Christmas Recap

Well, the plane landed, the gifts were put to use, the ornaments put away: the Christmas season is winding down. It happens every year.

Aaron and I had a nice Christmas in Michigan. We spent time visiting everyone, including him:

We ate so much food. In the Midwest, everything is made with cream cheese. You know: dips, spreads, fillings, etc. I bet between the two of us we ate more than 3 bricks. We made a promise not to eat cheese until the spring. Yikes. But there were also cookies. I should have taken a picture of my favorite this year: marzipan Christmas trees. They were so good and really easy. It was nice to see my mom. I haven't seen her since June. We usually stay in my great grandma's old house when we go there, and my mom decorated it all up for us with a real tree and everything. It was so nice. We watched a bunch of movies and cooked almost the whole time. It snowed and snowed the day after we got there, so there wasn't much else to do. On Christmas Eve, we did do this:

Which was fun.

And I fell in love with the cutest thing since Elf:

But I couldn't keep him.

I knew that this Christmas would be a tough one financially, so throughout the year I had sewn these little bird ornaments to give to people. I prefer getting something homemade, myself. There is something special about some homemade mittens or slippers or anything else. My dad's mom makes rag rugs and gives me one every year. They're beautiful. I've made a few.
The birds turned out nice enough, but I still felt really bad that I didn't buy anything. I kept telling myself that it's the thought that counts and it's not about how much money you spend on someone, but it still sucked that I couldn't get people the usual junk. All year I was so excited to be making something special and then when the time came, I was so embarrassed to give them out. Whatever. I keep telling myself that next year so much more will free up, we'll be in a lot better shape.

But Christmas was good. Santa came. Aaron and I got each other the same gift, which means that we were meant to be.

Christmas Wedding

In my dream life, I am planning the perfect Christmas wedding. It seems like it would be a wonderful opportunity to combine two special days. However, all things considered, when planning the actual wedding, I didn't think it was very fair to Aaron or his family to go ahead with my vision. We may not be having the traditional Jewish wedding, but I didn't want to be like "here's a bunch of cultural references that you don't even know, based on a completely separate religion, and by the way, we're having ham stuffed lobster and it's on Saturday." It was a hard dream to give up, but I just thought it was pushing it.
So, though I'm not having my Christmas wedding, I'll tell you how it would be. Of course, there would be snow. We'd hold it at the beautiful Inn in Vermont where Aaron proposed, wintery and decked out for the holidays. A few days before the wedding there would have been a big blizzard, but it would have died down to a constant dusting for the weekend of the wedding. The colors, of course, would be red and white with touches of green. I would wear a deep burgundy velvet Victorian-style dress and instead of flowers, I would carry an ermine muff. Aaron would look like a character from Dickens with a deep green velvet suit.
We'd get married in front of a roaring fire and a huge Christmas tree, 20 feet or more, with clear lights and red ribbons. The room would be decorated with big vases filled with tall, spindly branches of red winter berries and we'd hire the Vienna Boys Choir to sing me down the aisle.
After the ceremony, we would all get on our capes (of course, all of the guests would also be dressed in Victorian style) and our earmuffs and we would go outside, where, rather than a first dance, Aaron and I would skate around the frozen pond, arm in arm (of course I would still have my muff), and then everyone would join us. We would have people roasting chestnuts and handing out hot spiced wine and apple cider. The snow would those big flakes that get caught in your eyelashes.
Afterwards, we'd all go in for a traditional English Christmas dinner: each table would have a roast goose as a centerpiece, and each guest would have their own, personalized Christmas gift. Again, there would be a huge tree. Gingerbread for dessert.
And at the end, Aaron and I would be swept away by a horse-drawn sleigh, jingling down the snowy lane.

Christmas music

I had so much fun with the Christmas movie list that I thought I'd write one about Christmas music, which is a significant part of my oddity. I mentioned in an earlier post that as a kid I listened to Christmas music all year long.

I still do. However, my listening has become a kind of dependency. Rather than listen for fun, outside of December, listening to Christmas music has developed into a coping mechanism during stressful periods. For example, during the course of my honors thesis or final exam periods, I would listen to xmas music on my mp3 player on the subway on the way to school in the morning, even in May. I kind of used it like comfort food or martinis: it soothed the rough patches (why am I writing in past tense? I still do this, I listened to it the week I moved here). I am sure that I should probably bring this up in therapy someday.

I know, I'm nuts. The cat's out of the bag.

(Random memory from my childhood that might explain my relentless attachment to cheesy carols: until around the age of 8 or so I thought that "Silent Night" was a lullaby because it's one of two songs my mom used to sing to me as a baby. The other one was made up and went like this: "mommy loves Amber, Grandma Pat loves Amber, Fluffy loves Amber," etc, you get the idea.)

So here is my list of the cream of the crop, the mac-and-cheese, the triple olive extra dirty Bombay Sapphire of Christmas music.

Best Christmas Music:

Charlie Brown Christmas Album - Vince Guaraldi Trio. "Linus and Lucy" is my favorite track. I love this song. I love it at all times of the year, it might be one of my favorite songs ever. It's just perfect. The whole album is wonderful, one of the ultimate must-have Christmas CDs. I would say a close second-best track is "Skating;" it just sounds like snow falling. It's basically my go-to album, the one Aaron never gets sick of during the holidays.

