532: nikki + tim

This weekend, we took our first trip with Maya, who survived a dog-paw to the face while breastfeeding in a car wash, to the wilds of Wisconsin, where we witnessed one of my dearest friends from high school get married. It was a wonderful opportunity to see more from that circle of friends (and many offspring and spouses and parents; we took up three tables, just the five of us and our accessories), though we only lasted into a few of those thumping wedding dance songs. I wish we had chances to see one another more.

523: molly mayhem

Last night, the Urtels took us on a little journey to the roller derby, and after watching Whip It a few weeks ago, I was enamored. I'm really hoping Angie decides to join up; I'm ready to be a serious fan. It was fun to watch last night's bout, but without any connection to any of the four teams, I simply watched curiously, trying to understand the art of scoring and how a foul occurred. I enjoyed watching the skids, the quick moves of the jammers through the clasp of skaters, the accessories of flashy tights and elaborate tattoos.

510: book club

Two nights ago I hosted book club at our home, a little mussed, quite humble, but always so good. After they left, I confessed to Ryan that even after the minnow is born, I certainly want to continue on with the monthly tradition of book club--I need it, in fact--because even though I am having a little girl, she will not be able to provide that estrogen-time I will so direly need.

We read the eerie We Have Always Lived in the Castle, which is incredibly heavy on the development of an unstable narrator. I read it long ago, as an undergraduate, in a class called Weird Books by Women, and I adored it then. I still skated through my reading, though I think one thing that has ruined my reading since then is the seeking of a "twist," which clearly wasn't the point of this slim novel. (I forget things, including book plots, very easily, so reading this again was as if reading it for the first time. This can make for awkward conversation if someone asks if I've read something and I say yes, because I cannot carry on an accurate review with that recently-read companion as all has leaked from my brain, love it or not. And pregnant? Forget it. I can barely remember if I shampooed and conditioned my hair halfway through the shower.)

Another quirk of mine is that I tend to vacillate in interests and sometimes, something I love more than anything in the world, must remain dormant. (Love for friends and family and pets and home and whatnot somehow escapes this categorization; perhaps what I mean is what-I-do-with-my-spare-time that can come and go in strong pulses.) I had been knitting myself into a wrist brace and frustrated with graduate school, but upon settling into the sofa, a deadline for reading my book club book, the hunger for devouring books like some great Godzilla rose up within me again. I suppose those fiber projects will collect a bit of dust while I read myself into a coma. I managed to finish Dave Eggers' Zeitoun after the ladies departed, which is a narrative of one family surviving Hurricane Katrina, told very much in a New Yorker piece style. I also started a 42-disc book on CD (My Life by Bill Clinton) yesterday and managed to not flip between The Current and the book as I had with the last two, in true ADD-style.


Our dinner--
Vegan Butternut Squash Soup:

Ingredients:

• 2 tbsp olive oil
• 1 onion, diced
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 4 carrots, sliced
• 3 stalks celery, diced
• 2 small or one large butternut squash, peeled and chopped
• 5 cups vegetable broth
• 2 tbsp chopped fresh sage
• 1/2 cup soy milk
• salt and pepper to taste

Preparation:

In a large soup pot, sautee the onion and garlic in olive oil until onions turn soft, about 3 to 5 minutes.

Add the carrots and celery and cook for another 3 to 5 minutes.

Add the squash and stir just to coat, then add the vegetable broth and sage. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a slow simmer. Allow to cook for at least 25 minutes, or until squash is soft.

Using a potato masher or a large fork, mash the squash until smooth, or, alternatively, you can puree the soup in a food processor or blender.

Stir in the soy milk and season with salt and pepper to taste.

509: autumn brew review

The last beer festival was so cold, so the relative warmth, the sun drifting between cloud-clumps, would have made this festival a bit more comfortable at my repeat performance as designated driver. The only difference between now and late January, specific to me, was that bulbous obviousness that is my pregnancy. Standing for four hours at a high-top table, followed by later sitting on a backless bar stool, left me a bit paralyzed in the seat of my car, a pained mold to the cushioned seat.

This year we had more company, more friends, more conversation. Less chattering. And I still tasted a few ciders, a few beers, including a cracked pepper beer that was delicious. The boys would often disappear for a period of time, and I would continue moving those harmony wood needles against one another, that amazingly slow progress of sock yarn, the intricacies of delicate needles. And these tasters would come back, Chris with her list of ports, Angie setting her alarm for a fresh Crisipin that ran out within ten minutes of tapping, the boys discussing the merits of whole breweries and various seasonals. Sitting back on the lawn, there was less of the oppressive crowd, the music low enough for comfortable conversation, the sun pinking up my cheeks.

I'm glad for afternoons like this, and only a small part of me fantasizes for next year, when we can coax a set of grandparents to come and baby-sit, when I can cautiously enjoy the tastes offered as well.

