Riding the Tide

The Tide in all its glory

Last Saturday Jeff and I had a totally frivolous day. Hampton Roads recently spent $338 million dollars on a brand new light rail, a commuter train to help alleviate some of the crazy car traffic. It came under a lot of flak because it was two years overdue and cost about double what it was originally supposed to, but now that it's up and running, the ridership is already twice what was projected. I love trains, I love mass-transit...it's so convenient not having to worry about parking your car, being able to read or eat or put on makeup or tweeze your eyebrows while you're driving. Yeah, sure, there's never a bus coming for twenty minutes and then there's three, but overall, I'm very pro mass transit. Right now the Tide, as the train in Norfolk is lovingly called, only has about ten miles of track, but there's already talk about extending it down to Virginia Beach...I hope they do. As nice as it is not to have to pay for parking in downtown Norfolk, it would be REALLY nice not to have to park a car in Virginia Beach.

So, I wanted to support the Tide. First, we had to drive for an hour. Then we parked (for free), bought our tickets from a machine (Jeff, who's a bit of a coin collector, was geeked out that the change came in dollar coins), and settled in for the ride. The Tide is brand spankin' new, shiny and clean. Cleaner even than the Waterloo line in London. The train is really only fifty feet long, with a bend in the middle to get around the curves...baby trains that remind one of caterpillars.

First we meandered through Norfolk suburbs, before sailing high over Norfolk State University. Then we gradually landed in downtown Norfolk itself, and disembarked near MacArthur Center. The Tide is small enough that it has to obey traffic signals and it even has an electronic trolley bell to warn pedestrians its near. Our tickets were also good for the ferry that goes across the Elizabeth River to Portsmouth, so we headed across for dinner at one of our favourite restaurants, the Biergarten. As the name suggests, it is a German restaurant, and yes, there is bier. 306 varieties at last check. Although we've had good meals there before, this time was a bit of a letdown. Too many kids in one warm room plus disappointing schwarzewälder kirschtorte made for a long meal. Still, bier. Also! I finally got to see inside a store called Skipjacks, which is nautical themed, with lots of antiques. If had several thousand dollars and several living rooms to decorate, I could have spent DAYS in that store. And they have a dog named Jack...I didn't ask, but I suspect that he may have been named after Jack Aubrey.


Here's a map in case you're getting confused. Click on it to make it bigger...we got on at Newtown Road and off at MacArthur Center. Not shown: the Bier Garten and Skipjacks, which is south of the Elizabeth River. It's important to be specific, because normally when you say "south of the river" you mean the James, which is where we live. There are a lot of rivers in Hampton Roads, hence the name "roads."

The weather was absolutely wonderful, warm and sunny, even when we were on the ferry, which is an adorable fake paddlewheel. Honestly, I would live in Portsmouth and work in Norfolk just so I could commute on the ferry every day. The best part about riding the Tide was not reliving the happy rides of time past, but of watching people who had never been on a train before enjoy it. You could see parents relaxing as they watched their kids frolic on the turntable bed in the train's floor...ladies of a certain age wearing hats, headed down to MacArthur Center for some shopping...a Navy guy in an Admiral's uniform (hockey, not dress blues) headed to a game. More than anything, this made me cheerful and happy too. I hope that everyone who was riding--especially people who ride every day--will see how great trains, buses and even ferries can be and then maybe we can saturate this country will mass-transit, like it is in Europe.

I'm definitely enjoying this whole not working in the evening thing...so far this week I've cooked dinner twice and reveled in dishes duty. Ah, domesticity! How I have missed thee.

Springtime

I know a lot of loyal readers out there (and you would have to be pretty loyal if you're reading this, almost two months after I apparently abandoned my blog) will be taken aback when I write a paen to spring. Spring is definitely here, according to the daffodils, some flowering trees, and the amount of fur coming out of my dogs. (Yes, dogs-plural, I know it's been awhile, hasn't it?) After enduring a rough winter, I am so grateful for warmth and spring, for going out in the morning and the sun is coming up. For not having to bundle into a wool blanket while I'm on the ferry. It's a deep, wellsprung gratitude, like a prayer everytime I step outside with my coat unbuttoned.

There honestly hasn't been a lot going on the past two months. I started this blog before I left for London, when every day brought new and magical experiences, and I was a lot more out of contact with people. Now, I have settled down into a completely mundane middle-class life, with varying levels of stress and drama. My days consist of working, eating dinner and walking the dogs. Do I really have anything to offer any more? Is anyone out there?

Jeff and I adopted another beagle a couple of weeks ago...her name is Lucy, and she is 40 pounds to Kismet's 26. They get along very well...usually roughhousing all over the living room while Jeff and I look on and smile fondly. At night we tuck them into the spare bedroom, which is overflowing with fleece blankets and dog toys...in the morning I am greeted by wagging tails and beagle stretches and we go out for our morning walk, sniffing the breeze and occasionally scaring deer.



Mah beagle babies



Lucy Hanover. The shelter gave her the name Lucy, I added "Hanover" because she needed an awesome last name.

That's mostly the news for now...new dog, it's spring. The re-enacting season is going to start in a couple weeks, and I hope to have some new clothes by then. I'll post pictures. I hope my loyal readers still find my life interesting enough to read about. :)

Drips of chemicals

It's a funny ol' thing, depression. Today was great. I took full advantage of Jeff being out of town to spend a day doing girly solo things, like getting a massage, shopping at the thrift store (cookie cookbook! $2!), walking the dog, spending two hours on the phone with a friend, made chili and cornbread...The sun was out, the sky was blue, the raccoons were for once not running under the wheels of my car. Life is good.

So what's the problem? The problem is yesterday I was about ready to take to my bed for the rest of the year. For some reason my depression has been getting bad again. Perhaps it is stress about the holidays already creeping in, combined with some challenging commuting to a job supervised by the Captain Ahab? I mean, things were going fine, but now, all of a sudden... I have experience with feeling like this. I know that it is Not Me, it is tiny little drips of chemicals in my brain, and I refused to be stigmatized for having chemicals, or taking pills to counteract those chemicals. But I feel bad. I am wondering if it's not time to medicate again. Or see a therapist.

One factor I can definitely point to is the fact that it has been a year since I last saw Grandma. Saw her, talked to her, hugged her. And the experts say the first year after a person dies is the hardest. So I am giving myself that year. But part of that emotional baggage has been eating, and this year I know I've put on weight: my stays and gown from CW no longer fit. (Why, oh why couldn't I have the kind of depression that manifests itself in loss of appetite? sigh.) I am eating to comfort myself, and also because Jeff and I love to cook and feed each other. So more exercise and some salads would probably help with the thing, and also trying to eat less Splenda.

It's hard to talk about this objectively. Yesterday I could have typed up a beautifully emo post about how I am so depressssed and how my liiiiife is full of uselessness... But today was a good day, and I embraced it fully. I love living in the country--walking the dog in all seasons gives me a chance to watch nature change, and right now the colors are spectacular and the pecans are in full flow. I don't even know what I want to say in this post. Life is good but sometimes I don't want to get out of bed? How can I reassure my loyal readers without worrying them? But this is what is going on, and this is what I wanted to write about. (it was that or the election)

Tomorrow I hope will be more of the same...Jeff will return from the wilds of north Virginia and maybe I'll do some laundry and enjoy a quiet Sunday. I think, more than anything, I needed a few days off to do nothing but catch up on some reading and bake.

Updating from work...

Hello loyal readers. Jeff and I were all set to have internet installed today, until we realised that there is no co-axial cable outlet downstairs. And upstairs is still awash in plaster dust and construction. So there won't be any major updates for awhile, as I am using the computer at work to answer only the direst emails (Pleas for bank account information from Nigera will not be acknowledged.) We've rescheduled for the 7th...and I am going to try to find a wifi connexion somewhere soon. Until then, all is well. Driving to work in the morning is not as painful as I thought it would be, once I realised the seat in my car goes all the way back for optimum nappage, and sometime when we get home at night, there's a belligerent basset hound who is convinced our house is his, baying it for all the neighborhood to hear. Plus it's only 89 degrees today instead of 100+. Huzzay.

All is well.

Weddings are Fun

I had a great time in Wisconsin. Everytime I go to a wedding, I always say "that was the best" or "I had the most fun at your wedding, EVAR" when, really, it's only because that particular wedding was the most recent. The other exciting part about the week was introducing Jeff to my parents. Everyone seemed to like one another...which was a relief...although I think he spent more time with my family than I did. Good thing he's a shutterbug, because now I have lots of pictures of Lilybet. She has CURLS, ya'll. And as soon as I can borrow Jeff's camera and plug it into my Mac I will show them to you.

Meanwhile, here are some photos I nicked off of Facebook...

We got into town on Wednesday, and after introducing Jeff to my parents and cheescurds, I abandoned him to go out with the ladies of the wedding party. We started at a pottery place, decorating mugs for Sara's kitchen...along for the ride was the daughter of the bride and the son of the other bridesmaid, who took advantage of the fact the paint was non-toxic.







After that we ditched the kiddies and headed over to Margarita's, where the bachelorette party got started in earnest...




...But we didn't stay out too late, since the moms had to get their little ones to bed, and there were still centerpieces to arrange and bouquets to tie.

The next day dawned grey and dreary. "If I hear one more person tell me it's good luck to have rain on your wedding day, I'm going to slap them," growled the bride, as she gaze out the hotel room window, her perfectly coiffed hair falling over her shoulder, looking like a Victorian poetess. We kept assuring her it was going to stop, but the thunderstorm that rolled through right before we left for the ceremony was not assuaging her fears. But by the time we got to Apple Creek Inn, it had slowed to a drizzle...then stopped...and then the sun gradually started coming out. By the time we were taking pictures, the sun had almost dried the grass, and by the time the ceremony started, Nicki was wishing she had remembered to bring sunscreen, and cursing the fact she was wearing her good shoes on spongy grass. (oh well. No one was looking at me. They were all looking at the flower girl.)



The wedding party...




And Mr. & Mrs. Clark.

Sara had overprepared for the reception, since there were about a thousand kids running around...that's just as well, since most of the adults also wanted a colouring book and a glowing necklace. I ended up wearing several chair decorations, made for me by Jeff. The best part of the reception had to be having someone to dance with. And when he wasn't up for it, there were thousands of kids running around....kids are always good for the dance floor.

Also, there was a chocolate fountain, which they brought out after most of the kids had left, so it was up to me to eat as much as possible and smear the rest over adults standing nearby.



That's right, ladies, he also dances.

Saturday I got to spend with mom, dad, Peter, LilyBug and Jeff. We took a ride up to Door County. Mother Nature, having granted Sara's prayers for nice weather for an outdoor wedding, was not about to listen to my pleas for the same so we could go boating. But we drove up through the Door, stopping for more cheese curds and Wilson's root beer, hiking to the top of Eagle Tower at Peninsula State Park. Jeff was dilligent about taking photos...I'll put them up here when I can steal them off his camera...Saturday night we had a traditional Wisconsin brat fry, with Mom's award-winning potato salad and a Point beer for me. It was so good and so relaxing to be back in Wisconsin, if only for a couple days. I can't wait to take Jeff there again...this time for some Up North time and a boatride...

