and he may have chuckled just a little.

LIVE from SEATTLE it's Friday!

Hello everyone. So sorry to have not posted for a bit. It was a crazy week trying to clear my desk at work and then getting set to take off for Seattle and Whimsy! And while I will have the trip in photos for you come next week--I'm making no promises--I wanted to let the lovely internets know that I had not forgotten about you...and also, to give you all some travel tips.

Flying Brings out the Worst in Everyone--Including ME:

• When you are flying, remember to BATHE before you board the plane. With soap. And use deodorant. Your fellow passengers, don't want to smell you. For 4.5 hours. 30,000 feet over Montana. And yes, I'm talking to you seat 24D.
• If you are going to be sarcastic to the point of being CRUEL and MEAN--keep it to yourself when you're in an enclosed tube, otherwise known as an Airplane. Seat 27F, I mean you. The flight attendants didn't do anything mean to you, so don't be mean to them.
• If you're going to insist on NOT paying attention to what's going on in the cabin around you, keep your complaints to yourself when you then don't know what's going on. 26 A and B I mean both of you.
  
• Man in 25F--I don't need to know the whole story of your soon-to-be-ex-wife and hearing it just makes me sad. Please don't make the pregnant girl sitting near you sad.
• To most passengers in general: You do not need to pack your entire life into your carry-on baggage, ce n'est pas necessaire! In fact, you're being incredibly selfish and slowing everyone else down. Check your bag and bring a book. That's all you need.
• If you're flying COACH. And there's someone sitting behind you. PLEASE DON'T PUT YOUR SEAT BACK. Don't even be tempted. It's utterly selfish and arrogant. Why should you deserve to be any more comfortable than anyone else?
  

And that was the flight in a nutshell. I managed to survive it. I hate flying as you all know--it makes me think of death, and in very unpleasant ways, but it's done with until Monday so I will be Scarlet and not think about that now, I'll think about that tomorrow.

As for today, there is much fun planned by the Lovely Whimsy! There will be henna and pedicures and shopping! And as for the rest, we'll see.

So what are you all doing this weekend?

First things First

I am working on a bit of a spread of our Boston trip, because I knooow all of you are sitting on the edges of your wee seats dying to know all about it. But in the meantime...I have some lists for you!

What I loved about the weekend in Boston:

1) Spending time with The Husband. We were goofy and silly and sarcastic. We ate great food and had great conversation. He bought me an ice cream cone out of the back of a van and I laughed the whole time I ate it because I haven't done such a thing since I was a small small child.
2) I could hear 8 different languages in the course of a city block! It was like my version of heaven!
3) Lots of cool overcast skies. Beautiful!
4) Lights are optional for pedestrians, if you think you can cross without getting hit--go for it!
5) Piling up on P.'s bed to watch Everything is Illuminated.
6) Watching the Husband exploring the USS Constitution. He was like a little kid at Christmas--I have seldom seen him so completely and totally happy.
7) Cannolis from Mikes...ohmygoodness ricotta cheese x sugar + chocolate chips = BLISS.

Things I did NOT like about my trip to Boston:

1) Flying. We did not like it. Not a bit of it.
2) People honk their car horns A LOT. If you so much as hesitate at a light that is still RED but will be turning GREEN in the next millisecond, they will honk you to SHAME.
3) -----edited to protect the feelings of those we love.
4 ------edited to protect the feelings of those we love.
5) 3 hours at the Head of the Charles. It's a boat race, I don't get it.
6) NOT SEEING the Paul Revere House, the Bunker Hill monument, the Russian district, or the Irish district, or the immigration museum.
7) P. being so busy with work and others. We came to see him, after all, and it felt like we were just a hassle and in the way...and that's no fun at all.

That said, here's the last list of the day:

Things you should do if you ever go to Boston:

1) Don't trust your friends to show you what you really care about. They won't. They'll show you what they care about--which is fine if you have common interests--but if you don't, just by a Charlie Ticket and go and see stuff by yourself. Otherwise you'll end up missing out on the city you wanted to see.
2) Take an umbrella. Even if it doesn't look like rain. Trust me.
3) If you still persist in not taking an umbrella, take extra clothes to change in to when you are soaking wet from the rain that really didn't look like falling.
4) EAT. Where you want, when you want and what you want.
5) Know what you want to see, ride the T to that place and then walk--don't meander from Davis Square to Boston Commons. You'll be tired and grumpy and there won't really be any time to see what you wanted to see to begin with.
6) Pay for your own space, you'll sleep better if you can walk around naked for a bit.
7) Know how YOU travel. And don't mix vacation/pleasure/FUN with Friends or Family. It doesn't mean you love them any less, you do, it's just so much more efficient and you won't feel guilty for leaving them behind or resenting them in the morning.

Love and Hate

We're gearing up for a trip to Boston tomorrow. Neither of us has ever been before and one of the Husband's best friends lives up there so we're popping in for a long weekend and a visit with P.

I love travel. I do. I love seeing new places and experiencing new things. I love the different faces. I love cities. I do. I really do.

That said: I HATE travelling! Why do we do this to ourselves and call it FUN?!? Seriously! The laundry and then the packing and the provision for the CATS and then the AIRLINES!!! Let us not even discuss the state of air travel! And then the hassle of not knowing where you're going and trying to navigate a CITY with all of your LUGGAGE! And I'm a LIGHT packer! And the people! So. Many. New. People. What was I thinking in my wee introvert brain? And then the COST!!! Please, can we not contemplate the amount of money that travel costs? I need to breathe into a paper bag for a moment.

...

Okay. I think I'm moderately calmer now. In a theoretical sort of way I am looking forward to this. After all 2 whole days off work! YAY! 2 whole days with the Husband! YAY! 3 whole days with P all to ourselves! YAY! But seriously...I still wonder why I am doing this to myself. I could feasibly hide in my apartment for 4 days not checking email, not answering the phone (not that I answer the phone that much anyway...), and not changing out of my pajamas! I know. I know. Travelling broadens the mind and enriches our life through being and experience and blah blah blah.

Alright, already! I'm going now. If you need me, I'll be in Boston.