The Republic of Cambridge

Life in B’ham was like life in a bubble. If I were Mormon, I’d say it was like life on a star, which sounds more poetic. It was too good and still true.

Once again, I find myself in a town that is a bubble. A star bubble. The only difference is I’m not a student this time. Oh yeah, and I have a husband and a kid. Oh yeah, and rent is exactly 8 times what it was in the republic of B’ham. I’m not kidding. Oh yeah, and rumors of winter weather and wind chill are beginning to make me a bit shifty. Oh yeah, and everybody in this town goes to Harvard. Or MIT. And one person I met, both.

Before our move east I wondered if we would meet a few pretentious academics out here. We’ve all met that kind of jerk who, by opening his/her mouth, so easily spoils business meetings, Q and A’s, lunch... When your education takes you to such lofty heights you cannot relate to the rest of the world, you not only do yourself a grave disservice, you make the whole world have to deal with yet another intellectual prick. And it’s not a real education you’re getting if you think what school you go to or what you learned makes you any more special than the guy sitting next to you on the metro. I mean, we just want to know - can you, or can't you, break it down on the dance floor.

What I have found to be true is that few people actually give a rat’s tail what school you go to out here. Everybody and their uncle is or knows somebody at a big named school - either here, or NY, or the other Cambridge or somewhere else.

Imagine: every single person in your apt is getting an $80,000 degree from Harvard. Every kid in the building across the street, and the building behind you, and the building behind that one, and the one across the street from the building behind the one behind you as well. Everybody goes to Harvard here, everybody has the sweatshirt to prove it. However, what does seem to be important is the brand of shoe you are wearing. Aren't those what really make the man? Shoes and overcoats. You definately need a good overcoat. Some days Mike and I must look like a pair of homeless bums walking around with a beautiful baby we must have kidnapped or something.

Life in the republic of Cambridge is a bit rediculous, but we do enjoy it here. Meantime I'm trying to convince Mike to get a pair of winter shoes, something pretty and warm to keep his feet from falling off in the cold.

t h a n k s g i v i n g

My favorite holiday. Family, friends, food, gratitude for all the above and more. Mike’s friend, Eric, from Austin (whom I’d only met at the Pardue wedding years ago) and his wife, Paulina, invited us up to New Hampshire to spend the weekend with his family. Their amazing hospitality was such a gift after months of hard work and going it alone out here. So here are some fall-in-New England pictures as I’ve promised.

(E discovers a window at the Shire)

We spent the first night at the “Shire,” on 19 acres of New England pines and fog. It turned out that the heater was broken, so we stayed in a bedroom with a pellet stove. We (Mike, Emmy and I) went to bed around 2 am, unplugged the stove (not how you’re supposed to turn off a P stove), awoke a few minutes later when the house fire alarm went off because our room had filled up with smoke. Down to the cold but clean air basement we went and finally got some shut eye sometime after 2:30 with E suited up like an Eskimo and under 10 inches of blankets. The bog down the road was frozen over – needless to say it was very cold that night.

(view from outdoor shower)
In the morning we went to the “Cabin,” more accurately called the “Mansion Cabin,” by Paulina. The spread was beautiful and the food was the tastiest I’ve ever enjoyed for Thanksgiving. (Sorry Mom! But you are an amazing cook and the most inspiring and wonderful mother!!) E loved their dog, I loved the radiant stone floor heating and outdoor shower, Mike loved the eternally brewing coffee pot. How I wished the space was mine to have decorated it as my own. Mike and I were both taken by the beauty of NH and wonder if we'll buy a little old house there someday. Rent in the city, spend summers and holidays at our own cabin.

(Mike with E on couch - he "forgot" to bring his dobro)
This was the first Thanksgiving I didn't hear a football game playing on the TV from one of my brothers watching. After dinner was the traditional music night, where instrument clad friends as far as Vermont arrived ready to sing by the fire place. Crazy family you say? We felt right at home! We stayed the night at the cabin and were warm with a good time.

The next day we decided to head home as Mike had lots of work to do for school and a new commercial gig he scored right before we left and I have to compile audio clips for a job interview this week. We got home late last night exhausted but happy to be in our own place again. Mike had the idea of cooking another Thanksgiving meal for the three of us. "What's Thanksgiving without leftovers for days after?" he asked. Not a bad point. So at 8 o'clock in the evening we made a rice and mushroom stuffed chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, brussels sprouts, stuffing and rolls. I am so stuffed I've only managed black coffee and chocolate today - the best way to feed a food hangover.
I wish we could have personally wished each of you a happy Thanksgiving. You are lovely and we are grateful to call you our friends and family. I'm thankful to God for your lives and hope you find great joy and purpose as the year wraps up.

Cutting Teeth and Hosting Friends

I am looking out the window watching the snow fall quietly on Mike and our friend Carter as they walk to the T(rain). I am considering yelling down at them to stop so I can take a photo, but Carter has a plane to catch and the baby is sleeping in the other room. I can’t believe I didn’t take a single photo during his visit. And no mention of any of our other visitors on the blog! So here’s three cheers for Biz, Carter, Julia and my mom who have all ventured out here to our place in Cambridge.


E has 6 teeth now. She started walking last week and self weaned shortly after that. It sort of broke my heart that she could become so independent so quickly. Well, not sort of, I have only today recovered from being a weepy mess all weekend. Anybody reading this should call their mother right now and apologize for growing up so damn fast.
Mike wrapped E up in her Eskimo get up and walked her to the dr’s after we noticed a little blue blister on her gums. (I thought it was a piece of basil three days ago.) Did you know you can bruise your gums? The trauma of the doctor’s probing has made teeth brushing an even more difficult task. I tried wiping E’s teeth as she slept and wouldn’t have been able to get a putty knife wedged in if I tried for how tightly sealed she kept those lips.

gushing blood

The first time Mike ever called 911 was when I was pregnant and fainted and while on my way down to the floor hit my head on the dining room table – you know just to secure the experience of unconsciousness.
The second time Mike called 911 was a few days ago when the kid with whom I was pregnant at said unconsciousness hit her face on the kitchen floor. No big deal, Mike just scooped her up when she started crying hard. Half a minute later she hadn’t stopped. Miked came back into the kitchen with Emmy still in his arms and said, Look, she’s bleeding!
Until that day I had never seen gushing blood. I had heard about, seen it on TV and in movies, but never witnessed with my own eyes bleeding so severe that it would qualify as gushing. Emmy’s mouth was a fountain of deep red, thick, healthy blood. I somehow had the time to think her chin looked like a goatee.
Then I panicked. Outwardly. I made Mike call 911 because I didn’t know what to do first: try to stop the bleeding or try to determine whether she had actually swallowed a piece of tongue she bit if it was still attached at all.
Five minutes later nearly a dozen men, yes so many that they took two elevators, came to the rescue. Only the second before they came through the door, Emmy stopped bleeding AND crying. Her newly sprouted upper teeth had cut the inside of her lip. They suggested popsicles to keep the swelling down and probably enjoyed a few laughs on the way back to the fire station at our expense.
One thing we learned is that you don’t get charged for having an ambulance arrive at your call. Mike was talking to his friend (who I call Black Dan to differentiate from White Dan, call me racist, whatever) about it, who said,
“All black people know that. You can call 911, but DON’T get in the ambulance.” That’s when you’re out about 500 bucks. Did you know that? If something happens again and we have to take E to the emergency, I am putting what appendage fell off into a zip lock bag and running the half mile to the hospital myself.

ready for East Coast snow!!!