Meanwhile, Back on the Ranch...

I have lots of good pictures from our vacation, and good stories to tell. Those are coming. But, right now, I'm just dealing with the 350 emails in my inbox (have to brag about that, because the number of emails you receive while on vacation says something about your self-worth, right?) and, more importantly, the devastation wreaked by a ginormous hail storm that hit our house the first night we were gone. Apparently, according to the internets, it was one of the most damaging storms to hit the Denver area in a long time.

It certainly damaged our house, which now needs new skylights, a new roof, a new paint job, and some new gutters. Luckily, none of this is urgent. At least, we can't see any leaks to the interior.

Insurance doesn't cover the damage to our utterly demolished gardens, unfortunately, or to our trees, which were virtually stripped of their leaves:



And all that effort gardening this year? Here is our yield--one rotting, unripe little tomato, squatting among what's left of the stalks in its bed:

I hope someone will share summer tomatoes with us this year--I'm so sad we won't have our own!

There are downed tree branches all over our neighborhood, and our backyard is no exception:

So, it has been strange to come home from Canada, and a lovely summer vacation, to find that we have little shade, no flowers, no vegetable garden, and a big mess to clean up. It has been cloudy, cold, and rainy. It is as if we stepped right from July into November. And August has not even begun.

Lots of thoughts on all this:

I know not to link weird weather to climate change, and yet, I can't help but wonder.

I'm grateful we have insurance to cover the damage to the house. We needed to make a lot of repairs anyway.

Having the garden destroyed sucks, but I'm also reminded that we are playing a bit at having a garden, and that the safety net of the suburban grocery store is firmly in place, at least for now. Imagine if we actually relied on our garden for food. Imagine if we weren't actually playing at what it might be like to take care of ourselves in that way. I'm both relieved and disturbed by this.

Fragile, it all is. So much to be grateful for, so much fear to hold at bay. But mostly, the gratitude.

See you soon...

We're all packed, the alarm clocks are set (well, they will be soon), and we have our game faces on. Canada, here we come!

I'm not taking my computer--can you believe it? So check back in a week or so, and I should have some pics posted and some fun, crazy stories to tell.

Keep our peace, happiness, and safety in your hearts, won't you?

See you soon!

Heading North

Nuts-up. Off the rocker. Round the bend. Gone crazy.

That must be me, because somehow, for some reason, next Monday I will be getting on a plane with my kids and flying to Canton, Ohio (never been to Ohio). Then there will be an eight-hour car drive. To Canada. Then six days on a beautiful lake, all three of us in one room, sharing a cabin with three of my best friends, none of whom have children and who may or may not know what the hell they're in for.

All without Eric.

Here is what I'm imagining: lots of trees. A glassy lake. Trips for ice cream and to the petting zoo. Long conversations with the ladies. Relaxation and lots of laughter.

And...my kids fighting over legos. Having meltdowns over crayons. Refusing to go to sleep at night in a weird bed, with their sister's leg punching them in the kidney. Getting stung by bees, bit by mosquitoes, and complaining that the lake water is too cold, the sand to sandy, and the food not exactly like we have at home.

Me losing my shit with my kids in front of my friends. Me throwing my children out of a moving automobile. Me leaving them in Canada.

And still, I'm sooooo excited! I can't wait, really. And I'm actually going to take my camera, for once, so there will be evidence that I actually pulled it all off.

That is, provided we all make it home in one piece. Keep your fingers crossed, and send me any road-trip-with-kids advice you have. I've got goodie bags packed with games, art projects, pipe cleaners, and dolls. I've got DVDs, music, and books on cd. And, for now, my sanity.

What else do I need?

Record's in the Groove

E woke up Sunday morning with a nasty 24-hour stomach flu, but was well enough by noon that he could watch Nolie so that Addie and I could attend the Boulder Dinner Theater's production of Annie.

We'd had tickets for a few months, after Addie saw the movie Annie and proceeded to traipse around the house singing Tomorrow at the top of her lungs for days on end. We went with two other moms (who coordinate the whole thing, bless their hearts) and their daughters. We sat together at a two-top, had a full-course meal (including mud-pie for dessert, yum!) and watched a live production of Addie's favorite musical. She clasped her hands at all the right places, sang along, and squirmed about like a monkey. It was pretty much her idea of heaven.

I had a good time, too, though I started to feel a little funny after the intermission. Nothing really strange, but just a little bit of trouble tracking things and a general fatigue.

About ten minutes after we got home, though, I got that aura that indicates I'm about to get a migraine. The auras are getting worse over time, so that I'm almost totally losing my sight to the static, except for on the periphery. I've come into migraines late in my life--they started once we moved to Denver, and get them rarely, maybe twice a year.

Except this is the second one in a month.

