Damp Camping

This has been a stressful month, between near-nightly baseball games, prepping for three boys' birthdays, and trying to get my own school work done, both to wrap up the semester, and to prep for residency. Our kids' school also received an "F" grade last week as part one of the Governor's neo-conservative wet dream of privatizing Maine's public schools (see my letter to the editor here), meanwhile, the same week, I attended a school board meeting to try and protest stripping art, music and foreign language out of our school as part of a misguided and Orwellian bid to bring "equity" to the district. In short, by the end of last week, I was severely in need of a vacation.

We had to switch our regular camping trip back a weekend, in order to attend a graduation next weekend. And due to work and a Friday night baseball game, we could only manage two days (and one night), rather than the usual three days, two nights. Unfortunately, our readjusted trip landed us smack dab on the only two days of rain in more than a month.

But we forged ahead. I really, really wanted to get away, and the kids don't care two figs about rain (C on the other hand, was another story, but we dragged him along anyway). We were up and on the road by 7:30 Saturday morning, which is a record, surely, for our family. And we had almost the entire campground to ourselves.

The area of the campground where our "usually" site is was not yet open, so we had to settle for this incredible bluff overlooking the ocean and the sand beach. E and Z were not happy about this to begin with, but after I gave them cookies and convinced them that they could play anywhere in the whole entire campground, pretending any site was their own, they acquiesced.

I planned a more stripped-down, minimalist version of our usual camping trips (no pizza on the grill), and ended up forgetting a lot of things in our haste to get going: hairbrush, M's toothbrush, washcloths, soap––who needs hygiene in the wilderness anyway?––a spatula, the grill that goes over the fire. The worst was the memory card for my camera (C took these pictures with his phone). It took me as long to adjust to the idea of taking memories, not pictures, as it did for E and Z to adjust to a different campsite.

We spent a lot more time in the tent than I would prefer (trapped in 400 cubic feet with three rowdy boys is not my idea of a good time), but we got a lot of reading done––finished Harry Potter and started Julie of the Wolves––and did some drawing and a lot of just general lying around and relaxing in each other's company, with nowhere to go and nothing to do, which is what has been severely missing from our lives lately.

By the time I gave up on the sun joining us Sunday afternoon, and had the car all packed up again and ready to head out for a late Mother's Day lunch on the way home, the boys were engrossed in digging in the sand and running from the incoming tide. They probably could have stayed another week. The sun came out, I am not kidding you, the minute we got home and, except for a brief, drenching shower just after we got the tent and a load of laundry hung out to dry, the skies have been clear ever since.

I knew that, short and hasty though it was, the trip did the trick when I felt my usual low-level anxiety return after we got home––I hadn't even noticed it was gone . I wish I could come up with a way to make baseball, work and school disappear so that next May we can stay for a whole week.

Harry Potter Again (and Again and Again)

It's no secret kids like repetition, especially when it comes to books. When I was little, I always checked out either A Boy, a Dog and a Frog, New Blue Shoes or Harold and the Purple Crayon from the Bookmobile when it stopped at the school at the end of our street. When E and Z were about two, I hid Trouble With Trolls under the bed because I got sick of reading it after about fifty nights in a row.


But this desire to hear the same words over and over again doesn't stop with picture books. C gave Peter Pan and Wendy to M for his fourth birthday (the birthday that fell three days after his brothers were born), and over the next year read that hefty tome to him at least four times. Once he started to read on his own, he read the same books over and over again (I think he's read the Percy Jackson series about ten times).

One of the first chapter books I read to E and Z (after Winnie the Pooh, of course, which I'd happily read again), was Trumpet of the Swan. As soon as we got to the end, they both insisted, "Read it again!" I enjoyed the book, sure, but I didn't want to read it again right away, so I managed to divert their attention to other books.

About two years ago, C and I started reading them the Harry Potter series. It took most of a year to get through all seven books (and I ended up doing most of the reading, because C got interested and read ahead on his own). As soon as Harry put Voldmort to rest in book seven, the familiar refrain of "Read it again!" rang out through our house. By then, I'd had enough of stumbling over words like "Wizengamot," so I refused, instead reading them books like The Secret Garden. C, however, began all over again, reading them The Sorcerer's Stone. They only made it partway through book four, however, when their attention got drawn away by other books, like the Secret Series.

A couple of weeks ago, after we finished Farmer Boy (to which the boys put up great resistance initially, but then got sucked right in), E begged to hear Harry Potter again. It had been long enough since our first go-round that I didn't mind delving into it again. It's been a good opportunity to teach them about foreshadowing––Hagrid borrows Sirius Black's flying motorcycle, "Foreshadowing!" And it has proved kind of fun to read again, and comfortable, knowing what is going to happen to all of the characters in the end. I think I see why kids like the repetition.

Growing Things

As you know, I am not the gardener in this household, but I had to share with you the early shoots and sprigs popping up in our raised beds. 

I thought C was crazy when he planted peas weeks ago, when it was still freezing out, but the peas seem to be on his side, and have sprung up with vigor. Those spindly things in the middle  are the onions sharing the same bed.

The garlic, which I did plant, gardening being so much more appealing to me in October, when there are no bugs, baseball or boys' birthdays, is coming along beautifully. I don't keep records, but I tried to plant a lot more than I did last year...and I will harvest it earlier, too, so the bulbs don't split their skins like last year's crop did. 

And a few rows of spinach, also reveling in its early planting. I do believe the potatoes are in the ground as well, but they wouldn't be much to look at.