The Christmas Song - Nat King Cole. If only for the title track alone. I would say that if I had to pick one voice as the Voice of All Voices, it would be Nat King Cole's. And just hearing him sing that first bit ("Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..." you know you can hear it in your head) is where that coping mechanism comes in. It's just so nice.

Elvis' Christmas Album - The King. Except for the last 4 songs or so. I can leave those for another mood. I love his "White Christmas" (the only person who does this better is Barry White, seriously) and his "Blue Christmas."

"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" - Judy Garland. Not an album, but a special enough song to make the list anyway. It's kind of sad.

And so I say to you: the next time you're in the shower, belt out "Holly Jolly Christmas," Burl Ives style. It'll make you feel like you just had a martini (almost).

Newer Traditions: Clementines

A relatively recent Christmas-time tradition for us has been enjoying Clementine season to it's fullest. Last year, we probably went through 6 boxes over winter. During the cold dark months, it's like eating little orbs of sunshine. Clementines are close to the orange I always got in my stocking every year (except even more delicious) and they're Aaron's favorite fruit. I just love heaping them into pretty bowls and scattering them all around the house.

We also usually do pomegranates (this year we're too broke, but it's okay). It's a tradition we usurped from Aaron's family, his mother always has pomegranates during the winter. I imagine the seeds to be little edible rubies.

Happy Saint Lucia Day

In many countries in Europe, including Scandinavia and Italy, December 13 is Saint Lucia's Day, the official kickoff to the (official) Christmas countdown. In my attempt to embrace anything that will get me into the Christmas spirit, I will celebrate St. Lucia Day with a gingersnap and figure out how I can work it in to future Christmas celebrations.

"Christmas isn't just a day, it's a frame of mind" - Miracle on 34th Street

Here is a list of movies that one should watch at least once during the Christmas Season. Without them, Christmas just isn't the same. I am on a constant lookout for new favorites, so if anyone has a suggestion, please let me know.

Amber's Holiday Movie Must-Sees


National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation -- The best holiday movie ever. My mom is so Clark Griswold. Fun Old-Fashioned Family Christmas? --We better have it, or else! Best line: "I want to look him straight in the eye and I want to tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is. Hallelujah. Holy shit. Where's the Tylenol?"

Little Women -- (any version will do, but the Winona Ryder one carried me through my formative years) Okay, so it's not entirely Christmas-themed, but Alcott does Christmas so well. This is a popcorn stringing movie...or a movie for that snowy Sunday afternoon, the one where it seems so painful to get out from under the blankets or off the couch. Aaron put it in for me last night and hand fed me popcorn.


Home for the Holidays -- This is technically a Thanksgiving movie, but if you count Thanksgiving as a gateway holiday, as I do, then no list is complete without it.


It's a Wonderful Life -- I know, it's like the Christmas movie, but it's just so good. You have to watch it once.

Scrooged -- I think this is a wonderful remake and I love just about everything about Bill Murray. It's a little 80's, but whatevs, it's still funny.

A Christmas Story -- Okay, I'll admit it, I don't love this movie. It's annoying. But, it's not terrible and you can't escape Christmas without seeing it at least (at least) once because that channel plays it for like 72 hours straight or something.


Christmas movies that nearly make the cut:

Love Actually
Bad Santa


There are various tv Christmas specials that are great, too, like How the Grinch Stole Christmas, A Charlie Brown Christmas, and etc, but since we don't have tv I'm trying not to think about them too much. And when I was little, The Christmas Toy was the best Christmas movie ever.

The Golden Compass

Aaron and I have been gearing up for this movie for the past couple of months. When we first moved here, we comforted ourselves by reading the His Dark Materials trilogy by Philip Pullman. Perhaps we were a little late in discovering these books, but we were no less enthralled with them and upon discovering that they were to release a movie, we were all the more excited.

And I have to say, the movie met most of our expectations. It was amazing. There were just a few minor details that strayed from the first book, but other than that, it was a beautiful recreation of it. I thought it was perfectly cast (Sam Elliott should be in everything...or I should just hire him to narrate my life) and, as someone who has a hard time with animation (maybe I should post about Beowulf the Movie. Long story short: I fell asleep! And I went to the 3D version!) I felt that the animated characters in the Golden Compass seemed more real than anything I've seen before. Iorek Byrnison was nearly as heroic and complex as Philip Pullman wrote him.

Also, check out Lyra's awesome hat. Throughout the whole second half of the movie I was trying to figure out how I could make one. It doesn't seem too hard...maybe I'll give it a shot over Christmas.

Wie treu sind deine Blätter

Those aren't my ugly drapes.


We've had our tree for a couple of weeks already. We got it one Wednesday after work, rushing before we'd be in complete darkness. This year, we decided to go to a cut-your-own farm (see my "going local" post below). Now, when you're in the middle of nowhere, with nothing around except evergreens of every size you could imagine, it's hard to put things into perspective. Things like the width of your front door. Are you kidding?! of course we didn't bring a tape measure. Hah! All we brought (I should say, all I brought, because Aaron was a bit more skeptical) was the knowledge that we finally had our own house with pretty high ceilings and we were going to do it up right for our First Christmas.


And so we walked around, examining each tree, finding it's flaw. A bare spot, a flat side, a crooked top, etc. We find one that looks good, then wonder: will it be big enough? Will it fill that void in my soul that our crappy Boston, 1/2 dead, apartment-sized trees didn't? I wasn't so sure, but whatever. It was getting late, I was getting cold, and we had to cut this puppy down with our bare hands (or a saw, whatever, it's still hard). So we just decided to go for it. So it wouldn't be the biggest tree ever. That's ok, there is always next year.