Anyway, this was a worst case scenario--both Eric and I sick, sick, sick, and the kids bouncing off the walls with too-tired Sunday-night sugar-high energy. Auntie TT saved us--not a small mercy--by coming over and playing with them outside for an hour or two and getting them to bed, while I cowered in my bed, icing the shit out of my neck and wrists and praying for dark.

I haven't done much research on migraines, but I've heard what you've heard about them, so I have hints. Here is my guess:

For me, I think they're brought on by not getting enough sleep, coupled with too much caffeine. I recently stopped taking Zyrtec for allergies, because it functions as a sleeping pill for me, and made it virtually impossible for me to wake up in the morning. Because of Eric's new work schedule, I need to be able to wake up in the morning and work. So, I switched to Claritin. So, I had a few sleepless nights while my body adjusted to life off of Zyrtec. So, I drank to much caffeine. The day of Annie, I had two cups of coffee, a diet pepsi, and mud pie. That's a lot of caffeine. So, I got a migraine.

That's my theory, anyway.

As I've reflected on this and thought about how things are going, I've made a few changes. First, I need to relax more during the day. This means meditating or doing yoga everyday (how many times have I written THAT on this blog!?!). It's just not very negotiable if I want to stay healthy and happy.

Second, I need to sleep better. That means one cup of caffeine everyday (oh, those afternoon sleepies!) and, weirdly, staying up a little later so that I fall asleep easily. It means I bought myself a new memory-form pillow. It means lots of deep breaths before bed.

It worked last night. I had a really good night's sleep, woke up fully rested at 6:30, and feel like my brains are resituating themselves in my head. I hope it works tonight, too.

Now if I could only REMEMBER all this for once: meditate, stretch, take care of yourself. Such a broken record.

Birthday Clara

Like every other sewing mama out there, I'm in love with the book Weekend Sewing, which contains the pattern for this "Clara" doll. This one's for our buddy Scout, who's celebrating her third birthday today. Pretty cute, yeah? And made her in an evening or so. What's not to like?

(H/T to Dandelion Bones for first cluing me in to Weekend Sewing, and this great pattern :)).

Side thought: Clara also does not have a neck, like some other anorexic turtles I know.

Double side thought: The Dalai Lama would say I've developed an attachment to that particular criticism, at this point, and that I should find a way to let it go. Dishing it out, taking it, yadda.

Also, I think we need a new camera. What do you think?

Grosgrain Giveaway

Had to post a link to this giveaway, for this super-sweet bracelet. Thanks Grosgrain!

The Moment Before

My friend says my profile shot makes me look like an "anorexic turtle." I'll have to change that soon, but that involves finding another picture of myself, and those are rarer than polar ice caps these days. But stay tuned! I'll persevere.

Speaking of polar ice caps, and ice in general, it just continues to disappear. Even though I study it, read about it everyday, think about it constantly, I can't let myself dwell on the reality of climate change too much. Weird cognitive disjunction there, but apparently that's how human brains work. We aren't well-equipped to think about and prepare for seemingly long-range, faraway threats.

I mean, it's scary stuff. Tom Yulsman over at CE Journal reports today on arctic sea ice, which continues its precipitous decline. I see these stories, about drought spreading and pine trees dying in vast swaths across the Rocky Mountain range, and worry gnaws somewhere in the back of my brain.

Have you read Cormac McCarthy's The Road? Did you see Earth 2100? I think about these dystopic visions a lot, and wonder what other possible visions are available to us. What world might we imagine that is not some Mad Max version of life on this planet? Is imagining that world akin to sticking our heads in the sand? Or do we need to dream of something different before we can make it happen?

Still, things speed ahead. My girls grow older, and I count each year as a victory. Another year survived without major climate disruption; another year where gas is relatively affordable and life in the suburbs tenable. Another year where we continue on with business as usual, waiting for politicians and infrastructure and the evolution of the human brain to catch up with the natural world, which races forward, changing faster and faster, because of and despite us.

I go for a walk after the afternoon monsoons have drenched our gardens and marvel at the coolness of the July evening, grateful for a reprieve from the heat. The hills are verdant and rolling; the last time they were like this in July was 2001, when we first moved here. The following summer was the summer of the Hayman fire, I think, when ash reigned from the sky, post-911, and the world felt and seemed in the grip of apocalypse anyway. The air is wet and heavy (do people in Denver even know the word "humid"?), the scenery gorgeous, life indomitable.

A friend sends me stories on eco-grief. I guess it is that, partly. Also, I will my girls to be strong, to be brave, to be smart. I will them to treasure sticks and leaves and sowbugs and the outside air. I will them to cook their own food, and taste it, and know which is real food from which is not. I try to tell them the truth without burdening them with things they are not ready for. Part of me feels I'm preparing them, though none of us knows for what.

So, I try to hold on. I try to grab on to this moment, the moment before everything changed. And I know every moment is that moment.