For a multitude of reasons, some parents give up on kids like that.  Others pour their hearts and souls and a considerable amount of money into trying to help their troubled kids, and some succeed.  Some don’t.  Some can't spend the time or the money, and mental health care is, of course, expensive and hard to come by.

He needed more, or different, help than what he was getting, but since I know very little about his mental health, I will say what I do know.  He had a lot of guns, and he used them to kill a lot of people very quickly.
 

Labels: being political, observations, SAHM

• posted by erica 12/14/2012 08:51:00 PM
•  1 comments

Okay, I know the standard message is that every vote matters.  But in a recent discussion with my husband, I realized I don't believe this, and I'm betting a lot of the rest of you don't believe it, either.  We rarely hear of a decision coming down to one vote, except maybe in a classroom or a Girl Scout troop.  Or the Supreme Court (um, almost every time).  But in the electoral college system, in a country of 300 million people?  Nope.  Sorry.

Here's the thing, though.  VotING counts.  It's not the individual vote you cast.  It's the act of voting that matters.  It's partly because your voice is being heard; I'm a firm believer that you earn your right to complain, whine, cheer, and basically have an opinion on anything political by actually showing up and saying, "Yes, I'm here, and here's my vote."  But it's also about much more than which box you mark.  It's about the fact that your co-workers and friends know you voted, so you're influencing them and making each of them more likely to vote, too.  Your kids, if you have any, know you voted, and they'll grow up caring about it, even if they end up making decisions that are different than yours.  And every other person standing in line with you on Election Day, though most of them have places to be and really don't want to stand in a long line, know that you are right there with them, voting.  You're keeping each other there.  Everyone stands in that long line because they believe it matters.  They know that we cast our votes together, and we make these decisions together.

I'm bringing Kent in with me this time, because our polling place is the school right behind our house so we're planning to walk over.  Kent is five now, and he is finally old enough to want to come with me since he's been following the election news and cares about the outcome.  He was supporting Romney over the summer, but he is squarely his parents' child now and is supporting Obama after the gay marriage discussion.  We're thinking doughnuts afterward.  I'm just sad that he's going to be asleep before all the election returns come in that night.  I still remember how anxious I felt in 1988, the first presidential election I really remember (I was eight), going to bed not knowing who the next president would be and thinking how hard it was going to be to wait until the next morning to find out.

Casting my vote in 2008 felt good.  Kind of embarrassingly good.  But guess what else felt good?  Standing in line with everyone else from my neighborhood, waiting for my turn.  I had kind of a goofy grin the whole time.  I get an unbelievable feeling of patriotism when I think about those radical souls nearly 250 years ago who fought, discussed ideas, wrote eloquently and persuasively, and often died, trying to make sure that they could form a country where everyone had a voice, not just the wealthy and privileged who were born into it.  And I feel even more patriotic when I realize that small groups of dedicated individuals went on over the centuries to guarantee those rights to every single adult citizen of our country.  100 years ago, I wouldn't have been allowed to vote.  But we evolved.

So do I vote?  Yep.  Even in the most meager of local elections.  And Louisiana seriously wrote the book on meager local elections, so we had a lot of practice in the last nine years.

Do I vote in presidential elections?  Every single time.  And I get goosebumps every single time.  I still have the sweater I was wearing in 2000 when I voted for Al Gore.

Do I believe that my individual vote is going to be the deciding vote?  Not a chance.  But if I stand up and vote, *and* I spread the word, and everyone who reads this makes a plan for how and when they're getting to their polling place on Tuesday, then I'll feel like my voice is being heard in more ways than one.

Plus, there's that amazing high if the person you voted for actually wins.

Labels: being political, Kent, observations

• posted by erica 11/04/2012 08:31:00 PM
•  2 comments

Labels: being political, church, Kent, my dad, observations, tying the knot

• posted by erica 9/28/2012 05:46:00 PM
•  7 comments

My baby is turning five tomorrow. The tiny, curly-haired life that I first brought into the world, who carries my father’s middle name, who made me a mother, who taught me things about myself that I could never have anticipated, who made me cry harder, laugh harder, think harder, pray harder, and love harder than I ever had before, is growing, changing, into a unique little person. He reads by himself, makes origami tables by himself, opens the fridge by himself, adds numbers by himself, orders by himself at restaurants, gets himself ready in the morning, and invents entire projects with cardboard, paper, scissors, and tape by himself. He’s practically autonomous. I asked him if he would like some coffee in the morning with his birthday pancakes and bacon, since he’s almost a grownup and I figure he’ll start liking coffee soon. He said, “I might not like it, but I’ll try it. I’ll just have one cup.”

