When Men Lose their Fashion

Recently, I heard that once a man reaches the age of forty-six, (Dave's age) he stops caring about fashion.  At. All.  In essence, the clothes he owns at this age will be the same clothes he ends his life in, barring any significant weight gain or loss, of course.  

Dave, however, must be advanced.  For he has been wearing, basically, the same outfit since I met him: Levis, (until they stopped making them long enough and he had to switch to Wranglers) t-shirts in navy, black, or gray, and tennis shoes or boots.  Occasionally, when he's feeling fancy, he'll accessorize with a baseball hat or an oversized flannel shirt, but these are donned more out of necessity (he's cold) than fashion.   

Dave and I met when we were nineteen.  So I guess fashion went by the wayside a long time ago at the Larson house. But that's okay.  I can't imagine him any other way.....except for, maybe, clad in spandex.

Pumpkin Gathering

Yesterday was a truly glorious fall day.  The sun was out, the weather was warm, and thoughts of pumpkins were on my mind.  So, with the grass freshly cut, and a Sunday afternoon with absolutely no plans ahead of us, we decided to do a little pumpkin gathering.  

We opted for a new pumpkin patch this year and I'm so glad we did.  Creekside Farm in Port Orchard is exactly what we needed.  While it may seem small in comparison to some of those productions in the Orting Valley, this same smallness is what made it so charming.  It's a Mom and Pop operation through and through, with all six of their children helping out where ever they could.  

Initially, Nora was a little disappointed that there was no corn maze to wander hopelessly lost through, but the farm animals, a little hay ride, and pumpkins galore more than made up for it.  So after a very detailed account of the farm, it's offerings, and activities, by one of the farmer's young sons, we set off with baggies of feed for the goats, sheep, chickens and ducks.

Despite being an experienced horse-feeder, Nora was, surprisingly, afraid to feed the goats and sheep. First, she dumped their food in the trough:   

Here ya go little sheep!

When she got a little braver, she tried to pet them through the fence.  

I think she almost touched him here

I don't know if she thought they were going to bite her fingers, or tickle her, or what, but it took her a long time and many examples of "how to feed a sheep," from her dad and I, before she overcame her fear.  

Just hold your hand nice and flat Nora, like this.

See Nora: This sweet face would never bite you!

But when she did, they became fast friends.  

And then it was all smiles

But not as good a friend as Dave; they really bonded.  

That's the spot!  Keep it coming big guy!

Apparently, goats are a lot like dogs.  They like to get scratched!  And they know dog people when they meet them.  

Oh that feels sooo good Dave!

As did Sophie, the real star (in our eyes) of the farm.  

We loved Sophie 

Sophie is a sweet, gentle, all-black Australian Shepherd.  We spent a lot of time playing with her, petting her and wishing she could be ours.  Okay, maybe that was just me.  But I would've brought her home in a heart-beat, given the chance.  But, alas, unlike the pumpkins, she was not for sale.  

Although I could have stayed and played with Sparkle, Sweetie, (the goats) and Sophie all day, eventually it was time to load up the pumpkins and head home.  

So we did: even Nora's forty-pounder!

That's right: the littlest Larson picked out the biggest pumpkin!

Sonja Gets Wet and Dave Goes Shopping

Last Saturday we went to Nora's soccer game.  Just like we do every Saturday this time of year. Even when it rains. Even when it rains so much, and so hard, that we expect to see Noah paddle by. Even when it rains so hard that the parents leave the game as wet as the players.  

And it was brutal!  In every possible sense. In addition to the weather, the girls lost.  More accurately, they got killed.  Something like 50-0.  Okay, that's a slight exaggeration, but that's what it felt like.  Our girls were totally dominated by the other team. 

When the misery game was finally over, I hurried Nora Jane to the car where blankets, towels, and clean, dry clothes were waiting. Once there, I wished I'd packed a dry set for myself. I couldn't believe how wet I was; I was completely soaked!  My jeans were soaked, my shoes were soaked. My jacket was...well, you get it.  So much for taking cover under the "tent."  

While I helped Nora peel off her wet clothes, Dave stayed behind to help the coach dismantle said tent and carry supplies to his car.  And he was in no hurry.  For, unlike me, he had prepared for the weather.  In addition to the soccer chairs and snacks that were loaded into the van before we left home, he also threw in his wide-brimmed blue, rain hat, complete with chin string, a red rain jacket and his rain pants.  The same camo rain pants he wears hunting. The same camo rain pants I had made fun of, as we searched the soggy field for our team,  by claiming they had turned him into that dad.  

To which, he replied, "what do you mean?"

So I continued to tease and replied that "no one wears camo to their kid's soccer game."

He just smiled, gave my purple jacket, jeans, and black vans a once-over, and continued walking all the way to the side-lines.  Where he stayed the entire game!  Facing the weather head on. With all the other smart dads, who had dressed appropriately, albeit colorfully, in a wide array of rain gear, boots, and hats.  But, of course, the joke was on me.  While he was enjoying his relative dryness in the eye of the storm, I was huddled under the tent, struggling to hold on to my coffee cup with one hand and a tent leg with the other, lest a gust of wind come through and blow the whole thing over.  And, all the while, I was getting drenched.