The First First

Yesterday was Jeff and my's anniversary. (and yes, for those of you who got The Christmas Card, that's not his real name, but he likes his anonymity...it allows him to carry out his spy missions more covertly). It's slightly incredible to me how I went from being super single for twenty-seven years to slipping into a long term relationship so easily. Especially when at first glance it appears we have nothing in common: he's a Virginian who can trace his family back to 1634, I'm a hated Yankee who has only legends to plant my family tree in. We are on opposite ends of the political spectrum, both today and two hundred years ago. But that by itself is a good indication of why we work so well together--instead of arguing about people currently in office, we fight about the policies of "T.J." versus "G-Dubs" We cook a lot together, we spend time dreaming about historical clothes and walking Kismet. Basic, domestic stuff...I guess I sewed--I mean sowed, geez--my wild oats in London. Now I'm definitely all about the domesticity. With a few occasional jaunts overseas, of course. But for right now...very happy just cooking, working and writing.

Mom and Dad were making fun of me last Sunday when I called to console Dad about the Packer's loss. Poking fun at me for being so giddy about an anniversary. Until I pointed out to them that this is the first time I've ever made it to a first anniversary. So let me enjoy it while I can. Jeff and I spent it like we do a lot of our weekends: we went out for Mexican food, then took Kiz to the dogpark and then came home and watched a movie. It's been a happy first year...hopefully, the first of many.

UNGH the soliloquy....

Mom and Dad bought me a new MacBook Pro with a seventeen inch monitor for Christmas. I was not expecting this: I had asked for a robe. And when mom prompted me with a "that's it?" I thought for a moment and went "oh, and slippers. Slippers would be nice." When I got home from the funeral, a box of Christmas presents was waiting for me...I unpacked it and set them all under the tree to await Christmas morning. I thought the funny thin heavy box with a handle on the top was maybe a toolkit...possibly for my car? And ironically that was the last box I opened. Jeff had moved on to discussing how we were going to handle food for our party that evening when the look of shock on my face cut him off...I couldn't believe it. Sitting here now, wearing my new robe and slippers, typing on keys as smooth as butter, I still can't believe this beautiful machine is mine. THANK YOU MOM AND DAD. So much potential opens up before me. I can actually take this laptop places, since it actually holds a charge. There's plenty of room for music, movies and writing. So far all I've done with it is surf the internet...next weekend I'm going to take it down to the Apple Store in Norfolk and have them give me some tutorials. It's like having a Mustang in your garage...you need someone to show you how to shift properly. LOVE IT SO MUCH.

I feel like I owe everyone a big ol' blog post to get you all up to date. Recently, a blog I follow didn't update for nearly a month and I panicked, thinking the writer had died in a horrible fiery car crash...turns out she was busy. I know the feeling. So where to begin? Let's not go back to the funeral, even though now that I'm here in Williamsburg I keep forgetting Grandma is gone. Keep thinking "oh, I have to tell her about this" or write her name down on my Christmas card list...then I catch myself. I guess this will continue to happen for a little while. But that's okay.

Christmas Day was spent with Jeff and his family. We went over to his godparent's house for Christmas dinner, Virginia-style, with turkey AND ham, collard greens, cornbread stuffing, cranberry relish, sweet potato casserole, mashed potatoes, dozens of other dishes I can't remember and three kinds of pie to finish. I was stuffed. We couldn't linger too long, however, because we were planning on hosting a little party of our own. Only seven adults here, but I had instructed my guests to come hungry and we had made enough food for a regiment. Jeff made his rum balls and salmon dip, I made mom's meatballs and whiskey weiners, and our guests brought over their Christmas specialties, padded out by chips, veggies, and a big ol' crockpot full of wassail. We finally had to kick them out around midnight. I had a bridesmaid dress to finish.

Boxing Day was a laaaazy day. Jeff and I worked our way through the six-disk set of Monty Python I had bought him for Christmas while I frantically tried to finish my 1930's bridesmaid dress and attach buttons to my coat. I also had to pack. It was luxurious, being able to throw as much stuff as I wanted into the car, including most of our Christmas leftovers. But alas!! Apparently Gladware isn't waterproof!!! Oh, how sad was I to get down to Florida and discover my whiskey weiners and meatballs were completely saturated with ice!!! The saddest day ever...

But I'm getting ahead of my story. December 27th, four-thirty AM, I jump in Chi-Chi and begin the drive down to Florida. I stop and pick up Erin and her husband Mike, who are also in the wedding, and we begin the trek. Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, all pass by in a blur as the sun comes up and begins to slide down. We are in holiday traffic, occasionally slowing and stopping. Then we hit our biggest slowdown yet--for two hours we are creeping until we finally pass by a horrific traffic accident. We are thankful for our safe journey and take it easy, arriving two hours late, but in one piece.

Nicole and Evan's wedding took place at the Beach Club Resort, which is one of the Disney hotel properties. It sits on a little lagoon with the Yacht Club on one side and the Boardwalk on the other. It is huge. Airy, blue with white trim, it really looks like a giant version of a nineteenth century seaside resort. We check in and are promptly whisked off to Disney Downtown (what used to be Paradise Island) and have a late, late supper. The next day I am awoken at seven-thirty and by nine-thirty I am on Big Thunder Railroad at the Magic Kingdom. I seem to recall Big Thunder Railroad being a lot more intense when I was ten years old, but I scream and throw up my hands anyway. Magic Kingdom is brilliant when you're an adult. We make fun of the animatronic animals on Splash Mountain, squeal like girls when the water from Pirates of the Caribbean splashes us and run to the Adventure River to catch Princess Tiana's Showboat Spectacular, knocking over several small children on the way. Magic Kingdom is hellaciously busy. After the eleven o'clock parade the park is suddenly overrun with parents pushing strollers and little kids wandering hither and yon. Little kids meaning kids under two years old who are never going to remember this, and are only going to exhaust their parents with their nap-deprived demands for toys and food. Disney has a new thing called Fastpass, which allows you to scan your ticket at certain rides and receive a time when you can skip the line and get straight on the ride. A one-thirty scan for Space Mountain spits out a Fastpass time of eleven-fifteen at night. We opt for dinner.

