Scout Moves

We're back home, and while I'm busy with mountains of laundry and cleaning out the fridge and making it up to Tiger for leaving for two weeks, here is the story of No. 1's new space. We found a condo about about an 8-minute walk from campus. We could have found an apartment or a roommate situation, but since the "kid" will be spending five years in this graduate program, we decided to settle in with something more substantial. The place was in pretty good shape when we walked in, but what was left behind was old and covered with so much dust and grime, you practically needed a face mask to remove it—I'm talking mainly about window treatments that had grafted themselves into the window frames. Beyond that, the floors are wood and beautiful, and the tile in the kitchen looks fairly new. Let's start in the main room—living/dining room. We painted, bought furniture, assembled furniture that came in a box, found some accessories. Living side before: Living side

After two weeks of getting No. 1 moved to Berkeley, including driving her and her car across the country, Husband has gone back home to get back to work. The girls and I have been here in Berkeley finishing off the condo and playing. Today, I baked cookies while Eustacia painted hot peppers on canvas for the kitchen, and then we met a blog pal. Can you guess which one? Oddly enough, Katie of Katiefornia lives just two blocks away from No. 1, and she stopped by and then had dinner with us at a fun crepe place. She walked us around the nearby area to show No. 1 good places to shop or just hang out and even buy cupcakes. Here are the two of us in front of No. 1 new place: Yesterday, we played in San Francisco. Because we just had one day in town, we paced ourselves with only a few goals. First, we wanted to go to TCHO, the little chocolate shop that let me sample their beta versions early on. It's at Pier 17, so we walked there and bought stuff. Then we walked all the way to Pier 39.

No. 1 is officially settled in to her new digs in Berkeley, and this past Monday was the last work day to make it happen. Most of the work had been done by then, but we had to hang some blinds, do a little bit of painting and replace some knobs on the kitchen drawers. And then we had to register her car in this state and put the new license plates on it. The day went like this. Scene 1: No. 1 and I went to the DMV and waited in a long line to do some paperwork and find out that we had to go to a Smog Testing center, which we sort of knew anyway. So, we went to the Smog Testing center. There are dozens of them, but we chose one near a Home Depot because we had to go there anyway for the screws for the kitchen knobs. The wait at the testing center was nearly an hour, so we had lunch at a Starbucks next door. Day laborers gather at the entrances to Home Depot hoping for work, and there were over a dozen men standing around waiting. It was noonish, and we sat outside at a cafe table with o

We're starting a new game, some of us anyway. Lynn and I will be writing 500-word stories based on sentences Dive supplies. The sentences will be from an existing book or short story, and we'll go from there. Here is my take on the first sentence from Lolita of all things—the supplied sentence is in italics. And here is Dive's explanation of the whole thing. Me and Lo I held onto Lorraine’s elbow to stable her as she gripped the top of the car and slid herself into the passenger seat. Lo slowly eased her legs into the car, which looked painful, tucked her cane at her side and held her elbows in as I closed the door for her. “This is going to be one long trip,” I said to myself as I walked around to the driver’s side. I took in a big, slow breath of air before climbing in behind the wheel, half-thinking this might be the last breathing I’d do on the road and that I might be holding my breath for the next two days. We drove in silence through town, passing the Krystal and t

Having lived in my own free-standing house for years, I have forgotten what it's like to live in an apartment setting. In Berkeley, No. 1 is living in a second-floor condo building with just a few other units. It's been very quiet here until just the other day when some noisy boys moved into the unit below. We think they're renters, mainly because they laugh really loud, and there are at least two of them. We envision them sitting on their beat-up sofa playing video games, and every time something exciting or surprising happens, they bellow or guffaw or make some sort of noise that rattles the upstairs window panes. If the boys open their living room windows, which are directly below our living room windows, we can hear every single thing they say and every single laugh they belch out. Last night at dinner, they cranked up their speaker system and blasted some crap music, so No. 1 jumped on the floor a few times, and that was that. This could go either way—good or bad. And

Who knew that moving in to a new place with nothing but a few bags of clothes and some books would take so much time—and so many trips to Target. No. 1 spent her first night in her new place last night, and all she's got so far is a bed, an end table, and some lamps. We've also got the kitchen nearly set up with a toaster and coffee maker and some dishes. I realize that an awful lot of people start out with folding lawn chairs for their furniture and eat off of paper plates, but as a graduation present, we have promised No. 1 a furnished living space. We found a great little couch at World Market with a couple of coordinating chairs which will fit just perfectly in her living room—they'll be delivered today. We found lamps at Home Depot, and all the little kitchen stuff at Target. Some of the wooden pieces are coming from a great little store in Berkeley, like the dining table and chairs and these little occasional pieces that are painted rustically with shades of red and y

I'll be heading to California bright and early in the morning and will be there for two solid weeks. I've got my list ready for all the things No. 1 will need in her new kitchen; plus, we're going to Yosemite for a couple of days and will be staying in a lovely spa/hotel in Sonoma for two days after that. I'll try to post pictures and adventures when I can, but until then, enjoy a bit of Squirrel Nut Zippers, one of my favorites:

For my birthday, Eustacia gave me a gift certificate for the salon where I get my hair cut, and she asked that I use it toward something other than the monthly trim I'm going to schedule anyway. The place is a spa with massages and facials and catered lunch, and you can spend the day there. She and I decided we didn't want to spend an entire day but maybe a couple of hours, so we scheduled facials, and I scheduled a pedicure for me and a manicure for Eustacia. She thinks feet are gross—she's right, but pedicures can be so delightful. I was assigned a "facial technician" who used to sell Clinique and swore by it, so I find her product endorsement at her new job suspect. Plus, she's obnoxious and so artificial, she took my arm at being introduced to me and gushed with a lilt, "Wonderful. How did I get so lucky to be scheduled with you today?" What? Once in the quiet room with the flute music and soft lighting, the woman turned up all the lights and sai

Between college graduation and moving to Berkeley, No. 1 lived with us, and she brought home some interesting things—molasses cookies, philosophical discussions and interesting books to read. She also brought home an interest in Carnivale, an HBO show from 2003. In the winter when we're most likely to watch TV in the evenings, we watch several HBO shows. We've gotten hooked on In Treatment and The United States of Tara and The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. But we missed Carnivale several years ago when it aired. It was supposed to be a six-season show based on three books, but HBO canceled it after two seasons. It always irritates me when networks cancel really smart shows that don't draw enough viewers, and subsequently don't bring in enough revenue. Doesn't that seem to happen quite a bit? The smarter the show, the more well-made it is top to bottom, the fewer viewers it has. What does that say about the viewing public? Anyway, No. 1 introduced us to the fir

Our clever friend Lynn has been stirring up fun on Facebook. She suggested we pick the nearest book and use the fifth sentence on the 56th page as our updated status. Then I suggested we use our sentences as the basis for a story with a 500-word limit. Lynn's sentence was potentially frisky, but here is what she did with it—brilliant. Mine was from a short story by Hemingway entitled "Fifty Grand." So, here is my little story with the fifth sentence as the opening line. I don't think Hemingway would be amused. THE BOY, THE SHOES, AND THE PARENTS, He was wearing an old blue jersey and an old pair of pants and had on boxing shoes. The boy stopped in the hallway to take one last look at himself in the mirror. He lifted his chin and looked down his nose at his reflection, squinting his eyes and tugging at his shirt as if he were adjusting a suit coat. He felt tough. Just as he spun on his heels to face the door, he caught a glimpse of his mother in the mirror, watching h

Small Town has a river running through it, the Tuscarawas River named after a tribe that lived here until the Europeans arrived. It claims a life now and then when people forget how powerful its undercurrents are, and sometimes it floods low-lying land. Well, now it's home to an alligator or possibly two. It's my guess some moron bought a baby alligator thinking it was cute, but when it got bigger and less cute, they released it in the river. And now authorities are trying to catch it before it gets bigger and takes somebody's leg. While the search goes on, I suspect there will be lots of sightings and people will have fun with this story. Small Town likes its elusive wildlife. We once had a couger running loose, and just when the story would die down, somebody would call in to say they spotted it in their backyard or out the woods. We've had black bear sightings, some caught on camera and some just reported. And we've got Big Foot, too, with a society devoted to fi

So, No. 1 just moved out of the house for good. I mean just about 15 minutes ago. She and her father are driving to California, taking five days to get there, and then Eustacia and I will fly out next Friday to join them. We'll help furnish her new apartment, get her kitchen in order and make sure she has what she needs to start her new academic life at Berkeley. In between those tasks, we'll spend a couple of days in Yosemite and a couple of days in Sonoma and maybe a day or two in San Francisco. I've been trying to convince No. 1 that we need to visit Alcatraz, but she isn't interested. All of this will be exciting stuff, but at the moment all I can think of is how my little girl, my firstborn, will never live in this house again. I know grown kids sometimes move back home, but that's usually under duress, and we probably won't be living here if and when that happens. What if she needs to move in with us when we're old and living in some wicker and pastel

Yep, it's another piano recording, with me sitting at my piano and reminiscing by playing things I learned in high school. Because high school was a long time ago, I'm rusty with the stuff— really rusty. I enjoy playing it anyway, so here is something I learned at the age of 16 or so—Ravel's "Pavane Pour Une Infante Défunte," or Pavane for a Dead Princess. The story goes it wasn't really written for a dead princess—the words just sound nice together, and Ravel was thinking of a specific still-living Spanish princess when he was composing. This piece is significant to me not just because it helped me get through the angst of the teenage years, but because it has appeared and reappeared in my horn playing. Over two years ago, I posted a story about learning to play the horn—here is an excerpt of that story: while in high school— "I showed up on the first day of school ready for the 'learners band,' because I was starting over. It wasn’t long before

