Some firsts we could do without

Quickly, before the child awakes...

Today is Julian's first Halloween. If he were dressing up and going out, he'd be a lifeguard. But after the few days we've had, with everyone in the house except Ian yaking at least once (Shiva included), we're going to be lying low tonight. Julian has his first temperature yesterday (discovered after his first rectal temperature exam — at least done by me anyway). I was sick most of the day, probably left overs from Julian's throwing up sick day on Sunday (another first!). Triste all around, indeed. We're all feeling better today, but we don't want to push it just in the name of Halloween.

Julian had a Halloween playdate last week, of which I've posted pictures here. I also posted this month's photo album here. I realized I was lying about buying pictures via flickr (booo, hisss, flickr!). I can buy photos of my stuff but the general population cannot. If you would like some pictures (for the upcoming gift season, perhaps?), let me know which ones and I can probably order them for you.

Happy Halloween!

The sweet sound of inclusivity

I can't wait to hear these words from Julian's mouth. From a favorite time-waster of mine, Overheard in New York.

Mom, about man on train with flowers: Awww, he has flowers. They're probably for his girlfriend.

Eight-year-old daughter: Mom, you never know! They could be for a boy.

--LIRR

via Overheard in New York, Oct 26, 2007

On our own feet

After the first really cold spell of the season, the 78 degree weather outside today felt like heaven. Playing with Julian and two of the moms and babies from the birthing group at the park was just what I needed. Baby Addie and Hollis are the cutest, most fun little kiddos. They wore Julian out. Aw, Julian's little friends. I'm so grateful to call their moms friends, too. It really makes a difference with this whole kid-raising thing. You don't feel so crazy when you can vent to other parents who are dealing with some of the same issues.

Julian is standing up on his own now. He's less and less wobbly by the day. No steps yet. As with crawling and pulling up, he's pretty proud of himself when he gets up on two feet. The better to grab at things with, he says. More babyproofing is just around the corner. We should enjoy this while it lasts...

Have a look!

Sticky fingered impostors

Copy editors are afflicted with the irresistible habit of copy editing everything they read. I have a hard time reading Hemingway because of his inadequate use of the comma, for example. I laugh outloud at the extraneous use of quotation marks. (if you do to, you must visit this Web site.) I inspect the food labels when I'm standing in the kitchen, which lead me this morning to a horrendous find. The honey Ian bought at H-E-B last time is called "Texas Honey Blend" and is mostly made from, not the beloved nectar of the Earth, but high fructose corn syrup. The nectar of Coca-Cola and caramel coloring mixed with a little bit of honey. I was lead to the ingredients by a claim on the front label. "A delicious mild honey taste!" Wha? Who wants a mild honey taste? Isn't that kind of like olive oil companies marketing those brands with a mild olive oil flavor? I'm so very confused. If you don't want an olive oil taste, use vegetable oil. If you don't want a honey taste, use sugar for God's sake. If you're worried about getting fat, stop drinking sodas before you cut back on honey.

The worst part about impostor honey is the packaging. It's in a small plastic bear with a yellow top! Oh, the inhumanity!

All of this lead me to the closest thing to a Web page for Kelley Honey Farms (P.O. Box 45, Chicota, TX 75425 if you are riled up enough to write them personally), titled "Donkeys We Have Sold and Some of Their Stories These little donkeys have moved to their new homes and are enjoying donkey hugs". Apparently these guys, the farmers, not the donkeys, really love them some Kelley Farm honey. And on the flip side, on a site called the BeeSource Forums, I found this discussion about the impostor honey. Remember the maple syrup, some posters lamented. I certainly hope honey is not en route to the fake sugarfication of syrup as we know it.

Anyway, all this honey thinking takes me back...

I had a great uncle who was a beekeeper. Lee Handy was married to my dad's mom/grandma's sister Mary, who was also the sister of Aunt Pud, for those of you out there familiar with her. Lee and Mary had a restaurant in downtown Branson, Mo., for years and years. My dad worked there as a kid, back before Branson became what it is now. Lee and Mary were workers, boy. Always were. Lee farmed honey until probably the year before he died, maybe 7 years ago.

When I was a kid in Aurora, we would take monthly trips to Branson to visit Grandma Joyce, Uncle Bob and Aunt Pud, who all lived together in Branson, and Uncle Lee and Aunt Mary, who lived in Hollister, just on the other side of Lake Taneycomo. Lee and Mary had this giant vat of honey in their kitchen. A 3 gallon barrel, at the least, with a spout at the end. I can remember eating honey until I was sick in that kitchen. Chelsea and I licking our fingers, while Mom and Dad sat 'round the kitchen table and drank coffee with the two of them. I dreamt as a kid of owning that property and spending all my time gardening and making trails through the woods. I still dream of that sometimes. And the thing is, you could buy a house like that on land like that, in a land far far away from here, for what you'd pay for a 700-square-foot apartment in downtown Austin. ...

Ah gez, the life of a beekeeper. Put it on the wouldn't-it-be-cool-to-be list along with campground manager and museum docent.

I just hope Uncle Lee didn't catch wind of this fake honey businezz.

We are wonderink

I just started Off Ramp, a book by Hank Stuever, this journalist-turned-author who has a really good take on what he calls the American Elsewhere. Where strip malls slowly die and fenced-in concrete fields dot the town or suburb. In the preface, he's describing how his interest in this world (a world in which he grew up) played in to his role as a journalist. He has a different take on journalism. Below is a rough excerpt from a story in the book where he's describing an encounter at a campground with some European college students.

"We are from the Netherlands, and we are for two days wonderink who it is you are, and why you are all the time with cameras and writing down things?"

I have not since heard a more lovely or correct string of words that could so perfectly capture what I believed I was trying to do in newsprint, writing stories that contained almost no important news, no investigative scoops, no Pulitzer-worthy moments of triumph or inspiration, and would be on the recycling stack with the trash in a matter of hours.

Who it is you are.

All the time with cameras and writing down things.

We are wonderink.

As exactly and accurate as I tried to get the facts and quotes about the proposed fiscal budget numbers, to get correct titles of spokespersons, to have the right spelling of names and exact ages of the dead little girls — sisters — pulled from the crumpled automobile on Christmas Eve, I was always going over one distinct boundary in newspapers, and it had to do with the first part of the question: Who it is you are. I was the narrator.

I am all the time with writing down things, looking for a glimmer of who it is you are.

As a journalist, I really relate to this sentiment. I think it's why I could never do a traditional reporting gig. Newspapers just don't really support journalists who really push the writings limits. We work in such a constrictive world of rules. My job is almost entirely composed of learning rules and then enforcing them — on other adults who are intelligent, capable beings, who, outside this job, couldn't care less if I told them their way was wrong and my way — the way of the system — was right. Can you imagine it? "I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Romney. I understand; Though Mitt is merely an annoying usage of a perfectly good piece of sports equipment, Tagg is unacceptable in that spelling; the dictionary only lists Tag with one 'g'. You'll have to pick another name." (Yes, Mitt Romney has a son named Tagg.) Sometimes it's very strange to have to be this voice of authority on rules of grammar, style and usage, when outside work, I encourage and try to live a life free from such restrictions on storytelling and other art forms. Hurray for e.e. cummings. You go, Bjork and Joanna Newsom. Hallelujah for Andy Warhol.

But in four hours, when I turn on my computer at work, sentence fragments will be wrong. Again.

So, reading Mr. Stuever's works is inspiring to me. Working inside the box and outside the box at the same time. And still getting the little girls' names spelled right.

Did his words strike any other writers/journalists out there? What about people who consume media who aren't journalists? I think The New Yorker might be close in achieving this goal (specifically in the Talk of the Town section). And perhaps This American Life. Are there any others?

Ta-da!

In an effort to satiate you readers out there who are dying, just dying, to make comments about Julian or my blog, I have started a blogger account that is accessible through addiebroyles.com or directly at broylesa.blogspot.com. I will continue to post slideshows and other tidbits 'o fun on my Web site, so I'd recommend going through there to get here if you want to be sure not to miss anything.

So, no new blog today, but I've posted all the back entries in case you want to catch up on reading them or if you want to give your thoughts on a particular entry. Sorry, no cute videos of Julian on this blog just yet, but once I figure out how to do it (without YouTube's help), they will return. :)

Pots o' gold

Listening to the new Radiohead album, In Rainbows, right now, the one that’s been in the news lately because the band is giving digital versions of the songs away for free on on its Web site. Well, to me it was free. You can pay what you want (in pounds, nonetheless. And at $2 to the pound…Makes me think of the time I bought the Darkness' retro big hair 80s album — with the mega hit of 2003 “All you need is a thing called love” — a total of three times. Yes, I spent roughly $60 on this album. Was it worth it? Yes, if only for the feeling of fitting in with the British crowd that owning the album gave me. And that is one killer song. I digress…). I did a lot of moral calculating in regard to how much I would pay, or if I would pay at all. I decided I’d pay through my own little barter system with Radiohead. They’re too busy being superfamous music gods to notice, of course. But my karma conscious was getting to me. So I figured I’d do something that I deemed equal in value of what I’d pay for the album in a record store. Pass on the goodness. So, what is worth 10 songs? (Songs that turned out to be really, really good. More on that later.) As much as an entire screenplay? An afternoon for free babysitting? Designing another poster for work? Or maybe just a well thought out blog post about the situation, the band, the music?

I’d love to have a chat with those Radiohead boys about this. Would they say about the exchange of art for art? Is it a fair deal? Not nearly as many people will read this blog as who will download their album. It took them infinitely longer to record that album than for me to type this entry. What about art for good deeds? Maybe I should give money to KUT radio, the local NPR station that has been spinning lots of Radiohead tracks this week in connection with the album’s release. Wonder what Thom Yorke and his buddies had in mind.

And it’s not like they need any more fans. I think they really just want to share what they have felt compelled to great, just like we all do. That’s why blogs are free. That’s why YouTube exists. When people talk about the democracy of the Internet, that’s what they are talking about. You don’t need a record label or a book deal to put your goods out there. (I’m going to start a blog list soon, and I’ll share some of the fountains of creativity I’ve found on the net.)

But here’s what I’ve got for now. This album is really something I’m happy to have, so I’ll share that with others who might be interested. You may not have listened to Radiohead before (I’m a relative newbie, too), but they are giving you this great chance to start. Or at least try ‘em out. They are hoping that you’ll take them up on the offer that your time spent listening to their songs is worth at least what you’d pay in a store. That listening to their songs is worth the time it takes you to do so. How much are you worth an hour? Or 42 minutes, rather, in the case of In Rainbows.

It’s an interesting marketing plan and I hope it works. The music industry desperately needs a change. Good for Radiohead for offering a solution. It works for me. I really like this album. Maybe you’ll really like something on this site. Maybe you’ll enter your own little barter deal with the kiddos (or Kid-A-dos :)) and have a listen yourself.
 alb

Harvest time

Fall, as rich as fall in Texas can be, is in full swing. The high is only in the low 80s; we don’t have to throw on the air conditioning at noon; the leaves have a light yellow hue to them; the underbrush along the Greenbelt is turning brown; the night is quietly stealing a few more minutes of light each day. Someone at work made the first reference, in jest, to “Tis’ the season.” Everyone groaned. We know what’s coming…

Julian has four teeth on the top and a third cutting through on the bottom! He little face has been swallowed up by these teeth. Remember when you were a kid and your adult front teeth grew in? Because he’s so small, these wee baby teeth take up his whole mouth. Oh, and he’s rocking a Madonna gap already. He’s a little entertainer already.

With the teeth, Julian really seems more boyish lately. He loves to play games with you. We’re teaching him how to chase us around and roll the ball back and forth. He loves peek-a-boo and tickle games. And he’ll do anything, anything, to eat paper. Nothing is safe: posters on the wall, receipts in your purse, Blockbuster dvd mailer slips, books on the bookshelf. Oh and the toilet paper. Lest we forget his love for the TP. Not that he knows how to use it, of course.

Ian has been recording like a madman lately. He’s got five songs on the go, most of which he’s has strumming along in his head for years. Some of which end up getting stuck in my head they are so catchy. “Tell me are you ready, ready?” In the next months, I’ll let ya’ll know when and how you can get your hands on these limited edition, soon-to-sell-out, collector’s copies of “Death of a Rock Star,” which you can brag to your friends is a modern-day, honest-to-God concept album. It’s pretty cool. I’m proud of him.

Julian is involved in the recording process. Ian will sit Julian in his high chair next to the recording unit and mic and let him watch as he plays and records. Julian will wave his hands up and down, not quite dancing or clapping his hands yet, but his own babyfied version of musical expression. I can’t wait to have kid dance parties over here. Ruby, who’s long been walking, is testing out the different ways she can move on two feet. She’s a go-getter, I tell you. Damn near running already. Julian, on the other hand, seems pretty happy with crawling like a silverback gorilla, butt up in the hair and legs straight. But don’t let him fool you. He’s a fast little sucker. You turn your back for one second and he’s eating toilet paper again.

Erin, who’s no longer from Portland OR New York, came down for a visit this week. She’s loving her Dallas apartment and the anticipation of starting her totally awesome job this week at a very prominent ad agency in Dallas. (You know those Chick-fil-a ads with the cows telling you to eat more “chikn,” yup that’s her new employer.) It’s so wonderful to have her so close. I mean, Dallas to Austin is probably the worst drive in the country, but it’s better than 3 days’ driving to Oregon or NYC. Now if only we could get those Soesiedelmantaerts to move down here…

Home

I’m heading to the end of an 8-day workweek, but the trip to Missouri was well worth it. Julian was a pretty good traveler, as good as could be expected cutting his top teeth. We thought there were only the top two, but quickly discovered he was in various stages of cutting FOUR top teeth. Some of his buddies from the playgroup are working on their eighth or ninth tooth; I can only imagine! He’ll have six when he’s done with these teeth, in another week or so. So far, biting hasn’t been too much of an issue. He’ll do it accidentally a couple of times a week, but it’s never too severe.

So, with the breaking through of a top tooth, GaGa, YaYa and Grandpa, Chelsea and Kenny got to see a Julian first, something they were quite pleased about. They hadn’t seen him for months, so his mobility was as much a shock for them as it was for us. Had to quickly babyproof the house, then gave the kiddo rein. Mom even unleashed the Tupperwave, from the “God Bless America” cabinet, named so for the shouting that occurs when trying to fish out one piece of plastic and the entire collection tumbles out. He particularly loved the koozies. One of our own, indeed.

After he got readjusted to his surroundings (Which even I go through every time I go home. My parents will have rearranged a room, repainted a bathroom, replaced a rug, built a ginormous two-story deck, which is worth a drive to Aurora to see…), he was back to his curious, entertaining self. Going after the cat food, sticking newspapers in his mouth, rubbing banana in the carpet. I left him with mom and GaGa Friday to head to Columbia.

It was odd to be away from Julian, away from Ian and not be at work. I very rarely have that time to my self. So the drive, which I figure I’ve made at least 100 times, was nice. Dived straight into Shakespeare’s and Boulevard when I got there. Ooooing and aaaahing at all the new development downtown. There are so many new businesses and buildings along Ninth St.! I didn’t spend too much time on campus. After lunch, we split south, to get out of the city.

As I spent more time in Columbia when I was in school, I was so centered downtown, living above Boone’s Tavern and working at the J-School, that it was always the goal to get out of town as much as we could. Weekly trips to the Missouri River were a must. As were treks in and around the trails in the Devil’s Icebox area. There is this swimming hole we found a few years back on some conservation land near there that we (Daniel, Scott, Bobby and some other friends) ventured to after pizza and beer. It became this ecology adventure, with the boys seeing who could name the most frogs, trees and geological formations. I love going with them into nature because I always learn so much about what’s around us. If they had their druthers, most of them would live out there in the woods like wildmen, surviving off what the land provided them. College degrees linger, however, so most of them balance schoolwork with trips like these into the forest.

This particular trip into the forest ended in a cave, hidden a few miles into the hike. It’s a pretty big cave, they tell me, that they’d explored before. We walked as far back into it as we could without a light, but that’s as far as we got. They started talking about “The Descent” and that was enough for me.

The night progress into foil packs of veggies thrown into the backyard fire at Bobby and Daniel’s place. Bless their hearts, they’ve already snagged a group of very nice freshmen girls to entertain. I enjoyed hanging out with these 18- and 19-year-olds, but their faces dropped when I told them I graduated in 2005 and even further when I mentioned the kid (they were quite fascinated when I had to pull out the breast pump, however). Usually, I find myself as the young, overeager one, almost apologizing for my age (“Ask Addie what year she graduated” one coworker once told another, knowing the hilarity that would ensue when I replied.). So it was interesting to feel so aged, so dated by these pups.

But I was transplanted to back when I was their age, remembering what it was like to feel confined by my limited experience and to want so badly for the borders of my reality to expand. The tedium of twenty, I once read, when I was twenty, in a short story in The New Yorker. But you can’t even begin to imagine the magnitude of the experiences you will have, (I cannot imagine the magnitude of the experiences that are to come!) so I didn’t try. I just encouraged them to study abroad and to enjoy their college years because they do not last forever.

The next day, Scott and I headed home. His home has shifted from Lockwood to Golden City to now Webb City, but home for both of us is this general region of Southwest Missouri. Where the billboards are embarrassing (“I’m watching you.  – God”), where the empty fields line the endless country roads, where everything is closed on Sunday evenings, where a stop at a Culver’s becomes the culinary highlight of the day. No matter how far we go, our roots remain in this often overlooked, often forgotten corner of the state. (I don’t forget it though. No matter how hard I might have tried : )

He hung out at the house and helped prepare for a party Saturday night at the house. Friends from Springfield came down, croquet was played, chicken was eaten, babies were held, banjos were played. A highlight of my trips home are always the get-togethers at my house with my parent’s friends. This trip was no different.

We spent the next few days catching up with more friends, meeting new boyfriends and new babies, discussing the new Wal-Mart Supercenter that just opened. We got our pictures taken at school with my mom and I had my teeth cleaned. After a few days of being in Aurora, especially without Ian there, I forget I don’t live there anymore.

Well, almost. I stayed in my old room from when I was a kid, which no longer has the Classic Pooh border or multi-colored walls. I snuggled with the feline, Iggy, who seems more frail each time I see her. My eyeballs were floating from all the coffee and yummy brew I drank on this awesome, brand new porch that transforms the back yard. Everything stays the same, but different, as always. Even the wretched ice storm of last winter couldn’t permanently alter Aurora’s landscape as much as I thought it would. Ozarkans are a determined folk, I tell you.

It did my heart good to see some really dear, genuine friends, who aren’t easily replaced, even after a few years in a new place. I love Austin and my growing friendships here, but my trip to Missouri reminded me how good it feels to be around your longtime homies, the people who really know you, not just the current version of you.

We had an awesome 5 days up there. I’m enchanted living in Austin, but it breaks my heart sometimes to live so far away.

 "There's no tedium like the tedium of twenty. But all the while you are in fact flying fast into a future that has already been decided by a couple of accidental encounters or scraps of dreams."
Tessa Hadley, "The Surrogate" The New Yorker, September 15, 2003