gardening WITH dummies, chapter 1

Aaaaand we're back, live, from Ithaca! I.... live here! It is... pretty lovely! We are... making progress on the unpacking but now the high-speed Internet is set up so I am ignoring all the boxes! I am... going nuts with the ellipses, because that is... how I roll, babies!

That last paragraph is brought to you courtesy of a full week with no professional writing or editing responsibilities. You are welcome.

(David Dye -- digression: the local NPR station broadcasts Live at the World Cafe from 10 to noon every day, which is sooo excellent and almost makes up for the fact that it makes me suffer through an hour of Democracy Now at 9, which is painful non-journalism that makes me a little embarrassed to hold my particular political leanings -- uh, where was I. Oh yes, my pal David is interviewing Aimee Mann, who apparently has a new album. I did not know this! Exciting news!)

OK, so. Gardening. Our progress so far:

Note that my plot is one of the only ones that is not fenced in yet, which should be remedied this weekend. Do not note the three-quarters of the plot that is still made up entirely of very aggressive weeds. The fence has to come first, you see, and is slated for construction tomorrow if J. and I can get our acts together.

Here is the success story:

Arugula! I put seeds into the ground and they grew into arugula. I have tasted it and it tastes good. This whole thing is sort of confounding, isn't it?

Here is the not-quite-success-but-not-yet-giving-up story:

This is where some herbs should be. None of the herbs ARE, exactly -- yet or maybe ever (spying on other people's plots reveals that they should at least be poking up by now, especially the basil) -- but I'm embarrassed to admit that I can't really tell what is a baby herb and what is a baby weed. And that I am trying to differentiate by... eating things to see what they taste like. I know! I know. What if the person who had this plot last year planted nightshade? I will go the way of an Agatha Christie murder victim! Death by garden! Or rather, death by stupidity, but I will go down happy.

So can any of you tell what in this picture could be a burgeoning cilantro or oregano seedling, say, and what is a weed? Clearly there is a lot of rogue mint running around, but do you see anything else in that picture that I shouldn't be yanking up?

I'm not terribly concerned, because I fully intend to buy some basil seedlings and stick them in the ground for try No. 2 if the seeds never sprout. I can live without the rest of the herbs if necessary (and my mint, of course, is the only herb I planted that is gracing us with its nascent presence) but I refuse to grow tomatoes without basil.

In our next installment: Tomato cages, fruit-patterned shelf-paper, a fascinating meeting with my new HR department and a pre-DMV pep talk.

the best-laid non-plans

So, hey, remember that whole "I won't have a job this summer" deal I was so excited about? Yeah, about that... I kind of... have a job now? A full-time one? With benefits and a salary and an office, etc.?

But it's good! I think it's going to be really good... it's library-related, writing about librarians and library programs at that big school on the hill in Ithaca, and it seems like just the right bridge between what I do now and what I'm going to do. I'm really excited about it -- more excited than I am about school, in some ways -- and it just feels right.

But, another but: I'm worried that I'm overcommitting myself, following my same old patterns and making my same old mistakes by trying to do too many things at once, scattering myself, making myself diverse at the expense of making myself actually *good* at anything. Also worried that this job, which is pretty writing-intensive, will mean I'll be working on fiction even less than I do now, and that I define myself too much through my work and was therefore too intimidated to embark on a future without a paying job. And I'm mourning that lost summer a little bit, too. The garden and the biking and the writing will all still be there, but sandwiched in between the 9 to 5. It's worth it, I know it is, but there is a little sadness around the edges.

During the packing process, which I have actually been weirdly enjoying so far, I rediscovered this packet of old papers my oboe teacher in high school gave me. This quote made me feel a little relieved when I wasn't sure that taking a job that truly speaks to me but that doesn't have quite the right timing was the best decision I'd ever made:

Perfectionism is slow death. If everything were to turn out just like I would want it to, just like I would plan for it to, then I would never experience anything new; my life would be an endless repetition of stale successes.... My fear of making a mistake seems to be based on the hidden assumption that I am potentially perfect and that if I can just be very careful, I will not fall from heaven. But a "mistake" is a delcration of the way I am, a jolt to the way I intend, a reminder that I am not dealing with the facts. When I have listened to my mistakes, I have grown.

Nice, right? There is no right answer and no right path. If this path, this new thing I have chosen, is a mistake, I will try to listen and grow from it. (If it's not, I will be perfect! Er wait, no, that's not exactly what Mr. Hugh Prather meant in "Notes to Myself," is it... :) )

baa. baa. baa.

I spent a large part of yesterday -- actually, all of yesterday -- at the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival. There were sheep:

And wool:

Yarn abounded. The place was knitters' paradise, and I felt rather at home among my people.

Whole trees of yarn!

We also watched a demonstration of working sheepdogs, which were pretty awesome:


That reinforced the idea that sheep are... how to put this polietly... really not at all bright. But, also true to the stereotypes of their character, they did seem pretty docile -- their handlers led really big, active sheep through thick crowds of gaping city-folk without appearing to be at all worried that they'd bite or kick. (Unlike a properly feisty goat, say, which were sadly but understandably underrepresented.)

These guys were here, though:
The noble alpaca, thinking, "Hey, where's MY festival?"

So continues my deep and abiding love of state-fair-type extranvaganzas such as this one. I'm not sure what exactly it is about them, but one step onto the grounds and I feel a special giddy excitement -- the heady combination of the hot and sunny weather, the company of lovely people, the scent of fried everything in the air, the looming barns filled with awesome animals. Love it. M, A and I all managed to walk out of there with our wallets mostly intact (I only bought one skein of yarn, actually, in a dark green called "Ocean's Depths" from a semi-celebrity vendor) and the new knowledge that "baa" is the most onomotopaeotic animal sound in the world. Sheep voices sound amazingly similar to human voices... instead of "baa" being a sort of semi-inaccurate representation of the sound the animals actually make, it's as though they are pronouncing the word "baa" each time. It's a little freaky. In a good way.

Baa. Baa. Baa.

thawing out

D.C. isn't much for spring. It goes from 50 degrees to 80 degrees -- too cold to too hot -- in about four days, just like it did this year. That has always irritated me, and suddenly this afternoon, I realized I won't be around to be irritated this time next year. I'll be living in Ithaca, which prompts every person I tell to make some joke about snow and freezing and ha ha you're crazy. Next year I'll be commuting in that snow, too, almost an hour each way, to graduate school, on my way literally and figuratively to becoming a librarian. And when I get home, J will sometimes be there, because we will be living together in one apartment -- even better than the same zip code, which was all I was asking for a while. I am... well, psyched is putting it mildly.

I will have a garden! A huge plot in a community garden, which is already firmly in the "biting off more than she can chew" category. I'm going to work on the current novel-in-progress every day and pretend like I'm a real writer, the prospect of which both freaks me out and makes me buzz with possibility. I'm going to ride my bike a lot and try to start a home yoga practice. I'm taking two one-credit classes on two weekends in July. I will also have a volunteer job in the public library, I hope, but probably not much income-generating employment for a few months. I'll still be looking for library-related work and the assistantships from my school (wow, I have a school?), but if I have to get a job just to pay the bills, I'm not going to do it until the fall. This decision feels totally irresponsible and utterly, fabulously, thrilling.

This isn't news to most of you, but I realized there were a few blog friends who didn't know. And I also think it deserves some kind of formal announcement in this space, because it's made me want to make a bit more of a commitment here.

You heard it here first: You, me, this summer, this blog. At least a little post on most days, a few thoughts or a link or a picture (I am sure nearly all of these will be of the garden) (if I actually manage to grow anything) (and if I don't, I will probably post pictures of the barren soil and whine). I don't often feel a need to document things, but I am just so excited and I want to put it into words -- if is is wonderful, if it is scary, if it is both.

i think about the dirt that i'll be wearing for a shirt**

I didn't really intend to write this down, but ever since I read Maggie's list of scenes she hopes to see when her life flashes before her eyes, I've been thinking of my own and it seems like something worth remembering. So, in no particular order...

