Domesticity

I really must accept the fact that I love all things domesticated. Well, maybe not all. I'm not a scrapbooker and I don't sew well, but wow, I love fancy food and housewares.

I just went to Wegman's grocery store for the first time, and I had way too much fun. I was having more fun than anyone else there. It's a regular grocery store, with actually pretty good prices, but they also have a natural/organic section the size of Earth Fare, a fantastically tempting bakery, a huge hot and cold bar and wonderfully looking meats. Even their dry goods aisles had interesting items. A grocery store trip should not make my day, but it did. That was far more fun than clubbing or going drinking. A visit to Ikea or even Pottery Barn and Pier I will do the same thing.

I fight the stereotype of the stay-home mom, but I guess I shouldn't. I love to decorate. I love to bake. I love to try new recipes. I love to blog in the middle of the day. And there's nothing wrong with that.

Oktoberfest!

Yay, it's October! My favorite month! Time for pumpkin and cider and apples and sausage and beer! Yay! I think I also need to drive through the Shenandoah Valley in a couple weeks.

And the winning thought is ...

I could/should blog about so many things. But my mind can't get over the news of an online friend separating from her husband. I know this woman mainly through forum posts, though I have met her in person a few times. It's amazing how much you can feel that you "know" someone through the Internet. And how much you can be impacted by their bad news. I feel just awful for her, but I don't really know her and have never met her husband. But I can't stop thinking about her situation. Perhaps it's because marriage is such hard work, and even when yours is going really well, you can empathize with when one goes bad. (Mine's going really well, for the record.)

Another thought I've been having a lot is: Why is it so hard to find the right church? Why? Is there a rule that pastors can only be either really good preachers or really good with people? I'd like both, please. There's a nice Episcopal church here with a huge children's program and a priest who gave really probing homilies, but oh, the service. I understand the shift toward praise music, though I don't like it, but I'm sorry, "Can't Buy Me Love" and "Love Train" don't count. They did great things for the kids during the service, but then there was no Sunday school, so any education was going to be very surface. And while everyone at the church seemed to be friends, no one spoke to me.

So I'm trying the most promising Lutheran church around. The service is a decent mix of standard hymns and international influence, and I like Lutheran theology, though there's no children's sermon. I have been greeted by many, many people, and Abigail really liked Sunday school, which combines choir, so there's the bonus of no going back during the week (or feeling guilty about not going back during the week). But the sermons have done nothing for me. Blah.

So for now, I'm opting for service and education I prefer. I guess I'll have to look for depth on my own, but at least I'm coming from a church where I was in a similar situation and wound up with some very good friends.

Other thoughts include trouble with Girl Scouts and needing to find a job, but both of those just frustrate me, so I'm going to feign ignorance for a while.

The first day of first

Abigail headed back to school today after an extended summer vacation thanks to the move. It was a wonderful three months for her, full of visits from family and constant play with new friends. It never even got oppressively hot here. Truly an idyllic summer.

And now she is in first grade. I'm anxious to hear how the day went since we received no information on day-to-day routines at the open house. It'll be a long day for her, with just one recess of 15 minutes. 15 minutes! For 6- and 7-year-olds! But the school has an excellent reputation, so surely the teachers understand the limits of the young attention span.

Abigail was generally excited about the first day, with just some slight apprehension about the unknown. She went to bed happily and relatively quickly given the momentous nature of the upcoming day.I couldn't help but compare her ease to my night-before-school anxieties. Every year until 11th grade, I woke up nauseous in the middle of the night. My mom would perch on the side of the tub and hold my hair as I stared into the abyss of the toilet. I rarely threw up, but I couldn't shake my desire to retch for a long time. I had such fears of rejection by my classmates and teacher, visions of being an outcast. Which is strange, because I always had plenty of friends. I wasn't the most popular or fashionable or coordinated kid, but I wasn't a loner. Maybe I'm naturally insecure, maybe moving all those times shook my confidence and sense of self. Who knows?

