The Two at Two

See? Still sleep deprived - even on vacation.

Recently the boys had their second birthday. I can't really believe its been that long since they were born - but here we are. Still vaguely sleep deprived, but making it work!

We were vacationing in the Dominican Republic with Eugene’s family, so no big party (like the insane 60 person extravaganza last year) but I was okay with that and, honestly, I think the boys liked their birthday breakfast party just fine.

They have changed so much in recent months, that sometimes I see photos from only six months ago and I think ‘when did you look like that?’ Almost every day they have some funny new thing that they are saying or doing and it is fascinating to watch.

Max still loves him some cake.

The boys are picking up words and phrases like little sponges - Thomas moreso than Max, but I theorize that Max just likes to make sure he has a trick down pat before he trots it out for everyone. Thomas just likes to put it out there.

They are walking and running and constantly want to be outside. ‘Go Outside!’ is usually the first request of the day. They will spontaneously will start dancing or running around their playroom like crazy little monkeys.

They go through brief periods of intense obsessions with particular things. One week, Baby Einstein, the next week, a ‘Please and Thank You’ book, currently a Lego tractor that Dad sent. Unfortunately, they seem to want the same things which is fine when it is a video but not so great when it is a singular toy.

We are learning a lot about negotiating with two-year-olds. Haha.

They like to request whichever parent is NOT around, and if they see that the computer is on, they immediately start requesting ‘call Papa!’ or ‘call Beba!’ Though they frequently clam up once they get on the video call with Dad or Mom. They are weird like that.

Thomas is a cutie-patootie and a tart

Thomas will insist that he sees the moon, even on the most moonless nights, or when he is indoors. It just has to be night time and I get ‘I see the mooooooon!’ Over and over.

Max likes to wake us up in the morning by sitting in his crib singing. It’s actually quite lovely.

They cannot be trusted with crayons or play-dough. No matter how icky it tastes, those are the two things that go straight into their mouths.

So far it seems like we haven't broken them yet! But we still have time...

What Shows Up

I woke up early this morning, before the alarm, writing already. There was nothing to do but go to the computer and start, and when I had to leave for work, the sentences were still coming so I typed a paragraph and a half into my phone while I stood in line at the coffee shop.

I don't know what I'm writing. It isn't fiction, and there's no such thing as writing the truth. For me, writing is what sometimes creates the truth as I know it, and this feels like one of those times. Something is catching up to me, and on the drive to work I found myself crying and relieved to be crying, and I know what it's about but I can't tell you without telling you more than a day's worth of words. Instead, I'll tell you a few other things I'm remembering at the same time, and believe me, I'll keep working on the other thing.

I love this world and what is in it. I love what color is, and tasting things, and walking and time. I could write you a list every day of things I loved that day, and all the places where things were beautiful, and the longer I stay in one place, the more I find to love there. I used to keep lists on Facebook, in the notes section, Ten Things I Loved Today. This weekend it would have been easy, I could have told you I loved so many obvious things, like the bracelet my sister gave me when I turned 30, which I've worn every day since, or donkeys, or telling someone about one of my tattoos for the first time, or people who make pies, or friends who accept help, or the sound of 47 people all making the same song at the same time, or grey days in the Skagit Valley.

I'm keeping track of all of those lists of love, even as I write this long thing about the things that make me most sad in the world, and about the hardest part of writing. I'm thinking about the people who keep us together, and how they do that, and why, and I'm trying my best to be one myself.

So Many Kinds of Sunshine

It wasn't the kind of weekend you write about. Everything felt like something close, something private, and quiet. Nascent. Home mostly, the Olympics, a new houseplant, blankets on the couch, a certain kind of housewarming consisting mostly of using dishes, then cleaning them, getting ready to do it again. Everything felt made for sustenance, for comfort and connection. It was like putting down roots in a place I always meant to live. It worked. Things took hold, and I felt so attached, and fed. I have so much. In bed one night, I couldn't sleep from the thought of all of it. I lay there thinking about what it was like. A heart filled with helium and feathers, sparkling.

The First Mile

I've been writing in my head a lot. Just the past few weeks. Here's what it is like.

There's a phrase that starts up. Right now, there are two.

Even Steve McQueen didn't look like Steve McQueen.

I was in love in Paris once.

At night, or in the car, the next lines start up.

Even Steve McQueen didn't look like Steve McQueen. That's what his final wife said.

I was in love in Paris once. I brought the wrong shoes.

Those lines replay themselves over and over, edit themselves, word order change. Final wife, last wife, I brought the wrong shoes, The shoes I brought were wrong.

Then the line is a paragraph, and I'm memorizing, because I'm falling asleep, or waking up, or driving the car. Maybe I write a little of it to someone in an email. Or say it out loud. I don't do much, but maybe right now I'm catching a little more. Sitting down with the computer when it isn't convenient, when there is something else to do, or the sun is shining, or I haven't figured out what I'm going to wear yet today, or I need to read the camera manual one more time.

Because that book is sitting on my coffee table, and Steve McQueen is wearing a blue flannel shirt, and looking into the sun, and his wife is smiling.

Even Steve McQueen didn't look like Steve McQueen, according to his final wife. When she met him, she thought she was meeting Paul Newman, and with all that hair, the beard, the crow's feet, who knew who he was under there? Not a movie star, right then. But she went with him, and they liked each other, and drove all night, and no matter what he looked like, that's what you would want to do with Steve McQueen, isn't it? That's what they kept doing after that. Driving, going places where they weren't recognized, where she probably looked like the famous one.

Because she was a clear-eyed brunette, who wore a camera on a guitar strap and made everything look modeled. His shirts, high waisted jeans, one glossy braid. She looked like Steve McQueen the myth, but she smiled like someone who loved the man.

Field Trip Saturdays, week two

"I never have taken a picture I've intended. They're always better or worse."

- Diane Arbus

Where I've Never Been, Where I Want To Go

{ Marfa, TX }

* Juneau, AK *

# Iceland #

This One

Just because it was what I wanted to go back to today.

Not everything has to be good to be evocative.

I ate cheese toast with salsa and avocado, and listened to The Tallest Man On Earth while I clicked through photos of Ice House Detroit. It was kinda exactly how I felt.

The Secret of Making

fragment of a painting by Todd Horton

There are certain things that I cannot be counted on to eat. Candy, at my home, is collected, but not often eaten. Jordan almonds are the exception. Sometimes a peanut butter cup seems like dinner. But Bottlecaps, Bit O Honeys, mini M&Ms, mexican caramels, Fran's Gold Bites, Pop Rocks, they all languish in a big glass bowl on my kitchen table. A Halloween pumpkin, plastic, with little Almond Joys, mini bags of Whoppers, bite-size snickers, sits next to it. When I get home I am too hungry for candy, almost always.

I am not good with other things either, though. I will not necessarily put a wedge of nice brie to good use or remember to steam the bright brussel sprouts from the farmers market, or eat a simple apple before it goes soft. I am pretty good at keeping up with the bananas, but oranges, even the little mandarins, will be leathery little balls by the time it occurs to me to eat them. At restaurants I will happily order too much food, but the leftovers go home with Kate. I cannot be trusted with leftovers. In the freezer, the ice cream all has freezer burn.

Often, I just don't know what to do. I could make tea, and I am reliable with cheese toast. Tonight, I wanted all the things I was thinking to sift out, I wanted to stand in front of the burner and write in my head but not on paper, not on the computer. I wanted to tell you about Aimee Bender's story The Third Elevator, and how that's what the Dave Rawlings Machine show was like. Being up there, with all those feathers, and all that sky.

That's when I remembered breakfast. I am good with the delicate protein of an egg. I am patient with the low heat and careful with the timing, and unafraid to add ingredients without measurement, and sure that I'll know how much to make, and have the tea ready on time, and let you salt your own. So I made breakfast for dinner, and rested on the thought that I like to love more than be loved, and maybe it's just that today I had to finally admit that I can't go to writing group this time around, but for once, for a change, I really wanted to say something. Just talk, and have you listen. And maybe, if I'm fortunate, you will do the thing that I love so much, and say a little something back.

Making Better Memories

Peony didn't like living in Bellingham. But the weekend there this time was all grilled cheese and hot tea and things bearing the benevolent mark of the human hand. Fluffy things and things that sparkle and all the difficult things resolving themselves in happy fruition. We left with hats the color of happiness and everything kept us warm, and let in the light. All day long there was love.

Depth of Field

Wilco last night. I always feel ill-equipped to put into words how certain shows make me feel, but the best ones make me want to try. "Dear Jeff Tweedy," I kept thinking, as he stood on the stage below me. And then the stories would start.

Stories

They've been pretty scarce around here, if by "here", we mean the blog. In real life, the stories are plentiful. There's the short story class I'm doing at Hugo House, the stacks and stacks of little stories that my photo prints are making these days, the obsessive story of a mix CD I just can't seem to finish, and of course, with Salinger's death, those few gorgeous devastating stories he wrote and actually let us read.

It was a pretty summer day the last time I picked up Nine Stories. I was happy in an unhappy way, on a picnic under trees with the water and birds of prey nearby. We walked back to the car under shade, and I hoped there would be so many more days like that, but there weren't.

I'm Now Totally Obsessed With Figure Skating

And also, still, this barn.

Edison Obsession

This was a late-afternoon double-exposure taken outside of Curator on New Year's. David had the windows all done up with stormy nautical things, so beautiful.

I'm obsessed with other things right now, too. I haven't made the list of things to do before I turn 39, so that's on my mind. I do have resolutions though, vaguely, at least. Ideas about cleaning out the closet, hanging art, making things, printing photos, etc. I have a good feeling about this year.

