Going solo

So you see, imagination needs moodling -- long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling, and puttering. 
~Brenda Ueland 

Last week I found myself with a weekday night completely free of obligations and an empty house. It was all the encouragement I needed to dash into the city to see the Museum of Fine Art's brand new Art of the Americas wing. It was my version of moodling: just following my own whims for an hour or two. I dawdled around the art exhibits and had soup and salad in the new courtyard. Lovely! It also allowed me a few Mrs.-Basil-E-Frankweiler daydreams of living in a museum.

They've done a beautiful job with the new wing. Instead of segregating the furniture and the objects and the paintings into different exhibit rooms, they've mixed everything all together. I loved it. Gorgeous color combinations and textile patterns, great lighting, and of course the art. 

 

^Love this one. Those vases are the actual ones used in the portrait. Cool, huh? 

Once in a while, it's really refreshing to do something solo. (As you know, I'm not against going to a movie matinee once in a while by myself either.) What about you? When was the last time you did something on your own? (Showers and bathroom time don't count, y'all!)

Nancy Drew reporting for duty

[First of all, today was a blast. Once I wrapped my head around the fact that this was really just a series of conversations with people who might be able to use the information I had to give (and once I realized that most of the staffers on the hill are slightly older than my eldest daughter), I was okay.  Excited, in fact.

I met with Senator rhymes-with-Frown and his staffer, the child and family issues legislative staffer for Senator rhymes-with-Harry, and Congresswoman rhymes-with-Songbus and her staffer. A full day, great conversations and possibilities for more, and I made it through without hyperventilating.  I almost fell down the marble stairs of the Russell Senate Office Building once, though. I'm so classy.]

. . .

At one point, I was sitting on the grounds of the Capitol between appointments, contemplating collecting leaves for Maddy's 50-leaf science project (that dreaded, infamous freshman science rite of passage), when I heard a big crash. Some guy in a white SUV had backed into a red porsche.  The sound of the crunch made it obvious that there was damage. The guy looked in his rearview, glanced around, and put the car in drive & left. I was appalled! He pulled past the guard booth at the edge of the Capitol grounds and stopped at the red light.

Suddenly all of my Nancy Drew indoctrination kicked in. I pulled out my phone and noted his license and dashed over to the guard booth. "Sir!" I yelled, galumphing across the grass gracelessly. (Isn't it awesome how sophisticated I can be?) "Stop that car! He just backed into that Porsche and left!" The police guy ran over and waved the hit-and-runner back. And then I called Ned to go meet for a milkshake. And then I remembered I wasn't Nancy Drew.

Every time I passed the lot for the rest of the afternoon, there were a swarm of police and the poor guy was in big trouble. 

I felt like such a tattletale. 

. . .

Which leads me to relate the following bad memory (cue backflash music): 2nd grade, ancient Mrs. Olson's class. Someone broke the rules on the playground and I was very concerned for the (a) fairness and (b) safety of the situation. I went directly to Mrs. Olson and reported the crime.  

Much to my dismay, Mrs. Olson did not appreciate my vigilance. She seemed not to even care about the rules. Not only did she not thank me for my whistleblowing, she required me to WEAR A TATTLE TAIL for the rest of the day.  As in: a paper tail, pinned to my behind, all day long. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Oh, the shame.

I can't help it. I'm an oldest child and we believe in following the rules. If that means reporting infractions now and then, so be it.

Nancy Drew do-gooder, tattletale. Such a fine line. 

. . .

Listen:  Stay Don't Go  ~ Spoon

Fear busting

I'm sitting in my bed in a chilly Washington DC hotel room, contemplating doing six impossible things before breakfast tomorrow. Well, three. Before dinner. I'm here for lobbying and advocacy training for my lovely and beloved national Zero to Three leadership fellowship program. And (gulp) to do scary things like talk to senators. In person. 

So far the casualties of this assignment include: my dietary resolve not to eat sugar or dairy, my fingernails (now bitten), and (currently) my sleep. I'm a wee bit nervous and, as a personal pep talk to myself, I keep thinking of the Eleanor Roosevelt quote "we must do that which we think we cannot." And then I want to call her up and say "really? we MUST? why?"

