A month or so ago, I called the school here to let them know a new student would be arriving. The person I spoke with was very chipper and chatty, and in the course of the chipper, chatty conversation, she mentioned that there was wrestling and hockey at all grade levels, so H could participate in that.
I assumed that she had either misspoken or I had misunderstood, because it is simply beyond the pale of reason to imagine kindergarteners wrestling or playing hockey.
I am here to announce, tonight, that we have now moved firmly beyond the pale of reason. H begged to go to wrestling tonight — the first practice for the wrestling club (intended to feed into the high school wrestling team, according to the welcome speech). Last year they included pre-kindergarteners too, but apparently that was just too much even for this wrestling-crazed area, and this year the tinier tots had to watch the slightly-less-tiny tots from the sides. H wrestled in a giggly manner, I noticed, which is better than wrestling in a tearful manner. I suppose if he continues he will sober up about it.
I’m waffling between hockey and figure skating classes on the ice skating thing. I do think that being involved in one of them is important for (a) social interaction, (b) north country skill-building (I could use some — or a lot — of that, too), and (c) working out some of that stuck-inside-because-it’s-winter-and-it’s-thirty-below-and-my-parents-and-teachers-are-getting-that-homocidal-glint-in-their-eyes energy. I think most small children start with figure skating; there’s a strong club here for that. The stronger hockey programs are in other towns, I hear. I’m not down with driving H all over the county at the age of five for sports. Please, let’s wait a couple of years for that kind of schedule.
What a beautiful November! The house is fine, and it even has a sweet little pantry under the stairs in the basement. It has great hardwood floors that were recently refinished. It doesn’t seem to be haunted, but there is a spooky drip on the pantry wall…
The only hint that maybe someone was once murdered in this house…
We’ve arrived in NY. None of our stuff has arrived yet, and I can only say it should be here by Thanksgiving. We’re camping out in our new place. (I’m blogging from the library at the school).
I am pretty wigged out by all this. Iowa and Indiana are way prettier than I expected. And Wyoming is pretty windy; I’m glad we didn’t decide to move to Laramie. Here in the Adirondacks (ADK) there are more trees and fewer people than I pictured.
It was snowing as we drove in. It snowed all the next day, too, but it all melted yesterday and it was sweater weather today. I hear it’s supposed to be about 60 degrees tomorrow — no sweater required, even! Baby C has been busy eating leaves and sand, and H built a really Blair-Witch-Project style “sandbox” out of bits of wood he found outside. It bears no resemblance to a sandbox, just in case you’re wondering.
Sputnik has a superhuman (supercat?) resistance to all tranquilizers. Valium was like kitty cocaine for her, so we switched to something else — don’t remember the name — that was a cream I rubbed in her ear once or twice a day. It seemed to have no effect whatsoever, so she arrived in her new home drug-free. She has been staring at the large, chittery squirrels outside the dining room window. And she seems to be frightened of the basement, where Brad put her litter box. Now, why would a cat be afraid of a basement?
I have no cord to transfer pictures from my camera, so you’ll just have to imagine all this.
This morning I walked H to school in a light fall of rain and a little super-wet snow. As I exited the school, the air was full of fat, fluffy flakes. It even seems to be sticking the tiniest bit now. The leaves are only maybe half fallen from the trees, and the snow is forming a new (spotty) carpet over the old one of green grass and yellow leaves.
Baby C was either bored with it or too overawed to really react. Or maybe his coat is just so puffy that he would rather hold still than try to move. I’m leaning toward the last explanation for his stillness.
T-minus four days. I’m living in rooms full of boxes and clutter.
Can’t post much — too much going on. My parents-in-law were here last weekend, which was very helpful as Brad and I went into major packing up mode. I’ve made a schedule to follow, which is my absolute guide to each day. We leave in one week, after one last Halloween Night here in the neighborood where I’ve lived for six years now, in the city where I’ve lived nine years now, in the state where I’ve lived 13 years now.
Today I said goodbye to John, who was my boss at Millcreek Gardens. Then my friend Val came over for supper (Chinese take-out in our torn-apart condo). Those were the last of the good-byes (that are on the schedule, anyway). This is hard.
Excuse me now while I go separate out the toiletries we need to take along in the car… and pack up the rest.
Yesterday Brad and I both separately observed Baby C pull himself up to his feet. Unfortunately, he did so holding onto something rickety and likely to fall over, so instead of taking pictures we had to swoop in and rescue him.
Today is my second anniversary (I guess I’m supposed to say “our” anniversary, but really, it’s just me talking here. My.)
All I’ve got for you is this lineup of images I like to remember from that day. Normally I might be all gushy gushy and go on about how I’m lucky and happy to be married to Brad (I am) and how he’s a really good guy (he is) and how he’s kinda hot (true) and stuff like that, but I am distracted.
As of today, we are moving to Wanakena, NY in a very few weeks. Year -round population: 52 (after we get there). Go on, Google it. Mostly, you’ll find some pretty pictures and sketchy climate information. And the SUNY school information, if you’d like to become a forester.
You know, I hope this isn’t some terrible mistake. There sure are a lot of people and places I love (really really love) here in Utah, but I’ve been straining to leave for years now. Maybe that’s just a sign of immaturity; I don’t know. As soon as moving seemed like a real possibility, my mind perversely reversed itself on Utah. I thought if New York didn’t pan out I could just be happy here, and finally call it my real home. I’ve been for years a place-attachment type person without a place to put my attachment.
But it has worked out, so it’s out for us, with sadness and hopeful anticipation. Happy anniversary to me (us)!
So. We had the little family party on Tuesday evening after Brad’s return from New York. I have evidence, first the presents, which was pretty civilized:
Gardening lesson #1: Check on your heirloom tomato varieties for stuff like cracking and high yield. My larger tomato varieties (1884 and Ananas Noire) cracked like crazy and rotted on the vine. Nearly all those huge, previously lovely-seeming tomatoes hit the compost heap.
Gardening lesson #2: Canning red, pink, black, and yellow tomato varieties together in one can yields a jar of tomatoes that look sort of gross right off the bat. Maybe think about planting a more homogenous color mix if that is bothersome.
Gardening lesson #3: Plant more carrots. MOOOOOORE!
Gardening lesson #4: Be patient with the beets. Even if you’re excited, and even if you know that little beets taste good, let ‘em get bigger.
Gardening lesson #5: Plant only one summer squash hill if short on space.
Gardening lesson #6: Artichokes might need more sun than they get halfway underneath a big sunflower.
Gardening lesson #7: Tomatillos — pick ‘em when they’re a little yellowish, but not cracked yet.
Crossing Open Space; Understanding Wetlands: Fen, Bog, and Marsh; Zoogeomorphology; The Black Cauldron; Russia: Nation in Transition
What I’ve Read Recently
More Information than You Require; The Lady who Liked Clean Restrooms:Tatting: Technique and History; Firefly Guide to Wetlands; Understanding Wetlands; Baudolino; The Pantry: Its History and Modern Uses
Then the cake, which was not:
