Delicious

I just received a call on behalf of The Economist magazine, trying to offer me a subscription deal. We had done one of those "6 free issues" deals a while back, but never subscribed.

It's an amazing magazine: wide in scope (reminding me of the Christian Science Monitor), and with a touch of humor--their headlines and photo choices are often quirky and surprising. Heavy on the financial stuff (hence, the name) but comprehensive in world news.

However, it's a bit expensive and is a weekly, which means lots and lots of reading that piles up. We couldn't even keep up with it over 6 weeks.

I told the young man all of this, and he quite politely said thank you and did not pressure me at all. Unlike most of the other advertising calls I get, where I feel compelled to hang up after saying a very quick No, thank you.

Maybe those other cold callers would get a better reception from me if they had a yummy British accent like this young man did!

(Sorry, I can't identify it any further. Could have been Irish, but I can't tell. I'm hanging my head in shame at my lack of worldliness.)

Targeted Marketing Fun

An old friend of mine is involved in software research that involves targeting shopping and dining suggestions to your cell phone, based on data accumulated from your text messages, GPS, coordinates, and so on. I got to thinking about those ubiquitous Google ads in the sidebar of my email screens. This is what came up the other day while I was writing an email to the raw milk group I coordinate:

Meat = Animal Cruelty
Watch the video the meat industry doesn't want you to see.
www.ChooseVeg.com
(Um, we're not eating the cows, just milking them.)

Raw Grass-fed Cheese
Artisan cheese high in CLA from the raw milk of cows on pasture.
www.grassfedtraditions.com
(Do they feed grass to the cheese?)

Cattle Grazing Research
Free Video/CD/DVD on grazing research with proven solutions.
www.beefgraze.com
(Thanks, but we've got no actual cows.)

Thick Premium Bully Stick
Processed in an Official Certified USDA Facility. 100% all natural.
www.digitpet.com
(This was the weirdest one: I had never heard of these items. Now I wish I never had.)

Cow Sense Software
The premier cattle management information system. Free Trial!
www.midwestmicro.com
(Personally, I prefer nonsensical cattle.)

A Message from the Bard

I promised Anthropapa that in the interest of familial harmony, I would not use the computer tonight. Not, as you might think, in order to have a nice chat, some nice smooching, or anything like that. No, it's so I can hem some of his pants.

So, instead of finishing up the long post I wrote last night, I thought I'd share what my iGoogle "Shakespearean Insult" generator gave me this morning:

[Thou] hath more hair than wit, and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults.
-Taken from: The Two Gentlemen of Verona

It's eerie how well that describes me today, except for that wealth bit. More hair than wit...was that the world's first blonde joke?

Why I'm a Big Editing Geek...

Because I laugh my tuchus off sometimes while reading the Q&A entries on the online Chicago Manual of Style:

Q. Is it ever possible to put a period after other punctuation as in: He had asked, “Will she go?.”

A. It’s definitely possible, but it would be wrong.

Q. For those who make a hobby of cruising garage sales, are they going “garage sale-ing,” “garage saling,” or “garage saleing?” Or are they not permitted this usage?

A. Oh, my. Is garage saleing anything like parasailing? The mind boggles. As you suspected, this phrase would not survive the red pencil at Chicago. (Why can’t you just go to garage sales?) I can tell you that suffixes like “ing” don’t normally take a hyphen. After that, you’re on your own.

Q. If Susan has a master’s degree in publishing, does Betty have master's degrees in publishing and literature?

A. I have no idea, but I can tell you that the question is styled correctly.

Q. At the annual meeting of our local PBK chapter, dispute on the pronunciation of “archival” arose: whether the stress falls on the first or the second syllable. Give us your wisdom. I will pass it on in the column I write weekly in a local paper about any subject that pops into my head.

A. As a style guide for writers, CMOS must resist the temptation to weigh in on an issue of pronunciation. We are editors, absorbed in our manuscripts. We can go for days without even speaking. I suggest you consult the linguists who write dictionaries for this purpose. (I’m sorry this won’t give you anything to put in your column, but thanks for your help with mine.)

And thank you to you witty CMOS editors for helping with mine!

Halloween Lantern Walk

Another autumn, another Waldorf Lantern Walk.

To elaborate for those of my 6-7 loyal readers who aren't familiar with the Waldorf world -- Halloween is no exception to our general avoidance of commercialized holiday celebrations.

There is no trick-or-treating. There is no candy.

There are costumes, and darkness and light, and a small treat at the end. (Biodynamic raisins, this year.) It's a bit of Halloween, a bit of Martinmas, all rolled into one.

At Rudolf Steiner College and Sunbridge College (the two largest Waldorf teacher training colleges in the US), the students, faculty, and staff create a beautiful Halloween experience for the children of the community. On campus grounds they create scenes from fairy tales, pirate adventures, undersea realms, water fairies, and other imaginative pictures for the children. Years ago, RSC also had a "Perilous Path" for older children, complete with goblins jumping out at those brave enough to walk the path (the children only need say "I am the light!" for the goblins to be dispelled).

