So if by chance you are dead inside and weren't wooed by Josh Ritter in my previous post, this post will surely win you over. The man is brilliant lyricist. I can't tell you how many times I have had to stop what I am doing to just listen to the stories he weaves with his songs. Case in point: The Curse. I know nobody else who could/would write a love song about a mummy and his archeologist.
I can't embed it, so if you love me, you will go here and watch it. Right now. And then report back.
I grew up in a home filled with music. I remember having musical debates on the way home from Primary back when Primary was on Wednesdays. And if any of you went to Primary (Mormon sunday school) during the week, you know how very long ago that was. I must have been about five years old, defending the merits of The Oakridge Boys and Alabama against my brother's attacks. At the mature age of 7 he was moving beyond my parents' influence and exploring some Neil Diamond and Queen ("Another one rides the bus bites the dust"). All this as we walked unsupervised through the field on our way home (the fields where attempted kidnappings and actual murders had occurred.)
There were lots of grasshoppers in that field. And pollywogs. Maybe the benefits of grasshoppers and pollywogs outweighed the threats of kidnapping and murder.
Anyway, there was always music playing in my house. Before school, after school, my mom had music playing on the radio or 8-track/cassette tape/CD player, and it was always on in the car. My earliest recognition that this was not the case in every home was when I was about seven and I noticed how quiet my friends' houses were (other than the deluge of children's voices).
And so it is at our house now. I love music. In my next life I will be a singer or a dancer or a musician or maybe if I'm really good, all of the above, so I can do more than just listen to it.
This month has been absolute heaven for me, with the arrival of three fantastic new albums.
First I discovered this band, who I am LOVING:
Then two of my top five bands released new albums I've been anxiously waiting for, which makes me just want to shut myself in my bedroom so I can turn the music up loud, and lay on my bed marinating in the sound like I did when I was thirteen years old.
And also, one of my best friends is in the finals for the Lilith Fair local talent competition in Portland, and I am beyond thrilled for her. You can listen to her song and vote for her here.
One of the things I love about living in an older house is uncovering its history. The previous owner of our home was the original owner--she and her husband bought the house when it was newly built in 1965 and raised their three children here. She was a nurse. She was from Utah. She loved gardening. Her daughters still hold a swimming record for the neighborhood swim team. She really loved her house, and let her children know that she wanted a family with children to buy it when she died.
For the first few weeks in the house I felt like I was getting to know Sally and her family. I apologized as I peeled off her wallpaper and took down her valances. I filed her organized stack of owner's manuals that had the purchase date and location written neatly on each one. I laughed when we liberated the pocket door that was accidently or intentionally nailed shut with the installation of shelves on the adjoining wall years ago. I wonder how many times she grumbled about her husband nailing that thing shut? And I heard stories from every neighbor about Sally and her peonies.
The peonies I inherited with our first house in Portland were my some of my favorite flowers in the garden. And this yard has TONS of them. According to the neighbors, Sally would divide them in the Fall and bring the divisions to various neighbors with the same instructions: "Just bury them in the ground with their tits sticking out."
For the last week or so I've had a steady supply of pale yellow peonies with pink ruffled edges on my table and counter. The white ones in the front yard will probably start opening tomorrow. When we bought the house Sally's son called me to tell me how happy his mom would be that we were moving into her home. And he had one request from his sisters: that I send them a start to their mom's peonies in the fall when I divide them. I will. And will absolutely tell them to bury them with their tits sticking out.
I felt like we had a long Mother's Day weekend, instead of just a day. Kolby took Friday off so he and I could hang out since work has calmed down a bit. We spent a few hours in the morning hiking up to Rattlesnake Ridge, which had a fantastic view and terrifying drop-offs from the top.
Saturday night we had some old friends, Nancy and Alex, over for dinner. It was a gorgeous day, so we sat out on the deck and soaked up the nice weather for as long as possible. The kids had a birthday party for our cats who are now a year old! Our little babies all grows up!
And Sunday I woke up to beautiful artwork from the girls, my newspaper, a delicious cup of coffee, and Kolby's company while he made breakfast for me. I wish I'd taken a photo. It was gorgeous. Eggs benedict and homemade hashbrowns with onions and peppers. Mmm. I think I just gained another 5 pounds just writing about it.
