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

The Wilderness of Childhood

 

Well, I'm pretty much obsessed with this video project so I might as well share it here, too. Sam and I both love the band Arcade Fire so we were especially thrilled with their recent interactive music video. You enter the address of the home where you grew up and then your childhood geography becomes a part of the music video. (As well as some other nice interactive features.)

Very innovative and unexpectedly moving.

Try it for your own address but here's mine if you're interested.

p.s. Several windows (around 8) will pop up on your computer desktop but just leave them alone. They're all part of the thing.  Also, apparently you need Google Chrome to run it. 

Train spotting

And there is the headlight, shining far down the track, glinting off the steel rails that, like all parallel lines, will meet in infinity, which is after all where this train is going. ~Bruce Catton

. . .

We loved our train adventure, Sam and I. There were bountiful hours for reading and playing games and talking and country gazing. We didn't care what time it was, ever. The train stations were (and are) astonishingly beautiful. And I loved the gentle rocking of the chugchug at night, the melancholy whistle, the dining car, the efficient space solutions of the sleeping car, and the quick friendliness with fellow travelers. Mostly it felt like a blessing to be in the moment and really notice the acres of our country.

And to be there with Sam on that cusp between childhood and manhood. I remember a moment, catching sight of Sam's profile looking out the big window, with the light of the sunset spilling over the changing architecture of his face. The gratitude for him (and, yes, melancholy!) took my breath away. It wasn't all sunsets and coziness, though. At one point as I was chirping away he looked at me and said, with clenched teeth, "Mom, I don't want to TALK right now."

At the end as we pulled into LA's Union Station Sam said "Is it already over? I could keep going!"

I know the feeling.

Still, when we flew home last week--whizzing over the country we had witnessed, mile by mile, hour by hour-- we landed and he looked at me and said "are we already there? That was fast!"

....

Listen: Train Song ~ Feist & Ben Gibbard

...

Questions about the train trip? Email me (basic dot annie at gmail dot com) or comment here and I'll include answers in an upcoming train tutorial post.

December glimpse: 3

The anticipation is building...

Chris and Nancy arrive from NYC this evening

The kids get out of school for vacation this afternoon 

Let the holiday begin,

Ready or not.

(I'm a little bit not: we still haven't decorated the tree, just sent out cards yesterday (will post here later) and we've kept everything verrrry simple this year but I'm embracing the hygge and emphasizing the togetherness. Or trying to, anyway.)

May your days be merry and bright!

(I'm off to grocery shop.)

The gomboo

Oh, my. We've got it here, the gomboo. Fever, chills, headache, cough.  I know we're kind of late to the flu party but here we are! Is there still any guacamole left? (Ugh, cancel that. Guacamole is the last thing we need at this moment.  How about popsicles?)   

We're all in our beds (everyone but G and Maddy), a coughing chorus of germ hosts.  Books, check.  Water, check. Pillows with the cool side a turn away, check. Rest time, check.

Sam, the sickest among us, groans in his sleep with every exhale, a faint little oh with every breath as he naps on the sofa.  Lauren feels fine but can't shake the fever--she's been watching movies and texting and seems full of ideas, asking to go for Wendy's frosties/subway sandwiches/movie rentals/driving practice.  I'm being a little productive in a slow motion, fuzzy kind of way with lots of forehead checks and drink fetching and temperature taking for the other patients. We will survive. 

Finger crossed G doesn't get it. He leaves for Paris on business at the end of the week. (Here, France, is our little hostess gift to you: the gomboo.)

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Grateful for: 1. the skylight in my bedroom with the view of the tenacious yellow leaves 2. duvets 3. advil to bring down fevers