Of course, he still insists that when he’s a grownup, he’s going to live with us and go to work with Jack. He also insists that Dean will live somewhere else. Every older sibling’s dream: getting Mom and Dad to himself again at long last. Maybe the three of us will sit around and drink coffee together and complain that we wish Dean would call more often, or wonder aloud when Dean is ever going to ask that nice girl to marry him.

I also told him he’s going to be much taller when he wakes up in the morning. He was almost sure that I was kidding. He always asks if I’m kidding, even if it’s the most ludicrous thing in the world, like if I just said I was turning into a cat, or that we would never have dessert again. I never know if it’s because he really can’t tell — I’m very good at dead-panning it and have nearly alienated friends because they couldn’t tell I was joking — or if he just needs verbal confirmation that I know I’m kidding so he can make sure I haven’t lost my mind.

I’m starting to teach him to play the piano and read music, too. This one totally floors me. He played his first piano piece today from the Alfred book, alternating fingers 2 and 3 on the group of two black keys while singing a little ditty about playing notes with one’s left hand. Someday he’s going to play a real piece of music by an actual composer, and I will probably cry.

Oh crap. I just realized Dean is going to do all of these things by himself someday, too. And then he’ll move out, leaving Kent to reclaim their shared bedroom and have all the trains to himself again.



Seriously, where did this guy go?

Labels: Freude, Kent, observations, photography

• posted by erica 7/02/2012 08:52:00 PM
•  4 comments

Returning from the ether to blog again feels like stretching before a run after I've gone weeks without running. Like making a lunch date with a friend I haven't seen in years. Or like dusting off an old recipe I haven't made in a while. Anticipation. Familiarity. A little self-doubt thrown into the mix. And once I get going, a wholehearted desire never to let myself go this long without doing it again.

I told myself that I was taking a break from blogging because I was more interested in concentrating on my life than in writing about it. I realized upon closer examination that that wasn't really true, though. I still spent just as much time on the internet; I just transferred my internet energies to Facebook. Bits and snippets instead of quality writing. Keeping up with 500 of my closest friends and family members and commenting on a small fraction of things that were happening in their lives, instead of reading the blogs of people who inspire me. Publishing hilarious/poignant/ephemeral choppy phrases here and there instead of making a concerted effort to communicate in a structured way.

There are things I really enjoy about Facebook. Where else can you get nearly-instantaneous polling data on which color of vinyl siding you should put on your house? Or recount quickly a ridiculously funny thing your preschooler said, or share photos from a birthday party for family who weren't there, and for most of the friends who were there? It has brought me much closer to people I never would have imagined having much of a relationship with. But then again, so did blogging. I just forgot that. And blogging works differently. It takes more time and effort than Facebook.

What I don't enjoy about Facebook is the feeling that there's always more to see, always more posts to read or friends to catch up with or photos to comment on. I stopped reading my news feed a long time ago because I never had time to scroll through it all, but I try to keep up with family and close friends as I have the chance. Yet I'm still always missing news, photos, and funny stories from the people I've forgotten to check in on. And I still feel a little jealous when I read posts where other people have commented in really sympathetic, knowing ways to something I didn't even know was happening. I think a lot of those people spend way more time on Facebook than I do... which leads me to wonder a bit self-righteously what they might be missing out on in their own lives. Or maybe they just don't have as many "friends" as I do. Quotation marks intended. So can we all agree that Facebook is great in some ways, and maybe not-so-great in others?

The main reason I wanted to come back, to dust off the old space I used to occupy here, is to give myself something structured to get me through a very major life change. We're moving from Louisiana, where we've lived for the past 8.5 years, to Virginia, where I've dreamed of living ever since I met Jack. So much about Virginia is exciting and beautiful, and I feel deep-down that Virginia will fit who we are while helping us become the people we want to be. Yet the thought of leaving this home we've made for ourselves, these friends, this school, this church, this bizarre state and way of living, and this tiny, imperfect house, is sometimes more than I can stand. I've needed to let myself get lost in writing about it, and the 420 characters to which I'm limited in a status update just isn't the right venue.

