Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Life on the Farm

In honor of pretending that we actually have an Autumn season in the beginning of October, all five of us made our way to Oma's Pumpkin Patch. We learned about cow births (one every day!), hung out with itty bitty baby goats, waved to inanimate objects, took awful pictures in those head board things, and realized that this is where people come to take pictures of their 3 month old alien babes nestled in a bundle of hay. Saw a lot of that, and I guess we did the same thing last year. Sometimes it's hard to remember little Bear as a little blob, especially with him being able to throw away my trash for me (if I ask nicely) and pointing to everything and knowing its name. Shower is shower, screens are shows, and juice is juice. Are we already almost approaching his 20th month of life? You're closer to 2 than 1, Mr. Bear, so I guess we'll stop counting your life by the months and start checking off the years. My new goal is to write you letters--something a little more formal than this electronic journal we've got here (which I hope you enjoy reading one day), and something a little more tangible. Until then, I hope to document the little things. Cliche, yes. But also important, I think. Even though I've got some weird memory, a good one at times, I still forget about moments, and, more importantly, milestones. I guess this is just a hope to give you what I wish I had for myself. We could say that this is in part for me as well, and it definitely is, but those parts of myself that you are involved in. And, these days, those are some of the best. 
P.S. We got the prettiest pumpkins that we have no intention of carving. 

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

October & O'Hara

Another month has been greeting us with its chilly winds and hopeful season ahead, and we're embracing it with mini pumpkins on sticks and candles that smell up the whole house with nutmeg and cologne. We're getting in shape over here, we're making soup over here, and we're all "working for the weekend," even if some of us don't really even have weekends. There has been less TV and more porch times-- these filled with Miley buns, novels both long and short, organ aches, falls, and a failed quest at meeting more neighbors.
Barrett says 'puppies' perfectly, the government decided to cool its jets for a while, and we're really hoping to boost our Scrabble skills with 5 & 6 letter words. One day we'll start tallying the scores for the Ultimate Champion, but for now, let's just try to remember that walking around City Heights with a Scrabble board in hand is the true way to make new friends. 
A fistful of moments (a lot of them): 


A day in North Park followed by a rest in South park | dinners of soups, potatoes, and salads, and a breakfast of baked pumpkin french toast | not many guests, but a few that matter most | a little glimpse at home as it is forever changing | and, as usual, the great life of Barrett sprinkled throughout. 

September brought me a beautiful appreciation for the banality of dailiness, and the routined weeks sped by, but the steadiness was comforting. And now, here we are--onto the next one, I say! Soon, I'll be thinking about wrapping paper, yet 75 degrees on the coast reminds me that San Diego is in limbo, and I think some of us can resonate with that.  Routine is a comfort, but it's also a terror, and I am constantly battling against the feeling of wanting more and hoping for simplicity. 

And on a completely unrelated note, here's some pretty O'Hara. Partly because I can't stop listening to this, and partly because I love his hairline: