Mom Says Post

Beautiful Fort Ticonderoga

I received an email from Mom today with the subject line "Goodbye Irene" which I think is a subtle hint that she's ready to see some different content on this page. So! Where to begin? As with all recent posts, it's not the lack of things to talk about, but the abundance.

About a week after the hurricane, Jeff and I took off with our reenacting group (the Queen's Own Loyal Virginia Regiment; look us up on Facebook!) to New York, to participate in an event at Fort Ticonderoga. If you're thinking "Nicki, you live in Tidewater Virginia, and Fort Ticonderoga is in upstate New York, located on a peninsula that sticks out into Lake George, near the Canadian border, that's an insane amount of driving!" you would be right. We left Thursday afternoon, picked up a few more unit members in Maryland, and arrived Friday morning at 5:30 am. We immediately put the cars in park and took a nap for about an hour, until the local diner opened up and we could have some eggs and bacon for breakfast. (For the record: driving overnight is the only way to do I-95)

The town of Ticonderoga is, in a word, beautiful. It is tucked into a little valley in the Adironack mountains, with pine trees and winding roads rising on either side of it. The road to Ticonderoga winds through several little towns, all with locally owned restaurants, shops and hotels--definitely a place I want to revisit when I'm not busy playing history. Since we arrived a day before the event started, the unit had plenty of time to build a camp and generally unwind and relax after a long drive. The Queen's Own is trying to be a very historically accurate group, and one of the things that is most accurate is the fact that there are no tents when you're a militia unit. So the lads took to the woods, chopping down saplings and gathering brushwood until they had fashioned a lean-to. After scattering a couple bales of straw underneath, we had our shelter for the weekend. Voila.



Camp with a couple of gatecrashers on Friday night. The Queen's Own didn't mix it up too long Friday night, prompting a few comments "wow, those guys are really hardcore..." "No, they just drove through the night, didn't you know that?" Yes, and we can hear you from under our blankets.

I should note that ultimately we want to be able to cary everything into camp on our backs...we were only thwarted in this attempt this time by the addition of a fourteen pound salted Virginia ham. All the food we had was non-perishable, and it was either eaten (ham) or burned (bones). It's amazing how little refuse you leave behind.



The lads receive their orders Saturday morning...we try to run things in a military fashion, apart from the floggings. And even then you can be sentenced to fetch wood and water if you're not prompt.



Overlooking the Fort's guns. There are not any super-awesome pictures of me from this event, this is probably the best one. Also the best because, well, cannons.

Saturday we had visitors (and by visitors I mean "non-costumed civilians") so I was busy cooking for t'lads and answering questions. We were sharing our camp with a group that ate vegan, so it was almost like dueling kettles for awhile. One of our boys volunteered to be tried as a deserter...and he was duly dragged into the "court" by his fellow militiamen, tried and found guilty of desertion. Then the lads went off to the battle (we won), and after supper we went up to the Fort to share some libations with the American rebels.



A deserter in our midst! Get 'em, boys!



The lads advance during the battle...

Fort Ticonderoga was built in the 1750s by the French...the British took it away from them, then the Americans took it away from the British, and then the British got it back until the end of the Revolution. It was manned again during the war of 1812, and even during WWII it served as a radio base. Today it is a living history museum, with costumed interpreters, an EXCELLENT museum, a nifty giftshop and cafe. During the 19th century it was restored by a wealthy family who also built a small hotel down by the waters of Lake George, near the King's Garden. This is near where we were camping...the Americans got to sleep in the Fort. But really, after seeing the hardpacked earth and stone floors of the fort versus our comfy grass and straw beds, I think we Loyalists got the better end of the deal. Fort Ticonderoga was also recently featured in an episode of "Ghost Hunters"...and yes, Nicki is glad she only learned about the ghosts after we went there.



The Fort at night



Discussing the day's tactics with the serjeant.

Sunday I watched the battle, repeated for that day's guests. It was fun to mix in with the civilians, shouting encouragement to "our brave boys in red" and getting the stink-eye for it. Many guests thought I was a history teacher, but I had to correct them and say "no, this is just wicked interesting, that is all." It's hard to describe what a re-enactment battle is like. Most battles try to recreate an actual event, but there are some sites that will just make up battles to demonstrate what eighteenth century tactics looked like. This event was one such. Basically the scenario involved the Americans attempting to hold the fort, and the British rolling them back like blankets. During the Revolution, there was a garrison of Americans here, but they were so few in number that when the British showed up, it was not worth the lives for a pitched battle. The Americans had already removed the cannons, so the garrison surrendered. Both Saturday and Sunday the British forces began near the base of the hill on which Fort Ti is located, then advanced upward. The militia (including the Queen's Own) acted as light infantry, pushing through bracken, muddy water and trees to get the advantage and cover the regular infantry. Also there were cannons and horses. It was a pretty intense battle, lasting from early skirmishing to a final bayonet charge and surrender, all told around three hours of "fighting." Even though no one was actually hurt by a weapon, one of the guys in our unit did sprain his ankle on Saturday. And I've been to other events where there have been powder burns and even a broken collarbone. Reenacting is intense, and it does leave you drained. (Unfortunately, it's hard to take good photos and even videos of reenactments...trying to catch the excitement from afar is difficult, and if you have cameras in your midst you're liable to irritate reenactors.)

