Capturing Kennett Square

As I’ve mentioned before, I love our little town of Kennett Square. Aside from the town’s fascination with fungi, the town’s charm oozes through quaint Victorian houses and the local restaurants full of people and food, and both very good. Ever since I got my bearings after we moved in at the end of October 2005, I’ve wanted to go around the one-street-wide downtown area to snap pictures of local color. But, as they usually do, the excuses crept up. It’s not sunny enough. I won’t find a parking spot. There are no charged batteries. And so it goes.

In a move that was very unlike me, I made plans this afternoon to have dinner with two co-workers. (I will appreciate a respectful pause to note my outrageous spontaneity. I mean, who plans a dinner out just two hours before it occurs?) My co-workers happened to be spending the afternoon at Longwood Gardens, a tourist attraction that is no less than ten minutes from where I live. When I jumped at the chance to recommend a restaurant, the three of us* planned to meet up for dinner at the Half Moon.

Suddenly, I found my chance to wander Kennett Square in gorgeous weather. I zoomed home, changed into jeans, grabbed my camera, and spent a blissful hour strolling around, snapping pictures, and greeting the friendly outdoor diners. I garnered my share of strange glances – I mean, I would have viewed a seeming tourist the same way – but simply being outdoors was so refreshing that I ignored the stares. I felt more energetic than I had during the entire workday.

After a tasty dinner, I made the short drive home in a strange state of fuzzy relaxation. The sun left behind a fiery pink sky in my rear-view mirror and a round, pockmarked moon rose before me in a deep blue sky. Those are two pictures I would’ve loved to have captured.

It was a good day.

I like that I can say that.

- - -

* Unfortunately, JG was left out of the fun because tonight was the first meeting of his summer graduate course, which sadly convenes twice a week, from 6-10pm. Gah.

Climb Time

After a summer of belaying for high-ropes courses, JG and I went climbing all the time in college. There was a tiny (but free!) gym made out of a converted racquetball court at the fitness center and we went at least twice a week. Slowly, we got better and became friends with the regulars and the staff. JG earned a nickname, “Gigantor,” and we were easily recognizable because of our extreme difference in height. It was a workout that didn’t feel like one and I loved it.

And then we graduated. Rock gyms cost money and getting to them cost time. After the demands on the daily routine, the climbing gear stayed in a dark closet, unused. Every so often, JG and I would look at each other and say, “We should really get out there.” But we never did.

Last week, a friend of ours called up. “They just opened a new gym in Coatesville! Come check it out with me!” JG took him up on it when I was in L.A. and brought home rave reviews, so we went together on Tuesday night.

It was the first time I’d gone climbing in more than two years and I could feel it. My hands were unaccustomed to the dryness of chalky hands and my forearms were confused about the sudden strain. I was pleased to find that my body still remembered the odd configurations that climbing demands, even if my strength was not up to par. I climbed several easy routes and reminded myself how to belay, but JG and our friend did most of the climbing. The fact that I tired so easily was just motivation to get back to my former self.

Unlike other gyms I’ve tried in the area, this one had other workout equipment. When my hands were too raw to hold on any longer, I surprised myself by walking on a treadmill for 20 minutes, and following it up with 7 minutes of running. Running! Which I normally view as cruel torture! I could barely walk down the steps without falling, but I felt like I had really done something good for myself. I heart endorphins! We both joined the gym that night.

One of our friends, a gym teacher and all-around healthy guy, always says that after a hard workout, the second day is the worst. Today is the second day and I believe him. My forearms hurt so much this morning that I had a hard time gripping my steering wheel. I could hardly jog up my one flight of stairs. It’s as though I can hear my body creak.

Tomorrow night, JG and I are hitting up the gym again. Wish me luck.

Back at the Ranch

During yesterday’s ride home from Virginia, JG and I both made the mistake of wearing shorts and long-sleeved t-shirts. We were prepared for the possibility of sitting in traffic, broiling in the sun, like we did on the way down. We were not prepared, however, for the cloudy, rain-spattering skies above us and a brisk breeze to boot. After a quick and yummy lunch at Chipotle (woo!), I broke into my suitcase so I could exchange my shorts and flip-flops for jeans and flats. A chilly house and quasi-freezing temperatures outside greeted us upon arrival. Welcome home, indeed. I pride myself on being of hearty New England stock, that mid-Atlantic winters are a mere shadow of what I’m accustomed to, but making the transition from basking in the sunlight to curling up with blankets would be rough for even the most hardened of us.

Coming home from any time away from home is always difficult for me. I am slow to unpack, do laundry, and reconstruct the debris that comes with traveling. Because we did our best to clean out the fridge prior to departure, JG and I had to make a grocery run so that we’d have meals for the next few days. It’s interesting and a little sobering how quickly I grew accustomed to a continental breakfast and two meals out everyday. What, we have to cook now? And do dishes? Boo, hiss.

When life hands out cold grayness and a relatively ordinary existence, I have a few strategies to make myself feel better. I exercised one of them and picked up a handful of springtime at the supermarket floral department today. On another level, JG is helping me to accept the winter cold by making homemade macaroni and cheese! The aroma wafting over from the kitchen is fabulous and we will have exactly the right dinner to accompany new episodes of The Office and CSI tonight.

This vacation “routine” of sleeping in, catching meals as I can, watching Barefoot Contessa, and reading as much as I can makes me selfishly yearn for some sort of quarter-life retirement. Oh, to have a life of leisure.

New Toy for Me

I pulled up the confirmation e-mail, clicked the handy Gmail link to track my UPS package, and waited for the page to load with bated breath. I scanned quickly. Out for delivery! Woo hoo!

My company has a fabulous perk where each employee gets a yearly allowance to spend on a hobby or outside interest of some sort. People buy craft supplies, golf equipment, or even small kitchen appliances. My first year, my funds went toward a historic tour and snorkeling on my honeymoon, books, and a whole slew of camping stuff. Last year, I invested in a hangboard and a cute PDA. Last week, I blew this year’s money on a little something that was on track to be delivered right into my hot little hands.

My new camera came today!

I waited until I got home to explore the new features with JG, since he was just as excited about the newest addition to our household. We followed the directions in the manual labeled, “Read this first,” and attached the neck strap and lens cap, inserted the batteries, and slid in the memory card. I flicked the On switch and suddenly, everything had potential to be artistic. My guitar! Our UD afghan! Garlic sizzling in a saucepan! Cracked pepper! Oh, the possibilities.

Of course, there’s the minor detail that, when it comes to photography, I am definitely a novice. I sort of have an eye for composition, but I’m looking forward to learning much more as I figure out everything I can do with this newfangled machine. Watch out, world.

Resigned to It

It pains me to admit that I will not meet my goal of reading four books in January.

I know that it’s normal for most New Year’s resolutions to go by the wayside early on, but I really wanted do well with this reading one. It’s something I enjoy and for my benefit, unlike something that’s only for my benefit, like exercise or car maintenance. If I can’t even stick with a goal that I like, what are the odds that I would persevere with something I don’t? They are not good. Not good at all.

Over the weekend, I knocked out #2 and 3 and I had the temptation to choose a nice, slim #4 that I could finish up easily in three days. Instead, thanks to sheer stubbornness, I grabbed the next one on the queue, without knowing that The Hundred Secret Senses has over 400 pages. Initially, I suffered a lapse of reality and thought, “Four hundred pages? That’s only … 150 pages per night! Let’s go!” Needless to say, it has sealed my fate to be unsuccessful for January, seeing as I’m only on measly page 72 right now and even I have to accept the fact that I am not able to read 344 pages in one evening.

I really do like the book and I have to keep reminding myself of the real point here. It’s about me making time for reading, actually enjoying it, and not feeling like I have homework. I can’t seem to squelch my inner overachiever, who is eager to earn any gold star that might be out there. Maybe some personal growth and letting go of the need for rewards is somewhere embedded in here, too.

Anyway, being slow in January is no excuse for the rest of the year, so to achieve an average of four books per month, here’s to five in February…

Books of 2007

To keep me on track with my new year’s resolution to read four books each month, I’ll log my progress here and grace the books I enjoyed most with a fancy link. However, as of press time, it’s clear that I don’t have nearly enough books to get me even halfway through the year, so please! Recommend your favorites! I don’t pressure myself to finish a book if it ends up being a chore (Take Walden. Please.), so I’m open to whatever other people liked. I’ve never read anything by Jodi Picoult and I hear she’s good. Is she?

For those who are curious whether I’d enjoy a particular book:

• I try to vary my reading with fiction and non-fiction
• My favorite authors are Madeleine L’Engle, C.S. Lewis, James Thurber, and Jane Austen (in that order)
• I’ve become fond of memoirs lately and I like short story/essay anthologies
• I make my best effort to read books that I should read on sheer principle, building character and all that
  
• I can’t handle a lot of suspense, gore, or ridiculous romance
  

And so it begins!

January
Teacher Man, by Frank McCourt
The General in His Labyrinth, by Gabriel García Márquez
Come Back, Barbara, by C. John Miller

February
The Hundred Secret Senses, by Amy Tan
Lapsing into a Comma, by Bill Walsh
Interpreter of Maladies, by Jhumpa Lahiri
Notes from a Small Island, by Bill Bryson

March
Traveling Mercies, by Anne Lamott
Ellen Foster, by Kaye Gibbons
March, by Geraldine Brooks
Life of Pi, by Yann Martel

April
The Kitchen God's Wife, by Amy Tan
Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, by David Sedaris
Spring Snow, by Yukio Mishima

May
Good in Bed, by Jennifer Weiner
Singing My Him Song, by Malachy McCourt
Friends for the Journey, by Madeleine L’Engle and Luci Shaw
The Bonesetter’s Daughter, by Amy Tan

June
Loud and Clear, by Anna Quindlen

Waiting in the wings: (alphabetically)

• Blink, by Malcolm Gladwell
• The Code Book, by Simon Singh
• In a Sunburned Country, by Bill Bryson
• Empire Falls, by Richard Russo
  
• One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, by Ken Kesey
• Runaway Horses, by Yukio Mishima
  
• Slaughterhouse-Five, by Kurt Vonnegut

The Best Game Ever

I should probably write about how I ate so much at Thanksgiving dinner that I was uncomfortably full for several hours - as in, I couldn't inhale without grimacing - then just regularly full when I woke up the next morning. It might make sense to know that my after-Thanksgiving shopping was so productive as to check off two whole family members for their gifts.

But who says that I make sense?

Instead, I am bragging about how JG and I rocked the house at a newly-introduced game and I would like to share it with you. I plan to whip it out at our New Year's Eve party and I am sure that hilarity will ensue.

The game is called The Best Game Ever (TBGE), and JG's cousin taught us this game because her friends invented it. Here is what you do:

Materials Needed:

• People (6-10)
• Paper and pen for each person
• Big bowl or something like that
• Stopwatch, or a watch with a second hand

Setup:

1. Split up into teams of two and sit in a circle so that partners are sitting across from each other. For example, if you have three teams (A, B, and C), the partners should sit in the order of ABCABC around the circle.
2. Distribute 2-3 pieces of paper and a pencil to each person. On each piece of paper, each person should write down and number five people, places, things, titles, or phrases that do not exceed five words each.
   - For example: 1) going sledding, 2) "Cheeseburger in Paradise", 3) my neighbor's dog, 4) milk, and 5) An Officer and a Gentleman
   
3. Fold the slips of paper and put them into the bowl or whatever you have on hand. Give it a toss to mix it up.
4. Designate someone who will man the watch and someone who will substitute in when that person is in play.