Ryan was sweet and bumbling at the end of the night, after a trip to a bar with old friend Mike and his new girlfriend Shannon. Unfortunately, despite the water I plied him with, he woke aching and spent his own time molded to the sofa, the dogs occasionally clamoring up on top, nosing into his chest for a good snuggle. He alternated between water and juice and chicken noodle soup, and my hope is that he will wake tomorrow with the difficulties of too much tasting behind him.

We're getting old, us. Growing old together.

491: hello from bread loaf, happy 3 year anniversary

Meryl and I arrived safe and sound in Vermont; last year, I was trapped at the Newark airport, changing gates, finding out how many rotations of planes they couldn't give us (mechanical, mechanical, mechanical). Of course, it sounds as if Meryl might have gotten the bad luck--her husband's car decided its engine would no longer work, so she lost her four a.m. ride to the airport, the trains were slow, and she just might have been the last person boarding the plane, which certainly kept my knuckles quite white.

Instead of going straight to the conference, we spent the day and evening in rural Vermont, on a large swath of land, mostly wooded, complete with wild blackberries and toads, where Meryl's old college friend lives. Her aunt owns the property and lives in a house with her five adopted boys, and Heather lives with her girlfriend Lori in a camper at the back of the lot. Camper is, of course, being a bit liberal: the inside was plywood floored, the bedding was a camping mat and sleeping bag, the lighting was candles, and the toilet was the woods. Needless to say, it was quite an adventure for me, and I think I could have managed mildly better if I weren't pregnant, but everyone was so extraordinarily kind and generous that the surprise roughness of the accommodations didn't fully phase me. We had plenty of excellent vegan fare, a campfire, a rainstorm, and plenty of storytelling.

Here at Bread Loaf, I will be slowly updating this blog on the trouble that Meryl and I get ourselves into, though one qualm is that I have lost my dear camera battery charger somewhere in my summer travels, so I am not certain if I will upload pictures as I go. The toad above was actually found in our backyard before I left, as opposed to the wilds of Vermont, but I will let it substitute charm you in the meanwhile.

I am tired but content. From what I remember of last year, these ten days feel both an eternity and the briefest flash of time. It's a good way to end the summer, even if the baby sometimes decides it's a good time to wallop me with a sad stomach. I've been warning the other women on the floor that if they hear someone getting sick, it isn't a drunk at ten a.m. or a bulimic, but instead a four-and-a-half pregnant person who can't seem to get into the swing of things. (And for the record, my only moment was still at the camper, just after the sun rose, and with the sweating and trembling and urgency, it felt more like the flu than morning sickness, so I'm not sure if was something I consumed in the past twenty-four hours or the heat, but I'm grateful I have managed to gracefully survive campus without any upsets.)

I already miss home, but I think that's the wonkiness of the hormones; once the conference begins to swing, I will be too distracted to think of how much I want to fall asleep next to Ryan or tell him in person about my day and how today we are missing being with one another on our three-year-wedding anniversary (Bread Loaf, by the way, is having its 85th anniversary, so they are winning), will vaguely think it would be better with Penelope by my side or Zephyr to entertain me, will only ache a little for the cats to curl up in my armpit as I read volume after volume of poetry in bed. This year, too, I have one of my dearest friends with me, which is the biggest gift, since this is my last hurrah for some time. Baby will keep me planted, which is fine. I have a book to write.

xo

490: two birthdays, a dinner on the farm

Last night we joined the Urtels and Chris for a dinner on the farm (a summertime organized picnic where chefs and sustainable farms are paired together for an evening of education and good food) at Thousand Hills Cattle Company, located in Cannon Falls, where the cows are not only grass-fed, but sustainably-so. The cows only graze one or two days in an area of the pasture, and then that grass is allowed to recover, and with the natural cow-fertilizer, there is no need for additional harmful fertilizers to be added to the mix. Todd Churchill, pictured above, is especially interested in raising cows that produce gourmet-quality beef, and though I am taking a break from vegetarianism during my pregnancy, I do want to be more mindful of the meat I consume while I'm journeying into the world of rich proteins. Aside from the sweat bee and ant stings I acquired, and that sweltering walk up a hill (oh, out of shapeness!), it was a gorgeous evening--I felt pretty cozy and content.


For Lane's birthday, we headed into the farms of Wisconsin to Dave's BrewFarm, which is wind powered. The boys got tipsy after their eight-drink sampler, and yes, I did take one sip of each, and I do have a favorite, and I tell you, this baby needs training early for alcohol tolerance anyway, so no worries.


For Angie's birthday, of which I have no photographs (earlier in the pregnancy--was feeling pretty ripely nauseous and had to focus on being present), we went to Nosh in Lake City, a fancy seasonal restaurant, where I tried squash blossoms for the first time and had the best potato soup ever. After, we went to Falconer Vineyards, which has recently added a back deck and has applied for a permit to sell wood-fired pizza, for a Justin Roth concert.

484: welcome to the world, Kayhan Siamak DePasquale

(Photos snatched from the new aunt and new papa's Facebook pages.)