Last Saturday morning, I had to be someplace for a story while the rest of the family stayed at home doing Saturday things—sleeping late, cleaning out cars, watching TV, eating eggs. On my way home, sometime around 11:30, I called the house to see if anyone had devised a lunch plan. I wondered if they would want me to pick something up or had they decided to go out. I let the phone ring a few times until it was clear no one was going to answer, and I pushed the red "end call" button on my iPhone and set the phone in the cup holder of my car. I drove along listening to NPR, which at the time of a Saturday morning was playing Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me . It's a fantastic game show that quizzes people on the oddities and details of the week's news headline. The show airs out of Chicago and features people like Peter Sagal, Carl Kasell, Mo Rocca and Paula Poundstone. Listeners call in to answer questions about the news, and winners can have Carl Kasell record the mess

As of today, Husband and I have been married for 25 years. This summer is all about sorting out the issues of college students, though, so we'll keep today's celebration down to dinner. And then in the fall, we'll go adventuring on a Mediterranean cruise on the Queen Mary. We didn't have very much money 25 years ago, which is how all couples should start out, I think, and we paid for most of the wedding ourselves. I bought the dress for $400 and the hat for $15, we bought some flowers for around $375, ordered a cake and hired a photographer who was something like 125 years old. A sister-in-law was an attendant, and one of my sisters was the maid of honor. The poor old photographer forgot to get a shot of my sister walking down the aisle, so my mother took matters into her firm hands and twisted. She badgered the photographer and his sickly wife for weeks until the man agreed to take a different photo of my sister, cut out the head, and paste it onto the body of the sist

The big fat band played another concert in the park over the weekend. This is a photo from a recent concert in the same park—we perform all crammed in an amphitheater intended for a smaller group. The view from the stage is lovely with a hillside where people can sit in center seats or set up their folding chairs or blankets on the sloped lawn to the sides, and a stand of old trees lines the ridge up above. On holiday weekends like this past one, the concerts are well attended. Some musicians think it's always nicer to perform for a large crowd than for a small one that makes you ask why you even bother. Actually, I'm happy just to rehearse each week because most of the joy of being in a band comes from playing together with other people regardless of the audience. Conductor Fred usually takes a break during each concert and lets one of the band members conduct a song of their choice, a member who is also a band director—just so you don't think any old slob is allowed direc

Small Town Next Door has a festival going on, and I'll be covering some of the morning events for the paper, which is honestly not my strong point. My goal will be to get all the names spelled correctly. And then my big fat summer band will be giving a concert in the park in the evening. Assuming the weather holds up, it should be a fine night even if we do have to play "God Bless the USA." I can't help but think of the film "Wag the Dog" when I hear that thing, and I continue to be amazed when the audience stands for it as if it were the national anthem. Sit down! Beyond that, the family will be leisurely and possibly spend some time at the lake and probably will not talk about things patriotic. Honestly, even if you privately feel a renewed sense of patriotism on July 4th, how often do you spend the day waving the flag figuratively or literally? It is a notable day for reasons other than our nation's independence from the grubby king, after all. Nathan

I've been cooking again. It's one thing to make dinner every evening, and it's another thing entirely to make something fun for dinner. This time around, the fun thing was a tomato tart with feta cheese and caramelized onions. If you're the type to make your own puff pastry, then this is a complicated dish, but if you're content with the frozen stuff, which I am, then it's relatively simple. Here is what they look like fully assembled before baking: And this is what they look like fresh out of the oven: My only complaint is the wasted puff pastry, but if you make these smaller using sliced Roma tomatoes and serve them as appetizers, then you would probably not be throwing out so much pastry dough. Tomato and Goat Cheese Tarts 1 package puff pastry, thawed Olive oil 4 cups thinly sliced yellow onions 3 large garlic cloves cut into thin slivers 3 tablespoons dry white wine 2 teaspoons minced fresh thyme leaves 4 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan cheese 4 ounces

As No. 1 will tell you, Small Town doesn't have much going on, or it seems that way to a restless 20-something itching to get on with life outside this moldering place. We do actually have things going on, though, and one of the newer things is a towpath trail for walking and bike riding. You can ride horses on the trail, too, but I've yet to see a horse there. The towpath trail follows the remains of the Ohio-Erie Canal, a marvel of ingenuity that was built in the early 1800s connecting Lake Erie with other waterways. The canal brought trade and travel to Ohio and surrounding places back when the place was mostly woods and wilderness. Boats were pulled by horses or mules that walked the towpath alongside the canal, and now these paths have been cleared just enough for a leisurely stroll. What I find humbling is what has happened to this wonder of human engineering—it's all been reclaimed by the wilderness, which is exactly what would happen if we were all to walk away from