Dinner is at O'hana's, at the Polynesian, another Disney resort. It is a set menu: BBQ chicken and potstickers, salad, steamed broccoli and noodles, then skewers of steak, turkey, pork and shrimp, with pineapple bread pudding to finish. We all overeat and stagger back to the hotel at nine-thirty.

The next day the only one up and perky at seven is the bride. I manage to stay in bed until nine. Then we pop over to the gazebo to scout out where the ceremony will be held before Erin and I head over to the salon and get our hair done up for the wedding. A nineteen-thirties hairstyle that leaves me looking like Eva Peron's mom from the movie Evita takes two and a half hours. I hurry back and get into my dress and shoes. I have been worried about these heels for weeks, but anything less than two inches is not an option. Somehow I manage to stay upright for the walk over to the gazebo, the brief but beautiful ceremony (I cried), and the pictures afterward. Nicole arrived at the pavilion in a 1958 white Rolls Royce...Erin and I enjoy a brief ride down the boardwalk to the spot where we're taking more pictures, earning more than one double take as people notice the "Just Married" sticker in the window. We take a boat back to the Yacht Club and the shoes come off. Dinner is a small, intimate affair...with less than thirty people at the wedding, including the wedding party, it is easy to get to know everyone. Not much dancing (not that my legs would be in any sort of shape for dancing), and by nine-thirty we've sent the couple off to start their honeymoon. The wedding party changes and takes one last walk around the lagoon. A brief walk...never seen Florida so frosty.

Then home again. This time it's the traffic what cooperates and the road-trippers who are dallying. We turn off the main path and have lunch in Saint Augustine, which is a tiny little town, the oldest one in a America, full of cute little stores, cobblestone streets and farby pirates. And good pizza. The rest of the drive home is uneventful. I am in bed by two-forty five, so I get nearly four hours of sleep before I have to go to work.

But it's only one day and I have a three day weekend. Jeff comes up to Williamsburg, bearing a freshly-washed Kismet, and we watch movies until it's time for the ball to drop. I finally have someone to smooch on New Year's Eve, and it's wonderful. The next day I meet up with him down in Norfolk and we go see The Real Pirates exhibit at Nauticus in Norfolk. It is wonderful. There are chests overflowing with silver, guns, tools, pieces of clothing and even smells floating around. You can tell it was put on by National Geographic--it's done incredibly well. Some of Jeff's friends are there, guys who rent themselves out as pirates occasionally, and they add to the atmosphere by doing demonstrations and letting kids handle their reproduction guns. I have to correct a small child who attempts to cock a flintlock by making a modern "chk-chk" sound.

We go see Sherlock Holmes, which was pretty good. Not quite sure how I felt about the story, but the acting was good and London was pretty underneath all its dirt...the same could be said for Jude Law and Robert Downey Jr. of course.

Now it is noon. January 3rd, 2010. It is freezing: the temperature is probably in the teens with the windchill and the wind is howling. Kismet is bugging to go out, so we'll probably head to the dogpark this afternoon. (His chomping of a pork bone seems to have affected him not at all, little stinker) Life is good. I will put up some pictures of the wedding as soon as I get any...and I promise to post more liberally in the new year.

Old Virginia Primitive Rifle--Spring Rendezvous

Well, here I am, back from the eighteenth century. I have to admit, it was nothing like I thought it would be--but a lot better than I was expecting. I left work at three o'clock on Friday and headed across the river. After Jeff and I consolidated our stuff into his van we drove out to the rendezvous site. A wrong turn took us pass the Michael Vick Doghouse of Pain, but we found it soon after.

OVPR stands for the Old Virginia Primitive Rifle, a group dedicated to keeping black powder gunnery alive. The campground was actually someone's back forty, and the atmosphere was laid back and family-oriented. No specific time period was represented. Jeff and I were trying to keep ourselves in the 1770s, but most of the other campers were much more casual. The men would wear hunting frocks and trowsers, the women would wear skirts and whatever bodice-y thing they could find. Mostly it was more reminiscent of a Renaissance Faire come-as-you-wish experience, but everyone was having a good time. There were lots of kids running around, including one four year old in buckskin boots with bells. Now THERE is a good way to keep track of your kid.

We arrived after the sutlers had closed up for the night, but we were able to get stakes for our tent since a few boxes had been left outside--settling up in the morning, of course. That was just the trusting atmosphere that existed here. After we got out tent up and drove the "mule" back out to the "paddock" we got the brazier going and heated the stew that Jeff had made for dinner. Jeff also made our tent, which is something of a work in progress. It did extremely well at keeping the frost off, but we were still pretty chilled by the time the sun came up.


Here's himself Saturday morning, boiling water for tea. Note the lack of flaps on our tent...that is something we're going to have to fix.

We were up with the sun, naturally, and spent the day wandering around, visiting the sutlers and admiring other people's equipage. Rifle and musket shots rang out during the entire day as the shooting competitions went on. Most of the tents were waaaaay more extravagant than ours was--twelve by twelve post tents with dining flies and stovepipes sticking out of the back. You know the people at modern campgrounds with the obscene five-wheel Winnebagos with a Mini-Cooper as their tow vehicle? Yeah, some of the tents were like that. But everyone was having a great time. At noon there was a ladies' social. I showed up with a basket of sewing, everyone else showed up with tankards. Part of the price of admission was as much alcohol as you could drink (beer or a ladleful of drinks mixed in a big ceramic pot) and a barbeque chicken dinner on Saturday night. I talked briefly with a few ladies who were also attempting a more "period" impression, of the late 1770s, swapping stories about where best to buy fabric and period correct techniques...mostly I listened though. At one point one of them complained about re-enacting for so long that she had nothing to buy and I had to chime in: "Yes, but it's even harder when you're just starting and you need everything and you have no money!" One of the good things about re-enacting though: Just like two hundred years ago, you don't change your clothes. I wore the same shift, petticoats and bedgown all weekend. It was so cool I didn't mind much, but perhaps in the future I'll bring a change of shift.

After lunch I took a nap. Just crawled into our tent, burrowed into the big pile of blankets and fell asleep. The campground opened up to spectators during the afternoon--folks who were interested in visiting the sutlers or gawking at the campers, and I dimly recall a few digs at our poor equipage. Which may be true, but at least we were period appropriate.



After spending two days in shift and stays (yes, stays) I really started to find myself thinking like a proper colonial woman would think. So when a troop of Boy Scouts walked by just as I was extricating myself from the tent, my first thought was "ohmygosh, I don't have my cap on! They're going to think I'm a tremendous hussy!" The Scout leader was fairly charmed with our tent though, even asking if he could take a picture of it. (Sure. Then pull it out and wave it in front of your Scouts when they start complaining about being cold in their Army surplus walled tents...I'll show you cold.)

But the thing that made me feel the most "authentic" was the spring. No spigots here, in order to get water for washing and drinking, you had to step down a dirt trail and ladle it directly out of the ground. Fresh and clear and delicious.





Here's a shot down the main drag of the camp, if you're standing directly in front of our tent. I'm sorry I didn't get more photos of the people, but I didn't want to be obnoxious. You can just barely see the inn, a permanent wooden structure which covered the bar and a stage for the band. About a hundred yards beyond that were the "hooters," pit toilets that were actually pretty nice. Plenty of TP and bottles of hand sanitizer. What luxury.

When the sun went down, the stars were bright as diamonds. Even with the fancy tents and overblown equipment, no one broke out a flashlight. Instead people came bearing candle-lanterns to the inn, to listen to guitars around a campfire. The best part of camping is the end of the day, just sitting around a fire. That's what Jeff and I did, after refilling our tankards at the inn: we built up our fire and listened to the toads come out. We had pinned up a bit of cloth over the end of the tent by our heads, which made a world of difference in sleeping, although we still woke up to this at our neighbor's site:


Yeah, next time, we're bringing bricks for foot warmers.

All in all, I have to say I had a great time. It was incredibly relaxing, fun, non-stressful and just a wonderful way to spend a lovely weekend with someone who's fast becoming more than a new friend. And, I got to try out my 1770s impression in a low-pressure environment...no one was thread counting here, but I can't want to see what some Rev War interpreters might say. It's good to be back in the twenty-first century. Wearing skirts all the time is hard. But I can't wait to go back.

beagles in the snow

It looks like Wisconsin outside. Seriously. We had a snowstorm Sunday night--a bit of a nor'easter, except it came up from the south--and the snow not only accumulated, but it lasted all day today. Granted, it's now slimy and slushy and icy, but it's still here. In March. In Virginia. I'm freezing. ARG. Kismet is loving it though...I don't think he's ever seen snow, he keeps stepping on it and then lifting his paws up like he can't figure out why they sink into the ground and get wet and cold. It'd be slightly adorable except...I'm freezing.

Anyway. I spent all weekend in the company of my new friend from Smithfield...some of my loyal readers cleverly read between the lines of my last post about him, so let me just say yes, all your suspicions are true. However, he's a bit camera shy, so I'm not going to be writing too much about him, although I will say I appear to have found a genuine Virginian gentleman. We're planning on going to a re-enacting event in a couple of weeks, so we spent all weekend sewing period costumes and baking period bread while the wind picked up and the temperature dropped. It was pretty domestic and nice and I'm very happy. Who wouldn't be, being served tea while you hand stitch a linen shirt? sigh. Happy Nicki is happy.

Heralds of Spring

Last Friday we were sitting in the shop, happily stitching away our last hours when our intern, Emily, perked up her ears and said, "Is that a train?" "No," I trilled happily, "that's the Fife & Drum Corps!"

Which can only mean one thing: spring is on it's way! I know it's only the second week of February, but in Virginia, that is like the end of April, Wisconsin-time. The Fife and Drum Corps will start their programming up again in March, so now is the time to practise. Yay, spring. Warmer weather, more humidity and militia! Which means breeches and money. Huzzah. Two things I like very much.

I spent Saturday in Smithfield, exploring a corner of Virginia with a new friend. Smithfield is a preserved historical town, full of Victorian "painted ladies" that are covered in gingerbread and latticework. Unlike Colonial Williamsburg, the houses are still privately owned, but the city requires the owners to keep them up to the original standards. A nice way, I think, of keeping the feeling of the city without having to put all the expense on a single foundation. After lunch (although Smithfield is known for its ham, I had a turkey sandwich on sourdough and the best damme German chocolate cake evar) we wandered through an antique store that featured period shirts and shifts with period sewing, which resulted in major geekery--no, no, that's actually a backstitch, not a machine stitch. Wow. Then through an art gallery featuring historical artwork (including a cheeky portrait of Thos. Jefferson) and finally home to dinner on the James River.

I took the ferry back to Williamsburg, over the James, and saw the second sign of spring: the Harley riders. Hordes of leather clad bikers, out for a spin in the upper-sixty degree weather. On the ship they were gathered together, comparing notes and talking shop before driving off on their solo ways again: at least sixty bikes, all of them polished so bright it was hard to look at them. Kizzy hesitantly sniffed a tire, and I made it very clear to him that these machines were not to receive his special blessing. Standing up, I caught a biker grinning at me: "What can I say?" I grinned weakly, "he's got good taste."

All in all, this was one of the most relaxing weekends I've spent in Virginia, just lazing around, no need to be anywhere on time. It reminded me of driving to Point at the end of August: the stress of summer jobs over with, the stress of classes not set in yet. The lack of AC compensated for by open windows, the open windows compensated for by a blaring radio, the smell of dried hay and dust getting caught in my hair. Virginia is beautiful. Life is good.

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 anniversary

I realised late last night that the 20th was an important anniversary...a milestone of sorts, if you will.

I'm talking, of course, about the last Harry Potter book being released. Book Seven. The end. No more. How am I doing? One year in? Well, so far I've read it three times, and the utter despair of knowing there will be no more HP hasn't set in. After all--we usually had to wait two years (or more--remember book five?!) for the next installment. But there will be no more, and that fact becomes more real with each passing day. Ah, me. I think that's part of the reason I'm spacing out the Aubrey/Maturin chronicles. Apart from the reason that they are crack and too much of a good thing might very well kill me.

I kid, of course...the 20th is also the one year anniversary of my brother and sister-in-law's marriage. Happy one year, kids. Here's to many more.

Last year at this time I was happily frolicking on a beach, desperately glad to be away from a job which I would grow to abhor and eventually be fired from. My one regret? Not quitting sooner. I'm so much happier down here in Williamsburg, despite the fact that I make about half what I did in Chicago. The people are friendlier and more relaxed, and the atmosphere is less tense. It's hard to take yourself too seriously if you're wearing breeches and talking on a cell phone at the same time.

But tonight, dear readers, I have a touch of the hypo. Fear not--this is the kind that comes with long days at work and lack of sleep (owing to the fact I've been chasin' the white whale afore bedtime), not the soul-crushing kind that forces Nicki to take to her bed and weep. My audition went very well last night, and I have high hopes for getting involved in the evening programs. Although, I doubt they'll cast me as the govenor's wife, Lady Dunmore, though I surely had fun reading the part. And now that I've passed on musketry, the militia will become a regular excursion. And my portfolio is getting attention...possibly writing projects will follow?

So I really can't put a finger on why I should feel, well, blue this evening. Perhaps it's just because I'm not used to so much happiness. Ah, but I suspect it's the auld familiar complaint of being without Love, for, now that I have all my needs and wants taken care of, I have time to sit back and ponder on when the heavens will see fit to send me someone to love.

Although, with my luck lately, that could be any second now...

Dumpster Diving: Varsity Team

My roommate and I were having a discussion the other night about the Single Woman’s Dilemma, which goes something like this: Should I buy nice things now, because I have no current marriage prospects and therefore no hopes of getting Nice Things via a wedding shower OR do I buy cheap things and hold out hope that I’ll be able to replace them soon when I get a man and a wedding shower?

It’s mercenary, I know, but at least I’m not the only one who’s thought that way.

For the record, if I ever get married, the only thing I want is a Kitchen Aid mixer, in eggplant. Oh, and love everlasting. Thank you.

I have no problem with cheap, if it’s good quality, which usually means that I buy stuff secondhand, and that’s fine. I have been moving a lot recently, which means that things come into my life and quickly go—by my count I’ve bought several irons, various dishes, linens, glasses, hangers, etc. Lately I’ve become more conscious of trying to stay out of the consumer culture, which means I try not to throw stuff away. This also means that recently I’ve been buying the Nice Things (like a new bed!) knowing that I’m going to hang onto it for a loooong time.

Sometimes though, you have to go cheap, like my $30 Target bookcase which still reeks of woodglue and formadahyde a week after I’ve unpacked it. I was feeling guilty as I went to throw the box away—it’s cardboard! It should be recycled!—because we have no recycling facilities onsite, but imagine my horror when I looked into the Dumpster and saw an entire set of frying pans, barely scratched, that someone had thrown away.

The horror. The horror.

Now, we have pans. We have enough frying pans that—should we choose, we could fry an entire carton of eggs, with each egg in its own special pan. We do not, however, have saucepans. But as my eyes traveled over the pile of white garbage bags and the various other items, I saw a gleaming pile of saucepans just out of reach. I could not believe it. I went back into the house and quickly made up a fishing pole, using the handle from our broom, a wire coathanger and one of my grosgrain ribbon belts, and proceeded to fish the saucepans out of the Dumpster. The first try bent the hook on the hanger straight, but with patience I managed to extract a stock pot, a medium-sized saucepan, a larger, flatter saucepan, a small saucepan, and (miracle of miracles) a vegetable steamer! Which is something I’ve been lusting for lately. Huzzah!

The reason why the hook was bent straight was made abundantly clear when I flipped over the small saucepan—these aren’t your cheap, Dollar Tree aluminum saucepans, oh no. They are heavy duty, Faberware Millenium stainless steel cookware, with the copper bottoms, heavy enough to commit murder with. They are wedding-registry worthy Nice Things. And they are all mine.

What’s a little dumpster diving and some heavy duty scrubbing?

The Long Dark Train Ride of the Soul

Nicki is back in Williamsburg. Along with a swanky new pair o' New Balance sneakers and some socks for Niece #1 (my first act as a spoiling aunt), she managed to pick up a nasty headcold somewhere between Albany and here. Nicki blames Penn Station. For there is no way that a city as lovely as Albany could harbour such a vicious, vicious virus.

The train ride up was uneventful, except where the first train was late, making me miss my connecting train and take a later one. "Is there anything to do in New York?" I deadpanned to the ticket guy as he changed my ticket. Blank stare. "Uh. I'd stay in the staion." Forget that! Broadway was only six, okay eight blocks away! I trotted down to 42nd St and said hai and was back in time to get a delicious sandwich for the train.