Isn't he handsome? Casey, who is sister of my dear poetry-sidekick Meryl and member of our book club, was due five days from now, but instead, in the wee hours of July five, Kayhan came into this world, now sharing a birthday with another of my favorite people. My grandmother, owner of great chunks of my heart, turned eighty-nine today and of the new one, she has given blessings.

I know that Casey and Ardeshir will be the best sorts of parents, great models of patience and humor and clever experiences. I will happily amused to listen to the stories, the follies, and the love that bursts from their loft in the big city of Minneapolis. The first of a string of much anticipated births over the next several months--hers also the first of three pregnancies in our book club, which will certainly shift the dynamic.

Oh, I can hardly stand to hold this little one! I wonder if they can hear my sounds of squee all the way across Lake Michigan, across the state of Wisconsin, across the Mississippi River...

483: at least my knee is getting some action

This past weekend we did a tour of Wisconsin: Green Bay to see both sets of parents and Milwaukee to visit our friends BJ and Lynn, whose rabbit Herbie is not "fixed," and therefore, fell amorously in love with my arm. He also liked to rearrange my fuzzy pants, and I have to say: I had a little crush on him too. Not so much that I would "mark" him with my chin-glands or ready myself for a little humping, but enough that Herbie's nuzzling was a highlight of our visit.

Missouri was somehow easier on me; I was safely ensconced in a five-day hiatus from stomach unrest. This Wisconsin trip had Ryan pulling over both to and from, which is never terribly pleasant, though being outdoors, centered in such a strange way, was kind of peaceful. The dogs were a tad distracted, panting out the window, desperate to run around in the tall grass.

I have to say this, above all else: I have been blessed with such a kind and caring partner. This early pregnancy has not been easy, as evidenced by my many pregnant friends who are chipper and enjoying themselves. I'm pathetic and miserable, but I do have a husband who will bring home six different cans when you ask for one of chicken noodle soup, a husband who will experiment with the CSA goodies when I cannot fathom opening the refrigerator without detouring to the bathroom, has been sympathetic and patient and listening. I just know he's going to make a fantastic parent, which makes me very lucky indeed, because I know I will go into this with coltish legs. We both will, but he has that calm that will keep me steady.

481: missouri

We visited a pair of friends who live in Kansas City, where they took us to Boulevard Brewing Company (and the boys doubled up on beer tokens while the wives sipped water) and for a lovely Irish dinner.


Exhausted, I took two naps on Saturday, listened to thunderstorms roll through the night. I'll post the sky photos I took on the drive to Missouri next--I finally caught my goal, which was to capture lightning in a photograph. Next goal? To take a spectacular photo of lightning.

472: the sweetness of a baby shower

In the heat of a May afternoon, one dear friend hosted a baby shower for her sister, who is another loved member of our book club. The sweetest, of course, were the handknit outfits made by Ardeshir's mother. I'm grateful to have family members who are willing to (anxious to!) make things by hand for our own coming baby. What a blessed gift to have that kind of art in your home.

And if I were Meryl, after observing Ardeshir's family for just two short hours, I would be thrilled to see my sister married into such a sweet and loving family. (Casey's family is out in Connecticut, so I can't enthuse at the same level, though I'm sure they have their own set of charms!) I can say from experience that having such open-hearted in-laws is a vast blessing; I love my husband so so much, and it only makes sense that he comes from a beautiful family too.

Happy baby-coming, Casey. You and Ardeshir are going to make such absolutely wonderful parents--that baby is one lucky little guy.

460: a decade or so ago

In the top photograph, I am second from the right; in the second, I am on the far left. My friend Nikki (in the top, she is second from the left; in the bottom, she is second from the right) sent these along a little bit ago, which made me smile whilst on campus, shuffling through final grading tidbits and debating when I'd finally be able to focus on my own essay. These images are from that sweet time before we fully understood what it meant to be on our own, that cusp between sheltered and sheltering. It's nice to look back, especially when so many of these people are still so very important to me now, despite all those tectonic shifts, and we've continued to become who we are going to become. Thank you, Nikki, for this little glimpse.

452: bookclub

Tonight, a quiet evening with a good group of girl friends, where we discussed Flow, which is up available on bookswap, and I learned a good handful of scintillating facts regarding that monthly, which I still think can provide great moments of embarrassment and disgust, as the book hoped to convince me otherwise, and I do think my body-bookclub-book my heart belongs to is Woman: An Intimate Geography. So good.

Our book club has expanded in the past few months; for a while it was just me and Angie and Emily holding down the fort, but Chris rejoined, and Meryl folded herself in, bringing her sister (who has "popped!"--and is due in July) Casey along. It's a good six, and I adore these girls a great deal. (Now, if we could only convince that Kelly to join again...)

Happy Sunday evening. Night sounds of laundry and crickets, watching a recorded episode of Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution, trying to finish a young adult novel version of Emily Dickinson's life.

446: weekend, part iv (branchwork)

I love this time of year, the small changes, the slivers of buds.