Usually I buy all of my flowers and plant them in my flower pots on Mother's Day. I decided since the farmer's markets opened this weekend, I'd rather get my veggie garden started. So we headed over to Seattle to the farmer's market on Capitol Hill and bought all the veggie plants, then stopped at Lowe's on the way home to pick up all the supplies to build the bed, and then one more stop at the "feed store" to pick up compost, etc. By 6:00, we were good to go.
I'm trying out square foot gardening this year. If you are experienced with vegetable gardening, tell me now if I've put things in the wrong place! I still have a few empty squares--I'm thinking I'll plant some stinky marigolds to scare off pests.
If you care, I think what I have planted:
Back row: peas, tomatoes (big beef and yellow pear), lemon cucumber, regular cucumber, 2 bush beans and 2 pole beans, Ace red pepper, and more peas. I need to get a trellis up this weekend for all of this stuff to climb.
Middle: red oak lettuce, empty square, arugala, sweet basil, purple basil, rosemary
Front: walla walla onions, green leaf lettuce, empty square, a couple more types of lettuce I've forgotten, green onions, and cilantro and parsley.
This weekend, in addition to building the trellis, I'm going to ammend the soil in an existing bed and plant some zucchini and artichokes. I also need to get some copper tape to go around the edge to keep the slugs out, and figure out some kind of barrier to keep the bunnies, kitties, squirrels, and dogs out of the bed. Any ideas?
Fifteen years ago (yeah, I know) Kolby and I were naive little kids compiling photos from our childhoods and months of dating for what would turn out to be a very cheesy wedding video. (No, you don't get to see it.) One of the songs we chose to go along with the photos was a sweet romantic song by Billy Joel called You're My Home. I remember the moment we chose that song. Kolby and I were sitting outside having lunch on a break from skiing at Deer Valley. It was a gorgeous sunny Spring day, one of those perfect days when you ski in t-shirts and eat outside and end up with attractive sunburns on your face outlining perfectly the shape of your goggles. And because it was Deer Valley (we were there on freebies) there was a guy playing the guitar and singing, and that Billy Joel song was one of the songs he played.
It's interesting now to remember the thoughts running through my 19 year-old brain as I listened to that song and daydreamed about what our life would be like together. Interesting and embarrassing and hilarious. Of course, life has been nothing like I imagined. It's been so much more difficult and frustrating and joyful and exciting and fantastic than I could have ever dreamed. (It's also involved far more moving boxes.)
The other day I was stopped at traffic light and a song came on the radio that made me want to climb on top of my car and dance, which would have also been interesting and embarrassing and hilarious. It was just such a fantastic love anthem, so much more appropriate to be the soundtrack to the last 15 years and 10 homes in three states I've spent with Kolby. Because despite all those teen romances I used to read and watch, (um hello? Am I the only one who wanted to be Mary Stuart Masterson in "Some Kind of Wonderful?") life is not normally all that sweet and romantic. It's an up and down, crazy and wild ride. And I'd take that any day over sweet and romantic.
Man o man you're my best friend I scream it to the nothingness
Home is wherever I'm with you
(Our anniversary isn't actually until next month.) (And you can listen to more Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros here.)
Exam tomorrow. Do you know what that means? It means I should be studying respiratory issues, but instead I keep finding myself wandering off (mentally or physically) to do other things. For example:
Attempting to teach Gabby how her fancy new collar is going to keep her from pooping on the front sidewalk. (FAIL)
Chatting with the fraud department at Discover Card (a story for another day).
Checking my email.
Changing my blog background. (You like? I'm undecided. I kind of like black.)
Replacing the bandage on my arm from where I burned it last week making cookies.
Checking Facebook.
Vacuuming.
IMing Kolby.
Moving lamps around.
Scavenging for chocolate.
Unloading the dishwasher.
Looking at this blog. (Why don't I have a little boy? And a fancy photography business?)
But this test ain't taking itself, so I guess it's time to get serious and start studying tension pneumothorax and pleural effusion again. Right after I do a little research on ADD.
So if by chance you are dead inside and weren't wooed by Josh Ritter in my previous post, this post will surely win you over. The man is brilliant lyricist. I can't tell you how many times I have had to stop what I am doing to just listen to the stories he weaves with his songs. Case in point: The Curse. I know nobody else who could/would write a love song about a mummy and his archeologist.
