How Spat.

Yesterday I visited Bailey's In-laws; such a cozy house with good company and lots of books and interesting furniture pieces from all around the world. While Sandy was suggesting a list of good reading material, it made be think of a book I'd finished last summer. (I have many books I started, then grew side-tracked before they were completed--I hate this and am really irritated at my lack of focus and inner drive.)
This particular book was called The God of Small Things; quite sad but smattered with endearing words and delicious sentences. Recalling the author's use of 'Bar Nowl' reminds me suddenly of our late night visitor. The How Spat has been absent for many months and it will be several more before he shows face again, if ever. I'd gotten rather fond of his random drop-ins. Hopefully he'll be back....

Lost: 1 Antique Oak Rocking Chair

...through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

In a quandary we've all frantically searched for something; a set of keys, cell phone, a library book past due... It never fails--even if you slow down/retrace your steps/distastefully dig through the trash...its mysteriously gone forever.
Until 20 minutes later and there the object sits--right in front of your deluded, exasperated eyes. Gah!

During Thanksgiving week, we lounged around Bailey and Nate's cabin on 2 pre-owned comfortable chairs, or several couch cushions strewn on an older, patterned rug. I was telling Bailey how I loved to sit and rock my babies-- all of them snuggled and slept to the sound of my beating heart. A rocking chair is a life-saver needed by all new mommies--how I wished I could ship her the one I used.
The summer I was 18 and out of high school, I stripped the crinkled blackened finish off an old gently curved, low-seated, slatback rocker, exposing the lovely golden oak underneath. I sanded, rubbed and steel-wooled until it glowed, not realizing that I'd actually be using it 9 months later.

Baffled, my old memories soon grew even more confused. "I don't know where it is!" I told her. "I remember exactly where I used to rock Brigham, but I don't recall it at the smaller house." We'd moved. I racked my brain and wanted to cry. Had I left it in a garage and someone stole it like they did my cute iron day/trundle bed? Had I been feeling overly generous and let a former friend borrow it? Who? Who? Would my Ex have it? No... How could it be gone for so many years and years-- It was not in the garage...

So I came back from Alaska with that niggling predicament: What happened to the rocking chair? At my mom's? There was a clunky one in the garage after all, but it had a cushioned bottom and broken rocker. It bothered me in bed--I was heartsick at night and I've laid awake ever since--each of my babies fed and held there, sleepy, sweet, fussy or sick. Perhaps I was just overly excited about Bailey's new baby--who is already loved by so many people and he's not even here yet... I can imagine him cradled in mommy and daddy's arms...

And then, just sitting here, I knew! Oh brother--I sheepishly and embarrassingly admit what an idiot I am. Bailey, do you know where the rocking chair is???

Homer Alaska has a fabulous library. While I was there, Bailey checked out a few books on baby names in her quest for a middle name. Brigham has already dubbed her baby 'Stephen' knowing full well such an irritatingly mediocre name would be totally inadequate. He's already purchased a gun for in utero 'Stephen'. Nate made some name suggestions while he moved about the kitchen installing an island he'd created out in his greenhouse/shop. A couple sticks of wood in the stove made it cozy inside. We looked through a ghastly 70's birthing book and home decorating magazines and later I picked up a bestseller to read: The Story of Edgar Sawtelle.
When my kids were babies, I went through a phase of disliking dogs. I guess I was a germaphobe or something--I didn't want them anywhere near my babies and I could hardly (if at all) put out my hand to pet one, no matter how nice they or their owners, were. This book would make a dog-hater change their mind. I can't write much about the book--don't want to dwell on sadness at the moment. Nate and Bailey's Daphne Dog helped me overcome my "anti-dogged-ness"; what a cute fluffy little hairball, and then it's temporary playmate, puppy Fergus, whom I call FurrGuy.
Daphne and I played 'sock' several times during my vacation--mainly just shaking a sock silly while it rips and tears and we bound (read: mom is on her hands and knees!) around the room rambunctiously hiding behind furniture and peeking at each other until one of us gets winded. We also went for several walks after Bailey's pots of strong coffee--either on the awesome little wooded trail across from her front window or on the beach. The weather there was a temperate 37; it snowed slightly one morning and misted, sprinkled, was sunny about 10 times a day. I couldn't get used to the sun coming up at 9:30!
I was totally thrilled that I saw my 1st grandchild move--a brief little bump near Bailey's bellybutton as she lay on the table at her doctor's office. Gotta show some pics!