1. Getting drunk-ish for the first time on warm red wine in a European beer garden
2. Skinny dipping in the lake in Wolfboro beneath the starriest sky I've ever seen
3. Being blessed by the priest at H & K's wedding
4. Taking Puddles home from the animal shelter
5. Standing on the corner outside Ben's Chili Bowl with J. after the first time we met
6. Banging the hell out of a cowbell at one particular freezing football game
7. Looking at an inchworm in front of glass doors at nursery school, my earliest memory
8. Staring out at the view from the top of Mohunk (after being rescued by Robert, after being sure I would die getting up there)
9. Riding a bike for the first time
10. Sitting on the floor at the first pre-Thanksgiving
11. Opening the door to see my friends behind it on my 30th birthday
12. Watching my parents dance at... wow, I don't remember where that was, actually, but I can picture the room vividly
13. Walking up the stairs at the Vienna Opera House
14. Watching snow fall out my apartment window in Jerusalem
15. Seeing my name in the acknowledgements of a friend's published book
16. Playing the final note of Beethoven's 5th with full orchestra and chorus
17. Kayaking in the Bay of Fundy
18. Lying on the bed in Nanny's house watching Christmas specials with A. and A.
19. Recording a fake radio show with J.'s 45s in her living room
20. Lying in the street in the middle of the night to watch the meteor shower
21. Playing Careers and eating pumpkin bread on Thanksgiving with S.

**"I Hope That I Get Old Before I Die," a They Might Be Giants song that I memorized in, oh, 1992? And I still find it hiliarious. My other favorite lines: "Clear off the kitchen table, darlin'/For on the kitchen table I must lie/I'm just tired 'cause my wife just served the banquet of my life/And I hope that I get old before I die."

a scientific study

How do you pronounce n-i-c-h-e?

a) nitch

b) neetch

c) neesh

d) nish

e) we aren't French! speak Amurrrrcan!

all you need are goats

Just an excuse for another goat picture? No, the explanation of the nicest Valentine's Day present ever: a sixth of a goat from Heifer International. J and I are officially on the books as not celebrating this Hallmarkian travesty, but somehow each of us winds up doing a little something or other. His something or other was cute and perfect. Mine was boxers with giant hearts and a snarky card about George Bush reading your email. Not quite as touching.

(Side note: The Year of the Goat had a pretty profound impact on the way I have been thinking about life and its possibilities, in addition to the pretty profound impact it had on the way I have been thinking about goat cheese.)

I am so looking forward to this three-day weekend: errands and Eastern Market with a friend this morning, new Netflix tonight while finishing knitting a sock that is taking foreeeeeever (I'm going to let myself do a different project before starting the second one), extensive mimosa-ed brunch tomorrow with the roommates, trip to the National Gallery (lookin' at you, No. 7) in the afternoon, no plans whatsoever on Monday. Yay for Abe Lincoln and all the other good guys.

water landings

At the risk of being all Seinfeld, here, what is up with flight-safety videos? As in, the fact that no one watches them? The planes US Air flies to Syracuse are usually pretty small, but last night, for some reason, it was a real live plane with three seats on each side of the aisle -- much to my relief, because it meant my suitcase would actually fit in the overhead thingie even though I was one of the last people to board.

Normally, on the regular wee planes, the real live flight attendant does the little song and dance with the belt buckle and whatnot. But the big grown-up plane had the special screens that deploy to show you the safety video. I realized halfway through that I wasn't paying attention -- furthermore, I never pay attention to those. Ever. It's white noise: "plane loses pressure... seat cushion... flotation device... help yourself before the person next to you... oxygen... zzzzzzzz."

Last night, I looked around, and not one single other person I could see was actually watching the video, including the dude next to me who would go on to watch the silent infomercial about Hawaii they played for the rest of the flight with shockingly rapt attention. (Hawaii trivia I learned: The state is made up of 137 islands!)

