Love is a Battlefield.

So now, the Obama/Biden signs have all been taken down, and there is one scraggly McCain/Palin sign hanging back on the fence.

After much thought about what could be going on in the heads of our neighbors, Caleb and I have decided that they are fighting about who to vote for, and either the wife or husband got mad and tore down the other person's signs. Then, the other retaliated by tearing the new signs down.

We'll see how long this battle lasts. This election might just end in divorce.

Of course, this is all speculation.

Neighbor Update

Last night, I noticed the neighbors across the street had taken down their four McCain/Palin yard signs. Today, we drove by and saw they had replaced the signs with Obama/Biden signs. The family had even stuck an Obama/Biden sticker over the McCain/Palin sticker on their mini-van. I was really shocked to see such a change, and then, I felt really moved. I'm sad to see what's happening with the economy, but it's great to see people reconsidering their choices.

Saved

Caleb's buddy from college, John, is a police officer here in Morgantown. We enjoy visiting with him, because we get all the dirt on the local crime scene. Also, it's kind of fun hanging out with a cop when most of our friends are artistic types--you know writers who drink red wine and read The New Yorker and such--but John's a Budweiser and Playboy type of guy.

The other night, he was at our house in his police uniform and he looked down at his pants. "Oh man," he said, "I've got blood on my pants." I just sat there with my mouth hanging open , when he said "I had to kill a deer on the road, but we have to document it every time we use our gun, so I just...." then he made the motion of slitting a throat with his hand. I was sort of shocked, but also relieved that it wasn't a the blood of a person, which was my first thought.

But I digress. So anyway, John comes and visits us sometimes on slow nights when he's bored. It turns out that the life of a police officer in Morgantown is far more boring than exciting (not like in Boise when the cops are too busy shooting people to be bored). We're always glad to have a visitor, but I sometimes worry about what the neighbors will think. Our neighbors are mostly elderly, and they are very nosy. There is a young family across the street, but they have FOUR McCain/Palin yard signs in their lawn, so they're pretty conservative.

When John comes to visit, he drives up in his cop car, which he parks outside, and then comes in the house in his full uniform with his gun and everything. He showed up Monday evening and hung out for a half an hour, told us about his new girlfriend who works at Victoria's Secret, nothing scandalous or anything, but on Tuesday, we received a strange phone call.

The minister of some church was calling because he wanted to talk to us about being saved. I'm pretty sure that one of the neighbors referred him to us, and I suspect they think we're criminals because the cops come by regularly. I mean, we hardly seem criminal or anything, but I'll admit the visits from the "cop" might look bad. Next time, I guess I'll just make a big show of waving when he leaves yelling "Bye John. Come again FRIEND!"

In Memory Of....

Heirloom tomatoes. We're enjoying the last of our heirloom tomatoes this week, which is so sad. The great thing about West Virginia is that it takes little to no skill to grow tomatoes here. We're terrible garderners. We do everything wrong--plant our rows too close together, let weeds grow in between them, forget to water--and still, our tomatoes turn out big and beautiful. Our favorites this year were a Mr. Stripey varietal. They were yellow with red stripes running through them. The rest of our garden didn't fare so well, but I don't think that's due to our gardening ability. We had a really wet summer, and all of the gardens in the neighborhood were attacked by some kind of fungus. Our zucchini squash and eggplant didn't survive, although we do have scallions and rhubarb growing. Next year, I think we'll rig up a system for catching rainwater. I know I complain a lot about the rain, but at least we never have to water our yard. have a lot of weeding to do, and Caleb will need to till over what's left of the garden. I would also like to plant some tulip bulbs for the spring. Unfortunately, Caleb is to yardwork as I am to diet, meaning he does it begrudgingly and only after he's been shamed. I can't point fingers though, since I don't like yardwork either. I just like the look of a nice yard.

Here is a picture of some of our tomatoes. We froze lots of Marinara and canned salsa. We also had a bunch of jalapenos, which Caleb turned into Louisiana-style hot sauce, and it is yummy!


We were able to eat lots of fresh salsa this summer.

I also made a pie with the Huckleberries we picked in the Dolly Sods. Caleb thinks this picture looks like a Norman Rockwell painting.

The Fall colors are starting to settle in, which is nice. Fall is beautiful here, but I approach it with trepidation, because it signals the advent of the long and dreary winter. Winters here are atrocious. Pretty much everyone who lives here agrees on this. The leaves fall, and the trees are all left bare, while the sky is constantly grey, and the roads are muddy. When the directors of the movie version of Cormac McCarthy's book The Road looked for a place that seemed post-apocalyptical, they chose a stretch of highway in Pennsylvania located about a half an hour from here, so that speaks volumes about the landscape here in winter. And when it snows, the roads get slick and dangerous in a way that Idaho roads rarely do. Caleb drives to a Penn State campus three times a week to teach a composition class, and I'm already worrying about him on those roads. I also really wish we could go to Idaho over Christmas break. I miss my family and the snow, but we're planning a trip for the summer instead. Hopefully, next year, we can make it back to my home for Christmas.

Caleb and Reed are both doing great. Caleb's working hard and getting lots of recognition for his great work from his boss, who I think is only second to me as his biggest fan. Reed has started a fancy new preschool where he learns Spanish and Sign Language and all of those things they didn't teach when I was in school. Caleb takes Reed to school in the mornings while I do my homework, and when Reed sees the school, he claps his hands and yells "Yay School! Thank you Daddy!" Reed is such a happy kid.

Well, I'll finish up with a picture of Reed looking adorable.

Bombs and Berries

Last week, in a last ditch effort to save summer, we went to the Purple Fiddle in Thomas, West Virginia. The Purple Fiddle is a "family friendly" bluegrass joint that also serves espresso and microbrewed beer. They get bluegrass music every night during the summer and advertise heavily that kids are welcome. We stayed next door at the Fiddler's Roost, which is their Guest House. It's cute and convenient, but without very many amenities. We took Reed to see two different bands, and he really enjoyed it, but since the bands started at 8:30pm, and that is exactly Reed's bedtime, we were only able to enjoy the music for about a half an hour each night.

Then we went back to our room and watched the original Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory on an old VHS machine. Reed had his own little twin bed, and he loved being in the room with us. He would frequently sit up and wave at us while yelling "Hi Mommy! Hi Daddy!" despite the fact that we were in a bed located approximately one foot from his. Then he would grin ear to ear, stick his thumb in his mouth and lay back down. I decided to let him stay up late since we were on vacation, and we were all up until about 11:00pm the first night.

This was a big mistake, because as it turned out, the band was staying at the Fiddler's Roost also, and they came back at about 2:00am. They then proceeded to sit out on the porch, drink beer, and have a philosophical discussion, which I could hear every word of as the porch was located just underneath our open window. Reed, however, slept through the whole thing and woke up chipper at 6:00am.

I guess we got pay back on the band, because the bathroom was communal, and Reed ran down the hall with his little foot stool that we had brought along shouting. I HAVE TO GO PEE PEE! Then, after Caleb used the rest room, Reed clapped his hands together and cheered "Yay, Daddy went pee pee!" We worked as fast as we could to get him out of there and get breakfast, only to discover that the only place in town didn't open until eight am. So we strolled around town, and this is what we found.

The Cheat River flows right below Thomas. I thought this view of it looked very southern.

Although Thomas has a small, but thriving arts community, there are parts of it that look like a ghost town. It is an abandoned coal mining town. There are cute old buildings like this just waiting to be revitalized. Caleb and I fantasize about turning one of those buildings into a printing press. I guess that will have to wait until we make our millions.

Apparently, Thomas has some conflict between the hippies and the rednecks. They also have some literacy issues. I found this carving on an abandoned door.

It reads: "Thomas WV: World Center for Militant Apathy." Then below that, someone else carved: "This Hear Town Don't Kare and Nobody Can Make Us To!"

The Purple Fiddle is full of hippies in the truest sense. I don't see real hippies around much anymore. Caleb and I have speculated that maybe being a hippie has gone out of style We both get a little nostalgic, Caleb, for the old hippie days of Morgantown, and I, for the hippie days of Missoula. When we got back to Morgantown, my money smelled like Patchouli, and I was immediately transported back to Butterfly Herbs in Missoula when I was 18 and drinking coffee all day with Cassie. Of course, we made fun of the hippies back then, but now I kind of miss them. Also, hippies love kids, which I like.

We also went to the Dolly Sods Wilderness area for a picnic and little hike. It is 4,000 ft high, which is really high for around here, and the country is absolutely stunning. It looks like this:

One our hike, we found a bog absolutely full of huckleberries and wild blueberries. We picked as many as we could without straying off the trail. It's dangerous to stray off the trail in the Dolly Sods because of the live bombs. Yes, that's right. Live bombs. The Dolly Sods used to be a live training area during World War 2, and they warn that there is still the potential for live bombs in the area. Caleb thinks that is a metaphor for West Virginia. It's wild and wonderful, but there are live bombs around, so you can't enjoy it too much. As I'm sure everyone knows, West Virginia has a history of terrible exploitation of the natural resources. I could go on about that forever, but I won't. Instead, I will post this picture that illustrates my point:

But Reed had a great time. He loved being out and picking berries. Then he figured out that he could eat them, and he ate more than he picked. We all had a wonderful time.

Yet another toddler story. Sorry folks, but this is our life.

This story was relayed to me by Caleb over the phone. I, unfortunately, was still in bed when all of this happened. Reed likes to get Caleb up at 6:00am. I say "Caleb," because I have never been, nor ever will be, a morning person. I thought having a child would make me a morning person. When Reed was a baby, I even willingly got up every two hours to nurse him and stumbled blindly through my classes. However, when he reached 12 months and started sleeping through the night, I blissfully slipped back into my old habits of sleeping in, except that now, "sleeping in" means 8:30am instead of 10:30am. Luckily, Caleb is a morning person, so we have a sort of understanding about this.

So anyway, this morning, Reed came into our bedroom at six, went to a drawer, picked out a pair of Caleb's pants, handed them to Caleb and commanded "Pants On!" This is code for "Take me downstairs, feed me breakfast, put on Sesame Street, and then nap on the couch for another hour while I watch Big Bird." When Caleb got downstairs, he realized that Reed's clothes were still in the washer from last night, so he put them in the dryer while he napped on the couch and Reed watched Sesame Street. When he took the clothes out, Reed wanted to put his shorts on, but Caleb said "No, you can't, they're still too hot." Thankfully, Reed is very cautious about hot things, and we don't have to worry about the stove, but we do have to put every meal he eats in the fridge to "make cold" whether that meal is actually hot or not.

So Reed didn't want to wear the "hot" shorts. After they cooled down, Caleb tried to put them on him, but Reed kept shaking his head saying "No, too hot." "No, too hot." Finally, after multiple failed attempts, Caleb put Reed's shorts in the fridge.

Yep, that's right. The fridge. This is the kind of negotiating we do on a daily basis. He then pulled the shorts out of the fridge, let Reed feel how cold and crispy they were around the edges, and Reed put them on. Then, when they were ready to go (Caleb to work and Reed to preschool), Caleb slung his bag around his shoulder. It's sort of a briefcase, sort of a leather messenger bag. When Reed saw the bag, he shouted "My purse!" "My purse!"

"I----Want----A----Purse!"

(I should confess here that, sometimes, I let Reed carry my purse. He likes to sling it over his shoulder on the way from the car to the house). But, now, he apparently thinks that Daddy carries a purse too. Isn't that called a murse (man-purse)?

Dining out

Reed is very expressionate. At a family reunion recently, Caleb's Aunt Debbie, said "he's quite melodramatic, isn't he?" When he's upset, his little face will crumple up and he'll wail in despair. When he's proud, he'll clap his hands together and shout "I did it!" while jumping up and down. When I bring him home from preschool, he'll often run into the house with his hands up in the air shouting "Daddy, where are you?" Except that his speech isn't perfect yet, so it's more like "Daddy, ERE ARE U?"

I think his melodrama might be slightly compensatory. When his hearing was impaired due to chronic ear infections, Caleb and I would use lots of expressions and hand gestures to try and make our points. So as a result, he talks that way now, and I really love it. He's an awfully cute little performer.

Last night, we went to eat at Madeleines. We like Madeleines because the walls are purple, and it's filled with vintage furniture, but they also have a kid's menu and crayons. So we can feel like we're on a date, but we get to have Reed with us. Still, while Madeleines is child-friendly, it is no Chucke Cheese, so I expect Reed to be well-behaved when we're there, which usually isn't a problem because he's very good in restaurants.

This night, when Reed saw food being delivered to another table, he turned towards the swinging doors of the kitchen and yelled (loudly) across the restaurant with his hands quizically raised in the air

"GRILLED CHEESE, ERE ARE U?"

The moment was both mortifying and wonderfully priceless at the same time. I guess that's just life with a two and a half year old.