How to Play:

1. Choose a team to go first. Roll a die, figure out whose birthday is next - whatever.
2. A partner from the first team chooses a slip of paper from the bowl and time begins.
3. The object of the partner with the paper is to help his teammate say the five items listed exactly as they are listed with verbal hints and/or gestures. The partner needs to start over with a new slip of paper if he:
   - Says a word or part of a word in the phrase
   - Says "sounds like ... "
   - Tries to spell it out
4. Once the teammate has successfully identified the five items, the next goal is for that teammate to repeat them all in order and word-perfect. Unlike in the first part, the partner with the paper may not offer verbal hints during this stage.
5. The teammate trying to repeat the items must start over if he:
   - Goes out of order
   - Repeats an item incorrectly, even by one tiny word
6. The time limit is 60 seconds and is regulated by the person with the stopwatch.
   
7. If the team successfully identifies and repeats the five items before time is up, the first partner keeps that slip of paper and can choose another one from the bowl to try.
8. If the team does not successfully identify and repeat the five items, the paper goes back in the bowl for another turn.
   
9. Once a team's turn is over, the bowl rotates clockwise and another team attempts to identify and repeat the items on another piece of paper.
10. Play continues for a designated number of cycles around the circle (say, 2-3) or whenever the paper runs out. You decide.
11. The winning team is determined by the highest number of slips of paper at the end of the game.

Good to Know:

• The person with the stopwatch may not tell the players how much time remains in their turn.
• Partners must alternate who guesses and gives clues. Whoever receives the bowl of paper will give clues; the same person on a team should not be guessing the whole entire time.

Okay, I know it sounds confusing, but it's sort of like Taboo and Catch Phrase with a little bit of Charades thrown in there. The real wildcard is that the players make up the items; you could end up with a list of craziness that you've never heard of or the list you made up yourself. Plus, if someone gets partially or even the whole way through a list but doesn't finish the repetition, you could draw it on your next turn and be familiar with it already.

So, JG and I were a team and if I can be so humble, we were freaking amazing at TBGE. In our first game, we were the only team to get two lists done in one turn, and since the second list was one I had seen briefly before, I was able to shriek the first three items ("Refrigerator! Keg! Microwave!") in swift succession before bringing it on home. And let me tell you, I'm no pansy game-player. I may not be an athlete by any stretch of the imagination, but I've got game. Lots of it.

In an added bonus, TBGE brought out priceless miscues when people were flustered or just plain didn't know what the things were:

• "It's a band! 'Back in Black'! (seeing a blank stare) Ummm, this is two kinds of electricity!" - JG, describing AC/DC to me; I definitely needed that electricity clue...
• "Sweat potato fries!" - JG's uncle, compensating for a misspelling
• "Sleep sofa? Sleepaway sofa? Sleeping sofa?" - me, trying to say sleeper sofa
• "What on earth are knocking boots?" - JG's grandma

Sure, family gatherings can be about catching up, bonding, and even eating a whole lot of food, but what does that mean when you can't talk some smack and do a victory dance once a while?

Quiet Wednesdays

Shortly after the new television season started up (woo!), I realized that JG and I had a habit of turning on the television for no reason at all. It was background noise, and that bugged me, partially because the TV is always three times louder than it has to be, and also because it’s not just noise. It has that visual part that triggers a vegetative state for me. I can’t help but be transfixed by the glow of the cathode ray tube, and before I know it, I’ve squandered three hours of my time watching something like Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders: Making the Team. Shudder.

So I suggested what we now affectionately call Quiet Wednesdays. They’re not so much quiet as non-television-watching nights. We haven’t been sucked into the vortex that is Lost and I didn’t mind taping Project Runway; instead, we found other ways to spend the evening. I conceded playing video games to JG because it wasn’t as passive an activity as zoning out in front of the TV, but the compromise is that we have to listen to a CD over the sound. Preferably something girly and show-tune-like.

Tonight, I have a Quiet Wednesday made even more so due to JG being out at his grad class. My night so far has included an hour of yoga, browsing around for Christmas gifts for the fam, and a CD player full of jazz. I’ve discovered that I like the imposed mid-week break in the routine. Even though I’m not exactly reading up on philosophy or something, I’m not simply putting my brain on pause while the laugh track echoes around the living room. It’s also a nice way to space out my bouts with craftiness; next week, I plan on finishing a wreath made out of the cards we received for our first married Christmas. I’ve found that the best side benefit of a Quiet Wednesday is that it breaks up tough workweeks (like this one, again) and helps me feel better about the remaining days ahead. I know it’s all in my head, but it works, so I think that’s okay.

