Surprise

There was a wasp in my slipper this morning. When I slipped my groggy and cold foot into the warm comfort of the sheepskin lining, I felt the electrical zing of its sting. This is how Wednesday, October 15th began, with a shock. Like unexpected bookends, the day would end with a shock as well.

Cafe was busy as usual and filled with grateful diners. Storytime made it’s debut with a gaggle of sporadically focused toddlers milling around tiny chairs as a patient volunteer read book after book amid the din of dishes, conversation, and music that is the weekly soundtrack of the Lost Cafe.

I had a low-energy but invigorating run – my first in our new “neighborhood”. I panted through downtown and out North Fork Road which meanders alongside fairly dry riverbed and then slipped my tax return into the mailbox just before it was too late.

We made our daily pilgrimage to the Briarpatch to save abundant vegetables from rotting in the garden. Such an amazing thing to inherit an established and thriving garden. The steady flow of piles of peppers, eggplants, tomatoes, squash, and greens means frequent late night canning for me. Jars of salsa, sweet peppers and tomatoes are multiplying and enlivening our otherwise drab kitchen coffers.

Despite piles of work to be done, everything stopped for the final presidential debate. Obama was steady, authentic, and sharp as usual. Did anyone else hear Mccain say Palin is a “breast of fresh air” during tonight’s debate? And then, somewhere amidst the banter about educational reform and Roe v Wade, there was this:

Yes, following in the footsteps of Sarah Palin, I am expanding the brood beyond a sustainable level.. my symmetrical and manageable little family of four (including grown ups) is expanding to FIVE.

Breathe……

I handed the omniscient, news-bearing stick without explanation or forewarning to my dear husband as commentators recounted the candidates remarks. He smiled broadly while changing our youngest’s soaked diaper.

Sambada Christens the Briar Patch

Our beloved friends in the form of Sambada came for the world’s shortest visit to Petrolia and an outrageously fun show at our very own Grange Hall. The P-town Freaks made their endearing debut and Blase Bonpane graced the stage solo-style as well. By some miracle, my children fell peacefully asleep in the jogger at the concert, allowing me to dance ecstatically for joyous hours.

Sambada camped out on the bare floors and christened our new house, the Briar Patch. After filling them with espresso, frittatta, and a box of apples, peppers and tomatoes, we hugged them and packed them into their cozy van so they could roll off to their next gig.

Inspired by daddy’s performance, Ossian and Nola took their own musicianship to a new level. Check out the video.

mother nearly poisons family…AGAIN.

Since waking this morning, I’ve performed 3 puppet shows, watched another two, filled a dustpan, participated in a “dance party”, washed a sink full of crusty dishes, read 3 books out loud to a very small and curious audience, made cheese omelets, flipped and served butterfly molasses pancakes, read the NY times headlines, and rolled out play dough pizzas. It is now 7:50 am, Standard Parent Time.

The middle of the day progressed into a typical swirl of disparate activities… more puppet shows, a few smoothies, a cascade of books read, phone calls to undecided voters, futile cleaning, intermittent interviewing of subjects for an upcoming story, a slow run in the fragrant rain, family band practice, laundry management, and dining on wooden food at my daughters’ “cafe”. I love Saturdays. Today is that day…we are afforded the luxury of two parents on deck instead of the usual tag-team of one.

Our friend Chris arrived today from Seattle to embark on mild renovations to the new house that just became ours last week. We loaded up and whisked him immediately over to tour our lovely triple-wide on 18 acres. The ample garden at the new house is laden with bursting tomatoes, dangling eggplants, and zesty, ready peppers. The girls and I exuberantly harvested and sampled our way down the aisles of beds until we reached the corn patch where Juicy dark berries peppered a familiar looking dark and leafy plant. Into my giddy mouth a luscious berry went. It was so sweet and good. Pie dreams filled my head as I picked another. “I wonder what these yummy berries are? Blase, do you know?” I asked in his general direction. “Um, if you don’t know, I wouldn’t eat it,” was his obvious answer. We both looked at the kids and non-verbally agreed that I should not feed them the juicy berries cupped in my hand.

I emerged from that moment shocked by my own capacity to experience a complete separation from reason and common sense and realized that this separation had led me to an embarrassingly odd and stupidly dangerous act.

Whoops… no pies tonight. Some of you might remember that this was not the first time I’ve nearly poisoned my own little family as a result of my recklessly blinding appetite for something delicious….

The seductive berry was Deadly Nightshade, a relative of the tomato, potato, and wolfberry. It also bears the deceptively romantic sounding alias of “Belladonna.” I learned that the Belladonna was believed to be one of the ingredients used by witches to make their flying ointment so they could fly around and hang out with other witches.

Quick to research my prognosis, Chris found an online recommendation that I drink a cup of warm vinegar and mustard. I rustled one up and started gulping it down. The challenging flavor forced me to pause momentarily and ask, “what will this do for me?” “It will make you vomit,” he replied. I defiantly spit it out and explained that vomiting was not one of my goals

“What other ideas do you have?” I pressed. Another website recommended coffee to counteract the narcotic effects of the non-lethal dose I had naively ingested. Jumping at straws, I filled the teakettle and pulled a cold bag of ground coffee from the freezer. 4 cups of espresso later, my nightshade-induced pseudo-trippy mental viscosity morphed into caffeinated weirdness.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your opinion of “housework”, my poisoned afternoon did not impair my ability to make messy glittered collages, assemble lasagnas, wash more sinkfuls of dishes, have another dance party, and bathe my earth-covered children.