The wedding at the end of the tracks

The train took us to Los Angeles for a happy reason: my cousin Erik was getting married. At this point in our family, these weddings only happen every so often (and I've missed the last few) so I was determined to go celebrate and see everyone. We spent time with my parents and my sister and took the chance to enjoy Santa Monica pier,

and movies and eating and even Disneyland along the way.

The wedding was lovely and dreamy: cousin Erik married Vivi on a yacht in Marina del Rey at sunset. All of my aunts & uncles (except one) and many cousins were there. Somehow I neglected to bring my camera so these photos are snagged from facebook. 

 

It's a pity they are so unattractive, though. I really feel bad for their future children. It will be hard to be saddled with those long-legged, white-toothed, chiseled-bone-structure genes. Poor things. Let's take up a collection, shall we?

. . .

Listen: The Book of Love ~ Rose Polenzani & Rose Cousins (Magnetic Fields cover)

Telegram from vacation

 

Hello friends.

So much to share, so little access to internet or wireless.  

Short version: train trip was fantastic. Wedding was lovely. We are all headed soon to Bear Lake for a fun week with G's family. But first, I'm in the middle of a spontaneous (and long overdue) getaway for a couple of days with G while the kids enjoy some grandparent time.

More to come. Promise.

Last(ish) hurrah

We are leaving for a quiet week at a rustic cabin on one of the Adirondack lakes in upstate NY. After a frenzied week of tackling the tasks list, I'm looking forward to sitting on the dock, reading through a pile of magazines and catalogs and books, paddling in the canoe, maybe making some recipes for the family from farmstand offerings, and taking some photos. And writing. Oh, writing, I'm missing you. Hopefully I can revive my writing brain soon.

In the meantime, here are some things I've been enjoying reading + seeing + thinking about:

• Stephanie's entries about her summer in France and the ups and downs of fixing up the rental property she and her husband own there
• the Jolly Porter goes to England + Scotland (again)
• thoughts on turning envy into inspiration
• a terrific love story from a back issue of Gourmet (1978) about an evening at the Waldorf
• we all liked the movie Bandslam; pretty good for a teen musical. Surprisingly so, since the ads make it look like High School Musical 5. It is reminiscent of the John Cusack movies of the 80s, I thought.
• Just got Pat Conroy's new novel, South of Broad, just in time to take with me to the cabin. Can't wait.
• Also taking up a bit of my brain bandwidth: trying to make some decisions. Dear Mr. Frost, What happens when five roads diverge in a yellow wood? What then? Huh? I stink at decision making.

He's a lover not a fighter

True story.

Yesterday morning I got up early, practically with the sun (why, oh why, can I not sleep in on vacation?? Never mind, it was beautiful outside). Greg got dressed to go on a bike ride and I settled down with my book in the front room (see previous post), Louie at my feet.

I watched Greg pedal away and got engrossed in my mystery novel. A few (15? 20?) minutes later Louie got up and wandered away toward the back of the house. Now and then I heard him sniffling and scuffling. At one point it sounded like he bumped into something (it happens a lot with his surfer dude haircut). I heard Greg's footsteps--way earlier than expected--so I got up, rounded the corner to the kitchen and called out "are you back already?" I saw a decidedly-not-Greg arm as someone turned around the corner to walk (scamper, run) away from me, Louie happily dancing at his heels, tickled to have a new friend.

Um.

Hello sir?

The guy, deer in the headlights and mortified, turned back at me (keep in mind, this is 6:30 a.m.) and stammered. "I'm so sorry...I'm the former caretaker of the cottage and I had to come get something out of the barn..."

Did I pepper him with questions?

For example, the barn isn't in here, is it?

Why didn't you knock first?

Why tiptoe around?

Did I threaten to call the police?

Did I refer to my karate skills or pick up a cleaver, ready to defend myself and my three sleeping children?

No, no, and no. Here's what I said, in the potentially dangerous situation I was in:

Oh, um, that's okay. I just thought you were my husband. He's out on...a...bike...ride.

Translation in criminalese: go right ahead and do whatever bad business you were up to, there's no one here to stop you! Happy to cooperate! Always thinking, that brain of mine. Safety first!

Anyway, he turned around lickety split, headed to the barn and left a few minutes later with his brother (license plate: my4sons).

I turned and looked at Louie sternly, my hands on my hips.

He looked up at me proudly, wagging his tail with a gentle smile on his muzzle. Translation in puppyese:

I did good, right? I welcomed him and licked him and followed him. I just love people. Treat? Sigh.

We're a couple of crime fighters, Louie and me. Please take away my McGruff neighborhood watch card. I'm a lousy watch dog, too.

p.s. I'm pretty sure they were legit. I'm checking with the owner just in case. Also, they really shouldn't just walk in the house. I know that much! (Or maybe he just needed to use the restroom?)

Postcard from the cottage library

In my (unwritten, arbitrary) book, an ideal vacation should have two ingredients: books and naps. Oh, and good food. Everything else is just gravy! Good weather? Sure, terrific! Activities? Museums? Sightseeing? Why, sure! But, really, give me some books and guarantee a nap and I'm happy. (I know, what an exciting traveling companion I must be! Now no one will invite me anywhere...)

This time the books I picked up from the library have been duds (or I'm a dud and can't get into them) but lucky for me, the house here has a good little library of its own, with everything from the Iliad to The Golden Bowl to Jane Eyre to Winnie the Pooh to Paradise Lost to spy and detective novels, etc. I could spend a lot of time just browsing all the quirky titles and imagining who brought them here and when/why.

So I picked out a PD James mystery that takes place by the sea (Unnatural Causes). Maybe I'll have time to move on to a classic. Here's what we look like most evenings. (Notice the bongo drums? Believe me, they make a regular appearance as well... What 11-year-old boy can resist bongo drums?)

Although it's on an entirely different coast, this place reminds me of my great-grandmother's beach cottages I grew up visiting each year (one in Pacific Grove and Capistrano Beach). Modest and cozy and wood-paneled with pine cupboards and a jumble of secondhand furniture and squeaky floors and scenic views. It feels kind of familiar.