Many of the scenes are enacted in silence; some are stories abridged to a few scenes, while others are simply tableaux. In this way, the children's imaginations are inspired. For the youngest ones, just being out after dark, walking along a dimly lit path, is magical!

The college students also get a taste of the work and joy of creating a community festival, similar to what many of them will do once they are teachers at Waldorf schools.

For several years Anthropapa and I participated in Lantern Walks. One year we were the King and Queen of the Undersea Realm, complete with a quite fishy song Anthropapa wrote for us to sing! "Come dance with us, come swim with us, under the sea so blue..." With our fellow students, we swathed a small classroom in blue and green cloth, draped a stack of folding tables for our royal dais, and strewed the room with ocean creatures made of paper and cloth. One student with metalworking skills made us crowns and a trident!

For the last two years, the Lantern Walk has gone right through our backyard...so our jack-o'lanterns are part of the overall decor, and the kids had the thrill of watching some friends put up an enormous (full-size) tepee next door! Our yard is also graced with a small fire ring as a result of the Rumpelstiltskin story taking up residence there last year. But the best part is that tonight from 5:45-8 pm, we had to turn all the lights out in our house. That meant candles, and lots of them. Even pooping before bedtime in the dark!

This year's favorites, according to SillyBilly and Napoleona: Snow White & Rose Red (complete with Bear!); the Witch and Wizard Stirring Their Potions; and the Pirates Digging Up Treasure, Fighting Over Treasure, And Then Making Up And Sharing The Treasure.

I couldn't resist...

You can all thank Charlotte for this. I haven't laughed that hard in....well, I don't know. Maybe never.

Twittery post

Seems like short-attention-span land around here. Or maybe I'm just saving up all the thoughtful, meaningful posts for NaBloPoMo. Bwahahahaha...I'll never tell!

* * *

It's raining here right now....we needed that. Though I'm sure the mold levels will now officially go through the roof, it's getting cooler and the leaves are really turning beautifully now.

Earlier today I was working by an open window when I heard a bunch of kids walking back to the Waldorf school from the playing field nearby...they were lustily singing "Doe, a Deer." Sweet.

SillyBilly evidently knows how to open his bedroom window. The one that looks out over the one-story drop down to the concrete outside the basement door. After some nausea- and tears-inducing freakouts (on my part), I think we've imparted to him that it's not OK to open the window. And I think he doesn't understand how to work the little tabs that pop out to stop the window from raising more than 3 inches. But I'm sure he'll get that one of these days...

We got out the down comforter from storage and put it on the bed last night. Mmmmm, snuggly. Now if it would only cool down again to merit it!

Imaginative play triumph #4,239: yesterday the kids were making "second breakfast" with their wooden play kitchen after we finished real breakfast. My dear little hobbits! And today, Napoleona was going around the house putting small, colored wooden blocks here and there, saying that they were candles..."cool ones, Mama, the ones that only burn you a little bit, for one day. The burning hot ones are for Christmas time. These are for Halloween night."

We splurged on going out to dinner tonight. Turkish food, yum. I am constantly amazed and grateful at the kids' ability to eat just about anything. We had baba ganoush, tomato/cucumber salad (Çoban Salatası) with shredded feta cheese, lamb kebab, and tiny dumplings (Mantı) in yogurt and tomato sauce, with rice pudding and caramelized milk pudding (Kazandibi) for dessert!

Still trying to figure out why the kids have been kinda whacked out the last few days. Perhaps it's just tiredness from the vacation...evidently they have been taking big naps at daycare. Or maybe it's their souls that are tired, from being driven all over creation and being away from home for so long, as Anthropapa suggested to me tonight. We'll have to spend some time outside in the fresh air tomorrow.

Stops and Starts

Tomorrow morning we're going on our insanely long road trip from NYC to Augusta, GA, with a "side trip" to Florida -- that's about 2200 miles (3500 km for my overseas readership). With two kids.

The last two days have been composed of not enough sleep and way too many errands. Grammy's here to play with and take care of the kids, who are totally amped up by her arrival and who haven't been sleeping as much as usual.

The last two days have also been peppered with odd experiences while running said errands. I thought I'd share them with my loyal 8-9 readers, just to give you all a taste of a day in the life of a suburban American mom.

The Department of Motor Vehicles

I realized on Thursday that it would probably be wise to re-register the car before our trip, since I had let the registration lapse. The first challenge was finding the DMV, which for some reason in this county is not in the most populous area. In fact it's in an area with many winding streets, and road construction that forced me off my Google-mapped route into unknown territory. After driving around fairly cluelessly for 5 minutes I got directions at a gas station.

This DMV functions differently than the ones I remember from California. Here, you have to first stand in the "Information" line (nowhere is that posted on any signs, just like many other things here, they just expect you to know these things), from whence you will be given your alphanumeric receipt. Multiple screens flash these codes to let people know when their turn will come, as well as being announced over an intercom. Very efficient, I guess.