My advice for today is this: put yourself in situations where you can look around the room and realize that you love every single person in that room. This has been happening to me more and more since we found out we were moving. Honestly, I've never felt more popular in my life. I have all of these "last dinners" and "farewell get-togethers" to get through — time-consuming, emotionally difficult, but wonderful — and having numerous chances to appreciate all of these dear friends is a blessing in the midst of the crazy.

My dear old blog will be getting me through the next two and a half weeks as we prepare to leave Louisiana. I will need it even more when we're in Richmond and I'm getting acclimated, making new friends but missing the old ones, and making a new routine but missing the old one. Check back, and shoot me some words if you feel like leaving your mark.

Labels: blogging, Louisiana, observations, Virginia

• posted by erica 2/11/2012 09:50:00 PM
•  2 comments

Kent is away. He's on a road trip with Jack's mom to Oklahoma for a family reunion, and Jack, Dean and I are going to fly up in two days to join them. Except for our hospital stay when Dean was born, this is Kent's first real time away from us. I know he's going to have a blast. I also know that, as much as I've been craving some time away from him and a chance for him to bond with a grandparent, I already miss him. He's so big, going on a road trip without me.

As soon as Dean and I came home from lunch, I got started on clearing off our monstrously messy computer desk. I sifted through a few papers and started organizing Kent's art supplies, and then I came across a folder from the first church women's retreat I attended a few years ago. They had given us notebook paper to jot down thoughts over the weekend, and I found a little mini-essay I had scrawled. I had completely forgotten about it, but as soon as I started reading, I remembered exactly what it felt like to visit Feliciana for the first time on that spring weekend, to sit outside on a bench overlooking the slope of pine trees and the glassy lake in the distance. It's a beautifully still space, a magical escape. What I saw was this:

"As I sat outside, I scanned the grounds and admired the slender long-leaf pines. The tallest and straightest caught my eye first, but then I noticed that not every tree had such a clear and unembellished way about it. Some forked early, with mighty branches reaching out in all directions. Others were smaller, younger. Before I knew it, I found myself searching for the most crooked that might stand in opposition to the straightness of the others. Suddenly, the trees became to me a community of individuals, each with its own separate path to the sky. Because, in spite of the twists, forks, and sideways growth, they were, all of them, stretching ultimately upward to be guided by the sun. They were all sisters and brothers, parents and children in a glorious lineage of greenness and vitality. How could I not look for that crooked pine? It was the one capable of reminding me that, though I have surface incongruities, I have a family. I also have something that is all my own — the spontaneous perfection of individualism that is treasured by God."

Keep in mind that I wrote this before children, before abandoning a PhD, before I took a hard look at my life and realized academia for its own sake was not my calling. And yet, I still knew that I was a crooked pine. I was grappling with my place in the world, and as usual, was crafting an elaborate analogy to explain it all.

I love being a mother. LOVE. My choices have led me right to this spot in life, this frustrating, exhausting, beautiful spot. I couldn't be luckier. But man, it's nice to have some time to be inside my own head again.

Labels: church, flora, Freude, observations, SAHM

• posted by erica 8/11/2010 02:13:00 PM
•  2 comments

I had a moment just a little while ago. A rare moment of peace. Dean was napping, Kent and Jack were outside trying to put up the new mailbox post (ours was knocked down in a crime spree last weekend), and I had just gotten dinner on the table. Getting dinner on the table usually happens while one or both of my kids is upset, I'm sweating, Jack is pouring drinks while trying to tell me about his day or about a story he heard on NPR on the drive home, and I'm racking my brain trying to think of what ingredient or component I've forgotten. But tonight, dinner came together in peace. Dressed salads in bowls, puff pastry pinwheels with red peppers and cheese sat piled on a plate, and each place had its beverage all ready. Jack's and mine included a glass of red wine, a rare but special addition to the table. I was enjoying a sip of wine while listening to The Beatles, all on my own.

Then I went outside to check on progress, and I came back inside to hear Dean screaming. Moment over, but not forgotten.

Labels: observations, SAHM

• posted by erica 5/02/2010 07:01:00 PM
•  1 comments

I’m a day away from 30. And I’ve never felt better. I’m embracing it, looking forward with nothing but excitement and optimism.

In my 20s, I got a first-class education. I found a husband. I created life. I learned how to keep dear old friends and make new ones, how to sustain loving relationships with family members from halfway across the country. I learned how to apologize, really apologize. I learned to let things go. I took writing classes. I started a blog. In my 20s, I learned to cook for my family, everything from bread to baby food. I learned to grow my own food in a garden. I learned to zest a lemon and roast a chicken. I learned to knit, got better at sewing, developed my artistic eye. I learned to take pictures. I learned to drink coffee. I bought a car. I bought a house. I started an IRA.