Cut to the part where we are getting it in the house: oh, what's that you say, you can't fit your end through the door? It's too fat? Oh my. Perhaps we were under estimating. A gentle push popped the thing through and we realized then exactly how much we had under estimated: this tree is huge. It is tall (7 1/2 feet at least) and way way fat (5 feet fat?). It takes up 1/2 of our living room. It's a really good thing that we don't have any furniture because it wouldn't have fit. It's huge and beautiful and it's totally filling the void.



So, after getting it into the stand (and now that we have a special spring loaded stand imported from Bavaria it took under 2 minutes, whereas all my life before I would be the one crouched at the bottom screwing, screwing for what felt like days while Aaron or my mom would hold it straight) we made ourselves some hot cocoa and started the decorating process.


This is the third year that we've used a combination of Red and White lights. The first year we lived together we couldn't decide whether we wanted fun color lights or elegant white lights, so we decided that this was a good solution. So far, it hasn't done us wrong. Plus, with the red star at the top from all of my childhood Christmas trees, it just feels right.


And you know how it goes: with each ornament comes a memory. The Kermit on the sled from when I was little, the red ceramic heart I got for Aaron just before going into the Opera House in Vienna, that time we went to the Christmas thing at Orchard House, buying everyone corn husk angels in the Christmas market in Prague and then giving them to no one but myself. The pink CareBear reminds me of the miniature tree my mom got when I was around 3-4 years old so that I would have something to decorate without handling her extremely fragile heirlooms.


So, for our first Christmas Tree in our new life and our new home, I would say we picked a memorable one. We'll probably remember the tape measure next year.

Christmas Extravaganza

My gift to you this holiday season, my lovlies, is a trip through Christmas, as I see it. If you don't know, I love Christmas. I live for Christmas. It is a season charged with potential...it is what you make it, so I always have big plans. Right around July I start feeling ready for snow and ice and lights and trees.

And it's all my mom's fault. She totally did this to me. When I was a kid, Christmas was a huge deal. We always got the biggest tree we could find (one year we had to hold it up with twine nailed into the walls) and it was imperative that we created the biggest, best Christmas ever. Once, we had two trees: one real and one fake. My mother decided to let me convince her to leave the fake one up all year. The friends who came over during the summer thought it was awesome. Of course, they were 10 years old. But the tree up all year is just a detail. We would also listen to Christmas music all year, too (more about the repercussions of that later). So my mom gave me awesome Christmases and now I'm bent on reproducing that childhood feeling of wonder and merriment. Or whatever. My goal is to give to you the things that make my holiday season great: old traditions, new traditions, memories, favorites, etc. So, even though by this point we are well into December, let's pretend I started this the day after Thanksgiving.

Grab yourself a cup of cheer and let the holiday in.

update

I guess nearly a month without a post is long enough to force myself from my cozy, get on the computer, and blog my face off with a sincere hope that you haven't given up on me.
But I've been busy. Even though I was intending to write wonderful, vivid recreations the sands through the hourglass of my life for you, I'll just make one heaping recap post to save time and move on to exciting new things.
So, to start: Thanksgiving. Not a holiday I would say that I care about. However, when there is good food and good friends, I'm willing. We drove up to Ann Arbor where Dana and Neal cooked the best Thanksgiving meal I've ever had. Seriously, they're the best cooks I know. Bourbon glazed turkey, people. When I die, I hope that Dana and Neal are the cooks in heaven.
Next: we built a fence for Elf. This doesn't seem as exciting 3 weeks later. I think I was planning this huge "we're a family doing home improvements on the weekends" post, but I'll spare you. However, we built a fence and it's pretty awesome.
Next: we got our Christmas tree (I am going to save this for a separate post).
Next: Joe and Kat came to visit. We had a really great time; we went hiking, we made amazing pasta, for the first time since we've been here we checked out the local bar scene and it was horrifying. $5 at the door gets you all you can drink. Ummm...Joe and Kat had a long, excruciating flight home, I'm sure.
And there is more but it suddenly doesn't seem that important. So whatever. Those are the amazing reasons why I haven't blogged/what I would have blogged about. And now, for Christmas.

welcome home

Last night we (finally) closed on the house. I made an effort not to blog about our adventures in finding a home because of what happened with the last house. I absolutely did not want to jinx this. But now, after finding the place just over a month ago, it's ours.

Our deck

We spent our first night there last night. We just filled up our backpacks and slept on an air mattress. It was a lot of fun and also really scary. I've gotten used to pitch black night and no sounds whatsoever (except for owls and coyotes). Elf, too. He didn't really know what to make of it and kept trying to sneak on the bed so he could be safe between us.

Our yard

We'll move all of our stuff in on Saturday. For the last few months we've been living out of suitcases. Before I moved I packed 8 shirts, 2 pants, 2 skirts in a suitcase and I've been wearing those clothes the whole time. We only unpacked the basics for the kitchen and bathroom and have just lived around boxes with all of our possessions in them. It will feel so good to unpack. I have this thing where I can't bring myself to check a book out of the library if I own a copy, so I've been reading the weirdest things in anticipation of unpacking my books.