I was glad of it however, when I suddenly realized that the title to the car only had Anthropapa's name on it, and I couldn't remember if the registration had only his name or mine as well. I did not relish the thought of filling out a long form, waiting God knows how long, and then being told to go away and try again another time.

The Information Line

The harried woman behind the counter listened to my question about the title, and told me she could look up the registration for me. I handed her the title and she tapped the numbers into her computer.

Then she sat and gazed at the screen for the longest time.

Then she typed in some more numbers, or possibly some letters. More gazing ensued.

Then she finally said that my name was there too, so she thought I could update the registration without Anthropapa's drivers license. She handed me my receipt.

To my utter shock, my number came up and was announced immediately. And I mean that I had only walked about 20 feet before I saw my number flash up there. I actually gasped, right there in the DMV. I had never before made it up to the counter at the DMV in under 30 minutes.

Window Number 8

I explained my predicament again to a slightly less harried woman. I feel that I have to describe this woman in some detail due to her interesting distinguishing features.

She was wearing sunglasses, evidently to shield her from the harsh glare of the fluorescent lighting. She appeared to have had a skin graft over the end of her nose and her upper lip. She had a delightful Jamaican accent, which made me think that at any moment she would tell me that my car was in fact registered to John Smallberries.

After taking the title and pecking around on her computer, the nice Jamaican lady then laid this one on me:

"I can't find your car. What's the licence plate number?"

I stammered something about having to go check but that I could remember the first three letters. Luckily, she found the car, told me the license plate number, and said that I could register the car all by my bitty self. Which I did, after filling out the form and paying the nice Jamaican lady $55. (Not a bribe, the actual registration fee for the next 2 years.)

Total time in the DMV? A mind-boggling 30 minutes. That's got to be some kind of record.

It's the Thought That Counts

When I went back out to the car, I thought to myself, why assume that Anthropapa will handle putting the registration sticker on the window (the logic being that all things car-ish are his domain)? I'll take care of it myself, and won't he think I'm so kind for thinking of it?

Now's the time to 'fess up that we do not in fact have a car per se, we have a good old fashioned gas-guzzing minivan. And this particular minivan has one of those protruding snouts that creates a very acute angle between the windshield and the dashboard. I was able to wedge a few fingers in there where -- somehow -- Anthropapa had put the last registration sticker. The sun was beating down on me through the glass, and I was feeling very thirsty, cranky, and tired.

Let's just say that I was able to pick off a 1x2 mm square piece of the old sticker, and shoved the new registration sticker into the glove compartment.

Expect light posting next week (as if there's been heavy posting lately), depending on whether Great-grandpa Fred's got Internet access and whether anything interesting happens. There have been rumors of fishing rods for the kids and way too many relatives in attendance, so who knows what might happen!

Two Things

Another night, more fried brain cells. The rest of the week will probably have to be a non-work-related-Internet-free zone. Most of my 7 loyal readers have seen and/or done this one already, so no tags today.

Two Names You Go By:

1. Mama
2. Pookie (my mother only, thank you!)
   

Two Things You Are Wearing Right Now:

1. blue tie-dye t-shirt
   
2. abalone shell hair clip (no, I'm not actually a hippie, but I play one occasionally)
   

Two Things You Would Want (or have) in a Relationship:

1. trust
2. laughter

Two of Your Favorite Things to Do:

1. waste time on Facebook/blogging
   
2. knitting and crocheting
   

Two Things You Want Very Badly At The Moment:

1. someone to wash the dishes and do the laundry
   
2. five more days added to this week before my latest project is due
   

Two Longest Car Rides:

1. from Los Angeles to Corvallis, Oregon (900 miles, when I was a baby and again at 7 years old)
   
2. from New York City to Augusta, Georgia (800 miles, coming up at the beginning of next month!)
   

Two Favorite Holidays:

1. Christmas/Hannukah
2. Halloween

Two Favorite Beverages:

1. coffee
2. homemade kefir
   

Two Things About Me You May Not Have Known:

1. I can read Italian fairly well.
   
2. I can't swim and have no desire to.
   

Two Jobs I Have Had in My Life:

1. library page
   
2. running a bag-sealing machine in an electronics parts factory
   

Two Movies I Would Watch Over and Over:

1. Amadeus
   
2. White (Trois Couleurs)
   

Two Places I Have lived:

1. Pollock Pines, CA
2. Newport Beach, CA
   

Two of My Favorite Foods:

1. sushi
2. bacon

Two Places I’d Rather Be Right Now:

1. Vienna
2. a cruise ship with Waldorf-style child care!
   

Brain Fried...

Only enough neurons available for a meme....

The Name Game, via Helen and Charlotte.

1. My rock star name (first pet and current car)

Chaucer Chrysler

(I think I'll be working the county fair circuit with that one.)