I do know I'm anxious for my own child. I hope she finds acceptance among her classmates. I have no reason to think she won't other than memories of my own self-doubt. Odds are she'll come bouncing off the bus this afternoon full of stores about new friends and things she loves about first grade.

Lovely Loudoun

A few weeks ago now, I discovered that, really, this is the prettiest place I've ever lived. Not that there weren't lovely aspects to other places, and not that Ashburn itself is attractive at all, but Loudoun County, VA, is incredibly picturesque.

I went for a drive one Saturday, just wandering along various by-ways without any destination in mind, and after I got out of Leesburg, turn after turn was just beautiful. I wasn't in the best mood when I started out, but after I headed up U.S. 15, the rolling countryside started to soften my mind. And then I came upon the Point of Rocks Bridge. (photos not mine)



While the reflection off the Potomac is beautiful, this picture doesn't even begin to capture what it's like to drive across this bridge. The blue metal framework creates an open tunnel, with the sensation of a vanishing point pulling you forward while a brilliant blue sky flashes between the baby blue struts. At the end of the tunnel, deep green foothills. To the right or left, sparkling water. I could have driven back and forth over this bride dozens of times.

But I did turn off to see what else was around. As I drove through Lovettsville and Lucketts, I passed farms that were the epitome of bucolic. Little valleys surrounded by vibrantly colored hills, 150-plus-year-old farmhouses everywhere. As I curved along the winding, scenic highways, I pulled up behind a coiled bale of hay, the top of the tractor hauling it just barely visible. I had no where to go, no timeline, and momentarily though of just puttering along behind it, but my modern mind couldn't quite slow down enough.

Further along, I came to the German Reformed Cemetery in Lovettsville. Rows upon rows of granite headstones lined the yard, many of the inscriptions completely worn away by the elements to nothing more than a rough surface colored by lichen. A crumbling silo loomed in a field just beyond the stone fence. Butterflies danced over the puddles in the gravel drive, fluttering in orange, yellow and white over the gray.

My drive also included a quick glimpse of Hillsboro, a beautiful little town studded with stone houses going back a couple hundred years. (The town is also surrounded by wineries and theoretically tourists, but there are surprisingly no good overall photos online.) At some point I missed my turn and wound up in West Virginia, which only added to my good mood. Three states in less than three hours.

A couple weeks later, the whole family spontaneously headed out to Sky Meadows State Park, technically just west in Fauquier County. We had no idea what to expect other than a no-doubt pretty view of the Shenandoah region and some Colonial reenactors. The drive out along U.S. 50 was absolutely delightful. Once we came through Middleburg, I think we were all smiling. That town is ridiculously quaint, with countless antique shops, boutiques, restaurants, taverns and early 19th century buildings. I have to take my mother back. (Again, why are there no satisfying photos?) We had unknowingly entered Virginia Hunt Country. The road from there on out was lined by neat fences, many of them stone, encircling acres upon acres of horse pastures. Signs invited you to Saturday polo matches. A neat little sign proclaiming the name of its farm was stationed at the end of each drive. The fields were as green as the gobs of money that no doubt supported them. Upperville was also lovely, but the lack of commerce of any kind definitely let us know we were out of our league. Here's the wee library.



Sky Meadows was surprisingly a lot of fun. Totally laid back, not what we expected, but fun. We spent an hour with the reenactors, who adored Abigail and let her eat their stew and biscuits, play their games, take home their corn and learn all about their sewing. They wouldn't let us leave. And then we spent another hour just wandering around the historic house's grounds and sitting on the porch. We never even hiked, though I'm sure we'll go back this fall. It was so relaxing.




And we haven't even touched Shenandoah National Park. I can't wait to see more of this area.

Greetings from the Old Dominion

Moving and summer vacation do not equal increased computer time for me, so I apologize for the long lapse in posting. I've been wanting to, have several posts in mind, but I seldom have a good hour to sit and really process things. Tonight, I finally do.