In my 20s, I lost a father, and then a stepfather. I watched my own mother become a widow, and then I stood next to her at her wedding. I learned about grief, and then recovery. Then I experienced the sheer joy of seeing my father in the eyes of my son.

In my 20s, I lived in France for a month. I bought my own train tickets and my own gelato. I learned German. I learned a tiny bit of Italian, a few words in Latin (nevermind that most of it was Medieval Latin). I started to learn the Russian alphabet.

In my 20s, I fell in love with music from the Renaissance. And music from the 20th century. I learned to read white mensural notation and shape notes, to play four parts on the piano from only figured bass. I carried keys to a classroom and a stereo cabinet. I taught solfege. I learned how to sing in front of a full classroom, and how to teach even when I think my students hate me.

In my 20s, I shopped at hardware stores, farmer’s markets, teacher supply shops, and used bookstores. I bought cloth diapers, cat litter, seed packets, and bridesmaid’s dresses. I bought alcohol. I ordered vanilla beans from the internet and bought yeast by the jar. I developed a true appreciation for going to the bookstore or even the grocery store without children.

In my 20s, I chose furniture. I chose a new place to live. I chose paint colors. I chose names for my children. I chose a church and a playgroup. I chose a dissertation topic. And then I chose to abandon an academic life to walk a lovelier path instead.

In my 20s, I read the directions on pregnancy tests, made prenatal appointments, listened to the heartbeat of a tiny creature growing inside me. I rocked childbirth. Twice. I learned to breastfeed, then figured out how to share the gift of my milk with others. I felt the bittersweet celebration of weaning, then rejoiced when I got to start another nursing relationship all over again. I learned how to travel with a baby, and how to paint with a toddler. I taught a child the alphabet and watched him learn to walk. I learned all of the words to Goodnight, Moon. I heard a little voice learn to say, “I love you,” for the first time.

In my 20s, I became a wife, and then a mom. I became truly grateful for my parents and grandparents. I became an adult.

So I’d say that’s about enough for one decade. I’m ready to see what comes next.

Labels: Freude, getting older, observations, SAHM

• posted by erica 4/30/2010 04:56:00 PM
•  13 comments

Kent just referred to Green Eggs and Ham as "Sam and Ham." Between that, the panda sneezing video, and my accidental invention of the word "pajeemas" (cross between "pajamas" and "PJs"), I can't stop giggling.

Jack tells me I'm very punchy tonight. I blame the pumpkin pie.

Edit: I just got a word verification word on someone else's blog that reads "sphit". This is getting out of hand — it's like the universe *wants* me to giggle all night.

Labels: language, observations

• posted by erica 10/23/2009 09:28:00 PM
•  0 comments

I got peed on a lot today. By Kent. Who also peed all over himself. In a public restroom. And the bag with all of his extra clothes and training pants was out by our table.

I’m glad we’re potty training right now. Really, I love helping Kent enter this new stage of independence, and I enjoy seeing the progress he’s making. I think he’s going to get the hang of everything soon enough, and I’m not putting any pressure on him or myself to get it done in any certain amount of time. He’s been diaper-free (except for the occasional long car ride) for weeks now. What that means for my day-to-day life at this moment, however, is a lot of laundry, a lot of timers, a lot of hand-holding to the bathroom, a lot of helping him pull down his pants and then pull them back up when he’s done, a lot of thinking, “Now, how long has it been since he had that huge glass of water??”, a lot of coaching and “you can do it” talk when he’s trying reluctantly to poop on the potty, and a lot of stickers on the potty sign in the bathroom to mark his progress. Frankly, sometimes I get tired of the many steps we have to go through when we’re out, because it means we have to take off his shoes, shorts, and training pants every time he sits on the potty, then put them all back on, and doing that every hour all day gets tiring.

Kent and I were at lunch by ourselves today, one of us happily devouring Indian food while the other happily devoured goldfish crackers, naan (soft Indian bread), two bites of curry chicken, five kernels of corn from the vegetable korma, and a bowl and a half of mango ice cream. We also both drank copious amounts of water. Most of the way through the meal, I knew it was time to take Kent to the potty, but I didn’t want to take all my stuff with me and have them think I had skipped out on my bill or something, so I left the diaper bag at the table. Mistake # 1. Lately, at home, I’ve been teaching him when he sits down on his little potty on the floor that he can leave his training pants around his ankles instead of kicking them all the way off, making it easier to pull them back up by himself, so I thought I might try that in this restroom so that I didn’t have to take off his shoes, his shorts, and his training pants. Since he’d have all that stuff binding his ankles together, I figured I could just sit him on the front edge of the potty facing forward, instead of facing backward like we do when he’s naked. Mistakes #2 and #3.