2. My gangsta name (ice cream flavour plus cookie, or biscuit)

Chocolate Ginger-O

3. My fly girl name (first letter of first name, first three letters of last name)

K-Hun

(Sounds like some ancient Aramaic curse. With my maiden name it would be K-Joh. Now I'm a Korean fly girl.)

4. My detective name (favourite colour, favourite animal)

Tangerine Fox

(Or, my porn star name.)

5. My soap opera name (middle name, city of birth)

Elaina Santa Monica

6. My Star Wars name (first three letters of your last name, first two of your first name)

Hun-Kr

(She-Ra's ugly stepsister.)

7. My superhero name (second favourite colour, favourite drink, add “the”)

The Green Mocha

(Or, time to clean out the coffee machine.)

8. My Nascar name (first two names of my two grandfathers)

Nils Walter

(Clearly, the Swedish NASCAR.)

9. My stripper name (favourite perfume, favourite sweet)

Rosewater Scharffenberger

(Clearly, a Teutonic stripper.)

10. My witness protection name (mother’s and father’s middle names)

Esther Vernon

(Petunia Dursley's best friend.)

11. My weather anchor name (fifth grade teacher’s name, a major city beginning with the same letter)

Grossman Geneva

(Perhaps I should try his first name: how about Alan Glasgow?)

12. My spy name (favourite season/flower)

Autumn Tulip

13. Cartoon name (favourite fruit plus garment you’re wearing, with an “ie” or “y” added)

Pear Jeansie

14 Hippie name (what you ate for breakfast plus favourite tree)

Ricepancake Whiteoak

15. Your rockstar tour name (favourite hobby plus weather element, with “the”)

The Crocheting Fog

(Or perhaps this would be my "two days before Christmas presents must be done" name.)

Oh, My Lord...Who Has the Time?

I just came across this in my daily Craftzine blog email:


The E-Bento daily lunch diary! I want someone to make me lunches like that!

Office Supply Store or Den of Iniquity

I have come to depend on friends to recommend new fiction, as I seem unable to spend any energy to find my own these days.

Helen's post about Carrie Pilby was so intriguing, I had to order it through interlibrary loan.

Helen appreciated Carrie's love of dictionaries, but I found an echo of my own soul in this passage about office supplies:

The nice thing about living in the Village is that it means you're close to New York University, and NYU has the best stationery shops in the world, I suppose because of the writers and film students. You can find forty-two colors of paper clips; twenty-three sizes of envelopes; seventy-six kinds of pens; markers with gold ink, silver ink, chartreuse ink, invisible ink, disappearing ink, peppermint ink, glittering ink, pink ink, scented ink and glue ink. It's been too long since I've been stationery shopping. The problem is, I suddenly need everything I see. Take those long pink erasers. All of my pencils have their own erasers, so there's no need for me to buy a pink eraser, but they just look so clean and nubile that I have to caress them. Forget what Nabokov said: the real pleasure in life is fondling office supplies. I could bite those pink erasers.

***

Yes, I know--there is something laughable about a person who thinks she's getting wild because she's going to buy office supplies. Well, you have your fun. You can watch your pornos and smoke your grass and climb onto your rooftop with a bottle of hooch and howl at the moon, but I will RUN MY FINGERS OVER MY NUBILE PINK ERASER AND GASP IN ECSTASY. And I won't wake up with a hangover or unsightly teeth marks on my neck.

Maybe I've been holed up too long in this little room making tiny red and blue marks on large stacks of paper, but I must admit to my (slightly) obsessive love of office supplies.

And it's gotten so bad that, like a drunk sucking down Nyquil, I even get a thrill over $1 notebooks and gel pens from Target when I can't afford rice paper and mechanical pencils from Kinokuniya.

Birth School Work Death

(un)relaxeddad seems to have created an intriguing little meme-like thing. And what better way to avoid finishing my latest job than to make a blog post?

Birth: I came in while my mother was in "twilight sleep," my son came in while I was completely asleep, and my daughter came in while I was awake.

School: Can I deconstruct this novel and write a 5-page paper on it the morning the paper's due?

Work: I could either come back to work at the cube farm where I "motivate" people to do their mind-numbing work, or I could stay at home with my kids and work when I want to on projects I enjoy -- hmmm, let's see....

Death: Each day I experience death -- in the food that I eat, in the hairs that fall out of my head, and sometimes more directly in small animals fallen on the grass; yet despite all this I truly know nothing at all of the realm of death, and only cling to what faith I can muster from ideas of what follows death that are of some comfort.

***

Hoo-kay, that was a bit harder than I thought. Plus I'm so long-winded that I had to resort to the evils of semicolons and the sneakiness of em-dashes to comply with the "one sentence each" bit.

On a lighter note...

OK, that last post was way too serious. Time for some more Harry Potter:

Hermione's a great feminist role model and all, but as a mom and knitter, I must claim Molly Weasley as my true hero.