In spite of the rampant nerves, I'm also excited. It will be fascinating and I know it's a true privilege to be able to speak up for infants and their families. And what better inspiration for fearless advocacy than Mr. Smith Goes to Washington?

Fingers crossed that I don't end up quite as sweaty and delirious (no offense, Mr. Smith).

. . .

In other political news, Maddy lost her bid for class president to the doughnut girl. Their loss, I say! I told her she can be my president any day. She consoled herself by making everyone baked potato soup and 7-layer bars. 

Quick jaunt

 

Mid-week, when I glanced at my calendar, I noticed a startling emptiness on Saturday. Astonishingly blank! Maybe it's that none of the kids is playing a sport this season or the stars aligned in a one-time-only position but it was all the encouragement I needed to dart down to NYC for the afternoon. Maddy came with me for a little m-d-o and we hit the Shake Shack and Central Park and then headed to the Village (I like to say that all hip and casual-like: just heading to the Village. Shall we meet in the Village?) to meet up with my sister and brother, who both live in Brooklyn.

Truth be told, that was the real reason I was hankering for a NY trip. It had been ages since I saw Chris and several months since I saw Nancy. I wanted to get a glimpse of their handsome faces and get/give some hugs. It was time. And I want to be a better, more there sister.

So we met in Washington Square and saw all the happy craziness there--the piano player and the hula hoop people and the mass hypnotism/meditation and the musician playing two trumpets at once and the other 5 musical acts busking--then found a nice little French cafe for linner.  Hugs, check. Handsome faces, check. (Missing yours, though, Matt!)

 

Let's not dwell on the miserable return home, shall we? Well, maybe just a little: The colds that Maddy and I had both been ignoring attacked with a vengeance.  We staggered north to our car, first walking, then taking the metro, then (after stopping for a red velvet Magnolia cupcake for Miss M, naturally) we succumbed to the siren call of the yellow cab.  The drive home reminded me of this time, after another Nancy/Chris dinner: my eyes trying to make little bargains with my brain that my body can't keep. But we made it, huzzah! It was a jaunt worth the price of admission.

For those of you keeping score at home, that's two consecutive weekends of choosing fun over work. It reminds me of that wonderful Louise Plummer essay, Thoughts of a Grasshopper, reworking the grasshopper and the ant fable. I'm part ant/part grasshopper.  It's just that my grasshopper ways are more fun.  Tomorrow, back to ant-hood.

. . .

Listen: Getting Some Fun Out of Life ~ Billie Holiday

The bounty

Brimfield was fantastic. We spent a lot of time browsing and exploring and only managed to see a fraction of the market.  It was pretty overwhelming for a gal like me (=can't make up her mind) but after keeping a little log of all the stuff we loved, the one thing (when G asked as we deliberated) that I knew I would regret not getting was this little unsigned oil painting:

I kind of love her in all her anonymous glory. We also got some old typesetting letters and an old spinning postcard rack and a hefty, nicely seasoned cast iron pan. Productive hunting/gathering with some money left over for soft pretzels and fruit smoothies. (Sorry, Andrea, no Footloose cassette. I think I may have my own in the basement, though, if you're interested. It got some serious playtime in 1985, let me tell you.)

I will confess, though, that I am the world's sorriest haggler.  Is it the amount I suggest? the way I say it? my nervousness? my rookie status stamped on my forehead? I need lessons. 

Speaking of lessons, here's what I learned, should you be interested: 

1. wear comfortable shoes
2. bring a wagon or a cart or (what we did) at least some canvas shopping bags
3. bring cash, some of the vendors take checks but all prefer cash
4. don't pay asking price (so they say. I brought one guy down about 10% and another one less than that. Pathetic?)
5. be willing to walk away
6. keep a little notebook of the things you like & the booth number/location & maybe even take a photo with your phone. Don't buy the first time around, you might find it cheaper or better elsewhere (except if it's a one-of-a-kind that you absolutely adore--then by all means, go for it.)
7. go early (we didn't but saw some great items with "sold" tags)
8. go! it's really fun
9. what I missing, all you brimfield veterans?

. . .

 Listen: Regina Spektor ~ Folding Chair