525: the blue canoe

It's actually green, but you wouldn't know it until you pull up her drapes. Ryan gave this to me a bit before we left for Wisconsin; he said he figured he couldn't hide it on the way there or even wrap it in much more than a tarp. He also told me on the phone that he had "left one of my presents lying around." Tricky boy, he is. Even trickier is how he picked it up while I was at book club, from the very home where book club was hosted; we bought the canoe from some very good friends who weren't using it any more.


I cannot wait for summer, for lakes and for introducing the minnow to the peace that is paddling along, enjoying fresh air and quiet.

It's a Wenonah canoe and cared for by the Urtels... I pity the poor thing in our hands, but I truly hope it will get to see many adventures with us, bruised or unscathed.

418

We spent our romantical holiday in the car, Ryan and I. We made our way across snow-crossed highways of Wisconsin to return home for the weekend, and he was kind enough to take the worst of the stretch, while I watched the snow sparkle in the headlights. We held sweaty hands across the console and listened as MPR played the greatest love songs of all time.

We had hoarfrost on the way in and glittering, drifting snow on the way back.

It was a good visit: Sue had an early birthday, we all went to dinner together last night (despite the hour and a half wait next door), I kept sleeping for twelve hours at a stretch, the dogs had a fair amount of exercise, I finished a project and made good progress on another.

My most favoritest Valentine's project is this mailbox, but here are a few others that also struck me as ones I could take on:
- bean bag game
- knit (and felted) hearts
- three heart dishcloths: lace and heart shape and my favorite, the embossed hearts
- heart garland

386: christmas glimpses

On sofa: Sue, Jimmy, Megan, Jack, Sean, Jim
On floor: Ryan with Zephyr, me with Sassy, Eric with Penelope. (Chance around the corner)


This holiday:

- I learned I need to figure out how to work the white balance on my camera. These yellow photos have to go, and I still hate using the flash.
- I have decided Jimmy and all his energy really ought to come home in my pocket. I adore that kid. And Jack too, but Jack's only just now emerging.
- Waking up to a three-year-old jumping on your bed, shouting, "It's Christmas, Aunt Molly!" is the best way to wake up with only four hours of sleep. (I'm quite serious, by the way, so Ryan should take note: next time you want me up before I want to get up, jump on the bed and shout something wonderfully exciting.)
- The oak leaf made from a beer bottle was even more beautiful in person than on the etsy page.
- Some of the sweet things I loved giving my nephews: these rainbow wood blocks, this construction plate and vroom-vroom utensils, this crash car, this crocodile clacker, and this sweet wooden truck.
- Spending Christmas with little kids is the best way to do it. That, or on a big trip, like Ireland or Hawaii or New Zealand.
- I need to stay away from the sugar cookies.

383: a few scenes from yesterday

Ryan spent a lot of yesterday flinging snow at the dogs and Jimmy spent some of the day shoveling the shoveled snow back onto the sidewalk.


We were woken at two in the morning to the steady cry of Jack, and I squinted at Ryan, whispering, "I guess I have to stop bragging that I'm such a heavy sleeper." We teased each other, while we waited for the cries to ebb, Ryan asking me if I thought leprechauns wished they could fly, and me saying, "Roll over so I can spoon you, gas-y-pants." We're quite romantical, you see.

More pictures tomorrow, and apologies to Jack for the imbalance as his older brother seems to be the star of this collection. This is what happens when one is upwardly mobile, has a full set of teeth, and can use declarative sentences.

176

Merry Christmas, all.

Tomorrow, I'll show you the fun the dogs and Ryan had in the snow.

xo

170

Yesterday: Ryan's car has something faulty with the RPM, which means both our cars will be at the mechanic's today. Perhaps then mine doesn't have to be so lonesome for too long.

I finished up my holiday shopping, I believe, but I wouldn't dare reveal anything here. I will say this: I picked up some maple creams dipped in chocolate to bring home with me for everyone to try, but I don't think they'll last through the weekend.

Packages are also all out in the mail, so friends and family living in far-flung parts will actually get their gifts from me on time. It's a strange concept for me, and I have high hopes of staying on top of birthdays for next year, though I'm guessing my ability to distract easily will come into play and I won't get much past January.

I found a little last minute something for Ryan: wood topped wine bottlestoppers. I had one shipped to my in-laws', since that is where we'll be Christmas Day, and I'm pretty excited. I also picked up a copy of The Beer Book at work, and there are a few other little items. We promised we wouldn't get each other anything, but I couldn't resist. There's always that little shiver of pleasure when you find something you just know the other person might like.

Also: I think I might try an adaptation of this recipe for pasta sauce with those book club tomatoes. I'm not sure if I can freeze some of it? I really need to learn how to can. Perhaps I'll make myself a little list of things I'd like to learn in 2009.

153: Thanksgiving Redux

Today is Thanksgiving again--our fourteen and a half pound turkey warming in the oven, loosely packed with organic stuffing, and Ryan's pot of gravy steaming on the stove. I'll wait on the butternut squash bisque and bread for now; the turkey is enough to keep me distracted. While it heats, we're watching a documentary on the 1996 Everest disaster, giving emphasis to the chilly snow falling outside.

Tomorrow it is back to routine--classes, but a new addition, and that would be the seasonal work at the bookstore. Classes are over in a week and a half, which seems so sudden, so surprising. I must cobble together a small manuscript for my workshop, and I'll have a stack of portfolios of my own to grade, but nothing so weighty as, say, one hundred and twenty freshmen research essays, as I generally faced over an incredibly brief winter break while teaching high school.

Hope you're all staying warm, enjoying leftovers, maybe taking a Sunday walk in the neighborhood, as we tend to do.

150: Happy Thanksgiving!

This year's Thanksgiving: a quartet, though not what it's been over the years--instead, me and a husband, and his parents (along with their two dogs). Ryan is messing about on his laptop, trying to get his virtual machine to work (say what?) and I'm knitting little squares and rectangles to wrap up for the holidays. The turkey is sitting now, settling in to its new form, and we'll eat in half an hour or so. Outside, snow. And more snow. It's quiet here and good and though it isn't quite what I expected, not the trip out to Michigan to see my beloved grandmother, it's still full of that peace we all love when it comes to the holidays. The cozy feeling that snowing gives, the snuggling with dogs, the kitchen lit up with mashed potatoes, stuffing, pie.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

38: Fireflies

Tonight we went to our neighbors' house, invited for steaks (none for me; I am still propelling back toward vegetarianism) and corn, Caesar salad and potatoes. It's the first time we've been over, though we've exchanged small things across the fence: bottles of homebrew mead, seeds from a summer garden. We sat on their back patio, watching Wisconsin fireworks warm the stone barrier between our driveway and their row of just planted lilac sprigs. They have a sweet year old daughter, Bailey, and are getting married at the end of August. Calla lilies, she says, though she wanted hydrangea.

There's something about a summer evening, of sitting back in patio chairs, drink sweating in your hands, watching as the fireflies settle in the gloaming. There's something about sitting at the edge of the yard, straddling stone, running your fingers along the grass, trying to capture that green spark, trying to remember what it was to sit in your childhood lawn, loving every living moment as conversation drifted in the night air.