164/365 Holodno

It's cold now. Flurries last night. Highs in the 30s and 40s all week. It seems like just last week...indeed, it was. Sunday before Thanksgiving was 75. I'm glad we raked leaves when we did, because there's no way I would now.

The juncos are in full force. The various sweetgum trees have popped open their seedpods (the cursed sweetgum balls), coating all surfaces with tiny brown seeds. Juncos eat it up and sit in my magnolia, fat and happy. The mourning doves sit on my porch fluffed up, keeping each other warm. The black Weegie stray with a half a tail is back in the early evenings, hissing at me from under the porch and begging for food. He's so unappealing and yet I've named him Woolly Bear and consider him part of life here between the sycamores.

Billy's in shoes full-time now, when he isn't in sleepers. Fiona has requested more "fleecy" pants for school. Meaning sweatpants. And Daisy dropped the vanity and put on her big brown parka this morning.

Eta holodno, they'd say in Russian. It's cold.

163/365 Life

"This weekend I kept thinking about how fragile life is," Zelda comments to me last night as she decorates her porch with garland and lights. I've just gotten home from the in-laws and our crazy wonderful terrifying relaxing anxious weekend (yes, all five of those adjectives apply at the same time). And I agree. I have to agree.

I watch as Daisy runs up and down the yards in the darkness and chill. She's fine. It's all so normal. It's easy to be lulled.

I have so much hope and anxiety and Zelda reminds me on my other blog that when it's out of my hands, it's in God's.

And frankly, it always is, isn't it?

Valerie comes over and we chat a minute. Then Fiona announces that Bree, Daisy, and she are going to eat dinner at Eliza's. But they have to bring their own. A picnic dinner in Eliza's kitchen. I sigh. Dinner? What's that? It's going to be a cold quick jump in the pool to get back into real life after the weekend. I go find lunch stuff and slap things on plates, walking Daisy's over with her. Nick is in the kitchen and the other girls are at the table. I want to talk to Gretchen but she doesn't appear. That's ok.

I'm getting used to waiting.

162/365 Leaf Raking From Last Week

161/365 Red

160/365 Tall Thin Tree

159/365 Thanksgiving

It's kind of an in-between time. In between pumpkins and wreaths.

158/365 Crooked

Nobody's house is plumb on our block. They were all built on-site, including windows and doors and everything. Add that to the fact that time wears everything away, and the houses settle down into a cozy winter's nap year after year. Porches heave a few centimeters in this direction and the house moves in another direction. Single-pane glass, wavy with age, cracks on the diagonal. Basement floors buckle. Doors stick and the occupants shave off the tops to make them wonkier than before. Things twist and creak and sigh. Don't put a marble on my front hall floor or it'll roll away. Nothing is fun-house style, none of our houses rivals the old Leaner on Lafayette Square. But our houses were built by hand and it shows, good and bad.

157/365 Mystery Water

At first I didn't get it at all. We were walking by and I saw this row of milk gallon jugs filled with liquid. Leftover antifreeze? Dirty water of some kind? But then I connected the dots. The rain barrel attached to the downspout. We have had almost no rain this autumn, but last week we did. Looks like Mrs. Kelly filled them up from the gray water in the barrel. For what purpose, I'm not sure--to water her flowers later? As an art installation in her gangway?

I don't water my lawn, period. I have native plants and hardy perennials. So I've never considered a rain barrel. My parents have one. I do water the garden when it's necessary to keep vegetables alive--but I have a drip hose. Still. Perhaps I should consider a greener way.

156/365 Covet

Many things about the houses on the block do I covet. I wish I had a huge mirror in my front hall framed by columns. I wish I had a matching one on my second floor. I wish I had inlaid wood floors and a first floor bathroom that was meant to be there as opposed to an add-on, badly done. I wish I had a masonry front porch. I wish I had a bay window. My house really is a stripped down version. Pine floors, only one bathroom original to the house, no fancy touches anywhere.

We've done a good job with what we have, and I love this block so much I'm ok with the fact that I have the least impressive house. I mean, all our houses are so solid, so German (they were designed by a man named Emil I believe), so brick. They have high ceilings and stained glass windows and woodwork on top of woodwork. Fireplace mantels and transom windows (although we only have them on the front and back doors).

One neighbor, Bruce, rehabbed his house somewhat when they moved in. The one thing, the only thing that I look at over there and say "I wish" are these windows. I have the front facing ones, sure, we all have these little dormers with two side by side double hung windows. But the higher little skylight style windows. And the triangles on the sides so you could look east and west. Those. Those I covet.

155/365 Laundromat No More

On our corner, across the alley, is a laundromat. Or rather, there was a laundromat. I don't know what it was originally--catty-cornered from it is another commercial property standing vacant. They could have originally been corner stores of some kind. But by the time we moved in it was a laundromat, and not a nice one. When we first moved in, we often used a laundromat because we didn't have a dryer and it was a pain in the rear to line dry everything in the middle of winter. But we never ever used the one just around the corner. It was seedy.

It closed without fanfare several months ago. Rumors spread about who might have bought it or was going to rent it. But it stood vacant and nothing really happened. On our block, though, we have a history of breathing a sigh of relief after something bad is replaced by nothing. In fact, we are often suspicious when nothing is replaced by something new. It's worked out ok thus far, but we aren't ever in a hurry to fill in the gaps.

They started cleaning out the laundromat this week.

Here's hoping for something that doesn't suck.

154/365 Can't Get Enough of These Leaves

Sycamore, pin oak, sweetgum, sugar maple. Zelkova, black oak, sweegum, flowering plum. Sycamore, sugar maple, gingko, maple, sycamore.

Silver maple, silver maple, silver maple. Red oak, red oak, ash, ash. Maple, American basswood, ash, maple.

All turning, all dropping, all right now.

153/365 Walking with Billy

152/365 Not My Fault

The police captain who implied that all black people know each other? He wrote a doozy of a "pity the poor police department" letter to our neighborhood mailing list. There was a shooting a few blocks east, and yes, the victim was a career criminal and folks with that life plan are more likely to die violently than random citizen but, hello, crossfire? Stray bullets? I think we have a right to be worried.

His letter delved into statistics, "proving" that crime is not increasing in our neighborhood. Dawn and I stood outside and agreed this was BS--our neighborhood is huge and there is definitely more RIGHT HERE. Two break ins on our block, a car break in/attempted theft on the next block (Joy's car), and a shooting four blocks away, plus several other brazen break ins? Something has changed and I get so sick of the police department blaming the prosecutors. That's what he did, see, blame the prosecutors for not being tough on defendants. Except I know from my own experience from the assault in 2006 that the prosecuting office had such bad police reports to go from--many of the details we provided were not included--that it was useless. Where's the follow-through?

I hate it, HATE IT, when people pass the buck. Prosecutors, lawmakers, police, even corporations. Nothing is ever anyone else's fault. So, is it not the fault of the police for showing up to an active unsecured crime scene 45 minutes after the fact, while all the witnesses stood around waiting? Or when the whole neighborhood can point to the building full of stoop-sitting drug dealers but "Despite lengthy undercover work" they can't make an arrest? Or is it because our neighborhood is a little on the minority side, and since all blacks know each other, we should just take care of it ourselves?

One thing I have always loved about our block, actually, these two blocks, is that we're not from here. We don't roll over and take it from city officials or from police. We ask uncomfortable questions and send even more uncomfortable letters to people in charge. The street department might not like us, the forestry division might feel like we went over their heads, and the police might grit their teeth when they say the name of our block, but damn it, this is what a society is for. If I wanted to go it alone, I'd live out at the end of a dirt road off the grid somewhere. But I don't. And I have expectations. They shouldn't be lower just because of my zip code.

151/365 Sick Day

Fiona stayed home from school.

We did nothing. We went to the doctor, but it was just croup and not strep or anything to worry about. She has no voice and she needs to rest.

Forced rest is hard for kids, and hard on me. My days are busy but not today. Jake leaves for deer hunting tomorrow and I have plenty to accomplish. Instead, it's sewing and laundry, cooking and playing with Billy.

She's going back tomorrow, at least the second half of the day. We both need some more routine.

150/365 Croup

Jen and Dan had croup.

Bree had something. Some cold virus weirdness: maybe croup.

Fiona caught it. She would like to give it back.

149/365 Alles Gute Zum Trivia

Dan called. Wanted to nail me down on a date for the trivia night. Jen runs a not-for-profit animal rescue organization, and last year I ran the trivia night for her. This year, I look at my schedule and want to hide under a rock. I'm busy from here until Christmas, but then January is no picnic time-wise, and then it's St. Patrick's Season. I told Dan as much. I explained upcoming travel, and that I'd essentially have two or three weeks to get 100 trivia questions done, between Christmas and their first date. Their second date was the Saturday before St. Patrick's Day. Which reminded me of the Up and Over It Youtube video, "Alles Gute Zum St. Patrick's Tag", a bizarre Irish dance film that has a pretty clear theme: "the Irish Dance Machine chewed me up and spit me out and after I wasn't their robot anymore they put me in the dumpster. So I shot them."

