#149: Craig

You answered our “ad” for a substitute rhythmist, and we liked you enough (a lot) to keep the trio going. And thanks to you and your basement, we even made a CD.

Chia kitty

On Monday I started a Chia pet for Amy; got it through a white elephant gift exchange at Christmas. Soaked it and the seeds Sunday night, spread on the seeds Monday night, and here it’s sprouted already.

It looks pretty creepy to me. Like lots of little worms. Hmmm.

#148: Harry

A gig too small for your band started our trio. You played bouzouki, Irish banjo, occasionally whistle. Too busy for another group — you backed out of your own church’s concert; I was done.

And it was good

The split pea soup, a double recipe, made five meals — the other four are in the freezer. I was a little concerned about it because it looked so thin, but it tasted great and the blender made a nice puree. And Mark remembered we had leftover ham in the freezer, so there was a little meat in the soup, too. (I know, I could have cut apart the hocks and gotten one or two tiny pieces, but, no thanks.)

The bread was also pretty good, although it was a little sour / yeasty to my taste. Maybe I let the second rise go too long, or maybe the recipe really was crazy to call for a tablespoon of yeast (I had to check twice to be sure that’s what it said).

On the other hand, the “pour boiling water in a pan on the lower rack” method is apparently not safe for use with a baking stone. It cracked. Loudly. Fortunately, only three pieces, and the bread was unharmed.

And here we are, still awake, because my dulcimer acquaintance in Chicago, who has no little children and works a non-teacher job, and who is in the next time zone, called us at 10:15 to discuss our carpooling plans for the Chattanooga festival; Mark was already asleep and I was almost there. Oh well.

May I mention that Amy can count to twelve? Sort of. If you say “1″ she says “2″ and so on, and sometimes she strings together several numbers all by herself, often in the right order. And when she’s looking at a book she sometimes repeats phrases or sentences she remembers from it.

Split pea

My day has been focused on split pea soup, even though I haven’t started making it yet.

Set the bag of peas on the counter and the frozen smoked hamhocks in the fridge last night.

Looked up recipes this morning, realizing I needed an onion. Hmmm. Gas is expensive. Ask the neighbor? Or what else could I get done if I go to the store?

(Also got Amy up; after some naked time and breakfast we played in the music room (me practicing for the festival, Amy looking at scrapbooks and playing with Legos and my measuring tape). Somewhere in there I also washed and re-lanolized all of her wool pants.)

I decided to go to the store. I could also order some photo prints, post some YouTube videos at the library, and check my post office box, which has never contained any mail that’s for me. At least I don’t remember any. I could rattle off a list of names of previous boxholders, though.

So onto the computer to put the pictures and videos on a CD, then to the kitchen to make some lunch for us and eat it, and off we went.

Amy fell asleep for a few minutes in the car, so I decided to do the library first, so that she could nap in the sling if she wanted to. She didn’t nap, but she enjoyed being in the sling anyway.

Next door to the post office.

Back in the car and to Wal-mart, to choose one lovely Vidalia and to use the photo kiosk to order prints.

Home again, singing songs to keep Amy awake (if she sleeps in the car too close to naptime, she won’t nap), then a quick diaper change and into the bed.

Back to the computer to look up French bread recipes using whole wheat flour. I picked one, revised to make the flour ratio half and half; it’s rising now in the sunlight from the sliding glass door.

Soon it will be time to punch it down and shape it for the second rising, and to start the soup.

Mmm… soup and French bread…

Amy has plans

Amy dragged her diaper bag out of her room the same night (March 31) and proceeded to get ready to go.

Train, from March 31

Videos of Amy playing with her train set. Someday maybe she will figure out how it works. Meanwhile she just takes apart the track and the train and throws the pieces, which is fine and all part of her work.

#147: Jerry

You played fiddle for our trio in NY. Skinny, gangly, always black jeans and graphic t-shirt. Your first and current wives both named Jane, but spelled different. Nervous or awkward sometimes; always kind.

#146: Noah

You are three weeks old. When I saw you last week, your mom told me you’re already on schedule — eating every four hours, sleeping on cue. It seems to be working for you.

Before the crack of dawn

I woke up, uncomfortable and thirsty. Bathroom. Kitchen. Bed. Kitchen. Bed.

Three topics swirled, coalescing in the kind of low-level but insistent anxiety that prevents going back to sleep.

1. I agreed to play for a town festival in a month. They want a historical focus, pre-1900. Technically, a lot of what I play is old, but I don’t know (nor do I care) about the history of particular tunes or composers. It might be nice to hear stories from other musicians, but mainly I just play them because I like them. But I need to cough up some tidbits to parrot back about at least some of the tunes. And as I survey my repertoire lists and think, I remember one reason I am not so comfortable on a stage — the kind of stuff I most like to play is at its best for background music, or wedding music, or a CD to study by — as a soloist I just don’t have a lot of high energy keep-em-clapping type stuff, and I am worried that I will have crickets for an audience. Decisions, decisions — and then I need to actually practice the stuff, once I’ve decided on a set list. Fortunately I only have to fill 45 minutes.

2. I am registered to attend the Chattanooga Dulcimer Festival in July. I went once before, as a teacher. This time I will just be a student. I am interested mainly in one class. I could just ask her for the handout. I am worried that I will be miserably bored, regretting a colossal waste of time and money, a mood which would be very awkward among a bunch of dulcimer enthusiasts who expect or assume like-minded enthusiasm. I might have fun. Who knows. And I won’t find out without going.

3. Mark’s uncle is moving overseas and, in the process of selling off his stuff, arranged with Mark’s folks for us to get a kitchen table and chairs and Mark’s grandmother’s old hutch. Meanwhile, did we bother to ask the dimensions of this furniture? Or to measure our tiny dining space? Yes, not dining room, but dining space. The extension of a hallway, bordered by open space, one wall, one kitchen entrance, and one sliding glass door. Where exactly is this hutch going to go? It’s awkward to get by our existing table — what if the new one is bigger? Gah.

While I’m at it, what else is on the worry / complaint / discouragement / disappointment list?

The garden beds are not holding their shape all that well. Heavy rains have washed off the top layers, making the walkways nice fine silty mud and the planting beds gravelly. The three pumpkin sprouts are coming up on the side of the bed, almost in the walkway. The one bean sprout I saw seems to have withered away before pulling its leaves out of the ground. There are lots of grassy weeds starting. At least there are also lettuce and spinach sprouts.

The dress I have been knitting for Amy, since, oh, February or so? Out of leftover yarns from two other projects. Finished yesterday, and it’s way too big on top — won’t even stay on. Sized maybe for a five-year-old? Yikes. Meanwhile if I have to wait that long for her to be able to wear it, I’m going to have to rip out the seed-stitch border and knit the skirt a lot longer. Alternatively, I suppose I could rip back even further and just make it a tank top. But then I would still have a bunch of leftover yarn, not enough to do much else with. It is boxed up and in the closet for now. Back to the sweater I’ve been knitting for myself for two years. The one I’m not sure I’m going to like.

Well, that’s enough complaining for one post.

I could do a gratitude list, but I don’t feel like it. However, be assured, there are things I am grateful for, things that please me, and I’m not completely miserable.