When pigs fly

Thirty minutes. That's how long we spent wandering up and down just one single aisle at Lowes today. Was that single aisle the row of lumber that had drawn us to the store initially? Or a collection of things we actually need, like, oh, a water softener, or maybe a new bathroom faucet? No, the aisle that held us captive for so disgustingly long a time was the corridor of glittering seasonal animatronics; a hallway confused with motion and sizzling with electricity; an arena of robotic toys and decorations competing to grab the attentions of unsuspecting hardware shoppers with increasingly gaudy splendor. We don't do Christmas before Thanksgiving! I refuse. (Can you hear the futility of my objections being drowned out by the constant noise of train wheels, singing snowmen, dancing trees, and squeaking joints on mobile blow-up frippery? Futile, I tell you.)

The trains are what made us stop in the first place. That and the top shelf of blow-up yard decor, purposefully visible from nearly anywhere in the store.

You can take Christmas home early with miniature after miniature of toy stores, car dealerships, or Elvis.

Nothing says Christmas like Elvis, apparently, be it at the drive-in, or at Graceland. You can now be the proud of owner of both, in miniature.

You ain't nothing but a hound dog with a cheap plastic guitar.

And for those of you who, like me, swore that you'd celebrate Christmas before Thanksgiving on the day that pigs fly, for a cool $58 you can now join the ranks of early celebrators with a clear conscience.

Here's hoping you survive the elongated season. As far as I'm concerned, the pig can have his wings, I'm still keeping Christmas at bay until after we've had our turkey.

Gathering Leaves

Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.

I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.

But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.

I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?

Next to nothing for weight;
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.

Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?

—Robert Frost

Bandemer Park

The sunshine called us outside today.

We woke up to a warm sun streaming through the bedroom window and falling on the blankets under which we lazily stretched before responding to the cheerful clamor coming over the receiver on the night table. It's the clamor that woke us, not the sun—a three year old's cheerful clamor that was too energetic for that hour of the morning, as it always is.

The sun surprised us. I think we'd resigned ourselves to the gray fall weather that has been inching in a bit more towards grey winter weather every day, so we hadn't been watching the forecasts and the appearance of the sun was a delightful surprise. Almost as insistent at the early morning clamor, all through our waking moments, and then through a delightful pancake breakfast, that sunshine entreated us to come out and enjoy its waning warmth one last time for the season. The little clamorer didn't object.

Jon passes by Bandemer Park every weekday morning on his way to work, and long before the clamorer was even a twinkle we'd hiked through the area together, but we've never officially visited the park before today. Fall is a great time for a hike. The heat and humidity that make mid-summer hiking less than desirable are gone, and the crunch of leaves under foot as we explore sun dappled open spaces in the depth of forest delights us every one. The bare tree branches suddenly reveal to us the cornucopia of feathered voices that is invisible to all but the ears during the green months of the year. The four footed park denizens are busier than ever as they prepare for the cold days ahead.

We spent about three hours hiking from one river crossing to the other and back again on the other side. On the west side we found Frisbee golf, Frisbee golfers, lots of joggers, glimpses of train tracks, and even one passenger train with a very friendly engineer who extended his arm out the engine window to wave to a delighted Calvin. The woods on that side was broken up by paved paths, the Frisbee golf course, and those delightfully magical sun dappled open spaces.

The east side was steeper, with old tree growth that wasn't interrupted at all. What appears to be the oldest, or at least the largest, tree in Ann Arbor graces those banks. Calvin tired of walking about half way down that side and ended up lounging in the crook of that tree. I think he was pretending that he was the engineer driving the tree as a train engine. The squirrels and birds were equally busy on both sides. I could swear, though, that the East side squirrels were fatter and more friendly; there are houses on that side where they've probably become accustomed to begging for gluttonous meals, or scoping out bird feeders from which to steal them. We're lucky we made it back to the car without being mugged for our granola.

Wearing a hat inside

When the furnace breaks and you wake up in a house that is only fifty-four degrees on a morning when the frost is so thick it looks like it snowed overnight, that's a good time to wear a hat inside the house.

When someone in the house finally figures out how to wire the thermostat to jumpstart the furnace and the sweet sound of the blowers fills the air only moments before the heat iteslf arrives, that's when you'll find the dachshund staking out his place by the register under the sink. Don't step on him, he's just trying to get warm. He doesn't have a hat to wear inside.

Halloween

It came, it went, we lost another football game.

I remember when, back in high school and college, the extravagance of celebration went entirely willy nilly when Halloween actually fell on a weekend. For that matter, I remember, back in high school and college, that Halloween came with an extravagance of celebration in the form of haunted houses, hay rides, and parties with dry ice and bad music. There were definitely years that found my friends and I ringing door bells in neighborhoods to which we'd been old enough to drive ourselves. I can only imagine the added thrill at Halloween falling not only on a Saturday, but also on the night before setting the clocks back. Ahhh, elation.

I have heard that celebrating the holidays with your own children is like rediscovering them, and in a way I guess that's true. It's been years since I was out roaming neighborhood streets after dark on Halloween. Last year Calvin had no real interest in ringing the doorbells of houses he didn't know, but this year he caught on quickly. It helped, I think, that we know at least twice as many people in the neighborhood this year, and Calvin himself has become more comfortable socially, so at most doors the answerer knew who he was and was genuinely pleased to see him. Bonus points for that tiny voice saying, with perfect clarity, "trick or treat," followed closely by "happy Halloween thank you," jumbled together as one phrase, all from within a rather large and fuzzy "Honey Pooh" costume.

The "Honey Pooh" costume, as Calvin calls it, was a rather sore point with me. Growing up I made all of my costumes, or at least all of the costumes I can remember; I've been a Dalmatian, a princess, an M&M, a baby doll, and even an Eeyore, all made with my own hands, and last year I made a scarecrow costume for Calvin. So when he asked to be a train engine for Halloween this year I figured it would be no problem. And it would have been, but, as you can clearly see, I did not make Calvin's costume this year. The problem wasn't the job itself, it was the last minute trip to the resale shop for engineer style overalls (to wear under the cardboard box engine I had planned) and the racks full of resale costumes, all marked down for sale before the fast approaching holiday, that caused the ultimate break. We weren't in the resale shop more than five minutes before he spied that Winnie the Pooh costume, too big for him by at least a full size, and the month long wishing for a train costume disappeared down the proverbial drain. I don't think I could have talked him back into the train if I had tried, but to be honest, the short time left to us coupled with the fifty percent mark down (on resale prices to boot, making it a whole $5) won me over before I tried. That, and it's a real costume, not one of those fake polyester things they're selling for $30 a pop these days, so it will last until he outgrows it, which is probably some time down the road yet (it's large size really added to the effect, I must say).

So Halloween is over. Trick-or-Treating was fun (another plus to the Pooh costume—I got to break out the Eeyore costume I made in college). We continued our celebration the next day by being awakened an hour too early, thanks to the resetting of the clocks (another bit of nostalgia—I remember when setting the clocks back was something we looked forward to, not something that meant having to reset your toddler as well). We have a deal with Calvin, which we started last year, that he can trade his candy in for a new toy. He asked for a roundhouse for his train. That's a pretty good deal, if you ask me. And he's still wearing his costume around the house, so that was a pretty good deal as well.

See lots more Halloween pictures in the October 2009, too album.