This might be my favorite part of the house:

Our porch

The people who owned it before us really spent a lot of time on their front porch. Last night we even discovered that they have cable tv access out there! (Rather, we now have cable tv access out there.) It's all sealed in, so you're outside, but no one can see you. I can't wait to have my morning coffee on my porch.

My other favorite place is the basement because it's redone (and not smelly at all) and has a fireplace and we've decided to make it the library.

And all just in time for Christmas. I have been dreaming about decorating my own house for Christmas since the day I was born.

Ok, so maybe I occasionally have fantasies about being Amish

So I recently read Barbara Kingsolver's memoir/political soapbox piece Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life. It's mostly about her family's adventures attempting to eat locally for one year (everything from killing chickens to canning tomatoes to raising turkeys). However, she also includes a lot of historical information on farming and foodways in the U.S. (one of my main interests) and also a lot of information on farm industry politics and how we're basically made to eat things that the government manufactures and markets to us as our only options.
For those of you unaware, there is a huge movement to eat locally going on right now. It's mostly for yuppies. But it basically means that you attempt to only eat things that are grown and produced within, say, 100 miles of where you live. I never understood why this was popular...I thought that maybe it was a chance to give local farmers business, maintain a strong identity with the community around you through food, etc. However, Kingsolver shed light on deeper, very political reasons why it might be a good idea to eat locally: it's all about the oil.

Ok, so say you're making a pizza. You get flour, tomatoes, sausage, onions, mushrooms and olives. And cheese. For dessert, you have kiwi. And the flour comes from Vermont (if it's King Aurthur, it will), the tomatoes come from California (because it's November and you'd be lucky to find even a decent looking California tomato in the store right now), the pig for your sausage comes from a huge farm in like Iowa where the animals are pumped with antibiotics, same with the milk for your cheese. Do you see where I'm going? All of this has to be trucked to your grocery store for you to buy and eat. Not only that, it has to be hauled in a refrigerated truck. That pizza is basically guzzling oil and single handedly fueling both the war in Iraq and or current environmental crisis. Your kiwi alone had to travel all the way from New Zealand to get on your plate. By choosing to be aware of that, and maybe even do something about it (like buy at least part of the ingredients locally or choose a more season-appropriate meal that is easier to locally produce) you are making a very large political statement, and actually doing something constructive to help the situation. Kingsolver pumped her book with a lot of facts and figures, but one really stood out to me: "If every U.S. citizen ate just one meal a week (any meal) composed of locally and organically raised meats and produce, we would reduce our country's oil consumption by over 1.1 million barrels of oil every week" (5). Barrels! So like, rather than lamenting over the fact that you can't help the environment by affording a hybrid vehicle, think about the barrels of oil you're sticking into your mouth and how simple things like going to a farmers market, buying local eggs, milk, and cheese, and maybe even finding a local meat farm can help.

I wouldn't say that I read her book and have become a fanatic. I just went shopping and bought things from all around the country. But the point is, I looked at the labels and consciously registered where all of my food is coming from for maybe the first time ever. The book just made me think about how I eat, where my food is coming from, and what I do and don't already do in terms of local eating. I do make my own bread (yet my flour still comes from Vermont), I grow my own bean sprouts. I go to farmers markets during the season. I get my coffee from Kenya and have my mom bring it with her when she comes to the states. There is a lot more I could be doing...of course I had to read this book in November and not like July when I could have felt really good about myself because of the abundance of local produce available.

One meal a week. I think that seems like a reasonable place to start helping the environment.

Happy Halloween

Aaron and I usually participate in the holiday by going to some sort of dress up party. Last year we went as Margo and Richie Tenenbaum. The year before that we went as Annie Hall and Woody Allen. We went to a Halloween party last weekend. It was fun. Can you guess what our costume is?

We're Two Eggs, Sunny-Side Up.

We couldn't find any yellow hats, so I had to sew our little bonnets out of the only yellow thing we could find: car shammies from Family Dollar. No one ever gets our costumes, so we decided to go as something simple. No one got it.

Elf insisted on trying it on:

He's such a ham. Mmm...ham and eggs.

Violet went as God:

It was awesome.

The party was a little West Virginian. Late into the night two large pots of something called "soup beans" were brought out and distributed. After not getting much in terms of an explanation, a recipe, or a real description of what "soup beans" might be (the most descriptive reply to our inquiries was: "Oh, y'know, they're soup beans...with a ham bone.") we decided to try them for ourselves. They tasted like beans and tallow, which I'm pretty sure is what they consisted of.

But it was fun, and we didn't get too scrambled.

The Wedding Singer

We finally locked things down with the band for our wedding. It feels so good as we get more and more things accomplished for the Big Day. Planning a whole wedding, after having 2/3 of your finances chopped away and picking up and moving 600 miles away from the location is a little stressful. But when pretty large items, like The Band, get ticked off the list, it makes you feel like things are coming together.

Aaron and I knew that we wanted something a little non-traditional for the music. We couldn't picture anyone from either of our families (and I have a like 6-sided family with more than uncomfortable gaps in-between) being up for sickly-sweet father/daughter, mother/son, now switch! dances, so we thought the best option would be having entertainment, rather than potentially humiliating moments. We decided to get a real band with their own music, so people can enjoy watching without feeling like they have to get out on the floor and do the Chicken Dance (or worse, the Dollar Dance....is that just a U.P. thing?).