It seems to me like this says something profound about humans' sense of denial. That couldn't happen to me. Even though that information could save my life, it isn't relevant enough for me to stop reading an essay about Bill Clinton in order to pay attention for 30 seconds. Weird, right? Like, life-saving information-- ooh, look out the window, shiny!

progress report

Many of the 30 for 30 goals down and many still to go. Specifically, 16 and 1/3 and 7/10 and 3/5 and 2/3 and 2/3 still to go. Some recent developments...

No. 8:


A sweater for T and J's baby. It's knitted from the hood down and was an immensely satisfying project the whole way through.


Detail shot. I wasn't sure about the color combination when I first started, because my large stash of cotton offers a lot of choices and I was a little overwhemled by them. But I think it worked out OK; reminiscent of Charlie Brown without dooming the poor child to a life of having footballs pulled away right before he kicks them.

No. 26:


This guy started out 2007 looking like this...

...and ended it like this:

There were a few uncomfortable moments (for me; for our pal the lobster, I would like to think it was just one brief but very very uncomfortable moment) but overall, this was not as hard as I thought.

And finally, three and four for No. 18:


In J's lab.


Amazing glass sculpture (called Woven Heaven, Tangled Earth, by Susan Plum) at the fantastic Corning Glass Museum.

three years and counting

Third time’s the charm!

1. What did you do in 2007 that you'd never done before?

Flew in a teeny tiny plane piloted by a friend. Edited an entire book (freelance, not my own). Took long bike rides without a safety net. Went parasailing. Milked a goat. Became an avid comsumer of mussels.

2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I actually have been referring to my 30 for 30 list instead of doing the resolution thing, so I plan to keep doing that until 10/17/08. Please note that although several of them have been crossed off the list, all the freaking hard ones -- seriously, 30 miles on a bike, what the hell was I thinking -- are still left.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Yes! Several people, actually.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

No, knock on everything.

5. What countries did you visit?

The Netherlands, Austria, Germany, the Czech Republic. And New Mexico, which sort of felt like a different country.

6. What would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007?

More self-discipline (just like 2005 and 2006! that one is probably a permanent resident of this list). More focus. The ability to do a handstand. A new iPod.

7. What dates from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

My birthday, once again the date of the greatest surprise party ever. Not a specific date, but the writing group evening that P. showed us her first book.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Giving J a pretty great birthday surprise, if I do say so myself.

9. What was your biggest failure?

Not committing more time to writing and not having the guts to do NaNoWriMo.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

I had food poisoning for the first time ever; otherwise, no.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

Plane tickets.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

Why is it that I can never come up with anything for this question? I can’t think of a single person who did something awesome?

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

If I can’t come up with anything for this one either, does it balance out?

14. Where did most of your money go?

Into a six-month CD, which is scaring the crap out of me because it seems like I just wrote a check and threw it into the ether, and the ether cashed it, and then the money evaporated and ceased to exist. Oh, and to my landlord, restaurants, airlines, the overpriced gym that I now hardly ever go to because I am busy giving more of my money to yoga and African dance classes.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

The final Harry Potter book.

16. What song will always remind you of 2007?

Amy Winehouse’s “Rehab.”

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

a) happier or sadder? both, sometimes. also nervous-er, most of the time.
b) thinner or fatter? gr
c) richer or poorer? richer, a wee bit

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?

Writing. Exercising. Spending time with my grandmother.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?

Worrying -- third year in a row and probably forever! Downloading TV shows from iTunes.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?

I was in Ithaca with J. We cooked dinner and watched The Queen from Netflix. Yay for Jews on Christmas!

*(editing starts here)*

23. What was your favorite TV program?

The Wire. And Top Chef.

25. What was the best book you read?

According to Good Reads, my five-star books were Kate Atkinson’s “Case Histories,” Thomas Cahill’s “The Gifts of the Jews” and Yael Hedaya’s “Housebroken.” Edna O’Brien’s “The Country Girls” has also really stayed with me.

26. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Probably Dawn Landes. Thanks, Reuben.

27. What did you want and get?

A relationship that’s continuing to grow despite the distance.

28. What did you want and not get?

Smaller pants.

29. What was your favorite film of this year?

Superbad!

30. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

30, and I had a surprise party, as documented here.

31. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

A published book with my name on the cover. And as with last year, going a whole year with no cavities would have been immeasurably satisfying -- although I got closer this time. Just one little one in the back.

32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2007?

Inexpensive? I didn’t get many new clothes this year.

33. What kept you sane?

You know who you are.

34. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

After seeing “Charlie Wilson’s War” last night, my Philip Seymour Hoffman crush is again in full swing.

38. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2007.

Define “learned.” This is something I wanted to learn, but am not sure I have quite mastered yet: Everything is temporary, so stop freaking out, for heaven’s sake.

39. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

"When you move into motion, the Atlantic Ocean cannot compare
My heart's out there, but I don't care, I'll throw it anywhere
We all hold on, but when we go, we'll be gone..."

cookies are an all-the-time food

Many a well-meaning... well-meaner has said, semi-helpfully, "You THINK you like Ithaca, but wait until you see it in the winter!" And then laughed a knowing har-har and flicked a glance of pure evil over their shoulders as they swished their swishy capes and swished off to make more dire predictions.

Well, I'm here to tell you: It is 4:19 p.m. on my first full day here. It is as dark as midnight. I am in J's apartment, sitting at his desk in the circle of light from one little lamp. I took a shower two hours ago and I'm trying to motivate myself to stop eating oatmeal cookies (note to Shannon: are these the best cookies ever or what) and leave the apartment for the first time today.

But did I mention it is dark? And also that it is raining -- RAINING, because NPR tells me it is 47 degrees outside, and what is up with this rain, it is supposed to SNOW here because it is supposed to be COLD. Not that I would really be appreciating the coldness, however, given the aforementioned inability to leave the apartment.
I think we're heading for the movies tomorrow night for the third year of our "we're Jewish! let's go to the movies on Christmas Eve!" tradition, and I'm only semi-determined to have gone outside before then.

This darkness thing -- yeah, it's a little harder to love than the Ithaca summer with its farmers' market and its pretty waterfalls and its hippies in their sundresses. But you know what is also hard to love? DC in August. Or July, or September. So I'm reserving judgement; check back in 11 days for the final verdict.

over the river and through the... crafts...

(Through the crafts? What the hell? That song has been stuck in my head all day for no discernable reason. I would like to discern one now, please, and make it go away.)

Anyway, crafts, yes. I discovered Craftster this week, and I am so completely hooked. I want to make everything, EVERYTHING, on that site, including embroidered pillowcases. I have two embroidered pillowcases that my parents got as a wedding gift that I adore. I mean, look at this. How creative and arty is that, and how much fun would it be to make it? Despite the fact that I never like fussy projects, and a project involving tiny needles making tiny stitches in tiny patterns is probably fussier than anything I've ever tried?

The new Craftster fixation actually dovetails nicely with my existing Etsy fixation -- I can admire the stuff of alread-crafty people and then daydream about my own crafty things, like making sketchbooks out of recycled paper and a Luna Lovegood iron-on transfer. And I think it is only a matter of time until I give in and admit that I really want to learn to sew. And some mysterious day in the future, endless supplies of time and money will fall like manna from the heavens, and I will indulge all this stuff.

hallowhat?

It may be that Halloween only has a purpose if you either a) have adorable children who want to dress up in cute costumes or b) want to be a sexy nurse/cat/pirate/antelope/whatever and pick up similarly dressed strangers at bars. (In 2000 or 2001, I was hit on -- so my friends said, let me assure you that I didn't catch on -- by a very drunk man dressed as a very drunk nun at a bar on Halloween. Ah, good times.)

I actually forgot that the actual trick-or-treating portion of the holiday was yesterday until I saw one of my coworkers wearing a psychotic red wig. I ate two mini-KitKats. I went to yoga. We had a handful of trick-or-treaters. It was anticlimatic. But recovery starts now: I'm going to bake these to make up for it. And... yes, that's it, but they sound really delicious...