The universe decided that I needed a clear, obvious demonstration of exactly how profoundly stupid those ideas were. The minute I got Kent’s shorts and training pants down around his ankles and sat him on the front edge of the toilet, his pee shot out in a strong parabolic curve that went straight over the toilet seat and onto everything in its path. His shorts, his training pants, his Crocs, my shorts, my legs, my sandals (and therefore my feet), and the floor. He doesn’t have enough control to stop peeing, even if he sees that it’s making life rather difficult for his mom, so he just kept peeing, and I tried the hardest I could in those roughly 15 seconds to aim his pee anywhere but straight out. I managed to point him down for a little bit, but that mostly just made the pee go through that little gap between the toilet seat and the toilet bowl, meaning it still got out and onto the aforementioned surfaces. And then, finally, it was over.

Ack.

I didn’t panic, but I did grab as many paper towels as I could to clean up as much of the floor mess as I could, and I did count my blessings that nobody else was in the bathroom at the time. I also tried as hard as I could to mentally kick my own ass for being so stupid. It reminds me of something I’ve heard about airplane crashes: when a plane malfunctions and crashes, for whatever reason, it’s never just one thing that goes wrong. There has to be a whole chain of things that go wrong in order for a plane to go down.

Lesson for today: don’t be an idiot, Erica. Take the diaper bag with you whether you think you need it or not, don’t worry what the restaurant people might think of you, take the pants all the way off, and never, EVER forget the ridiculous fact of nature that boys pee straight out, not down like you do.

Labels: eating out, Kent, observations, SAHM

• posted by erica 9/03/2009 02:53:00 PM
•  4 comments

I needed to go visit my OB's office today to pick up a copy of my latest Pap smear report for the midwife, so Kent got to visit the hospital where he was born for a little while. We didn't see the doc because her nurse had everything ready for me to pick up, but I did show Kent pictures of her delivering other babies on their bulletin board and told him that the day he was born was just like that. Pretty fun, since we've been talking a lot about babies lately and what it's going to be like when our baby is born in February.

Most of the OBs in that practice are on the 5th floor, and we were riding the elevator with several other people going to various appointments. The elevator stopped on the 4th floor to let someone off, and then the lights flickered and the elevator shut down. The power was out. I can't express how happy I was that (1) we weren't stuck between floors, and (2) we had made it all the way to the 4th floor before the power shut off instead of me having to carry my two-year-old (who's not very fast with stairs yet) up four flights of stairs in my current state. Most of the lights came back on quickly, and we got to the nurse's office to pick up my paperwork, but the elevator was still out of service when we were done. That was fine for me — carrying Kent down four flights was easy enough — but I felt really sorry for all the people we met on the stairs who had just arrived for their appointments. Discomfort = being 7 or 8 months pregnant and trucking up four flights of stairs with your family for a prenatal appointment, or having just given birth and carrying your infant up four flights of stairs in your just-given-birth exhausted body for a postnatal follow-up.

I'm really excited about the midwives at the new office we've chosen for this pregnancy, but I still felt a pang of nostalgia at seeing my OB's nurse again and remembering all my prenatal appointments with them. It's funny to me that I feel guilty for switching primary care providers, when it's a decision that's totally up to me and shouldn't offend my OB, but I still haven't told her that I'm pregnant but not coming to see her this time. Coward.

Labels: belly, observations

• posted by erica 7/22/2009 12:23:00 PM
•  0 comments

I get lots of giggles at watching closed-captioning, especially of live things like news and sports broadcasts, when the typist often seems to be listening with half of one ear and typing words that bear some phonetic resemblance but no shared meaning to the word that was said.

While I was watching CNN on Friday, I saw a quote that I'm sure bore a typo or an omission of some sort. See for yourself.

"Our African-American president will soon be a Latina Supreme Court judge."

Giggle.

Labels: being political, observations

• posted by erica 7/20/2009 03:12:00 PM
•  2 comments

These have been sitting in my pictures folder for a while. Enjoy the latest update of weird signage.