So by Sunday evening we were pretty wiped....we had permission to leave around 4pm, and we did so. Packing up involved rolling up blankets, tearing down our brush arbor and putting out the fire, and then we were on our way. Jeff and I arrived back in Virginia at around 4:30 in the morning on Monday. It was probably the best reenactment I had been to...but I was really glad I had taken Monday off.



This is what Jeff looks like...he is going to be mad that I put this on here, but it's my favourite picture of him so far ever.

It's hard to believe that was five weeks ago now! It's been a lot of fun putting up pictures and reliving that trip. I had a great time, even with all the driving, and I definitely want to go back again.

**All photos of Fort Ticonderoga were taken by Kelsey Freeman...she is a professional photographer with our unit who brought her camera along.

After working Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday of that week, I took off again, this time for Green Bay. As I mentioned previously, Dad took a fall down the stairs at home. Now he was coming home from the hospital, and I went to try to help Mom get him settled. And by support I mean reinforcing some of the new rules, "Dad, when mom says 'eat' she means it!" Dad was pretty weak from being in the hospital for two weeks, but he perked up (and started eating), as soon as he got home...and from what I hear now, a month later, it's only been uphill. Also, bonus, I got to meet my new niece:



I was thrilled. Nora, less so.

And since returning home three weeks ago, it's been work, work, work. As usual. I signed on to work part time at Busch Gardens Williamsburg in their costume shop. As you can imagine, it's quite a bit different from CW's shop. Also, bonus, I get into the park for free and have discounts on food and souvenirs, which came in handy last weekend when Jeff and I had a couple friends come down for Howl O Scream. Then there was also Prelude to Victory, the rebel answer to Under the Redcoats...I had to go around all day pretending to be a patriot supporter of Mr. Washington, but secretly I was a British spy, gathering information. ("Infantry: 62. Cannon: 1") Then just yesterday Jeff and I were back at an old favourite spot of ours, Smith's Fort Plantation, which is a local history museum. They are having their Christmas Craft Show this weekend, so Jeff and I went in our historical costume and talked a bit about the house. Nothing like being able to drive home after an event in thirty minutes or less!

And that's the update...I hope this will not be the last one for another six weeks!

Vacation in Pictures

Hello everyone...hard to believe a month has passed since I posted last! I honestly wanted to post a few more times while I was home, but, doggone it, I was enjoying sitting around doing nothing so much, I just kept on doing it. So here are a few snaps from that week:



One of my projects before I left: a little sundress for Lily. I was worried that it would be too small for her...turns out she will probably get another summer's use out of it! The fabric was bought at a second-hand sale, and the buttons were $3 at Hancock Fabrics, so it was quite inexpensive. I have yards left over, so I may have to make a skirt for myself.



Ostensibly the reason I went home in the first place: family reunion. Here's a photo of the brothers and sisters, along with their significant others. I'm not sure if I can name everyone, but Mom's in the front row, wearing her fabulous purple shirt!



And here is a picture of all the cousins--that is, first cousins. There are only five of us missing. I didn't realise it, but at 29 and seven-twelfths, I am the youngest granddaughter. Peter is the youngest grandson. For the longest time, I thought my second cousins were my first cousins, especially since most of them are also older than me!


Lily loves taking self-portraits...and I love posting them.


After four days in Green Bay I went down to Fort Atkinson to visit Laura. Somehow we ended up at UW Madison's Terrace, drinking Spotted Cow and discussing politics at the top of our lungs.


I went over the Peter and Brenda's house for some Fourth of July fireworks. Lily was adamant that I wear the red, white and blue headband doodly-boppers, and outline her foot with sidewalk chalk.


Me with Peter, Brenda and Lily.


Another project I had to finish before I left for Green Bay--a teddy bear dressed as a Fife & Drum Corps member. Couldn't resist bragging a bit.


I missed Nora Lynn's big entrance by about fourteen hours...I hope no one minds me posting this, but I think a new baby is a great way to end a photoblog!

Going to have an early night tonight, but I will try to write more soon.

Reunion

It's Monday, June 27th...I've been home in Green Bay for three days now. I should say--I've been based out of GB for three days now, since I spent Saturday and Sunday roadtripping to Cashton, WI to go to a Ruetten family reunion. I haven't seen most of that side of the family since Grandma Ruetten passed away seven years ago. Seems like everyone my age has got babies running around...yet it was nice to catch up with the cousins. Since we last met, I've "grown up," no longer treated like the little kid. Although there was a conversation about "after you graduate, get a job, marry, have kids...what else is there to update people about? Still living, still working, raising a family." What people do: live, grow, love. I also got a chance to learn a little about Grandpa Ruetten's ancestors, the ones who came over from Germany in 1881. Since living in Virginia, where everyone is a hobbit when it comes to geneology, I've gotten interested in tracing my family roots back. It's startling to see people with familar names, faintly traced in a few quick sentences and a picture. Leaving we descendents to fill in the blanks.

Another quest when I came home was to clean out the closet in my old bedroom. It's become a hole for memorabilia from high school, college, early trips abroad. And there's not really anyone but me who can decide what to save and what to throw. I've been working at it today with a descendent's mentality: both of my grandmothers left closets full of pictures and souveniers that mean little or nothing to their children and grandchildren, and I don't want to do that. I'm being ruthless. Haven't gone quite so far as to throw out the baby album, but I know there will come a day when I pare it down to a half-dozen pictures. For now I've been editing my high school experiences, tossing three yearbooks and only saving my senior edition, and making sure I don't have TOO many copies of the London Tube map. After all, it will be completely different when I go back.

Still, there are a lot of things I'd like to hold on to. Silly things, like scarves, that will come in handy next fall, and potential housewarmers, like a silk embroidered shawl. Then there are the absolute treasures, like the tape of an interview I made with Grandma Lemery. And the pictures...oh the pictures. I am hoping that in a hundred years there will be more than one photo of me left, but I'm trying to get rid of the ones that include people whose names I can't remember.

I may be the only organizer to have four piles: donate, save, trash/recycle and burn. There is something so cleansing about burning old things. I don't want strangers in recycling plants fingering my photos, I don't want people who were once very near and dear to me to think that I don't value that time in our lives together...but too many photos and a desire to move forward sends them into the flames. Tomorrow we'll take a load to Goodwill and then start on the other half of the closet. In the meantime, I'm left to reflect on what is and isn't important to me.

Back to Virginia

And I'm back. It was a whirlwind week, that was for sure. I'm not exactly clear where it all went, but I remember being home and seeing everyone, and I remember flying back, so clearly I had a vacation in there somewhere.

The flight home on Friday was uneventful. Both parents were at the airport to pick me up, and then we went over to see Grandma. Who was happy to see me and hear about Virginia and give me the third degree about the boyfriend. And then, of course, we went out for fish, meeting up with Mr & Mrs. Lemery and Lily, better known as the bug in some circles. She is the perfect baby. Charming, always ready to pose, crying only when she is hungry, sleepy or when Grandpa stands between her and a red cut glass candy-dish. At the restaurant she attempted to help herself to Grandpa's beer when he wasn't looking, only to have ever-vigilant mom take it away from her. "It's okay," I said consolingly, "When I take you to England we'll make up for it." I don't think her dad appreciated that.

Saturday my folks hosted a family picnic at their house. It was cooler than we would have liked, and occasionally drizzly, but the pool is heated, so I spent most of my time in there, playing with my younger cousins. It was wonderful to see everyone, and catch up with everyone, and I'm so glad that most of the family managed to make it--we had thirty four people all told, coming and going.

Sunday...I honestly can't remember what I did Sunday. Oh yes, dinner with the family again, only this time salmon and salad, and two very needy chocolate labs snotting up the window as we ate.

Monday I was thwarted by the EAA in my attempts to rent a car, so I left GB nearly three hours after I intended to. I drove down to Fort Atkinson, picked up Laura, and we met up with Sam in Madison. The first time the three harpies have been together in over three years...it was wonderful. Cackling away and swapping stories we've heard in the news and rumors about old classmates. Laura even commented on how "quiet" Sam's fiance is, and I had to gently point out this was probably due more to the fact that he couldn't get a word in edgewise. Sam had to go back to work on Tuesday, and Laura was working on the organic farm co-op, so I drove up to Wanaukee and caught up with yet another bride to be. (for those of you keeping score, this'll be my fourth stint down the aisle...as a bridesmaid) Laura and I caught up with Sam in Spring Green that night, by watching the American Players Theatre production of A Comedy of Errors. It was hysterical, even with the occasional rain. REAL Shakespeare geeks stand out in the rain, because we're HARDCORE INTO THE BARD.

Wednesday--Sam was working again, so Laura and I did Spring Green, where the theatre is located. Spring Green is small, but fascinating. Lots of cool little shops and galleries and organic stores. But, eventually, you've seen all the arty jewelery you care to see, so we headed over to that Wisconsin standby, the tavern. After being carded (more for being outsiders than looking underage) we proceeded to order Leinies and then rail loudly against guns and Republicans which, I'm guessing was probably not really appreciated in a small rural Wisconsin tavern. They did not, however, have cheese curds, so we went around the corner to the bar where the theatre people hung out, and proceeded to repeat the process of ordering beer and railing. This time with a huge basket of curds. "There ought to be a road movie," I said, "through Wisconsin, and the whole time one of the main characters just keeps saying 'Man, we gotta stop and get some CURDS, man.'"

Then we picked up Sam and whizzed back to Madison to see the sixth Harry Potter movie. Even though none of us confirmed it with the others, we all knew we'd be seeing it with each other. Oh, and Sam's fiance, of course. Oh I cried. I cried so hard. Even knowing was was going to happen, I cried so hard. Definitely a good movie--I don't know if I'd say it was the best movie, but definitely in the top three.

Thursday I had to say good-bye to the girls and come home. It took a lot longer than I had planned, but then again, I wasn't really looking forward to saying farewell either. Got home around six and was immediately taken out for more food at Pasquale's, despite my protests that I wasn't in the mood for more cheese. (Cheese curds for an afternoon snack, movie theatre popcorn, Burger King at midnight and cheese curds for breakfast do not a happy tummy make)

Friday was a shopping day: stopped at the bank, got a new cell phone and raided Lane Bryant for some new jeans and tops. Then I got to see the fabled Lenny's, the tavern where my dad will spend the odd hour watching sporting events. Dinner was fish again. 'Cuz its Wisconsin. And that's just what you do on a Friday night.

Saturday was supposed to be the boating day, but it was (you guessed it) drizzly and windy again. So we ended up going to the Outagamie County Fair, where we wandered amidst the prize calfs and hogs, admiring the skills of the local four-aitchers. And had some more cheese curds.

Packing up and leaving was incredibly sad. I miss my family a lot, especially right now. But getting home was wonderful--it was nice to step off the plane and see unadulterated sunshine for the first time in a week. And Kismet has been amazingly well behaved ever since I got home, probably because he's afraid I'll ditch him again. Not forgetting of course, coming home to boyfriend kisses. There's nothing I wanted to do that I didn't get to do. Except next time I come home, I wanna take a boat ride.

Things We Share

The jacket that I was working on when I had my accident was sent to the laundry, because of a few drops of blood, and it came back today. So I had the chance to conquer my nervousness about the eyelet attachment, get back on that horse and finish the project. The only twitch came when I accidentally nudged the presser foot switch, making a small noise, causing me to jump some feet in the air. Without moving my hands, of course. The wound is surprisingly nondescript, healing well. The only indication that major trauma occured is the gouge in my nail...that'll take some time to grow out, and in the meantime I get a nice reminder to keep my hands clear of the needle everytime I look down.

Tomorrow I am flying home to Green Bay. Today I ate watermelon, which I love, and pondered on the things my family has passed down to me. Love of watermelon comes from my mom, who craved it when she was pregnant with me. Craved so much, that when she sent dad on a run two years later, the grocer asked "Liz pregnant again?" I also inherited my chin from her, a chin which has been neatly sculpted after a decades long assault by modern orthodontia into Greek statue like perfection. I'm incredibly vain about my chiseled jawline...also a little sad I don't look as much like my mother as I used to. I also found myself thinking about my mom the other day when I bought a bedskirt from the thrift store. We had a fight once about bedskirts: I was in the strictly anti-bedskirt camp, on the basis that they are dust-catchers and just get in the way of my favourite storage space. But then last week I found a lovely beige one, a flat-hanging bedskirt without all the dusty ruffles, only three dollars, so I brought it home, washed it, ironed it and put in on my bed. I can't quite get it to lie flat without pulling the mattress all the way off, so part of it is squashed underneath, but from the front, it looks lovely.

From my dad I get my ability to understand the complication that is modern American football, even being able to lecture people about the intricacies of punting vs. going for the endzone. I think of my dad when I listen to classical music, even if it's a piece he's not familiar with. I am pleased with myself that I genuinely enjoy classical music, as if I am joining a long list of people who have enjoyed this music century after century, and I have dad to thank for this, for dragging me out of bed to listen to the three tenors. Thanks to him too, for being able to tell them apart by just listening, and being able to smile stiffly when people gush about Andrea Boccelli being "just as good as Pavarotti!" We also share our love of kids, of being able to honestly enjoy the company of small people, of patience, of doing goofy things, but not realising they are goofy until the parents arrive and say slowly "what...are you doing?" Playing. It's fun. You should try it some time.

Now that I live here, away from my parents, they have much less influence over my life, although the lessons they passed on to me when I was younger are still very much engraved on my personality. Everytime I cuss I hear my dad's strict rejoinder. Everytime I eat cookies I see mom's raised eyebrow. I look forward to inflicting my own personality on a small person some day, hopefully passing along the best parts of what my family gave me.

All this meandering, however, hasn't helped me figure out how to say what I want to say. I am going home to visit my family, and, just as importantly, catch up with friends, some of whom I haven't seen in a very, very long time. And some of you, loyal readers, will no doubt be aware of something else that is going on at home. Grandma, rock of our family, is not doing well. I am very afraid to look at her and tell her how much I love her, knowing that it could be a lifetime before I get to say it again. There is so much joy and pain wrapped up in me now I don't know how to express it. It feels wrong to dissemble to you, my people out there in the dark, who have been with me for so many years, and yet I don't want you to think that I am going for drama (for once) I simply wanted you to see what this vacation will include. This is my life, my family, and I need to be home.

I should be packing...

I've been trying to email myself a bunch of photos off my parent's camera for the last twenty minutes now, but apparently Yahoo has logged off early to, I don't know, declare bankruptcy or something. It's been a crazy week for me--lots of visiting and catching up with relatives I only see once or twice a year. Most disarming was the discovery that a lot of them read my blog, so no more confessionals about my booze-fueled writing binges, I guess.

And I also just read a Dear Abby column about how people just "hate" being forced to look at photographs of other people's families, who they don't know. Well, I now know for a fact that's not MY loyal readers, so here are some photos culled from several cameras...not merely a public service, but also so I can have these photos in Wmsbrg, to look at whenever I get blue about being away from all y'all.

And if anyone has any photos they'd like to share (family or urban-familia) just email them and I will post them with an appropriately inappropriate caption...


This is my immediate family, mom, dad, brother Peter, sister in law Brenda and of course, baby Lily in the obligatory smiling in front of the tree photo.


Mom and Dad have been hosting an open house for nearly ten years now. This is Uncle Ray, his wife Mary, Aunt Margie and mom, representin' the Ruetten side of the family.


Aunt Margie has been hosting Christmas Eve at her house for longer than I can remember. Here's me, mom and dad taking a break after a frenetic round of Christmas present stealing.



My Aunt Margie's son Peter, his wife Liz and their kids John and Katie...Katie finds it hard to believe that her dad used to take me to the movies BEFORE SHE WAS BORN, but I assured her that he actually was THAT OLD.


Me, graciously helping to open the present that Katie stole from me: a pig that you plug into an mp3 player that then dances. Katie is into High School Musical. We're trying to change that.



Okay, back to Christmas Day at our house...the day was totally overwhelming due to the fact that we had not one but TWO adorable infants at our house (with a third on the way!)...this is my cousin Elizabeth with her niece Jocelyn, and of course Brenda and Lily. The two girls seemed to get a kick out of meeting each other, but they seemed overwhelmed by all the "aaaawhs" and "wouldja look at thaaat's?" and the camera flashes.


Lily seems to prefer human flesh when it comes to teething, disdaining her pacifier. Whenever she could, she'd grab my hand and stick my fingers in her mouth...of course, that could be because I was snacking on delicious cheese and sausage and whiskey weiners...


The two grandmas and Lily, in front of mom's shiny, shiny stainless steel refrigerator.



Grandma and Lily. Even though she's not as strong as she used to be, Grandma still managed to hang on to Lily for a long time, despite repeated attempts to steal her away.



Aaaaand, one more picture of Lily. I could post hundreds, but...I think this one pretty much sums it up.

I'm embarassed at how few photos I have here--most of the cameras were trained on the babies, but Mom calculated we had thirty people at our house during Christmas Day. It was so wonderful to see everyone and enjoy the decorations and delicious food...I feel a little guilty that I'm getting out of both the decorating and taking down and all the commesurate cleaning, but I have to work tomorrow. Sigh. Of course--after a week of up and down weather, snow, rain, fog and everything in between, it's a beautiful sunny day and all systems are go.

See you in Virginia!

Reasons to go home: to see old friends finally tie the knot. Here they are, Mr. & Mrs. Gaboda at last. Aww...congratulations, I'm so happy for you!


Me and Baby Taylor, looking adorable in his tux...I nearly had to sign a waiver before Grandma would hand him over, but I assured her I'd had recent experience with newborns...


Mom and Dad at the helm of their new boat. I was in the prow...singing "Hearts of Oak" and generally enjoying the hell out of myself. The good thing about boating on a chilly day in October is you have the entire Wolf River to yourself, save for the fishermen. The bad thing is you've got to watch out for sudden squalls.


Reasons to go home part deux: Auntie Nicki with Lily and mom and dad. I never realised how much Peter and I looked alike, but there it is. Lily, of course, is already adept at posing for the camera...isn't she an ANGEL?!


I saved this picture as "zomg, baby!" Isn't she ADORABLE?!?!?!
(note the red nail polish...a remnant from the wedding. Yeah, that's the polish I forgot to take off before militia. Needless to say, they didn't have nailpolish in the eighteenth century. Especially not in the army. Ooops...)


I be rollin'...they be hatin'...
This is my new car. She's a 2003 Buick Regal: eat your heart out, Toyota Corolla. In keep with the A-B-C naming theme I started with the Argo and Boxer, I named her after my favourite movie, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Except that doesn't really fit, so I shortened it to Chi Chi, like the classy bingo-lovin', margarita drinkin' gal she is.


So that's it...I didn't take as many photographs as I thought I did, although there was often more than one camera present, so I'm sure I'm a few random shots I don't know about. I've never had a better time going home to visit. It was just awesome to be surrounded by loved ones for a week.

The week since had been long, but I'm hopefully adjusted to my schedule again. Last night a couple friends and I went to Busch Garden's Howl-O-Scream and I made it through six haunted mazes (screaming the entire way) and two major roller coasters. Granted, they were not the Gryffon, but I did do one of them IN THE DARK. AAAAAAHHH! It's been so long since I was at an amusement park that I almost forgot how much fun they are--especially once night fell and people started jumping out at you from behind bushes.

And I've also volunteered to help sew fur onto the Santa suits that CW rents out...the CDC uses the profits for charitable giving, so it's all for a good cause. Right now though, I'm more tempted to join the beagle in a nap than I am to fire up the Singer...

Return to blogland...

I want to update properly this weekend with pictures and highlights, but in the meantime I thought I'd put up what I wrote in my journal last night. In addition to blogging every day, I also write a journal, which I usually keep private. But I thought last night's post was particularly fine. Enjoy.

"I'll probably regret not journaling everyday, but it's nice to have a week with no writing, not blog or journal. Vacation was great. It was over too quickly, and I feel like I spent all week running from one relative to another, but I had a good time. It was wonderful to see everyone. Really, just...