Needless to say, come Sunday morning, I had no desire to leave the house (in the rain!) to go shopping (at Cabela's!) for rain pants! More precisely, hunting rain pants.  

Even Nora didn't want to go. And, for some reason, she likes that store.  So, instead, she and I stayed in bed, for a long time, and read.  (I love that my children are readers) Eventually, after a breakfast of eggs and toast, she moved on to her Littlest Pet Shop collection.   (Unlike the Polly Pockets, these guys aren't going anywhere for a long time. But that's okay.  I don't expect her to give up the farm quite yet.)  So, while she played, I baked a pie and worked on my scarf. And it was a wonderfully warm, dry, and relaxing Sunday.  

And then Dave sent me a picture of a bow and arrow along with a message that read, "should I get this for Nora?"  My first thought was, No. No.  H.E.L.L. NO!  When in the world would we ever add this to our schedule?  But I couldn't say such a thing when he's obviously only thinking about our daughter.  That and  the opportunity to shoot off arrows.  So what I texted back, instead, was,"are you serious?"  Which I then followed with, "No.  That's so sweet, but no. We don't have time for any new hobbies!  But don't forget your pants." I even ended with a smiley face.  

It wasn't until a few minutes later that I realized what I should have said: Would you please pick up a pair for me too?

The Check is in the Mail!

Jenna Woginrich's new book!!!

I ordered my copy directly from Battenkill Books in Cambridge, New York because I wanted to support the local bookseller that supports Jenna and her endeavors.  However, it's also for sale, and just a click away, on Amazon.

Yay!

A Tree Has Fallen

My neighborhood is expanding.  For the last two years, our very quiet, undeveloped block has been under construction.  Last year two homes sprouted.  And, currently, development is underway for two more.  

When we first moved here, there were only two houses on the whole block. Of course, we knew that, eventually, the rest of the block would be developed.  Especially given that there aren't many empty, vacant lots in the city.  They're kind of a prized possession.  And while we welcome the new neighbors, it's hard to say goodbye to the open space that served as Nora's soccer field, and a feeding stop for the deer that like to wander through and feast on fallen apples.

Just last week I watched a beautiful Maple Tree fall.  And it happened so quickly.  Within thirty-five minutes, the trunk and branches, still heavy with red and orange leaves not ready to let go, were cut, chipped and loaded into the back of a truck.  

As a grown-up, I understand that sometimes trees have to go, to make room for other things.  We had to cut down a little tree when we built our house too.  Nine-year-old Nora, however, hasn't grasped that yet. Instead, her heart was broken.  Just like it was when the big Douglas Fir next to our house was cut down.  The tree that she used to climb.  The tree she used to climb so high that we could only see her feet dangling through the dense branches.  (Actually, I was glad to see this one go.  I was convinced that it was a broken bone just waiting to happen) 

But Nora, too, dreams of open space.  She tells me so all the time.  Just the other day, while we were on a walk, she said, "mom, when I grow up, I want to live in the country.  So I can have horses, and dogs, and so I can be an author.  I want to be able to write where it's peaceful."

I told her I thought that was a great plan.  And I meant it.  

Being Environmentally Responsible is No Fun

I may have mentioned (once or twice) how much I love my Keurig.

I love it so much, I've even joked about packing it up and taking it on trips with us.  (Don't worry, I haven't. That would be weird) Though I'm not the only one in my house who feels this way.  My husband, who likes to get out of bed in the morning at the last possible moment, and, thus, "doesn't have time for coffee at home," now, sometimes, does.   My college daughter, who spent much of her growing-up years sitting inside a Starbucks, and is now discovering just how expensive buying her own take-out coffee really is, (although her grandpa definitely helps her out with this) has been known to call on Mr. Keurig whenever she's home, in need of coffee, and too broke to go buy a cup.  Even Nora, who doesn't even like coffee, has been known to ask if she can make a cup--for me. 

Why do we all like it so much?

Well, Nora would probably tell you it's because it's easy, fun, and using it makes her feel like a grown-up. Dave might say it's because it's quick and convenient.  Anna would probably say it's because it provides her with coffee she doesn't have to pay for.  I like it for the following reasons:

1.  It produces one delicious cup of coffee in no time flat,

2.  It has cut down on my Starbucks bill (a little),

3.  My dad gave it to me.

But #3 is why I really love it so much.

My Dad is not the kind of man who will tell me he loves me.  Although he will write these words in every Birthday and Christmas Card he ever sends me, he will not say them aloud.  Instead, he shows me he loves me with food.  And it's always the same food.  And it's always ready and waiting for me whenever I visit him.  Hanging from the banister, at the bottom of the stairs, in a white plastic bag, I always find; one bag of mini-Snickers for me, one King Size bag of Peanut M&Ms for Anna, one bag of Tootsie Pops for Nora Jane, and one bag of Red Vines for Dave. 

Now, in addition to all of the above, (as if that isn't enough) awaiting my arrival is a bag of Keurig K-cups.  And not just one box!  Oh no!  When it comes to food, my dad has never lived by the "less is more" philosophy.   On the contrary, he's a firm believer in more-is-better.  It's a trait that was passed down to him from his own father.  Thus, since he knows that the coffees that come in the green box (Green Mountain) are my favorite, I get those.  I also get the blue box, (Emeril's) the brown box, (Tully's Italian) and the black box (Revv).  I've been too afraid to try the latter, however.  The name itself is too strong, too bold. I fear it might rev me and my easily agitated system a little too much.  Actually, all the coffees he picks for me can be described as strong, bold, extra dark.  Surely, this can't be how he sees me?  Obviously, I'm more of a medium blend, though definitely complex.

Needless to say, my dad is intent on keeping my coffee addiction (and supply) both strong and well-stocked for the foreseeable future.  And I love him for it.

What I don't love about the Keurig, however, is the waste. When I used to make coffee the old-fashioned way, (you know in an electric coffee pot), there was very little waste. Just a mound of spent coffee grounds and a paper filter.  And they were the brown paper filters, the ones that hadn't undergone any bleaching, so the whole mess could go out with the trash ready to decompose once it hit the landfill.  No harm, no foul. 

This is not the case with the Keurig.  Inside those cute, prepackaged, little pods, with their colored paper tops, something dark is lurking. And I'm not talking about coffee.  I know; I've dissected a few.

There is more inside these little, environmental killers than you think.

Inside that little, plastic cup, underneath the foil lid, buried beneath the coffee, I found not only paper filters, but little, tiny plastic trays.  (And no--I don't know what their job is.) All of this from just one little pod.   And when all of this goes in the trash, that makes for a lot of plastic pieces hitting the landfills, then the barges, then the oceans, and then the bellies of baby albatrosses.

When I mentioned my concerns to my dad, and how I felt compelled to recycle all these little bits and pieces, his response was, "but you only make a cup or two a day.  That's not much at all!" But every Keurig owner out there could claim this very same thing.  One of my friends actually did. While she was passing out coffees to my girlfriends and I after a dinner she gave. And do you know how many Keurig owners there are out there, having just one or two cups every day? They're everywhere! The other day I even  saw one at the jewelry store while I was dropping my necklace off to get repaired.  

I'm not implying that we all need to dump our Keurigs and go back to making hobo coffee on the stove-top.  No one wants to do that.  I know I don't, not for just one cup of coffee.  For now, they are with us.  Part of our busy lives. Until something new and even faster comes along.  I'm just thinking that maybe we could take a minute or two (after they've cooled down)  to  disassemble those cute little pods,  and recycle those little bits and pieces.  It's really not hard.  I promise.  I've done it.

And if you miss one from time to time, don't beat yourself up about it.  I'm the first to admit I'm not the perfect recycler.  I, too, sometimes get lazy.  Sometimes, my recycle bin is SO full (from being such a good recycler) there is literally no more room.  And then, I admit it, the stuff goes into the trash.  The point is: I try.

So, since I started this post with a list of reasons why I love my Keurig, I'm going to end it with a list of reasons why I'm going to keep it.  And keep using it. Although, admittedly, I could do with a caffeine cut-back.

1.  I enjoy being able to  run downstairs in the morning, brew a cup of coffee and take it back up to my bed in a matter of minutes. Thus allowing me to sip, and read in quiet comfort for a few minutes before Nora wakes up.

2.  Like Nora says, it's fun!

3.  My dad gave it to me.

But #3 is really why I'm going to keep it. 

A Day for the Books

At breakfast this morning, Nora very casually asked, "Mom, can I get rid of my Polly Pocket toys?  I don't play with them much anymore."

This question may not seem like a big deal to those of you outside of the Polly Pocket World, so let me explain....

Polly Pockets are very tiny dolls (much smaller than barbies...which, by the way, Nora asked to get rid of too!) with very tiny clothes.  

And even tinier shoes!  

Shoes much too small to put on said dolls with adult-sized fingers, or child-sized fingers for that matter.  Shoes that have a tendency to get lost, stepped on, broken, or sucked up into the vacuum cleaner.  Which, probably explains why, after a bit of digging, I was unable to find a matching pair. 

But, of course, these dolls don't come with just clothes and shoes.  They also come with buildings, homes, furniture, cars and anything else you can imagine.  And all of these girls (and the occasional boy/prince) --and all of their stuff-- have been in my life for a very long time.  I'm pretty sure our "collection" began way back in Anna's doll-playing days.  

Thus, when I heard those glorious words this morning, I wanted to stand up and cheer.  I wanted to dance around the kitchen singing, "yes, yes, oh, finally yes!" I wanted to go dump the whole lot of them into the van and immediately drive over to the Goodwill Donation Station before she changed her mind.  

But I didn't.  I played it cool and replied, "sure, if that's what you really want to do."

_________________________________________________________________________

In other news from the Larson Front:

There's snow in them there hills! 

That's right. Crystal Mountain is opening today for a limited one-day event. On October first!  That's got to be a record.  

Not that I'm a skier. 

But the girls are.

And Dave is.

And his friends are.  

And they were all texting and calling this morning.  

It was big news...big, big news.

October 1, 2013.... this day is definitely going down in the books :)