Apparently, what's in these boxes isn't *really* hot, from California, or kalamata, respectively.


I really can't help giggling every time I see this sign from TJ Maxx.


Jack said, "Whoooooaahhhhh," all of a sudden at the grocery store the other night, and when I asked him what he was looking at, he pointed to this sign and said, "It's a complete sentence!" Too bad their sentence isn't true. That would be something.

Labels: observations, photography

• posted by erica 4/27/2009 09:11:00 PM
•  2 comments

I've discovered lately that there a few innovations that, while convenient for the general public, are not convenient for the parents of toddlers. I never would have anticipated this before I had a toddler, but children have a way of making you see the world differently.

First: the self-flushing toilet. I realize this is a good way to promote sanitary conditions in the bathroom, because you don't have to touch anything to flush them (though I always just use my foot on the regular toilets with the long handles), and it's nice that they flush automatically to clean up after those people who for some reason don't remember/want to flush when they're in a public restroom. The problem I have with them is that most are so sensitive that any movement triggers a flush; you know what I'm talking about if you've ever had one of these toilets flush when you stood up, then flush again when you opened the stall door. It's even worse with a potty-training toddler. These toilets probably flush four or five times while I'm in the process of undressing Kent from the waist down, sitting him on the potty, getting him back down onto the floor, putting his diaper back on, etc. The amount of water it wastes makes me crazy. Especially on Earth Day. More than once, I have actually said out loud to a toilet, "Stop flushing!"

Second: the automatic sliding door at retail and grocery stores. I'll admit that automatic doors were a godsend to me when I was pushing Kent around in a stroller all the time. The delicate dances in which you hold a traditional door open with one hand while you drag your stooped-over self and the stroller through the doorway, or back through it and wheel your child backward and have to bump the door repeatedly with your butt, get pretty old. But now that Kent is supremely mobile, sovereign, and prone to wandering off, they pose something of a hazard. I came close to losing Kent for the first time today at Walgreen's (serious freak-out for about 30 seconds), and when I was asking moms of older toddlers about the experience later, one of them told me that she has more than once worried that when her son wandered off, he had perhaps gone through the front door and out into the parking lot. That's some scary stuff.

Third, and finally: the voice-activated menu when you call an 800-number. Thankfully, most companies don't have these, or if they do, there are easy ways to navigate around them. But when you have a toddler within earshot who likes to repeat words you say at REALLY LOUD volumes, it's next to impossible to successfully get to the right menu options. Jack and I have been discussing this recently, how I've been stymied several times when I had to make phone calls from home. We were completely unable to use GOOG-411 the other day in the car because Kent kept yelling back the words Jack was saying. It's funny, but it's just so much harder to do these days than pushing numbers.

We went to visit Jack at his office today, and I told Kent that after we left, we were going to go to the back of the building where there's a lake so that we could visit the ducks. As we were walking past cubicles and open office doors, Kent was repeatedly yelling, "K see duuuuuuuuuuuuuuucks!" I told Jack that I hoped nobody was trying to use a voice-activated menu at the time, and Jack jokingly said, in his best phone-menu voice, "If you'd like to see the ducks, please say 'yes'."

Labels: greening, Kent, observations, SAHM

• posted by erica 4/22/2009 08:20:00 PM
•  3 comments

Our fun project of the day yesterday was making pine cone bird feeders with peanut butter, birdseed, and some pine cones that had fallen in the yard. We made two, then I tied them onto our patio umbrella. My thought was that they'd be close enough for us to see any birds, and if they were dangling from something, a squirrel wouldn't be able to reach them.

Our get-to-know-your-neighborhood-birds project turned into a feed-your-local-squirrels project, as near as I can determine. Not noticing any missing birdseed when I checked the feeders this morning, I decided to move one of them to our big tree in the back yard. I hung it from the end of a long branch, again thinking I was making it squirrel-resistant (I would never be so arrogant as to use a phrase like "squirrel-proof"). About two hours later, when we went back outside, the feeder hanging from the tree was gone. No pine cone, no string, no evidence that it had ever been there. I scouted the yard quickly and didn't see any trace of it. Oh, well. After a long outing, Kent and I came home in the mid-afternoon, and the other was gone, too. I looked at the patio umbrella, and the squirrel (or perhaps the very talented and inconspicuous primate, judging from its dexterity) managed to pull the string halfway up the umbrella support, then apparently chewed it off. The feeder must have clattered to the table at that point, because there's birdseed all over the table, and then I guess the squirrel/primate carried it off to wherever it had the other one stored.