She may fall short in the homemaking department, and her taste in sweaters is unusual...but do not mess with her! From that first howler she sent Ron to her dueling skills in HP 7, Molly proves herself to be one strong mama.

I also envy her the Burrow and all its accoutrements. Wouldn't I love a clock that showed me what my loved ones were up to? Wouldn't I love a house that had room for loads of guests? And wouldn't I love a cool husband like Arthur? Oh that's right, I do have a cool husband. Check one thing off the list!

I think she echoes the deep feelings of all parents when her worst fear (as revealed by the boggart) is the death of her loved ones. She has devoted herself to her family, with intense love. It speaks to me personally that Rowling's tone when describing her is a bit teasing (as an adult child might shake their head over a parent's oddities) but in truth really respectful of her power as a mother.

Anyway, it's not all that deep, Molly just rocks!

The Book Quiz

I found this quiz via Helen. Not what I expected.

You're Cry, the Beloved Country!

by Alan Paton

Life is exceedingly difficult right now, especially when you put more miles (2800!) between yourself and your hometown. But with all sorts of personal and profound convictions (I will spend my alone time working, I will not blog, I will not...doh!), you are able to keep a level head and still try to help folks, (Mama, I can't turn my shirt right side out! Mama, I'm poopy! Mama, I fell and my knee is bleeding!) no matter how much they harm you (my kids do excel at bonking my nose with their hard little heads). You walk through a land of natural beauty (Northeastern US mixed hardwood forest) and daily horror (must be referring to the state of the bathroom right now). In the end, far too much is a matter of black and white (or perhaps a matter of dirt and clean, or work and sleep).


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

A Little Bit of My Day

The last few days, Anthropapa and I have been stricken with nasty sore throats, which now have the added bonus thrill of swollen, painful lymph nodes.

So this morning I decided to see if I could tell if I have strep throat. I went to the bathroom, grabbed my toothbrush, and said aaahhh, gag, ack.

Then I realized that I couldn’t see a damn thing back there, and so I went to get a flashlight from the bedroom. Then I realized I had no idea where to find one (bad emergency planning, I know) even though we probably own at least a dozen Maglites in various sizes. (Note: after reading that linked page, I must assure you that we only use our mini Maglites for lighting, not weaponry!)

Then I remembered that Anthropapa had one in his desk the other day, because we swapped out the batteries for our DVD remote (priorities set right: video entertainment over emergency preparedness!)

I found said flashlight, and opened it to see if it had any batteries after the DVD remote resuscitation efforts. As I did this, I dropped the little cap end of the battery compartment, and it rolled under Anthropapa’s desk.

This was a major problem. I bent down to check under the desk gingerly as those lymph nodes in my neck protested the change in position. After fishing out an ungodly amount of cat-hair bunnies, paper clips, old junk mail envelopes, and such (I’m probably revealing a little bit too much here about our sad lack of cleanliness. I’m too tired to edit it back out), I recovered the cap.

Then I found some old and possibly dead batteries on my desk, tried to put them into the flashlight, and somehow jammed one of them in there. I tried to get it out with tweezers, which did not succeed at all. In frustration I banged that battery even deeper into the flashlight.

Thankfully Anthropapa came home for lunch just then, got the jammed battery out with his manly strength, and found me a working flashlight.

Then I realized I would have to gag myself again. Sigh.

After shooing Anthropapa out of the bathroom (I somehow felt squeamish about having someone watch me do this) I bravely took hold of the toothbrush in one hand, and the brightly shining flashlight in the other, and did the deed.

Nothing unsightly back there that I could see, but we’ll try to see the doctor tomorrow just to be sure.

Coming soon: strep throat, mononucleosis, or...diphtheria? Stay tuned!

The Interview

Charlotte has kindly passed along some tailor-made interview questions for me. Up close and personal...

Charlotte: What first brought you to Waldorf education, and what attracts you about it?

Kristine: This question reveals how random destiny can seem! After I graduated college, I began working in the health insurance industry. This wasn't a career goal or anything inspiring: my dad gave me a referral for a job within his company! After a few years I was still uninspired. One day I was looking around on the internet for inspiration, and I remember that I had read something interesting years before, in the Utne Reader magazine, about something called Waldorf education. I found that only a few miles away from us was one of the 3 colleges in the US that trains Waldorf teachers! I called them up, took a tour, and entered the Weekend Foundation Year. I ended up deciding not to be a teacher, but that experience has guided my life and my parenting since then.

What attracts me about Waldorf education is its focus on balance. The vision behind Waldorf is that human beings are not just brains: the common Waldorf school slogan is "educating head, heart, and hands." So the curriculum, teaching methods, and even the physical spaces in a Waldorf school are designed to help the child develop all parts of their being, in a harmonious way. Intellectual development is honored at the right time, and is not forced upon the child too soon so that other capacities are stunted or delayed. In fact, many tenets in this regard are being borne out by scientific research, in particular in the area of neurological development. In the Waldorf kindergarten, for example, emphasis is placed on physical activity and learning through imitation in the form of play. So the young child starts to "learn" about language through learning songs that the teacher sings to them each day, and develops self-control, social awareness, and the inner capacity to form images and concepts through imaginative play.

