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headless halloween

Hijo knew from the start that he wanted to go headless for Halloween. He had some ideas about how to do it, but I confess that I wasn't so sure we could pull it off. About half our linen closet is stuffed into the shoulders of that jacket. There was much experimenting on my part, including some ill-conceived attempts at cutting up cardboard boxes to use as support. In the end, simple was best. I think the ordinariness of the rest of the outfit adds to the surprise of not seeing a head where one should be.

There was a perfect Halloween sky: the moon was large and bright and the clouds scudded across it like ships in the wind. The costume was a big hit and Hijo enjoyed the attention as much as the candy. When we got home he promptly sat on his bedroom floor and sorted everything into little piles based on type. Almond joys here, Starbursts there, Milky Ways there, etc. This behavior baffles me, as I had no desire to organize or sort or do anything with my Halloween loot as a kid except to scarf it all up, and quickly.

For Hijo, knowing he has it is almost as much fun as eating it. He hasn't even asked to have any for breakfast.

just now

I heard a knock on the door this morning, just a few minutes after Hijo left for school. He forgot something, I thought. I opened the door and there he was.

"There's a full moon in the sky!" he said. "Come see."

I walked out into the yard in my shirtsleeves and bare feet. "Look, right up there." He pointed. "Who would think there'd be a full moon in the morning?"

And there it was, bright and shining, and I looked up at it and felt the cool air all around me and Hijo ran off to catch the bus.

bounty

I love the farmers market at this time of year, the slight golden cast of the light makes all the produce even more enticing. There are few things more picturesque than piles of winter squash in all their variety and bulbousness piled in a wooden crate with a small white-lettered sign written in chalk telling the price per pound. I bought two delicata, which do indeed have a delicate flavor and are especially tasty when grilled.

I also bought some plump cherry tomatoes and a pound of green beans, a ball of fresh goat's milk cheese from Mystery Bay Farm, and a loaf of organic walnut cranberry bread, a slice of which I'm eating now topped by - yes - the chevre. I might eat nothing else all day.

I find the market very therapeutic. It's best to go early, before the tourists wake up and when the selection is best. This being a small town, I see lots of people I know. The market is a good place for social chit chat, and nobody expects you to stop for too long before moving on to fill your shopping bag. (Of course you must bring your own bag.) I love it that most of the farmers are young people, many of whom have babies strapped across their chests. That organic farming is seen as a desirable way of life for young couples raising a family gives me hope for humanity. I love the clichéd beauty of the displays of produce in wooden crates or lined up on a table shining like jewels. There is a calm to be had walking through the market in the morning, even though there is activity all around.

Women weave, girls hand out dog biscuits, a man sings and plays guitar; the coffee wagon is busy, the lines at the bakery tent and the taco truck are long; the barbecued oyster stand sends salt-scented steam toward the bright morning sky. I gather my bounty and then I take it home.

first piano lesson

Hijo had his first official piano lesson yesterday.

Due to unusual circumstances, I was able to tag along. The teacher sat him down at the piano and asked him if he knew how to play anything.

"Sure," he said and proceeded to play, not perfectly, but adequately, a Coldplay song that a friend of his had taught him.

"Well," the teacher told him, "I can tell you're going to be really good." 

Hijo smiled. I smiled. Even if that piano teacher says that to every kid who sits down on his bench*, I was grateful that he said it to Hijo. He was feeling pretty confident in his ability to learn to play, but having your teacher share that confidence with you within the first five minutes is really important.

The teacher pulled out a simplified version of Michael Jackson's "Beat It" which he gave to Hijo to take home and "see what he can do with it." Then they opened the beginner's book and Hijo learned the names of the keys and notes.

Watching Hijo start piano (and also band in school) has stirred up all sorts of memories and longings in me. Music seems to be one of those things that you abandon as an adult, because you have too little time, or you feel that if you aren't fantastically talented at it, it's not worth doing.

What happened to doing something simply because it's fun, because it brings us joy?

That's what I've been thinking about.

*bench=three small plastic orange schoolc chairs stacked on top of each other.

small town snapshot

At the post office today, mailing off a grant proposal. When the postal clerk sees what I am sending, he takes out a sparkly magic wand from under the counter and waves it over the envelope, thereby ensuring our grant will have extra special government approved postal juju on it.

adventures in soccer mom-hood

It was my turn to bring snacks to the soccer game today.  I've been totally obsessing over the snacks ever since one family brought sliced organic water melon (served from a ceramic bowl) followed by gigantic fudge brownies. Whatever happened to big bags of unpeeled oranges sliced into wedges?  That's all we ever got for snacks at my soccer games as a kid.  Every single week. They were impossible to eat without getting juice all over your soccer jersey, and bits of pith were always getting stuck in my braces.

I was worried I would forget to buy snacks, then anxious that I would forget to pack all the snacks, or that I'd buy a snack that some kid was allergic to, or I wouldn't have enough blue blocks of chemical-filled plastic to freeze and keep the snacks cold enough. I mean, who cares about the economy tanking, I had important social status cues to send out via my choice of half-time athletic nibbles.

Of course, everything turned out just fine.  The weather was once again golden October glorious and our team trounced the other team and Hijo played well. Nobody fainted in horror at my food choices and I even shared some juice with the team of three and four year olds on the field behind us.

The game was in a remote town at the edge of Olympic National Park, and so afterwards we visited Rocky Brook falls, which are quite spectacular (rated four stars doncha know) and then drove up Mt. Walker to take in the even more spectacular view from its 2800' summit.

(I must confess to a certain guilty fondess for moutnains that have vehicular summit access. It's cheating, but at the same time, it's so awesome. I ascended Mauna Loa on Hawaii in a similar fashion and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Plus, the oxygen deprivation got me totally high.)

Soccer is way more fun than little league, both for Hijo to play and for me to watch. There's no endless adjusting of the pitching machine, no long waits in the outfield or to get a chance to bat. Plus, Hijo is a lot better at soccer. I'm a little bit sad that the season is almost over.  But at least that means I don't have to buy any more snacks.