See, the problem with not writing for a week I use generalisations, words I use when I'm describing it to a coworker or a casual acquaintance: 'It was great. Wonderful to see everyone.; How to describe the utter joy I felt bombing through the middle of Wisconsin--leaves fluttering through the air, the smell of drying corn and cow patties in the air--the utter happiness of moving through an area that is totally familiar and completely home? Of waking up in my childhood bed with the warm snugness of a weeklong Saturday, all my '2nd tier' books (the ones I won't give up, but can't take with me just yet) all the familiar spines just within reach? Falling back into my old lifestyle, reaching for beer and turning down familiar streets, my accent picking up the familiar elongation. So easy.

Before when I could come home, it felt alien, like I was a foreigner. But this time I felt overwhelmingly welcomed and loved. Maybe it's because I'm so happy where I am in Wmsbrg I transport some of that light. Maybe it's because I've outgrown the petty jealousies of youth. The love you give is the love returned, and thats all I felt the entire week there."

I'm back

--The wedding was beautiful, and it was lovely to catch up with everyone.

--Lily is a perfect specimen of gorgeous babyhood.

--I loved spending time with my family and I was really depressed when I had to come back.

--But right now...I'm going to bed.

happy dance

My flight leaves in nine hours!!! Whee! I can't believe I made it through this week without climbing the walls.

I am so excited to be going home. I need a bit of a vacation. Kizfiz is at doggy camp this week--I worried that he would miss me, but he shot through the gate with nary a backward glance. Thanks pooch. Love ya too.

Work is fine, everything is great, but it is going to be fabulous to not be doing anything for a couple days.

Except, ya know, playing with my niece. (also the furry ones)

And a wedding. Looking forward to that as well. I'm so excited I just spent an hour dying my hair, plucking my eyebrows, loofah-ing my backside and trying to remember how to put on foundation. Arg. Twentieth century beauty is complicated.

But! I am so happy and proud of Sarah and Travis, and happy to be a part of their big day. I can't wait to see everyone and celebrate with much dancing!!!

Dancing, dancing, dancing with the happy! Can't wait to see everyone and finally meet this "Lily" person who, I hear, is perfection incarnate.

Happy dance!

NLD is on vacation--see you when I get back!

I'm not sayin', I'm just saying...

The tailoring job is going well. Basically, the cutter/fitter will take the interpreter into the dressing room, try a bunch of clothes on them, and pin up anything that needs fitting. Then I get the garments, and I have to turn the pins into neat seams and corners, keeping in mind period details and the possibility of ripping it all out when the spotty junior interpreters hit their growth spurt. Right now I'm working on the "small clothes" for a new Fife & Drum Corps member. Small clothes are anything that's not hugely fancy or expensive. Breeches, shirt, waistcoats, etc. All these fife & drummer kids are incredibly skinny, which leads to seam allowances the size of bedsheets. And I tell you what, nothing will cure your tendency to pull threads with your teeth like a faceful of spotty fife & drummer armpit odour.

Ooooh! Oooh! That reminds me--the Fife & Drum Corps are marching in the Macy's Day Parade on Thanksgiving Day!! Put it down on your calendars: you can see them marching in the shiny coats I helped make! They are shiny!

Meanwhile.

Being from Green Bay, I am sort of filially obligated to have an interest in the Green Bay Packers. But I have to tell you, loyal readers, I'm sort of perplexed by the news that's coming out of there right now. A few months ago, Brett Favre announced he was retiring, amid tears and gasps of "the end of an era." Seriously. It was bad. Grown men were crying in broad daylight, propped up only by their frosty beer mugs. Favre swore he didn't want to do "anything" for a year, but perhaps sit atop a mountain and contemplate his existence. Okay. I can understand. Seventeen years is a long time to do anything--no doubt the man has earned a bit of a rest. I was kind of struck at the time by the overly dramatic tone of his announcement, a sort of high choler that's usually evinced by high schoolers breaking up with their BFFs. But, whatever. It's football. I don't pretend to understand it.

Then recently Favre has announced he'd like to come back to the Packers. But as the starting quarterback. The Packers say no. Suddenly the entire world (fine, the United States) is caught up in the drama of will he or won't he--until the NFL Commissioner deus ex machina'd from on high and said he could go back to GB. But now I read today (yes, dad, I read the Packers news occasionally...especially when it's the featured story on Yahoo!) that he did not join the team practise today, but instead spent six hours talking with head coach Mike McCarthy.


McCarthy had a lot of non-things to say about their conversation, apart from "Brett's got a lot of hard decisions to make" and "we had a really good conversation" and he also mentioned they're meeting again tomorrow. Seriously? A six hour conversation--and yet still the organisation hasn't made up it's mind? It's a good thing I'm not a stockholder. I don't particularly care about football (except I like when they win, because then dad is in a good mood), but this seems a little, well, drama-queeny to me. There. I said it. Brett Favre is a huge drama queen. And there's no place in football for drama. I can't believe that the Packers organisation is tolerating this kind of behaviour...I guess it's true that the game isn't what it once was. Oh, fifty years ago now, if someone tried to pull this stunt, they'd get a curt "You're out. Man up and get over it." Now they "have conversations" and "make decisions." What decisions? It's a game--some you win, some you lose.

Anyway, that's all I have to say about that. I've been following it down here with some interest, partially because Brett Favre is practically family, partly because anything to do with the Packers makes me homesick (up to and including when I wear my green breeches with my yellow stockings), and partly because some of the women at work will poke me and say "didja hear the latest?!" Urgh, yes. And did you know that Wisconsin's exports include more than football--including some particularly fine beer and cheeses?

I'm so tiiiiired

Not that I've gotten much done the past few days. I cleaned the house yesterday, because we're expecting company today and I thought I could potentially be useful after sitting around doing nothing all week. Then I went to the movie store and picked out a couple films: "Elizabeth: the Golden Age," "Becoming Jane" and "Brokeback Mountain" cheerfully explaining to the woman behind the counter that "Jake Gyllenhal is hot! The only thing that makes him hotter is Heath Ledger--attached to his FACE!"

Speaking of Heath Ledger, I was dreaming about making a movie of George Washington and thinking (in my dream) "huh, Heath Ledger would make a GREAT Washington." And when I woke up, I realised that was no longer possible. Sad panda.

Speaking of hot guys, whilst cleaning yesterday I came across a stack of old Seventeen magazines and a red notebook my thirteen year-old-self had clearly labeled "BABES" and inside were pictures cut out of magazines of all my youthful crushes, with helpful arrows pointing to them and captions like "SO JEALOUS OF NICOLE!" This for Tom Cruise. Ironically, still jealous of Nicole Kidman, only now it has more to do with "Moulin Rouge" and that perfectly flawless skin. Anyway. It was mortifying, to say the least. Apparently I had a real thing for Keanu Reeves (and this was pre-Matrix, remember!). Oooh, so embarassing. Luckily I'm all grown up now and can dispassionately say I only like actors because they're good actors and not because they're "babes":


Cillian Murphy


Javier Bardem took his MOM to the Oscars! And then thanked her IN SPANISH!


James McAvoy in breeches. Oh, trust me. If anyone would know, it would be me.


Laurence Olivier is dead. But he can still act circles around most actors today.

This counts for news in GB

So Brett Favre is retiring. This news delivered to me by dad as he hands me the phone (it's Grandma, telling me our trip to Appleton for lunch with the great-aunts is off due to snow), his tone of voice as matter of fact as if he was observing the weather. All of the local channels have suspended programming so they can bring you Brett Favre's Life and Career. It's a very weird feeling, watching Favre retire--I don't really care about football, but since it's Green Bay, the Packers are bred into you. And Favre has been around for sixteen years, more than half my life. When he started for the Packers, I was nine, I had a dog, my teacher was the evil Mr. Banana-man and I was big into New Kids on the Block. Now I have two degrees (and still no grammar skills, take THAT evil Banana-man!), no dog, and a pretentious love of that greatest of American art forms, but for the first time fall will see no Brett Favre take the field. Weird. Dad is being stoic, noting that he has seen several quarterbacks come and go ("when Bart Starr retired, the flags flew at half-mast!"), and I'm sure deep down inside he is relishing the prospect of arm-chair administrating next year as the team tries to hire a "replacement."

Godspeed, Brett Favre, and good luck.

Did anyone else watch the special on the Royal Family last night? Okay, just me then. Part of me was really interested in the day-to-day life of the Royal Fam, and part of me was being really cynical thinking "oh yeah. This is obviously catering to the Americans who love to see all the pomp and ceremony of a monarchy we don't have." Then of course realise I was chastigating myself. Because, seriously, this show was like porn for royalists. Loving snaps of the silver plate being polished. Interviews with HRH's horse guards who gushed about being in the processions. Lingering shots of the crown jewels being readied for the royal head. And the money shot--Queen Elizabeth II in all her finery opening Parliament. Drool. Even though there were a few annoying interviews with President Bush about the Queen's visit (which I didn't hear, owing to an odd hissing sound emanating from my mouth), the show was brilliant and made me long for the days when pomp and circumstance was only one timed-entrance ticket away.

Yup, waiting.

My departure date has been pushed back to the 13th, which means I have two weeks (TWO WEEKS!) to sit around and do nothing. And I'm not actually exaggerating, because I did nothing today. Well, I made arrangements for some temporary housing at Williamsburg while I find a place, and then leapt into the truck when dad suggested we "go for a ride? huh? d'you wanna GO FOR A RIDE?!" But, in the meantime, nothing.

I heart Wisconsin, I really do, it's beautiful here and there are lots of things to do. But there's a foot of snow on the ground, no buses, and going anywhere is out of the question. I just hope I turn the next couple weeks into a writing and yoga fest and not a "House Hunters" marathon. I'm so excited I'm bored. How weird is that?!

DEMOCRACY!

I had a lovely time at home this weekend. The ride up was uneventful (lor, I do love Amtrak), ate mountains of cheese (some of which was fried, necessitating the wearing of larger jeans) and spent lots of time with my family. It was nice to actually see everyone, instead of being distracted by the bustle of Christmas.