I SO wish I had been around to see this. I might make more bird feeders and park myself and Kent in front of the window with a bowl of popcorn and the camera. At least I know something in the neighborhood is eating well today, even if it's not our birds.

Labels: eating out, observations, photography

• posted by erica 4/17/2009 03:39:00 PM
•  0 comments

composed on the road from Louisiana to Georgia, North Carolina and West Virginia, then back again, this past week

There's a rhythm to the road. I feel it in my bones when I drive familiar routes. The placement of landmarks, state lines, familiar restaurants, towns I know the names of but which I've never visited... all have a pace to them, a predictability and a lulling quality.

From Baton Rouge, it's 40 miles on I-12 to Hammond, where I used to teach. 83 miles total on I-12, then back onto I-10 just before leaving Louisiana. I sometimes turn around as we’re leaving Louisiana to see the "Bienvenue en Louisiane" sign, where we once drove with Jeannette and Chris (up from New Orleans) just so they could take our picture in front of it. Then there's the long bridge to Mississippi and the John Stennis Space Center with the model of the lunar module that we've stood under. About 80 miles of Mississippi, with Gulfport and Biloxi and their massive advertising campaigns along the interstate. The Tchoutacabouffa River bridge, where Jack and I always exclaim, "Tchoutacabouffa!" just to say it out loud. (When I was driving last Tuesday on my own, I texted Jack simply with "Tchoutacabouffa" so he’d know where I was and feel like he was part of the trip. He texted back "w00t.")

The first 26 miles of Alabama lead us Mobile, where we get on I-65 and then look for Panera at the Airport Road exit. 179 miles on I-65 up to Montgomery, passing small towns with names like Flomaton, Perdido, Owassa, Pintlala, and my favorite sign for Grace & Garland at exit 107. Nothing much else appears on this stretch of Alabama highway: a few overpriced gas stations and country restaurants, but we try to fill up on fuel and food before we hit I-65 because we know that the exits are few and far between and that those restaurants aren't going to have anything Jack can eat. Montgomery brings I-85 and another opportunity for Panera, in case we missed the first one or feel like eating there twice in one day.

After Montgomery, we drive through Opelika, which is another word we both love to say out loud, hence another text to Jack. Near Opelika is a sign for Jim Bob's Chicken Fingers. Jim Bob has thoughtfully placed an ichthus fish right in the middle of his sign after his name, so I always read it jokingly as "Jim Bob's Christian Chicken Fingers." After Opelika, it's on to Auburn country, and then the Georgia state line. I change the clock in the car to EST, and I know we're on the last leg of the trip.

***

Day 2 begins in Georgia, as we drive through Winder (which I used to think was pronounced like someone saying "window" with a country accent, instead of like something/someone who winds) and then Augusta. South Carolina emerges, and I get a rush of adrenaline at seeing the word "Carolina," knowing I'm nearly home. 109 miles of I-85 in South Carolina take us through Clemson (memories of my mom going to AP readings each June, even though I never went with her), Greenville (memories of visiting Lauren at Furman), Gaffney (stopping for peaches and seeing the giant peach by the interstate), Cowpens (memories of a trip to the battlefield in college, when I had a crush on the professor who was driving us there), Earl (thinking of Lauren again), and the Flying J travel plazas with their ridiculously cheap gas. On this particular trip, Georgia and South Carolina have a fascinating feature: snow on the ground, residual from the snowstorm of a few days before. In March. Kent and I stop at a rest area near Clemson to play in the snow for a few minutes, where I give him his first lesson on throwing a snowball.

As we inch closer to North Carolina, I know it's near because I start seeing more Bojangle's restaurants than McDonald's. I have to stop for iced tea.

North Carolina greets me. I sigh happily. We near Charlotte, where I spent four wonderful years at Queens. Then, the decision: I-77, or I-85? When we're going to Winston-Salem, it doesn't much matter which route we choose, because they're about the same length. This time, though, I'm going to Raleigh, which I hardly ever get to do, so it's I-85 for a few more hours. Leaving Charlotte and approaching Concord Mills, I see IKEA, a new addition since my last trip on this road. IKEA in North Carolina. What will they think of next? IKEA in Louisiana, perhaps?