That is all good in theory, but how do you find the band? Well, you have an awesome friend who works the door at the Lizard Lounge and visit her at work. We went in one night and Melvern Taylor was playing. It was one of those things where we were just going to pick Meghan up and go somewhere else, but we got stuck because we were watching this incredibly fun and talented band. About a week later, we realized that they, though unconventional, would be the perfect addition to our humble Wedding Vision, and it's only just now been squared away. What a relief. I was so worried we'd have to go through a million tapes of a million mediocre wedding bands, trying to find one that wouldn't be hideous. Now it's us and Melvern Taylor. And a ukulele. That's right. I bet you can't wait.

Coq au Vin, My Way

Recently, Violet brought a guest here, Rowland, who made us the most amazing dish. It was warm, and hardy, delicious, and decadent. It felt like medicinal food, able to cure any ailment, physical, mental, imagined. And so, after coming into some grocery money for splurging on food beyond beans and flour for bread, I thought now--the weather so perfectly crisp and a bottle of Chardonnay on hand that I wasn't particularly interested in drinking--might be a good time to try my hand at the dish, sans any real recipe.

Coq au Vin (Blanc and Bastardized)

2 chicken thigh-and-leg portions, bone-in, legs and thighs separated

a couple of chicken breast tenders

a bunch of carrots (6 or so), sliced thick

3-4 celery stocks, sliced thick

2 potatoes, cut into thick hunks (I left the skins on because I think it adds flavor, but if this was truly French, I think I'd have to do that thing where I not only peel the potatoes, but also shape them into perfect ovals)

2 onions, waywardly chopped

3 cloves garlic, chopped

a handful of coarsely chopped parsley

a tablespoon or two of corn starch

1 bottle White Wine (cheaper the better)

water

a glug of chicken stock to get things started

s & p

Dredge the chicken parts in flour that is generously salted and peppered, brown parts in 1 tbsp olive oil in pan over high heat until browned on all sides. Remove to a big stock pot, use drippings in pan to saute onions and garlic and cook until translucent. Remove to stock pot. Pour a little wine (1/2 cup or so) in pan to deglaze; scrape, and pour whatever you get into stock pot. Add carrots, celery, potatoes, s & p, and bottle of wine. Cook on high until boiling, lower heat, add some water and chicken stock (until covering the veg) and cook, covered, on low, until veg are soft. At some point, add the corn starch to a small bit of the liquid, and then add the mix to the pot. Add parsley before removing from heat, reserve some for garnish. Remove chicken from the bone (optional).

What I would do differently next time:
I would make it just a little less soupy by using a touch more wine and less water... in attempt to make a light sauce rather than a broth. But soupy is good. Trust me. Even though I didn't know what I was doing, and my inspiration for this classic French recipe came from a West Virginian cabinet maker, it was a complete success.

Autumn

Fall has finally arrived on my road. Driving anywhere is like taking a foliage tour, because you're either in the woods or looking out at rolling mountains covered in sprays of red, orange, and gold. You go to the grocery store and look out at this amazing view. (A lot of the big stores are built on the top of mountains...which were once mines, gutted and refilled, with the top sliced off flat, perfect for a Target, a Giant Eagle, or a soccer field.) I think that for the first time I'm realizing that I've moved to a very beautiful place.

I love days that start like this: laying in bed in the morning with a low-lit lamp on, tea, reading Jane Eyre, Elf sleeping on his bed near my bed, listening to the rain and the leaves fall outside.

Welcome to Autumn.

A Day with an Elf

This is Elf. He's a Border Collie. He loves chasing things, herding things, cuddling, sneaking onto the couch, smiling, trying a little taste of the kitchen garbage when we're not looking, having his belly rubbed, watching cats on YouTube, using his claws like fingers, pumpkin, singing along to the volunteer fire dept. siren and Aaron's guitar, acting willful yet obedient, and discretely letting us know who is boss. And us.

a man and his dog

He hates his face touched, going outside at night, not being let on the bed, sleeping in the bathroom, when you pull the leash to get him out of the way of cars, when you step over him to get around him, crunchy things, and bananas.

We're doing our best to spoil him rotten.

PBS weekend

Aaron and I decided to take our first trip up to Pittsburgh last weekend. It was totally as glamorous as it sounds. We took in a museum, went out for lunch, and went to Trader Joes to stock up on our favorite things (and then felt guilty for spending money and only bought 1/2 of what we wanted).

Pittsburgh is actually a really beautiful, hilly city with charming old houses and a lot of local color. The number of colleges made it feel a little like Boston. The number of Delicatessens made future trips look very promising.

First, we went to the Andy Warhol Museum. He was born and raised in Pittsburgh. It was a good museum, but I would say they kind of just have a lot of the leftovers, not really the good, good stuff (maybe there is no such thing?). I wouldn't call myself a fan of Warhol, but I did see the PBS American Masters special and it gave me a new appreciation for what he was trying to do by uniting consumer culture and art. So, because of the show, I thought we'd check it out.

Here's us in the Pillow Room:

Next, we went to Essie's Original Hot Dog Shop, or as the locals call it, The Dirty O. This is another PBS-influenced decision. I've watched Rick Sebak's documentaries on the best hot dogs and sandwiches across the U.S. more times than I should admit (whenever they come on I just can't turn the channel). In his A Hot Dog Program, he featured The Dirty O and so we had to go.

It was like a heart attack in a bun. Afterwards, we limped back into the car and went to TJs. After doing this to ourselves, shopping wasn't nearly as fun. Next time we'll shop then eat.