We've incredibly been in Virginia for more than a month now. Moving as an adult with a child has been a totally different experience. When I was a kid, I was dragged along and didn't have to do any of the planning. I could complain and feel sad and revel in my misery until I finally made friends a few months in. When I was a young(er) adult, moving consisted of finding the cheapest rent possible, throwing some boxes in a U-haul, and taking off without much thought about the details of where I'd be living. Even when Abigail was a baby, we knew the moves were temporary and were generally familiar enough with all parts of Charlotte for the moves to be fairly uneventful.

But this time I was moving with a school-aged child and my personal baggage of moving as a school-aged child. We had to find a good neighborhood, a good school, a good commute, and a good way to assuage my guilt.

Surprisingly, having to focus on all of that made the change relatively unemotional. I left behind one or two decent friends, but most of my those I'd met had already moved on. I cried more at the thought of making Abigail leave her friends (particularly when Maddox hugged her and said "I'm really going to miss you.").

On my last morning in Rock Hill, after I dropped Abigail off for her last day of school, I went to the local bagel shop to sit with some coffee and my thoughts. As I sat, I realized that the very first day I was ever in Rock Hill, I ate lunch at that very same bagel shop, albeit in its old location. Nearly nine years in between, and what was I left with? What would stay with me from Rock Hill?

What I will likely miss most is the sense of community. The city was growing but not too far removed from it's small-town roots, so it definitely had its own identity. And I had found a place in that identity. I ran into people I knew almost everywhere I went. I was an active presence at my church, even beyond being the mom of the kid who knew all the children's sermon answers. People often asked about my magazine and were sorry it wouldn't return. I enjoyed being more than a face in the crowd. I grew up with that same sense of place in Naperville, sorely missed it in Pittsburgh, and was really enjoying it again. Especially with a child and all the festivals and parks the town offered.

Since it was a former textile town, Rock Hill didn't seem as pretentious as other places I'd lived. There were plenty of well-heeled commuters and old money, but there were even more working people who perhaps simply couldn't be as materialistic. In north Charlotte, everyone seemed so driven by labels and status. In Rock Hill, you could take advantage of the "big city amenities" without getting wrapped up in the big city egotism.

I will miss feeling like I belong in a place so many people are from, but would Rock Hill ever truly be home? Not likely. I may never have fully fit in as an educated person in a more blue-collar, conservative town. Given my transient history, I may never have a "home."

I doubt Ashburn will attain that status, though the move has been incredibly good for us so far. Ashburn has zero sense of place, zero history, but our neighborhood is amazing for this point in our lives. On our street, there are about 15 kids around Abigail's age. All those kids play with each other daily, outside and in each other's houses. All those kids parents keep an eye on all those kids, chatting with each other, swapping short-term babysitting for errands. Brad has already been golfing with one neighbor, and Abigail found several great friends before she even had a chance to be lonely. The school has a highly respected reputation, and I've even heard rave reviews of the bus driver. People are constantly walking around the many lakes in the neighborhood, waving genially to the ever-present fishermen testing their luck. On one walk this week, I passed a father fishing with his two sons, mothers walking babies, and teens and parents running as the sun set in spectacular oranges above me and children's laughter echoed from two different directions. 21st century Normal Rockwell.

We really can't believe our luck. Or rather how we've been blessed. We were out of work from October through May, managed to live off savings and paltry unemployment without taking a loan, and moved at exactly the right moment financially and personally. Even my car avoided needing major repairs until just this week. We went through an incredibly trying time while living a fairly normal life and have now landed on our feet in an even better position. There's no way you can look at that and still say life is accidental.

Birth right

I just watched the documentary "Born into Brothels." It follows children of the red light district in Calcutta and how they see their world when given a camera. It was quite powerful and heartwrenching. If you have Netflix, you can watch online as I did. I highly recommend it.