30 rears its ugly head

Tonight we took Abigail trick-or-treating, which was hugely exciting. We managed to convince her to ditch the ghost costume with its disconcerting lack of peripheral vision for her fairy princess outfit, and she looked great. (Pictures coming someday -- we really should get a digital camera) She excitedly shouted "Trick or treat!" at the homeowners and fellow candy-hunters alike and left each stoop with either a "Thank you!" or "Happy Halloween!" or "Let's get MORE candy!" We only hit about a dozen houses, after which she cheerfully returned to Nana and Pops' house to enjoy her blue sucker. But next year, man, it's going to be on. I have visions of her taking off down the street and dragging us for blocks ...

The title of this post, though, comes from my trip back to work. I inched back through the neighborhood, scanning the curbs for small flying objects known as children, and then got stuck behind some preteens. Two of them moved over to the middle the road, which would've allowed me to pass, but the other one just waltzed his way down the street, occasionally staggering like a hunchback. He'd fling his candy bag out and twirl around, fully aware of my presence, then take a few teasing steps toward the curb before flailing back out into the street. Stupid kid, I almost called his bluff on one and started to speed up to pass before slamming on the brakes. Well, they finally meandered far enough up a wider stretch of road that I could pass -- at which point I rolled down my window and screeched out in my cold-damaged voice like an old crone "Pay attention to the cars, you kids are going to get hurt!" And of course, the only response my well-intentioned bit of fuddy-duddiness received was cackles of glee that they had ticked off an old person.

Yep, just two more years to 30.

"I'm not dead yet!"

Now to make sure John Cleese doesn't come out and thump them over the head with his club ...

Jump lives! Well, they're at least doing a few more shows this fall, including an accoustic show in Charlotte. This makes me very happy! I didn't want the era to end with a less-than-memorable show. And they're excellent accoustic.

One of the perks of going part time will be weeknight freedom. When I found that show, I cruised through the rest of the schedule at the Neighborhood Theatre and became very excited about many of the bands/performers -- and I realized that I could theoretically go to these concerts without completely rescheduling my life! Of course, The Avett Bros. are playing New Year's Eve, and I'm not sure I could realistically call our Christmas trip to Florida short just to come back in time for that. And the only thing on Thanksgiving weekend at this apparent bluegrass inspired hot-spot? Edwin McCain. Doubt that would excite my visiting sister or her Dunce very much.

the times, they are a-changin'

Life in the Williams household is an interesting thing. I get a promotion. We say, okay, we'll stay here and Brad will freelance for a few months. Brad starts to get freelance work. Then out of the blue he gets a job offer from a local engineering firm. The offer doubles our income and gives him much-needed direct experience. And I quit my job.

Craziness.

Well, I didn't really. I refuse to put Abigail in day care, so I am going part time. At least through the end of the year, I'll work the weekends and the occasional day during the week when people are on vacation. Then after the holidays, I think the plan is to keep me as city editor on Sundays (the promotion) and allow me to work on building a Hispanic beat from home, maybe writing a couple articles per month. It's very unexpected, but at least all I lose is design shifts, which I didn't want to keep anyway. I wanted to transition off the copy desk by the time Abigail hit kindergarten and try reporting, so it's an early reprieve from second shift.

And hooray, we'll have some spending money! We can buy our own clothes! We can visit my sister in London! I don't have to get an ulcer at the middle of each month, holding my breath until the next paycheck! We're even saying crazy things like a house!

And to the Elm Street family, this means we'll actually be able to attend gatherings!

Will wonders never cease?

No relation to my parenting abilities

Three-year-olds are interesting creatures. Abigail has recently taken to playing with dolls, especially making them dance. Most of her dolls are on the floppy side, so this makes for much fun as their limbs flap about. She's also picked up on the idea of dancing and then "freezing" when the music stops. So she'll hum away, making you act out a "friend" while she makes the "teacher" dance. Then she'll scream freeze, and all the dolls must immediately fall down. If they don't, the "teacher" proceeds to body slam each of them to the table, with total disregard to the state of her parents' knuckles. I did not teach her this, and it makes me wonder about exactly what goes on at the lovely little church preschool. You know, you can't trust those Epsicopalians, damn liberals ...

Watchtowers and waterfalls

There's just something about the sight of hazy blue peaks rolling into the distance that lifts my soul and carries it off to the horizon, where my cares fade into the mist.

The other half and I just returned from two days in southwestern North Carolina among foliage and old friends. I have only been to the mountains once since having Abigail and haven't been hiking since I was pregnant. I'm sure it sounds melodramatic, but I have felt empty without seeing the mountains. Some fundamental part of me responds to the mountains unlike anything else in nature, and I become giddy at the first glimpse. I feel God there more than anywhere else. Yesterday I gazed up at the yellow poplars reaching up to the sky, and it seemed their branches were raised in praise, thanking God for the incredible beauty scattered all around them.

Beaches are nice, beaches are relaxing, but beaches are boring after about three hours. In the mountains, I am constantly finding something new to marvel at, a new trail I want to follow. I saw a bright pink mushroom along one trail, and canary-hued maple leave resting on a wet, black log on another. Walking along one river, the rhododendron leaves and roots were so thick on the path that they swam in front of my eyes, a dancing collage of brown and orange and yellow. I feel inspired and cleansed and new.

I also feel reconnected to "family". We live such an isolated life, spending most of our time in our little nuclear family of three. Since I work second shift and weekends, we have very little oportunity to tap into other peoples' ideas and thoughts and laughter. And the past two days, I got to fully be myself with decade-old friends. Yes, we talked about college, but we also talked about our blood families, our Elm Street family, our individual concerns and hopes and opinions about the world. We drank fancy beer and ate falling apart pork roast and inhaled the quintessential October flavors of pumpkin spice coffee (well, Brad and I did). Perhaps most rewarding, I got to see that my friends are actually friends with my husband.

And I get to do it again next week with my mother. It's a good fall.

Intrigued

Okay, so my favorite band is done. It's very depressing, there are no tour dates on their Web site anymore. Sniff.

BUT, the singer and the cellist are doing solo work, and aparently the drummer, all-around-instrumentalist and bassist are in Bill Carson and His Checkered Past. Now, I haven't been able to listen to the scant three clips on their site yet, but the site design has me very hopeful. And I want to remember them for future experimentation, hence this post.

Hence why I am also mentioning Cary Ann Hearst. Jump has long referenced her, and I believe I spot some of them in the photo on her entry site. Unfortunately, I guess her site doesn't like Macs because I can't get any farther than that. So something else to check up on at home. (What, I blog from work? NEVER!)

I have the best idea...

Okay, Halloween is approaching. Whenever I ask Abigail, what she wants to be, she just says a ghost. But I want something more creative. I want something fun for the whole family. And from a co-worker's passing comment tonight, I got a brainstorm! A eureka moment!

Blue's Clues.

costume

Not just a costume for Abigail, but all of us. Brad could be Joe

blues_preschool

and I could be Miss Marigold, the fabulously stylish preschool teacher.

marigold

Actually, Brad could be Joe's predecessor, Steve, who wore stripped rugby shirts -- of which Brad has the appropriate rainbow of colors! It's PERFECT! And Abbey already does a great Blue impression (though mine's better ...).

Oh, the agony of stiffling laughter at work

Oh, dear God! I have found the most hysterical site Go fug yourself -- well, it's hysterical if you're like me and my co-worker who love to ridicule celebrities. I don't know what it is -- hatred of all things talentless-pop, revulsion at self-serving celebutaunts (isn't that a great word?), disbelief that people can live in such shallow little bubbles -- but, damn, it's fun to make fun of the Paris Hiltons in this world. Ripping apart clothing at awards shows is highly entertaining -- plus they allow you to ignore the awards show itself and mock everything it stands for. And these ladies have made mockery of these lovely specimens of socitey an artform. And this was pointed out to me in a Wall Stree Journal article, no less!