In which I decide that, this time, I'll really do something about it...again

Those of you who know me well know that I suffer from insomnia. I used to think that insomnia was just a joke disorder, an excuse for poor sleeping habits and odd sleep schedules. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that it exists, and I do actually have it.
I don't stay up late, usually. If I'm not in bed by midnight, something special is happening. Something special or something shitty, anyway (special = fun time with awesome people. Shitty = homework, sick, etc). If I had my druthers, I would be in bed by 9 o'clock with a good book and asleep by 10, with automatic lights that turn off at 10:01. And now that I am living in the middle of nowhere with nothing around, and Aaron is busy with homework ( = shitty) I've been doing that lately and it's awesome. I can't recommend it enough.

However, I don't have the kind of insomnia that prevents me from falling asleep. It's the staying asleep that's the problem. I'll fall asleep, and then wake up at 3am. This happens regularly, 1-7 times per week, and this will happen whether I go to bed at 10pm or 1am. There is always a dilemma: do I stay in bed with my eyes wide open, going insane, or do I get up and just face the fact that I won't be sleeping? Both suck.
But lately I've been getting up because for some reason it sometimes helps me fall back to sleep at say 6am (a cool 45 minutes to an hour before I usually have to get up for work). That, or else I won't let myself get out of bed until I hear birds chirping. I don't know why, but that just seems like a good marker for activeness in the waking-world. (side note: because I live in a hollow, the sun rises really late, at around 7am, even in mid-summer.)

The other day I realized for the first time that this has been happening all my life. Out of the blue I remembered asking other kids growing up if, in the middle of the night, they'd suddenly realize that their eyes were open and not know how long they'd been awake. There are specific memories from my early childhood that I have of forcing myself to try to fall sleep/pretend for hours that I can remember vividly. I remember feeling agony, hopelessness, and desperation, much like I do now when I can't sleep.

I thought I'd take this opportunity to blog about what I do when make the leap and decide to get out of bed.

1) I usually spend the majority of the time on surfing the web. Luckily, I know a lot of websites where you can waste a lot of time looking at dumb things. I'll post later about my favorites.

2) I usually drink herbal tea. Right now I'm drinking red tea my mom sent me from Kenya.

3) Sometimes I'll try to read, but usually I'm so tired my eyes hurt.

4) I watch movies Aaron wouldn't want to watch if he were awake. This includes such classics as Ella Enchanted (lent to me by Aaron's adviser, oddly enough), The Shirley Temple collection (Bright Eyes is my fav), Little Women, various Christmas movies, and yes, Meghan, Anne of Green Gables helps, too.

5) I might resort to baking. Not often. Usually I won't have the energy. After this I am tempted to make some pumpkin bread, though. mmm...

6) Books on tape. I love The Velveteen Rabbit read by Meryl Streep.

7) If I'm really desperate for sleep, I'll take a pill to knock me out. But I don't like doing that in the middle of the night because it'll still be working by the time I have to wake up.

apple picking blues

I'll have to share this picture from last year because it doesn't look like I'll be picking any apples this year. For a second I thought that I was being quaint and New England. That maybe pick-your-own in a yuppie/crunchy/Arlington, MA thing to do while wearing your Merrell shoes and pushing your kid in a $500 stroller. However, I did research and there are orchards here, but just no apples.

It seems that this part of the country had a late frost in the spring which killed all of the apples. usually we go every year, pick way too many, and keep them until they go bad. Aaron doesn't even like to eat "raw" apples. But there is something about going to an orchard, getting a cup of apple cider and an apple cider donut, then spending the afternoon finding the prettiest apples that sort of ushers in the fall for me. It just seems so weird that before we'd have to drive for 45 minutes to get out of the city enough to find a place to pick apples, and now we're living in the country and there aren't any.

Autumn is my favorite season besides (early and mid) winter. I love that the temperature finally gets colder, that I can wear real clothes and outfits again (it seems that in the summer time I am constantly just piecing together garments that are light enough to keep me cool, I don't really have "summer clothes" that look any good so I usually go around looking like that homeless lady with the huge dreadlock in Harvard Square, I swear she and I were wearing the same outfit in mid-July). I am a scarf person. I'll take any opportunity to throw one on and usually wear one from September to May if I can.

Also, there isn't any question that Autumn has the best food, by far. Pumpkin flavored everything. You can start making soup again (thank god). Comfort foods start making their way back into your dinners because fall is cozy. Chicken pot pie, people. Sam Adams Oktoberfest.

However, it's been too hot here to think of any of that. I tried wearing a scarf and nearly had a heat stroke. No way am I making soup in this humidity unless someone is dying. It better start turning soon.

holler and swaller

I guess I know I'm busy when I can't get a post about my weekend out until Thursday and even then it's a shotty job. I took some pictures, but the effort to post them is too much.

Here is an idea of my weekend: On Friday evening, Aaron and I went to something called a Buckwheat Festival. Buckwheat seems to be a major food source here. They make these buckwheat cakes, that taste a lot like the most plain pancake ever to grace your plate. We ate some in the city hall of a small town and listened to Appalachian music. The band had at least 7 members and one of them played the washboard.