All of this is not to say that I don’t enjoy some significant TV time. Trust me, I’ve got my other evenings booked with a regular schedule of an hour or two of entertainment, depending on the night. Quiet Wednesday is more of a temporary, voluntary leave of absence, so to speak. It’s not that I have to do it, but I’m relieved that I don’t rely on TV for evening entertainment every night of the week.

Guts and Seeds

I didn’t know that there is something oddly satisfying about reaching a hand into the center of a pumpkin and emerging with a handful of stringy entrails and dripping with juices. Ah, Halloween.

It was my second stab (ha) at carving a pumpkin. The last time was three years ago when JG took me to his parents’ house in an effort to continue reclaiming my childhood. See, his growing-up was filled with rituals like carving pumpkins, taking bike rides, and going sledding. For me, these were rare, if nonexistent activities, for better or for worse. Ever since I’ve met him, JG has been catching me up, so to speak. He cleaned out my pumpkin before I cautiously carved a picture of a witch, and my first-ever jack o’ lantern came back to school with me for its place of honor in my dorm room.

Tonight, JG had to give me a refresher course on the best way to dismember my victim. I let him do the initial incision and cut out the cap, and then came my task of extracting the innards so that JG could toast up some seeds for snacking. It's my habit to anthropomorphize things, and it was a strangely visceral motion to grasp the guts of something, even if it was inanimate. I thought, morbidly, that it was how I imagined harvesting organs might be … not that I know anything about harvesting organs. For the next couple of hours, I sat pretzel-style at the kitchen table with my pumpkin cradled in my lap as I punched out the creepy Welcome sign pattern and connected the dots with a tiny saw. JG finished his pumpkin at least an hour before I did and he got to work on the seeds. Soon, the aroma of toasted seeds mingled with the fresh vegetable smell from wet pumpkin on my hands. Two blisters and a sore right arm later, I had a nicely carved pumpkin for our front stoop and pumpkin seeds to nosh, plus the tension-taming experience of wrestling a big old gourd into submission and quality time with the boy. Maybe it's not everyone's idea of a fun Friday night, but I'll take it any day.

Mail Order Thrill

It’s here! My new John Mayer CD came in the mail today! JG carries it up from the mailbox and I grab the scissors en route to opening my (not so) long-awaited package from my buddies over at Amazon. Heartbeat quickening, I break through the box and that weird cellophane stuff that always reminds me of Parafilm from my chemistry days of old. Then I have it in my hands, with just a thin layer of shrinkwrap between me and Happy New Music Land! I tear through it on my way to the CD player and pop the disc in.

I press Play, and oh! The strains of that popular radio single in my very own living room! I can play it anytime I want now! But enough gloating, there are liner notes to explore. Ooh, big fat ones, this time. I feel the anticipation of learning a whole album’s worth of new songs with the cheat sheet right in my hands, with the plus side of black and white photography. But that’s just like my John. So down to earth. I flip back to read the thank you section and what’s this? A line for me? “My Fans keep me honest.” Swoon! Okay, fine, it’s not just for me, but whatever, I am totally included in the act of keeping John Mayer honest. It’s there, in print! If anyone needs me, I’ll be hanging out with John. How can you not love a guy who put the periodic table on his first full-length album? Sigh.

I’m not normally a blithering idiot, but I buy music so rarely that a new album is a little personal holiday. I don’t have an mp3 player, and while I appreciate the flexibility and customization afforded by having playlists and things, I love albums. I love the cover, the liner notes, the order of the songs. I love imagining John Mayer in a studio, thinking about how he’s going to craft not only the songs, but the album as a whole. I love thinking about the songs that didn’t make the cut, and what is it about the ones that did? Were they extra special? Were they that much more honest? To me, the whole mp3 thing takes away that magic because I can’t imagine that artists intend to write singles outside of the context of an entire album. I don’t want a piece, I want the whole pie.