30 for 30 (goats)

Too bad I didn't make one of my goals to take 30 photos of goats, or else I'd totally be there:


I promise, I'm done now.

so many people in my suitcase heart

I've been told -- and it makes sense -- that your 30s are so much better your 20s; you're more settled, more stable, you have a clearer idea of what you want even if you're not sure exactly how to go about getting it. You're more grounded. You know how to deal with yourself better. I'm not sure if any of that is true yet, but it makes sense, and it holds true for my early 20s vs. my late 20s. And at the risk of tempting fate: So far, 30 is so, so good.

I spent the last hour trying to figure out how to express how wonderful my 30th birthday has been. Fancy brunch and a musical with my family; a weekend trip to Charleston with J.; an incredible and thoughtful and amazing surprise party; another surprise trip still to come next weekend. Words aren't cutting it.

A birthday's not a birthday without a goat.

Or hanging moss.

Or parasailing (photo by J.)

Or sunsets on Folly Beach.

Or giant Dora balloons.

But without being able to show you the faces of the people who made everything this way, I can't even begin to explain what they mean to me and how loved they've made me feel in the last few weeks. So I apologize: These limp words fall so far short of what I want to say.

This pig wants you to know he's happy too, and also thankful for the corn and stuff.

it's a great big universe...

... and we're all really puny, in the immortal words of the Animaniacs, but donating to this actually made me feel like I was part of something pretty huge and pretty great. And this kind of brought tears to my eyes. And the list of prizes kind of made me drool. (Have you seen the Embittermints? Ha.)

fall stories

Pretty lake in New York, near where J. and I went camping this weekend. It was fun and lovely and cold, but not too cold.

Pre-camping, we went to Storm King, which is an amazing outdoor sculpture museum. For scale, I am sitting at the base of that sculpture. Big, yes?

Post-camping, we went to Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome. Also amazing. For scale, that is a tiny plane very far up in the sky. Small, no?

And, for the opening 30 for 30 goal, we have the first entry for #18. Behold, rust:

how to fix an american quilt

My bed, with new Ikea bedspread. Not pictured: the quilt in question.

Slowly, apparently. I took my favorite quilt -- the one Angie's grandmother made -- to a cute little quilt shop staffed by cute little women. Some of the squares need to be replaced, but the binding and backing are OK, so shouldn't be a big deal.

Like all the other idiots in the world, though, I stuck the quilt in my closet in April, when it got warm, and left it there until the first cold night last week. All the other idiots and I think, "Hey, time to fix the quilts!"

End result: I'm waiting two weeks just for an estimate, and then probably until Christmas to get my repaired quilt back. I will be a cold, cold idiot until then.

In the spirit of... something to do with that story, I'm thinking about a little "30 for 30" plan -- 30 goals for my 30th year. (Technically my 31st year, but the year after my 30th birthday, whatever.) So far I have stuff like "knit one item that is not a blanket, hat or scarf" and "go for a 15-mile bike ride." I'm looking for self-contained, definitively achievable things, like items you can put a date on and say you've completed, not big things like "set more goals" (ha) or "don't be an idiot." Suggestions?

why god invented the internet

Blogs and online dating and all the Doonesbury comics you want... great, fine. But the Internet's one real true purpose is to share things like this and this.

the farms that made it through the last days of the century

So, my visit to the New York State Fair really, really, really made me want a goat or two or seventeen. Did you know goats don't really eat tin cans, contrary to my very extensive previous knowledge of goats? It consisted of a children's book I had when I was little, and I thought it was a reliable source, but apparently not. Goats are actually very particular eaters; they might LICK tin cans for the salt and what have you, but they would never actually eat one.

I would like a goat, please and thank you. But they are social animals and do not thrive alone, so I actually need two. Or, you know, seventeen.

OK, that's all.

(Speaking of the end of the summer, did this photo ever give me a lump in my throat. I just saw her yesterday, and we drew pictures and played games and read books and it was just like it usually is... but already with that backpack she looks so grown up, and I remember her when she was a tiny newborn, and oh my gosh.)