Alison met me in Albany...can I say how weird it is to see someone I've only ever known on public transport driving a car? It's weird. We spent that Sunday at the New York State Museum, which is beautiful. Half the museum is given over to the Beauty of Natural New York, including it's one dinosaur and mastodon skeleton, and the other half is given over to New York City. I found the exhibit on 9/11 to be slightly disturbing--seeing parts or airplanes and seatbelts was particularly wrenching--and I was shocked when a mother calmly led her two youngish children through the exhibit. There is also a carousel at the museum, and although Alison and I were not the oldest ones who went for a ride, we were the oldest who actually got up on the horse and yippee ki-yi-yayed around, instead of holding a small child on.

Sunday night we had sushi. I haven't sushi in months. Oh, God, I love sushi. Sushi, sushi, sushi. We also had ice-cream for desert...completely forgetting that we had stopped for ice-cream earlier. Oh well. That's the best part about being an adult, kids--you can have as MUCH ICE CREAM AS YOU WANT!

Monday we went to see "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull." This was the first movie I've seen in a theatre that didn't require reading, and for a while I was confused why the Russian wasn't subtitled. Apparently, the Russian government is mad at Spielberg & Co for portraying the KGB as heartless criminals, though, I must say I don't know where they get it from, I thought the KGB agents were very effective. Especially the bit where Cate Blanchette is swordfighting in the jungle. Yeah. Incredibly effective.

We ended up on the sofa watching "3:10 to Yuma" surrounded by food that night. BBQ pulled pork, veggies and dip, hoummus, chips, crackers, cheese and watermelon, plus Mike's Hard Lemonade, enough food that my stomach finally had to send up a delegation and say "stop, please." But really, what else is Memorial Day about? It was so wonderful to spend time with a friend, face to face instead of via email or over the phone. It was hard to leave yesterday, but the train ride home was also uneventful, except I kept passing out because of this cold. I felt sorry for the lady next to me who wanted to show me pictures of her grandchildren: "Oh, they're so cute....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..."

And that was my trip. I didn't take any pictures, alas, but I did buy an "I (heart) Albany" penlight keychain. New York, not so much. But Albany is delightful.

David Plouffe Needs to Stop Sending Me Emails

Seriously. I get at least two emails a day from the Barack Obama campaign. You are getting my support. You're not getting my money--sorry, but until Barack Obama is president and starts handing out lollipops with hundred dollar bills* for sticks, I don't have any extra.

The concert went well on Sunday. I was sad that more people didn't show up, but I had a lot of fun. One of the pieces went a little awry at the last minute--trying to come in after a ten minute instrumental part we've only heard once will do that to you--but overall everyone was very positive. Afterward, a couple members of the choir, the director and myself went out for dinner. I thought I was just getting a ride home, but they talked me into eating out. (and after being, uh, "stuck" in Wmsbrg for a month with no kitchen, I must confess I didn't protest too hard) We took the Colonial Parkway through Yorktown to admire the dogwood trees and then had dinner at a posh little restaurant on the York River. I can't wait for visitors so I have an excuse to show off Yorktown...they have ships and pubs on the water and redoubts that were built by the British in a last-ditch attempt to stop the Continentals. Woot. Dinner was shrimp and gumbo and smoked gouda cheese grits...and I still have dreams about it.

Then yesterday was a Very Good Day. First off my boss announced that due to maintenance of the clothes conveyors, they were shutting down the shop on Friday, so I have paid day off. Yay! Then I had my review, and my boss along with two supervisors told me they were Very Pleased With My Progress, which was a huge sigh of relief. I told them "Now that I know the techniques and what to do, I need to focus on quality and getting my speed up." Sewing in the 18th century is completely unlike modern sewing--I had to relearn a lot of my mad skillz. But I'm getting better.

Then, and this is bliss, my bike arrived. YAY. My poor Schwinn Searcher which has been a faithful companion since I was fifteen arrived in several pieces which took me about an hour to put together. For a few heartstopping minutes I thought the threads on the left pedal had been unfixably damaged, but I carefully cleaned it out with my Leatherman and got it in tightly. Yay!

The final Yay! came when I took Windsong** out to seen an apartment. I have been talking with a woman who works here about rooming with her and one other person, and I was pretty much decided that I'd take the room, unless it was disgustingly horrible. Happily, the apartment was very nice--my room is the size of the place I'm living now AND I'll have my own bathroom--and better yet, the woman who put the ad up is like a younger, thinner, more excitable and sweeter version of me. I mentioned how I wanted to get a dog and name it Horatio, she told me that her car was named Hamlet. I noticed a biography of Turner on her bookshelf, she told me a story of driving up to DC on Christmas Eve to see a Turner exhibit. She said "I'm an Anglophile" I started singing "Rule, Britannia." So yay. As long as the application goes through, and I don't see why it wouldn't, I'll be moving in July.

So it appears that things are going well, and I'm slowly working my way into the fabric of the community here. I know there's been some confusion out there in NLD-land: this job is a full-time, year round commitment, it's pretty much up to me when I want to leave. Of course, I probably won't be sewing for the rest of my life, but...on the other hand, I could see staying here for awhile. Now that my TV is dead*** I've been spending a lot of time writing, and that is good. I'm also thinking about taking up embroidery--not faffy needlepoint from a kit, but drawing a picture on fabric and going from there.