As usual, I have big plans for a sunflower/morning glory hideout garden for the kids, but as usual, I probably won't get around to it. If only gardening season was in February or March, when there's nothing else going on (and no blackflies).

Friday Light

Last Friday, we had the evening blissfully free of baseball.

So, after a quick and easy dinner of pizza from Sheepscot General,

I coaxed the family outdoors for a short walk to bask in the springing springiness of it all.

The light this time of year is absolutely incredible.

Each evening the sun sprinkles the world in a coating of gold dust as it makes its slow descent.

And all of the trees and bushes that have looked like nothing but clusters of dried, dead branches for the last six months are budding and bursting with weird and wonderful life.

I'm pretty good on trees and wildflowers, but I don't know my shrubs.

I should have asked C what all these are, but whatever they are, aren't they amazing?

This is the first time I've every noticed them, at this stage. Funny the things you miss if you don't take the time to slow down and notice.

I can't think of how many years it was winter, then it was spring and I missed out on that whole transition phase, the opening up into life.

It all happens so quickly (after a very long, slow time of not happening at all), so it's easy to miss––one day sticks, the next day leaves. Amazing.

Chair Refresh

Shortly after we moved into our house, we were gifted an antique mahogany dining room set, with an expandable table and eight chairs. It fit perfectly in our dining area, and, though it has suffered from the ravages of three kids, it has served us well.

When they came to us, the chairs were covered in green leather, which was worn and cracked. I found some pink and lime and orange upholstery fabric on the remnant table and recovered six of the eight chairs (unfortunately, my remnant wasn't big enough to do them all). After ten years and three kids, they had gotten quite faded and stained, so this past weekend, I covered four of six remaining chairs (I said kids have been hard on them) with this fun, bright orange fabric I bought at Ikea when we were in Colorado the year before last (I meant to do this project last spring, but never got around to it).

Unfortunately, I didn't have enough fabric for all of the chairs (I think I was just going to make a table runner or something with it originally), and you can't order Ikea fabric online. But E was very unhappy with me that I designated the two chairs with the old fabric for him and Z, and he keeps rearranging the chairs, so I guess I better get something for the other two, quick (I'm thinking either this to coordinate, or this to be totally wild and crazy. What do you think?)

The fabric is just a little lighter and brighter than our orange walls, but since the chairs are usually in the shadow of the table, it goes perfectly. I should probably have ironed the fabric first, and waiting until C could help me pull it tight when stapling it to the bottom of the chair (the covers are a little loose and wiggle around a bit), but sometimes I just get something in my head, and I have to do it immediately. You know what I mean?

Back when I bought my red cabinet, my friend Liza teased me with the Put a Bird on It Portlandia episode, and I realized I do have a lot of little birds on things, and this adds another dozen more. But you know, I'm okay with that.

A Bit of Culture

I have to admit, the boys don't get exposed to a lot of culture 'round here, but this past Saturday, we packed in enough for at least the next few months. 

An elderly couple we are friends with had offered to give us a tour of the Readfield Union Meeting House, which has rare trompe l'oeil paintings on the walls and ceilings.

On our way to the Meeting House, we stopped for lunch at our favorite sandwich spot, Bagel Mainea, where we had the dining area all to ourselves, and listened to a young man singing and playing the guitar.

Afterward, we went to my friend Helene's art gallery, where she was having an event, collecting colored pencils to send to Ethiopia with The Colored Pencil Project. 

We drew self-portraits, and listened to more live music, this time an older guy on keyboard.

Sunday, C took the boys to the beach. I have to admit I was jealous to miss the first beach day of the season, but I had work I needed to be doing (those stories I didn't finish the weekend before!!).

I got some writing done––the second half of a story I had been laboring on for a while––and did some more extracurricular reading (David Sedaris this time).

And I got out for a quick walk, to capture some gorgeous evening light and some more signs of spring.

Culture and nature, a good combination. 

The Silence Treatment and Giveaway

Things are starting to get a bit crazy in my life, as they always do, with the approach of May and all that it entails––baseball times three, birthdays times three, a camping trip, a Boston trip, workshop stories to write––so my opportunities for library time (where I do my blogging and my writing) are shrinking. Last week, I didn't make to the library at all. But like the calm before the storm, I had one very long weekend alone the week before last. C took the boys down to Rhode Island for part of their spring break, leaving me home alone in a very quiet house. 

It felt strange on the days I worked––my work-space was temporarily shifted to a tiny conference room in a little-used part of the building and C and I had switched cars, and his has no radio, so I went from total silence all day to silent drive to silent house. The first night I watched a movie; the next two I went out with friends.

But once the weekend came, and I could just be home alone in all that silence, I was thrilled. 

I'm afraid I squandered my silent time a bit. I was supposed to write two stories, but instead I spent a lot of time reading The Condition by Jennifer Haigh, which one of my mentors gave me as a present last summer. I enjoyed it very much. I did write several pages of a story that sort of fizzled out and which I'm going to set aside for a while, awaiting inspiration to go on, and I wrote half a book review, and I did some writing exercises. Otherwise I just basked in the oncoming spring and the peace.

I read a book called Listening Below the Noise: The Transformative Power of Silence in which the author begins a practice of total silence one day a week, and how it changes her life. I'd like to give away a copy to one blog reader. For a chance to win, leave a comment here by midnight EDT Tuesday May 7, answering the following questions:

How are able to find silent space in your life and how does it make you feel?