|
|
Wednesday, April 23, 2008Wending the Winding Way To the WineryI was struck with a brilliant idea for Eric's birthday. I would take him to Arrington Vineyards. Ah, but it would be better than that. It would be a surprise. I wouldn't tell him where we were going! Now, to the wine-knowledgeable, "Tennessee vineyard" is certainly an oxymoron. But there was something about the beauty of the photographs on the Arrington web site that drew me in. And, anyway, how could I speak snobbily about the nasty, Tennessee wine if I'd never tasted it? It was settled. Eric, whose primary Love Language is quality time, was delighted with the prospect of a child-free outing. For the first few minutes of our road trip, he wore a blindfold, content to be surprised by our destination. The blindfold didn't last. After a few minutes, he sheepishly asked if he could remove it. You'd think he didn't trust me to find my way or something. I mean, I'd done a Google map. The vineyard was surprisingly close to home, with the longest stretch being an 18-mile hike up a particular road. True, clocking the 18 miles was going to be a bit challenging, considering the fact that the odometer in Eric's BMW is broken. But my brilliance shone through. I counted mile markers. The day was sunny and fair, if not a bit chilly. We drove beyond normal habitation, past field and horse and "beefalo for sale" sign. When we approached an intersection I was familiar with, I remained optimistic. "Don't you want to turn right here?" Eric said ever-so-tentatively. Huh? "No, I don't want to turn right here." Did he think he was going to backseat drive when he didn't even know where I was taking him? "Can you tell me where you want to turn? Without giving it away, I mean." "Cox Road." "Oh, okay. I've never heard of that road." Pause. "Why did you think I wanted to turn back there?" "I had a hunch, that's all." I tried to keep my voice chipper. "So, what was your hunch?" "Oh, I'll tell you later." Right. Except, now my confidence was waning. Just a tiny bit. We drove on. "We're getting close to 24," Eric said, the barest whiff of concern in his voice. The location of Interstate 24 didn't mean much to me, considering the fact that I had no idea where that particular road was in relation to the elusive vineyards. "I know that I have to go 18 miles on this road." "18 miles? From where?" This was starting to feel scarier by the moment. I couldn't answer. "We're almost in Murfreesboro. I think we must've missed Cox Road back there somewhere." Okay, I was no longer in control of this situation. I clenched my teeth and turned around. "Can you show me the directions without giving away where we're going?" "No." "Cox Road is going to be on our left now, so let's keep a lookout." I considered ejecting him through the sunroof. The miles rolled by. Cox Road didn't appear. We were heading back too far -- way less than the requisite 18 miles out, surely. I was fighting tears by the time I pulled into a small parking lot to check my directions one more time. "Oh." I felt the last vestige of pride slip from my grasp. "It's not 18 miles. It's 8." He laughed. I laughed. Well, sort of. Because my next thought was how much bloody time I had just wasted by driving us all the way out to nowhere and back again. "Well, anyway," Eric said, "if we didn't find it, I was going to suggest that we go to Arrington Vineyards. I've been wanting to go there." My eyes left the road and landed on Eric's face. "Eric. THATISWHEREWE'REGOING." Silly me. You know the intersection? The one I recognized? Somehow I'd missed the huge billboard that read, "Arrington Vineyards, 3 miles," with an arrow pointing to the right. No, it wasn't Cox Road. But it would've gotten me where I wanted to go, with at least thirty minutes to spare. We got to the vineyards. We tasted the wine. We were pleasantly surprised, and purchased a bottle of Merlot to enjoy with the lunch I'd brought. Mind you, the grapes were imported from other places, mostly California and Washington. Considering the adopted grapes, one can't truly call these "Tennessee wines." But the baby grape vines are off to a good start, and one day the vineyards will produce their own harvest. Already they are looking forward to their first port, due in 2009. Who'd've thunk it. A nice Merlot from a winery less than twenty-five minutes (give or take forty more) from home. The Chardonnay was nice, too. Not overly interesting, but definitely light and pleasing with a nice finish. I would certainly choose it from a wine list at a restaurant. I let Eric drive home. It seemed a wise choice. Next time I want to take him somewhere new, I'll announce it ahead of time. As it stands, I'm still living this one down. It was worth it, though. He's still talking about his relaxing afternoon at Arrington Vineyards. And so, despite my complete lack of navigational skills, I'm feeling like a Pretty Good Wife. Salut! Monday, April 14, 2008Avocados
  It was finally time. When Molly turned six months old, I balked at the idea of starting her on solids. This is my fifth child, mind you. I've done this first-spoonful-of-goo thing four other times. Yet this time, it was different. I was remarkably conflicted. Eric, in his matter-of-fact way, said, "Well, don't do it, then." So I didn't. And after a little bit of research told me that babies who wait another whole month before introducing solids do really well, I knew I'd made the right choice. Molly's First Food wasn't going to be the nutritionally void rice cereal that my other fortunate children had to swallow. No, indeed. My little Earth Baby was going to have only the finest, organic avocados known to man. I hate avocados. But my sister has been successful in raising two little ones who love fresh avocado. So I went to her with all my questions and she filled me in on all the avocado wisdom I needed. Seriously, I had no idea that avocados turn brown the way bananas do when they've hit the air. I thought maybe they'd, you know, gone icky on me. So on April 5th, Molly had her first taste of avocado. And it was a marked success. She didn't exactly love it. She was apparently stunned by the first spoonful. But by her third feeding, she was showing sure signs of pleasure with each mouthful. Now she's onto carrots (organic, home cooked and pureed by this over-40 Earth Mama) and tomorrow it's organic yams. And you know what? Molly has two older sisters who beg to have a turn feeding her. So once again, this later-life-baby thing is turning out to be more wonderful than one could imagine. I won't talk avocado-and-carrot poopies. Not yet. I'm still adjusting. *shudder* Labels: baby Friday, April 04, 2008Boy Talk In The KitchenI'm cutting up a cantaloupe and Eric is standing behind me wearing his head weights. (Chiropractic care -- I highly recommend it). Nine-year-old Spencer comes downstairs, all morning freshness. "Hey!" he says to his daddy. "Good morning, Spencer!" There are a few seconds of belly-fart sounds. I've come to the conclusion that this strange ritual is some sort of male bonding thing. I'm not sure I'll ever understand Spencer's need to blow raspberries on his father's stomach, but I continue to slice fruit as though the room is silent. "What's that thing on your chin?" Spencer says. "Huh?" "There's something sticking on your chin. It looks like a boogie." I swallow hard and keep slicing the cantaloupe. There's a bit of shuffling. Eric walks up to the garbage can and tosses something in. "So that's where that boogie went." And I'm supposed to feel like eating breakfast after this. Wednesday, April 02, 2008Bereft Of Bits and BytesIn short, my computer has died. As in...died. It was acting funky for several days. Slow, in a weird sort of way. And then it froze. Right in the middle of opening an email. Froze. Enter Techno-geek Husband. He started my baby up in Safe Mode and backed up all the Very Important Things. Like my email folders. And digital photos. And, oh yeah. My novels. Except now I can't access any of it. Because it's -- well, saved somewhere. On a hard drive. And the computer upon which I'm currently tappity-tapping away isn't in any way attached, connected to, or otherwise operably communicating with said hard drive. So. I am a writer without her work. A rabid family photographer without her photos. A writer without her work. An email-addicted social hermit without her email. Have I mentioned that I am a writer without her work? I know my Dear Hubby will grant me access to my files at some point. He is truly irreplaceable at times like this. (Oh, let's be fair. He is always truly irreplaceable.) But in the meantime, I am dead in the water. Alas! Dead. Commiserate with me, will you? Or start up a benevolent Jill Needs A Macbook Pro fund. Or at the very least, send organic chocolate truffles and a few hugs and kisses. Snif. |
About Me
I am: Mother to five stunningly individualistic children... Writer of young adult fantasy... Passionate advocate for Women At Home... Madly in love with my husband... In need of Organic Gourmet Chocolate on a regular basis. I've got a Paypal account if you'd like to contribute to the cause....
|