One of the cutter/fitters has been working on muslin mockups of the Fife & Drum Corps uniforms. They are getting all new coats, because the research powers that be have decided the red is probably more "redcoat" and less maroon-y, which is what it is now. They want to get the coats done by July, because the Fife & Drums are going on tour to Europe to perform in some tattoos there. I was chatting with her about how odd it is that the Continental troops would have red coats, since, ya know, the enemy ALSO had red coats, but apparently they put the boys in red so that they wouldn't accidentally get shot. (The real targets were in blue) She also mentioned how there is only one Continental coat left in existence, and it's in the Smithsonian--years ago CW people went up there to examine it and draft a pattern and that's where they get their uniforms from--and she also told me that the Mount Vernon Ladies' Association has one of Washington's original uniforms. Same deal: CW has examined it and has a pattern. Which got me thinking if they would let ME see it. One of the questions my reviewers had was if there was anything I'd be interested in doing or knowing about the clothes, and I mentioned how I'd (very much) like to borrow the patterns and make myself a suit of clothes. Yes, breeches and a coat--oddly enough, although the gowns are pretty, they aren't as appealing to me as the men's clothes.

As I went back to my machine, my mind started wandering. It does that a lot--I have a LOT of time to think--and I started wondering if anyone had ever patterned Nelson's coat. Meaning the one I used to visit all the time at the NMM. Ironically, a few hours later while on my break I noticed a new book in our library: Dressed to Kill, which is all about Naval fashions and masculine attire from c. 1750s to 1860s or so. And, of course, Horatio features prominently--and there are sketches at the back of all his clothes, cut away breeches and all. It was strange seeing something so "familiar" in such a formalized, posed way, and in the midst of all this 18th-century clothage. I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm getting over Nelson, but perhaps my interest is being subsumed by something else. What, I cannot say.

In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy my day off--Friday I must go get a helmet and do laundry. And then maybe I'll give my poor sitzbones a rest.


*And he will.

**Yes, my bike is named Windsong, and your point is?

***My fault. Long story. Don't ask.

And other things of note

Y'all realise you've just given me carte blanche to talk even more about me, me, me. As if I needed the encouragement to become a narcissistic Godzilla.

*sings* Me, me, meeeeee!

I recall reading somewhere that doctors have noticed a trend that there are more girls being born than boys. It should be around fifty-fifty, but someone, somewhere noticed that there are more little girls running around then boys. And I'm happy that my family is upholding this statistical anomaly: my cousin Jen just welcomed a little girl last week. Mom thought her name might be Jocelyn, Joselin? but since dad was the one who got the phone call, he was sketchy on details. Congratulations, well done, I'm so happy that everyone is doing well. Yay, babies.

No word yet on Baby Gaboda, but, in other news: I'm not pregnant. Ya heard it here first.

Reasons why I like working here. A few weeks ago I was walking home and I saw George Washington riding past on his horse, and then this week I noticed his uniform hanging on the rack. A quick check of the label showed it wasn't Washington's uniform, but the Marquis de Lafayette, and he apparently hadn't bothered to turn it in in awhile since I spent all morning patching and darning the lining. Which is hard: the uniform is wool backed with lining, so I had to sew invisibly on very shiny fabric while trying to not act like an idiot that I had a lapful of history. Part of me was going "aaaahhhh, the historical goooodness...so...historically...accurate...ow, stabbed myself..." and part of me was going "aw, this smells like horse. This makes me think of my friend from London who used to ride horses. Aw." The next day was less fun, when I ALSO had to patch up his vest, which was also wool and lining. Arg.

Wool in the summer, btw, makes me think of the Founding Fathers like: Visionaries. Revolutionaries. Masochists.

Lafayette (which is also on the list of potential dog-names, if anyone was wondering) was Washington's protege and he was French. After the Revolution here he went back to France and tried to introduce some ideas of liberty over there. And we all know how well THAT went over.

I'm in a super-good mood today because the weeeeather (*singsong*) is deLIGHTful!!! It is warmmm and the flowers are blooooming...and we have bumblebees here the size of canned hams... Okay, they're not that big, but one was banging on my screen the other night and I nearly leapt out of my skin thinking JESUS ITS A LION. Big enough to stop traffic, anyway.

Now I am off to babysit. I met a woman at orientation with two small girls, and when she mentioned that she was having trouble finding responsible people to babysit, I mentioned that I used to babysit for my professor in college...sure, it's been awhile, but, eh, just like riding a bike, right? Right?

I never thought I could be so...

Happy.

When did that happen? We closed the show on Saturday, and usually that leaves me with a great sweep of depression and feelings of emptiness, but not this time, due in part to the fact that I have made some new friends, and I am looking forward to working with them again. Also, the new job is going much better now (although I am a little swamped), and I have to distract me. I think I can finally say I'm happy to have moved back home, and I'm looking forward to the future.

Our last show was on Saturday. I did end up going to see "Pirates 3" in the afternoon, and then got made fun of all night because I made the mistake of telling the cast that the depiction of the British Navy is completely inaccurate. Really. I have a list. The last show went very well, and the audience was very appreciative. Afterward our technical director hosted a party, marred slightly by the fact that he doesn't have any deckchairs, so we all had to perch on the porch railing.

Then Sunday was strike--only three hours, and we were done. Thank God, too, for it's back in the high eighties again. The hardest part was painting the back wall black. Afterward, we said goodbye, shook hands and parted. I hope our paths cross again.

Then my roommates and I had a barbeque. Meat patties for the men, roasted peppers and onion fajitas for the ladies. We sat on the deck and drank iced tea and talked about things until well past ten o'clock, and then I went to bed and dreamt sweet dreams.

I'm waiting for the lightening bolt to hit, or the bus to hit me or something. I want to embrace being happy fully, but a part of me is wary. What's going to happen next? Surely someone who is as content as I am better watch out.

In other news, read this in the paper today and thought it was funny:

"Abraham Lincoln is my name
Took my pen and wrote the same
(something, something, can't remember)
And left it here for fools to read."

haha! Lincoln called you a fool!