My dog wasn't feeling that well, he had a tummy ache because I'm pretty sure he took a taste of a dead toad in the driveway, so I stayed up all night with him because I thought it might be serious. But it wasn't. So I got no sleep and we went looking at houses from 9am to 4pm and that was pretty much my Saturday. We didn't really find anything. We told our friend that we'd go see his band play. They were playing in this insane roadhouse-type bar on the side of a desolate road. First, the band: it was a 70's cover band and the singer was around 5 feet tall and did all kinds of wild moves like Robert Plant (who, I found out later, is his major inspiration in life). It was so funny. He made everyone all riled up and dancy. All of these really old biker guys were out on the dance floor living it up. They had the moves. I would have taken pictures, but I noticed that most of them had knives strapped to their belts and there were heads of more than one kind of animal on the walls (Michigan people, this won't phase you).

On Sunday my landlady had a bbq and Ruby Jean and Bobby from a local band called the Weedhawks came and played music around the campfire. Ruby plays the fiddle. We're in the middle of the woods, with a campfire and fireflies and mountains all around, and they're playing this old-time music. Again, I felt very Appalachian.

as seen from a different angle

AARON: What is Presbyterianism anyway?
AMBER: I don't know, but they have a different kind of cross.
AARON: How so?
AMBER: I think it has a loop or a hook on it.
AARON: [long, thought-filled pause] ....to hang you with?

keep on the sunny side

Several things have happened lately. I've been avoiding updating, and when I did try to update I removed my post because I felt like I wasn't giving things a fair shot. So here we go:



1) We had a house and now we don't. We got our hopes up really high when we found a really great (read: too good to be true) house and they accepted our offer on it. However, it turned out to be a lemon, with very well hidden structural issues that will cost more to fix than the house is worth, so we withdrew. There was a part of me that remained sceptical throughout. Which is why I didn't let myself blog about it. I didn't want to jinx it and I didn't want it to fall through. I just had a feeling about it, I really wanted to believe that it was The House, but something kept telling me that it wasn't so easy. Lesson: even though it's expensive, always hire an inspector before you seal any deals. It's a bummer, but at least it happened and we found out before we bought it instead of in 5 years when we're ready to sell. So for now we'll continue to live with Violett in her violet house in woods. At least we love it here.



2) I got a job. It isn't my dream job, but it's ok. it's money and it's (kind of) working in editing. It's really not that bad. I get to listen to the Minister of Music (yes that is her title) play Bach on the organ all day. It's both creepy (in a good way) and kind of incredible.



3) And as all of these changes take place, at least I have a friend:


I don't want to jinx this, either, but I can't hold it in any longer. He's my landlady's but she said that I could keep him. He's the sweetest thing.

tap dancing their way into your heart

Last weekend we went to something called The Mason Dixon Festival. We were keeping our fingers crossed for southern food, but instead we found The String of Pearls.

The String of Pearls is a local dance troop of so-called elderly ladies. Now, as far as I could tell, there was really only one elderly in the group, and they stuck her way in the back on the right. As you can see, she wasn't exactly as mobile as the others. If you ask me, she was pretty careless: she didn't put herself into the moves like the others did, and frankly, she did a lot of mistakes. She often got lost in the dance, you could see the confusion in her face. "Why am I here? What's happening?" She was just a little cloudy is all. And I could tell the other women in the Pearls thought the same thing. They wouldn't exactly give her looks, but they pretty much pretended she didn't exist. Between each number (yes, each and every) they did a costume change:

and after a particularly bad spell, where poor Ethel (at least that's what I like to call her) lost her sense of direction and nearly tapped off the stage, they wouldn't let her appear in the next number (proof in the above cowgirl photo).

Watching The String of Pearls was one of those life moments when you learn what it means to keep a sense of composure. Aaron and I were falling out of our seats, shaking, with tears in our eyes trying not to laugh. However, the hardest part by far was the entertainment that came out between String of Pearls numbers:

Now. I want you to take note of the teal-bedecked elderly about to attack him. She had moves that put Ethel to shame.

Now it was again a green light on a dock

I recently reread what I usually think of as my favorite novel of all time: The Great Gatsby. I hadn't had a chance to reread it since before college. I really wanted to pick it up and see what my education had done...see if a degree in books actually made this one different. It didn't. This book transcends educated reading. Everything in it is right on the page. The writing is so strong and pure. I didn't need 5 years of school to tell me this.

I'm getting sentimental. As I should, though. I have a really sappy story about Gatsby. So if you're not in the mood for shameless cheese, look away. It's a story of Amber and Aaron, the Middle Years.

The summer before I went to college, Aaron moved to Somerville. For various reasons, this was slightly alarming. Mainly because I was in love with him and I wasn't ready to cope with that. But lets not get into that. Anyway, Aaron lived in Somerville, and I in Medford. Then he inched his way closer still, moving to Arlington, one mile away from me and about 1/3 of a mile from where I worked. For a while this didn't have much consequence, but it was just the idea of his being there. I thought about it all the time. I had fantasies of bumping into each other at the coffee shop. At the grocery store. Waiting for the bus became an examination of every car and bike on the street to see if it was his.

Finally, I called and asked him why he moved to my side of the river. All he said was, "West Egg. I can see a green light." I basically died. How could I not? At that point in my life, I'd never heard anything more romantic, really. I don't know if he knew it was one of my favorite books. he probably did. We started scheduling meetings, every Friday at 7am, the local coffee shop. We listened to Nashville Skyline and he'd drive me the rest of the way to work. We watched it become winter.