***

The drive from Winston-Salem to West Virginia is an old friend. My mom and I made that drive dozens of times when I was younger. We pass Pilot Mountain and Mt. Airy, and then once on I-77, we enter Virginia. On this stretch of road, I note that Virginia has a new welcome sign, and I remember the time I was 15 and driving here with my learner's permit. My mom was beside me and Tucker was in the backseat, and Virginia came upon me so suddenly that I hadn't realized I was out of North Carolina and was — shock — driving illegally. I veered across two lanes of traffic and almost ran into a VW bus to get to the Virginia Welcome Center so that I wouldn't be driving without a license in the wrong state. I did some of my worst driving while endeavoring to be a good driver.

Virginia, ironically, always felt like it was just in the way when I was a kid. It stretches on for all of an hour, but I'm always just itching to get to West Virginia. Now, I know Virginia more intimately thanks to Jack, but it was simply a thoroughfare to me when I was younger. Ft. Chiswell is a necessary stop for cheap gas, and I know that I have to memorize the price we paid, because my grandmother will always ask and then roll her eyes at how much cheaper it is than whatever they're paying in Charleston.

Two tunnels mark our time in Virginia, the ones through Big Walker Mountain and East River Mountain. In the years before iPods and car CD players, we always lost our radio signal in the tunnels, listening to a minute or so of static and contemplating the peaceful, dark silence before we popped out the other end and the sun and auditory civilization found us again. I've often held my breath for fun all the way through the tunnels, including at least twice while I was driving. There used to be a third tunnel in West Virginia, but they rerouted the interstate around it sometime ago, changing the pace of the trip to me. It was always three tunnels, three toll booths. Now, they're lopsided, like Tchaikovsky's 5/4 "waltz" in his Sixth Symphony. The second tunnel, through East River Mountain, starts in Virginia and ends in West Virginia, so I'm greeted by a welcome sign and I get one of those adrenaline rushes again. West Virginia is a known quantity, a comfortable place to breathe and just be.

Once we're in West Virginia, it's exactly 100 miles to Charleston. I see the familiar sign for Bland, Bluefield, and Beckley that always amused Mom and me when I was a kid. Alliteration was my kind of fun. So was playing the alphabet game, and singing new songs and old favorites. As we wind through the mountains and look down on all the towns we pass, I remember the songs my mom taught me on those trips. "Fifty Nifty United States" and "West Virginia Hills" are the two I remember best. We were total dweebs. I'm pretty sure we still are.

Back then, in the days before I lived thousands of miles away from family, three and a half hours actually seemed like a long time in the car. I usually lay down in the backseat and attempted to sleep for part of the trip, until my mom started to get drowsy and either turned the radio back on or woke me up and told me that I needed to talk to her to keep her awake. The only time I ever saw her drink coffee was on those trips. I've gradually built up my driving stamina over the past few years, culminating in Mobile > Blacksburg in one very long day last fall with Kent, so I chuckle a bit when I think about how the trip to Charleston always seemed like such a long drive that I just couldn't possibly stay awake.

The travel plazas now have Starbucks. Seeing Starbucks in West Virginia still shocks me, but not enough to prevent me from stopping and getting my grande mocha.

Tamarack tries to seduce me with its siren song of Fine Crafts, but I feel like I'm in too much of a hurry to linger over baskets, pottery, handmade toys, and glassworks. This, I think, is what's wrong with long road trips where everything is planned to the hour. No time for Tamarack. Must remember this for the next trip.

***

Coming home, marking the time in reverse order, is always a little strange. Since we're mostly heading south and west on the way home, the exits are counting down instead of up and seem to be propelling us toward home. I reflect on our journey and am happy for the trip, but I feel antsy about the fact that it takes so long to get home now that the trip is over. "Bienvenue en Louisiane" is our first welcome home, but then the 83 miles of I-12, which is so pleasant and sunny on the beginning of a trip, feels like an eternity. It's all that stands between us and our cats, our home, our bed.

If you count the fact that we came from Baton Rouge, we've stayed in four state capitals on this trip. We've driven the entire length of I-12 (it's just that stretch in Louisiana, oddly enough) and driven to one end of I-74, I-65, and I-85. Other roads, like I-40, feel entirely full of promise, like if we just stayed on them, we could let them carry us all the way across this enormous country. It makes me think about Bilbo's line in Fellowship of the Ring: "It's a dangerous business, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to." I never thought I had much wanderlust when I was younger, but now I realize that the adventures I may never have are rather intoxicating to consider.

Labels: Freude, IKEA, observations, travel

• posted by erica 3/14/2009 09:33:00 PM
•  3 comments