Charlotte: In your blog you appear very calm and as if nothing gets under your skin. Is there anything that drives you stark raving mad?

Kristine: This question got a big laugh! I'm glad that I appear calm and serene in this blog. However, to my shame I often lose my cool at home. Right now my big challenge is my dear son, who at almost 5 years old does like to be contrary and outright rude sometimes. We definitely have some intense karma with each other, starting from his birth. For some reason we have a dynamic where I feel like he doesn't want to do what I say (which in a preschooler is completely true!) but also with a feeling that he is blocking or hindering me. I have no idea where this feeling is coming from, and it seems like one of those lifelong things we will have to work on.

The other thing that gets my goat is rude service people! Though I know from Kerryn that there are rude librarians on the other side of the globe, sometimes it seems like all of them work at my local branch. I'm sure the people at the checkout counter really have a thankless job: they probably take some of the most idiotic questions in the world, and there are many people living around here with only a tenuous grasp of English. But why do they have to lump me in there? I worked for many years in a call center, so I have remained sensitive to customer service, good or bad.

Charlotte: If I could wave a magic wand and give you a no strings attached month off, all expenses paid, to spend on your OWN, what would you do?

Kristine: How startling that I am having a hard time thinking of something to do on my OWN! I start to think of things to do, but then I would want to share them with my family, or at least my husband. If pressed, I would probably go off to a retreat center, or possibly somewhere like the Rudolf Steiner Institute where I could take enriching classes and do art and be out in nature. In fact, that's exactly what I would do: weeks of "Doing Sculpture as Transformative Activity" and "Healing & Destiny: Anthroposophical Medicine for the Lay Person" and "Returning to the Sacred in Every Day Matters through Food, Movement & Healing Ritual".

Charlotte: You work as an editor now. What is it that you love about language?

Kristine: I love that when my kids ask me about words, I can tell them about the etymology and synonyms and all of those things, without being too pedantic. My son will crack up laughing if I say "At the boat store, do they have a sail sale?" or he will ask me "Why is it called 'dinner', Mama?" and I have to go check my dictionary. For me language is living, even when strict rules are applied in my work. Recently I've worked on several compilations of lectures from Switzerland that were originally transcribed in German and then translated to English. I had to modernize them, taking out all the literally translated convoluted German phrasing. What an amazing experience: to try to keep the spirit of the original thoughts (as far as I can tell) while making the words flow to the modern American ear. I also love idioms: I've studied several languages over the years, and things like how you say "Good Luck" in Italian just thrill me. (You say In bocca al lupo "Into the wolf's mouth", and the other person says Crepi il lupo "May the wolf die.").

Charlotte: How did you meet Anthropapa and how long have you been together? What are your tips for a happy marriage?

Kristine: Ooh, a juicy question...I met Anthropapa in college at a party! We had never met, but through mutual friends I went to one of the monthly "Pasta Nights" he and his roommates hosted. This one was the second-to-last one ever, and it was a Friday the 13th! Despite the bad luck, we hit it off right away. We've been together for 17 years, and married for 13 years. (Papa B. can corroborate most of this, if you need proof.)

As far as tips for marital happiness...for us I think one big thing is that, cliche or not, we are good friends. We got to know each other well before we got married, and we have remained interested in each other after all these years, even after major changes. Also we have similar personalities and have similar tastes. And really trying not to take things personally, trying to see the other person's needs and perspective, has helped me handle bumps in the road. Also lots of chocolate.

Since most of my 10 loyal readers (except for you lurking grandparents!) probably already read Charlotte's Web, it's unlikely that I will be able to pass this one on. But if you insist:

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Gratitude

Things have been busy. Summer has come, and all the activity of the season.

Anthropapa spent Father's Day weekend at the Omega Institute, taking a seminar about organizational development and Theory U and camping out. He took the bus and train up to Rhinecliff, but the kids and I drove up on Sunday to get him. The campus there is quite beautiful, with a large lake and many green and wooded acres. We had a yummy vegetarian lunch there and a peaceful drive home.

On Monday, SillyBilly will start summer day camp through The Nature Place. He is so incredibly excited that he asks me how many more days until camp, at least 40 times a day. We just got the information about the special activities (Hike to the top of Black Rock Mountain! Learning about wildlife! Learning to swim! Dirt Week!) so the kid is at a fever pitch of anticipation. And he has his first lunchbox.

We've continued our explorations of our local wildlife and weather. We've been noticing that at least one of the chipmunks in our yard can easily climb trees. The other evening I watched a bat swoop up and down the road in front of our house, busily relieving us of a portion of our insect population. And right after that I saw the first fireflies of the season, though they are getting a little ahead of themselves with the hot weather lately. Tonight we had a wonderful thunderstorm, though SillyBilly doesn't seem convinced when I tell him that the thunderbolts won't hit our little house since they have all those tall trees (not to mention the dorm next door) to hit first.