That was more than five years ago. Sometimes I'll ask him if I really did have an influence in his move, if he really moved to West Egg. We smile about it. It's become part of us. But I do think of this:

There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams--not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything.

I am sure that I tumbled short. But we're here, we're still here. We're buying a house. We're getting married. We're still us. We didn't self combust like Gastby and Daisy. That's pretty big. Rereading it made me remember a lot about that time. We're so different now. We aren't them any more. We're Amber and Aaron, the Later Middle Years.

"and you can say goodbye to your Precious Moments!"

I found this ad today in the Dominion Post (my new local newspaper):

DIVORCE Garage Sale: 1209 Avalon St. off Dorsey Ave., Fri. & Sat., 8am-5pm. Pool table, LR Suite, BR Suite, area rug. Collectibles - Boyds and Bearstones, Precious Moments, Dog Figurines, Pooh. Pfaltzgraff dishes, numerous house wares, electronics, adult clothing, infant/toddler clothing, and infant accessories.

Talk about laying it all out there for the world to see.

"Oh, how I love you, my little Precious Moment. I'm so glad those people got a divorce and I found you."

soup

Aaron had a sore throat this weekend so I made him a chicken soup with the stuff I had around the house. It's a pain to get to the grocery store for an item or two, so I just made something up based loosely on the memory of a recipe for Bohemian Chicken Soup out of the Canyon Ranch Cookbook packed in a box not to be found for several years, most likely. It's warm and yummy and slightly spicy, which helps scratchy throats.

Made up Bohemian Chicken Soup

2 onions, chopped

1 clove garlic

1 tbsp oil

salt and pepper (lots)
cayenne pepper, several dashes

1 tbsp Bell seasoning

red pepper flakes, 1 dash

2-3 chicken breasts, cubed

2+ cups chicken stock (I like the Trader Joe's Fat Free Low Sodium Free Range Organic)

water enough to make it a soup

2 cups fresh cauliflower, chopped in big chunks

1 cup broccoli (I only had frozen)

handful of mushrooms (I used dried shiitaki, but fresh button are better)

Dumplings:

1/4 cup whole wheat flour

1/4 cup regular flour

some Parmesan cheese (2-3 tbsp)

2 tbsp. skim milk

1 egg

cayenne pepper (several dashes)

salt and pepper

I sauteed the onions and garlic in oil and added the spices. After translucent, I added chicken and some water. after a minute, I added stock, mushrooms, and several cups of water. I let this cook a few minutes, then added cauliflower. Because I used frozen broccoli, I added that 10 minutes later so it wouldn't get soggy. 5 more minutes, then I added the dumplings, slowly, plopping small portions of the dough off the edge of a spoon into the soup. Then it was done. And Aaron's throat cleared up.

quite a dickens

A few weeks before we left Boston I had a difficult time reading. This wasn't my usual few day break after a reading binge (although I did just finish The Namesake in about 1.5 sittings). I couldn't focus. I lacked interest and enthusiasm in my choices. Attempting to get involved with a novel felt like pulling teeth.

Looking back, perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I had a pile about twenty books deep of stuff that I wanted to read and toss. Stuff that wasn't worth hanging onto, but was, potentially, worth a summer fling. The rest of my books were packed for the move. These books would not have been my proudest reading moments, but they were no Dan Brown. Let's just say that The Namesake was among them (not exactly trash), but the pile also contained several Oprah books, many books about southern women quilting and getting into messy situations, and Confederacy of Dunces, which I've never been able to muster enthusiasm for. There wasn't much to be excited about, really.

However, I think that my resistance also had a lot to do with that fact that I was really nervous about the move. The last thing I needed to focus on was what trouble the Florabama Ladies Auxiliary Sewing Circle were scaring up in some poorly-written make believe southern world. But neither could I focus on non-fiction.

And so, as a desperate last resort, I turned to the pile on its way to Goodwill and a long-time enemy: Charles Dickens. I've never been a fan. I was forced to read A Tale of Two Cities at the zenith of my Anti-Britite phase and so I hated every minute of it and vowed never to read Dickens again. (Interesting side-note: After every completed chapter I would reward myself with one from John Irving's Cider House Rules. It was only much later that I found out how often the two authors are compared, or rather, how often it's said that Irving's main influence is Dickens. This comparison was part of the collapse of my vow.)

Anyway, I needed something old, and long, and boring. I needed to focus on something that probably didn't suck, even though it might be mind-numbingly boring. And it saved me. I enjoyed every minute of it. It gave me something to get mixed up in back in Boston, and continue upon our arrival (and then some). There is comfort in that. He really surprised me. And I've been trying find everyone I've talked to about Dickens and take back all of the bad things I've ever said about him (though the list is really long). World, I am officially a Dickens fan.

our life, for now

I thought I'd start off the blog by giving everyone a look into our life, now, in West Virginia. We're living in temporary housing, but it's beautiful and there is a part of me that doesn't want to leave. Here is a tour, in photos, of our place.




As Aaron demonstrates, we cross a little bridge off the driveway. We first made the mistake of driving over this rickety number, but soon learned that this was a very big mistake.





Here is the view of the creek (which they call a "run") from the bridge.









After the bridge, we walk the stone pathway. When we first arrived, we were warned about snakes, poisonous snakes in particular, so I usually make sure to stay on the stones.







We have a visitor.

And two more. These two fellows are Jesus and Krishna and they visit us often.