Saturday I spent a couple hours with Grandma, quietly discussing current political candidates and my continued singlehood. Grandma thinks I'm too, how did she put it, overwhelming. I know in the past I've been called aggressive, but when Grandma says so, attention must be paid. Perhaps there is something to be said for waiting until the second date to utter the fatal phrase "So, who are you voting for?" Then I went over to my brother's house to spend time with him and his wife and wear out their puppies. Three thousand ball-tosses later, my mittens were thoroughly soaked in melted snow and dog slobber, so we went in so they could cover my shirt in hair. Aw. Puppies. Peter, ever the gracious host, fell asleep on the sofa, leaving me and Brenda to chat about things. How nice it was to actually talk to someone who was actually my age and there in the room. I didn't realise how desperate I was for conversation until Brenda hauled one of the dogs into her lap and asked me how are you doing? Baby Lem is doing well, I am happy to report, heart beating like anything. Saturday night, Mom, Dad and I went to Pasquale's in DePere--the restaurant which spawned my best-traveled T-shirt, the one that reads "Heaven is where the chefs are French, the lovers are Italian, the police are British and it's all run by the Germans, hell is where the chefs are British" and I forget the rest, but you've probably seen it anyway.

Sunday morning we got up and went to church for an intriguing sermon (bless me, I almost wrote"lecture!") about John Wesley, founder of the Methodist faith. My church, Bethany United, has finished a new renovation, and the church looks splendid. It needs some paintings, but the architecture is beautiful. Then we went out for pancakes. After dropping dad of at home, mom and I went shopping, I got new boots and a yoga mat, then home for a pre-Superbowl nap. The Superbowl was celebrated with food and much cheering. My favourite commercial was the one with Napoleon--and I was rankled when the Milwaukee Sentinel called it one of the worst. "Does anyone really know who that short guy is anyway?" they queried, prompting me to yell "He was five-six! Totally average for his time!!" Milwaukee Sentinel, speaking as the target audience, you don't know what you're talking about.

Speaking about short historical figures, mom and I had this exchange as we strolled through the bottle shop, picking up some Mr. T's for bloody mary's:

Me: (hissing in front of a display of Admiral Nelson's Rum) Look at this! Look at this--a historical travesty, that's what this is!
Mom: What do you mean?
Me: Why do they have to use Nelson for their rum and then get it all wrong? I mean, A)he never wore an eyepatch--B) he's got two arms and C), he's got a beard!
Mom: Yeah and D) he's too tall!
Me: Exactly! Travesty!

Yesterday I voted, a strangely patriotic experience. Dad took me over to the village hall, and I explained to the nice lady behind the counter that I wanted to participate in a democracy, and seh handed me the ballot. She asked "would you like a clipboard so you can go in the corner for some privacy?" and I bawled "No, I don't care who knows I'm voting for Barack Obama!" And with a swipe of my ballot pen it was done. Then I sang a verse of "My Country Tis of Thee" and walked back to the car. DEMOCRACY! Feels good.

The ride back was uneventful. I downloaded the audiobook of "Master and Commander" onto Napoleon for the ride, so I spent the whole ten hours having nautical porn poured in my years. SEriously. Twelve hours later I'm note entirely sure there is a plot, or if this book is merely an excuse for Patrick O'Brian to go "and then THIS amazingly technical nautical thing happened! And let's put in a bunch of nautical terms! So that anyone listening will suddenly feel like they're hearing a foreign language!" Which is why I suddenly sounded like a nineteenth century sailor when I went in for a job assignment today. "Lor bless my soul, mam, I could soirtainly use a bit of a job so I could!" Right.

The fun part is that I'm going to be working from home for the next couple weeks, yay. The bad part is, no free sodas or coffee. Oh well. I'm sad that I was only home for a weekend, but I'm glad that I'm working. Can't wait to go again.

I did it

All right, I admit it, I jinxed the Packers last night. Coming from Green Bay, being a Packers fan is less a choice than it is a way of life, so I was excited to watch them trounce the Bears--my first chance to watch a game in about nine months. (For obvious reasons they don't show Packers games here, but they do show Bears games.) I ordered a pizza from Giordano's and, right before kickoff, I benevolently called my friend Cathy (a die-hard Bears fan) to wish her a happy game. The rest is history. Tho I don't know whether I should blame the Chicago-style pizza or the incredible hubris for the loss. Either way, Packers fans, I apologize.

Today I have nothing to do. I was thinking about taking advantage of all the Persecution of the Indians by Christopher Columbus Day Sales and maybe buying a kitchen table, but I didn't want to contribute to a holiday that was celebrating the beginning of several hundred years of horrific subjugation. Instead I'm going to finish hemming my curtains and study up on the math part of the GRE. I took another practise test last night and I improved my score 69% on the verbal section. And no, I did not figure out that percentage on my own, which might explain why my math score went up exactly 0%.

Meanwhile, I turned on the BBC World News last night only to discover their lead story was about an off-duty police officer shooting 6 people in Crandon. My relative joy at hearing the word "Wisconsin" in a British accent were immediately offset by the horrific nature of what happened--yet that didn't stop me from rankling at the statement "Crandon is a tiny town about 225 miles north of Milwaukee; truly the wilderness where people hunt, fish and shoot." Yeah, DEER. Hello world, meet Wisconsin. I've read more articles about what's happening there, but it still feels incongruous to have the first word come from the Beeb.