I've steadily been finding editing work, though some of it at a discounted rate that I would dearly love to discontinue. I guess I get to look forward to some future negotiations on that front. Just finished a memoir of a man who was a cultural officer with the State Department during the Cold War in Germany, Laos, and Russia. Looking forward to doing more translated Rudolf Steiner lectures next week, and possibly a book on working on a spiritual level with a difficult spouse!

So, why did I name this post "Gratitude"?

I've been feeling thankful lately, that's why. Thankful that I can do work I love, thankful that I live in a beautiful place, thankful that my son gets to go to summer camp for free, thankful that the bats are eating some of the bugs, thankful that Anthropapa got to get some time away to study.

The mother of all vacation blog posts, part 2

Our next big outing was to the J. Paul Getty Museum at the Getty Center in Brentwood. As a girl I went many times to the beautiful, original Getty museum in Malibu, which was built as a replica of Villa dei Papyri in Herculaneum. Evidently with the massive Getty endowment (see the last few pages of this for mind-boggling figures like $5 billion, $8 billion, and many stunning photos of the two sites) allowing an ever-expanding collection, the museum needed a bit more space. Make that A LOT more space. The villa now houses only the Greek, Roman and Etrurian art. All of the rest is at the Getty Center.

The Getty Center is awe-inspiring. Somehow when I'm there I always feel like I'm in ancient Greece, surrounded by cool marble and fountains on a hot, bright day. The entire complex is clad in Italian travertine marble, many panels including natural fossilized leaves and feathers. The site is on a hilltop overlooking the West Side of Los Angeles, with ocean and mountain views on clear days.


Here's Napoleona, begging to go see the art, with some of the travertine behind her:


Now, with two small children (albeit ones who love museums) we didn't plan to spend much time closely perusing the masterpieces. Luckily the Getty Center has a few tricks up their sleeves just for kids. The first thing we saw upon entering the main building was a monumental sculpture playing music! Überorgan by Tim Hawkinson was truly awe-inspiring, and we were lucky enough to walk in during its 5-minute, hourly performance. This huge sculpture was made from greenhouse polyethylene plastic, nylon netting, plastic bottles, and other recycled materials, and the electronic controller is essentially a huge player piano.


Then we saw the exhibit Oudry's Painted Menagerie, a series of life-size animal paintings from the 18th century menagerie at Versailles. This showing was geared toward kids, with an emphasis on the painting of Clara, a rhinoceros that toured throughout Europe for 17 years. Then we checked out the Family Room, where the kids could color their own paper masks, draw with dry-erase markers on a wall-sized medieval illuminated manuscript, and build a tube sculpture. Anthropapa and the kids also decided they wanted to be part of Christ's Entry into Brussels in 1889 by James Ensor:


After lunch, the kids wanted to see some paintings. Yes, the preschoolers specifically requested paintings. And to our delight, the Getty had just last month opened a fun new thing: a sketching gallery. So we got set up with easels, paper and pencils, and the kids made some art. We didn't want to try to pack the big rolls of paper, so you'll all have to wait for Nana to mail them to us before you get to see their inspired creations. Then we high-tailed it to the Van Goghs and Monets.

Napoleona and I were in a small gallery looking at A Centennial of Independence by Henri Rousseau. We talked about how the people in it were dancing around a tree, and there were flags flying and general merriment. Napoleona said quite loudly, "It's a nice day. Do they have cake?" Amusement among nearby patrons ensued. Then we all hit maximum sensory input--back to the car and Nana's house!

After all that, we spent the next day closer to home. Nana lives at the end of a cul-de-sac, surrounded by nice families. One evening just as we finished dinner, the doorbell was rung urgently. A six-year-old neighbor wanted the kids to come out to play. Who could say no to that? SillyBilly was excited to learn that she had one of those battery-operated kid-sized cars, in this case a pink Barbie jeep. So, SillyBilly got to show off his awesome driving skills. 4 going on 14, I tell you.

As I was standing in the street talking to the girl's mother, we noticed that she was standing in her driveway with her back to us, seeming to be crying. Another neighborhood girl ran up and the mother asked her what was wrong. She said, and I quote, "It's fine, she's only bleeding." The mom ran right over, shrieked, and ran the crying girl into the house. A few minutes later they came out with the girl still sniffling and applying an ice cube to her mouth. The tetherball in the driveway had knocked out her front tooth!

We got the chance to visit with my aunt, and with her we took the kids to Kidspace Children's Museum in Pasadena. Generally a cool idea: take some land in Brookside park in the arroyo next to the Rose Bowl, turn it into an indoor-outdoor kid art/craft/play/learning extravaganza. They had legos, they had sprinklers, they had fossils, they had tricycles, they had collage-making, they had bugs. But, it was also crowded and overwhelming. Another vote for playing in the backyard!

The last big event for us was the pilgrimage to our old favorite Japanese restaurant, Cho Cho San. In the early years of our marriage, Anthropapa and I spent many hours and many, many dollars there. It's a sushi bar and teppan room, but who are we kidding: who needs teppan when you can get your sushi from a conveyor belt? And even though I'm sure it's not authentic Japanese cuisine, our favorite thing there is the "Rock and Roll" handroll: a temaki with avocado and scallops baked with mayonnaise. It's just buttery and melty and so, so good. Our kids snarfed up the kappamaki and crab salad like the culinary troopers they usually are.

We had a nice Memorial Day barbecue with my cousin and his family. Anthropapa and I made it out of the house a few times for another visit to Cho Cho San, several visits to the bookstore, and a movie, Pirates of the Caribbean 3. I would say that film lived up to my expectations, which were minimal. The main thing was, we were out of the house sans kids after dark.

We made it out of L.A. with little hassle. Traffic was relatively light, we returned the rental car and made it to our flight on time. The flight itself was pretty mellow, with a fairly good if inane movie, Music and Lyrics, and the kids handled things OK except for a half-meltdown from Napoleona.

Then we landed at Newark. And we sat on the tarmac at Newark, for OVER AN HOUR. Why, you ask? Ask George W. Bush. Yes, I can actually blame it on him. Apparently the POTUS was visiting the New York area, and evidently one of the Air Force One planes could be seen out of the other side of the plance. And when the POTUS comes to New York, all the planes get to sit and wait until he leaves the airport. Even the pilot sounded peeved over the intercom.

All I can say is, thank the Lord for our wonderful seatmate, a lovely Portuguese lady from Cerritos named Filomena. She was tolerant of Napoleonas wiggling, and even read a story to her and made real conversation with a three-year-old. Otherwise that last hour on the tarmac would have been hell on earth.

Now I'm just repeating to myself, there's no place like home, there's no place like home...and no silver slippers required.

The mother of all vacation blog posts, part 1

We had so many adventures on our vacation to California that I don't quite know how to start.

Our flight was uneventful, non-turbulent, and the kids handled everything quite well. We decided to drive up the coast route from LAX to Nana's house. I hadn't been that way in many years, and it immediately plunged me into a fit of nostalgia. I lived for my first 8 years not too far from LAX, in lovely Westchester. (Check out the cool art deco movie theater in that link: I remember it clearly from when it was still a theater. And the Hughes Airport mentioned there was at the bottom of the hill below our house.) The homes there are typically small, one-story, stucco bungalows, often sherbert shades of pink or lime green. As we drove up the Pacific Coast Highway, I was assailed by memories and we immediately began lusting after Mexican food.

As we drove through Malibu, munching on our quesadillas and tacos, I began to notice the details that make So Cal distinctive for me. Gorgeous native trees like sycamores and evergreen oaks mix with tropical transplants like bouganvillea, oleander, and eucalyptus. Valleys, and hillsides facing the ocean, are green even through the rainless summers, but the rest of the terrain is almost desert -- we call winter the "green season" and the rest of the year the "brown season." There is a lively mix of architecture, from the ubiquitous, fake-Spanish stucco/tile roof mini-malls, to avant-garde modern (see the Getty Center later). And of course, 40 bazillion cars. Everything from beat-up old pickups, to classic T-birds, and then, where my parents live, monstrous Hummers and Escalades.

We spent Sunday quietly with Nana and Grandpa Dave, and then on Monday we went to what I consider one of the weirdest things in L.A.: the La Brea Tar Pits. Right in the middle of the West Side, there is a pit of tar, separated from a major thoroughfare by just a fence.


(Those are sculptures of mammoths.) During the last ice age, mammals, birds, and even one human became trapped in the tar--rain water floats on top of the tar making it appear like any other lake. Methane bubbles up through the tar, adding to the lovely odor. The kids loved the adjacent museum, with its mammoths, saber-tooth cats, and dire wolves. They pretended to be condors:


When we lived in the area, my parents both worked right next door to the tar pits. So the next stop down memory lane was the big fountain in front of the building. I remember playing in it many times as a girl.


We planned our trip so the big outings alternated days with staying home. On home days we went to the nearby park about....52 times. The kids loved it there. Aside from the usual slides, swings, etc. they also dug in the sand, flew a kite with Papa, and assaulted the airspace with bubbles.



Our next big outing was to the beach, with my dad. This was the same beach we went to last summer. This time we saw pelicans, seagulls, a sea lion, and this weird little creature:


Since the fiasco of last year's beach trip, the kids were afraid to get close to the water. It was too cold that morning to get very wet anyway, and it's not a safe swimming beach, but we wanted to work on overcoming that fear. Here's Papa and Grandpa Walt contemplating some glassy green rollers with SillyBilly:


Oh yeah, the sticky stuff: more tar! Courtesy offshore drilling platforms.


Next up: adventures in modern art, is the sushi the same after all these years?, and how the president made us get home so late.