New

I'm back on the other blog, and clothes are off to the second hand shop, and shoes have been repaired, and things taken to the dry cleaner, and boxes hauled down from top shelves and sorted though. There's more to do, but the year is new and so are the resolutions. That's all good enough for now.

What Does This Have to Do With Anything?

Just dreaming. Bears in the sky, a blue moon, a new year, things we might make or where we might go. I know so many people who don't like resolutions, but I love them. They are more like chances, to me. I'll take them.

First Ice Skating Trip in Vermont

Thomas practically walked himself down to the pond - through two feet of snow.

Eugene has a serious discussion with Thomas regarding skating safety.

I am bundling back up before hitting the ice

Me and my boys! Hugging it out.

Finally on the ice with Thomas.

Back at home, the boys get a hold of our snow boots. Hysterical!

And the fake Christmas tree has them all excited for the holidays.

Merry Christmas!

Cooking With Fire

Mmmmm... can you smell the basil?

As you know, a new part of my job is brand promotion and marketing for... well for a wine company. As part of the process of becoming at least remotely expert enough to discuss wine without sounding like either a pompous ass or a complete idiot, I have been attending wine classes here.

It is a fantastic opportunity, and the classes are much more academic and rigorous than you would think. There is lots of reading (Kabinett? Auslese? Trockenbeerenauslese? This week was heavy on the German) questions, and intimidating commentary about the industry.

And yes, when we do taste, we spit.

Since the class is at ten AM on Monday it's for the best, really. Plus, not all of the wine is too my liking. Some of it is interesting, in that it has a flavour that I have never experienced before, and some of it probably shouldn't be tasted without some sort of food accompaniment.

I don't count the water crackers as food, by the way.

Some of it I just downright don't like - though I think that may be as much the fault of the people selecting the wine as it is the actually varietal. For instance, we had a Spanish cava this week that was god-awful, but I have had some wonderful and very inexpensive cavas. This one, for example.

If you want champagne - errrr... I mean sparkling wine - on a beer budget, this is the wine for you!

It has really opened up my mind to trying a lot of different things, things that challenge what I think I would normally like. Happily this has extended itself to my kitchen. I am finally finding the motivation to get more experimental in the kitchen again.

And I really like it.

My shopping is limited to Fresh Direct, for the most part, but I have the space for a well-stocked pantry, so I am trying to take advantage of all the spices and whatnot I have floating around.

Mom sent us some amazing jam so this week I made a pork loin roasted and glazed with her jam and red pepper. I don't think that I am exaggerating to say it was pretty phenominal.

Just ask Eugene. Really! Just ask!

Maybe it is just the nature of getting in touch with my palate, that I want other things to taste just as interesting as the wine does. I have a long way to go before I can be regarded as anything approaching expert - this is one of those situations where the more you learn, the more you realize that you know nothing. Nothing!

In the meantime, tonight, it's shrimp with mushrooms and basil (we're growing it in the apartment) with lemon, olive oil and organic fussilli. And an Orvieto I've never tried before for accompaniment.

Wanna come over?

Just A Little

Somewhere among my possessions there are three rolls of film from the Diana, ready to be taken in for developing. Sunday there's a writing deadline that I am wholly unprepared for. But the holiday party shoes will arrive on time and a photo I forgot I put into the desktop rotation totally made my day.

Will I Ever Blog Again?

I can see why you'd ask that. Not that I know the answer, but at least you have a new photo to look at now.

You can't really limit this much cuteness to one day

For Halloween this year, we decided to depart the usual realm of cute animal costumes and go for something a little more intergalactic.

When we (and by 'we' I mean 'I') decided to dress the boys as Darth Vader and Yoda for Halloween, a number of people asked me how I decided which twin was Yoda and which was Darth Vader.

It was easy, and I think that when you see the photos, you'll know why.

YODA: Come here often do you?
DV: Leave me alone!

YODA: Alone, I will leave you. Hrmmmm.

DV: I'm ready for you! Wait, why does your saber light up like that? That's not right! I should have a saber that lights up like that. Mommmmmmy!

DV: I'm going to conquer the force in my own way. One popper at a time.

YODA: Wise this singing man is.

DV: I want more lemonade. Why didn't the Applebees waitress give me lemonade? Don't I deserve lemonade? Mommmmmm!

YODA: Drink my water I will. Hrmmmmm.

DV: Why are my Imperial Slaves being so nice to Yoda?
Yoda: Nice these people are, bite them I will not.

Yoda: Strong in the force are you, little Ada!


DV: Where is my helmet? I will wear this hat until I find my helmet.
YODA: Hat looks silly, it does.

YODA: CARS! CARS! CARS!

DV: Finally, a ship worthy of my skills

YODA: To home take me please. Need a clean diaper, I do.

DV: You can't control me! Oh wait, I'm stuck on your shoulders. Mommmmy!

The photos were taken at: our building Halloween party, playgroup Halloween party, Applebees after visiting my office, and at HK and Thor's Halloween party