Who hasn't felt that way, anyway? I don't feel this way about trivia, but about so many things I participate in. Dan listened patiently (I wonder if he was an RA in college) to my litany of obligations and then said, "I'll check back with the venue and see about April, how about?"

148/365 Overheard Conversation

"Sometimes I wish I went to your school," Eliza says to Fiona. "It looks like fun."

Fiona says nothing.

"But it probably isn't advanced enough for me," she concludes. "I go to a very advanced school."

Fiona still says nothing.

"We work independently at my school. It's a private school."

"We work independently at my school, too," Fiona finally says.

"We all have our own desks and our own supplies and our own books and workbooks."

"We have tables," Fiona compares. "And we don't have workbooks. Plus, you couldn't go to my school because you don't have montessori experience and you're too old to start."

"But we don't have bullies," Eliza keeps on.

"We don't have bullies either."

"My school is a private school. It's not like a public school."

"Mine is public, but it's a charter school."

There's a pause while I let off the kindergartner who carpooled with us to the hayride. Fiona gets back into her seat and as we pull away, Eliza says, "What were we talking about?"

"Schools," Fiona sighs.

"That's right. I go to a good school."

[massive eye rolling in the front seat as I manage to keep out of this conversation, wondering if I talk to her mom about elitism or just don't care--I decide I just don't care, it's not like Fiona cared...]

147/365 Hayride

There are two hayrides tonight.

One is girl scouts, in Forest Park.

One is Christy's family's farm.

Which one would I prefer to go to? The second, of course. Sounds like a good time with friends.

Which one am I in charge of? The first one. So Fiona and Eliza are going with me, and Iris and Bree are going with their families to Christy's. But I already know that we'll be skipping this event next year (the girl scout one) because it's a huge hassle. We have to sign up in September and pay by early October and there are no refunds and who knows how many girls will actually show: frustrating.

Fiona was glad Eliza was attending--actually, if Eliza was going to Christy's, I would have split the difference and just taken Daisy. But this way Jake and Billy get to sit around in their pajamas and we don't stress out over fun.

Autumn is too busy.

146/365 Dead thing

"So I told Nick that Travis cleaned up the last one," Zelda tells me.

We live near a huge city park with mature trees. And wildlife. There are red-tailed hawks and sparrowhawks and songbirds of all kinds. Squirrels and chipmunks, of course. Mice, rabbits and rats, I'm sure (the hawks have to be feasting on something), but also possums and geese and ducks and raccoons. More impressively, a coyote and a family of red foxes.

Most of them stay tucked away across Grand, except the squirrels, of course, which are more of a fluid than a solid, skipping across tree limbs and roofs.

And the possums.

One lived in our basement for 6 months. Others sit on our fences and dumpsters, hissing at us with too many teeth as we hurry into our homes. With the squirrels, they account for the roadkill we see, too. The last one, the one Travis cleaned up, was in the heat of the summer (I think it was last year--it's not a massacre over here) and it was just as awful as you think it would be.

Nick took care of whatever this last one was. I guess Jake's turn is coming. Because I sure ain't doing it.

145/365 Autumn on our street

Clouds move in, the weather is changing over from an indian summer we didn't deserve. The trees move in stages--the sweetgums and maples, then the gingkos and ash, oaks a subtle orange-brown. The gutters are filled with leaves, falling faster than we can rake up. But we know the wind will help, soon enough, will blow it all away with the twenty degree drop on the thermometer.

144/365 Standard Time Impact

The girl scout meeting is over and I'm talking with a teacher as it gets hard and harder to see in the dark. One girl's parents are late--25 minutes late when I finally ask her for her phone number. They're just around the corner and come to fetch their daughter. I go to the CSA with Daisy and a strained feeling of exhaustion, wondering if this is the way I will feel when I go back to work, when Billy is in kindergarten. Will have have this exhausted go-go-go feeling all the time? How can I bring myself back to something centered?

Traffic is miserable on the way home, in the dark. I get home and a thousand children are running up and down the block. It's a carbon copy of last night, in fact, except that I have more meetings to attend once I pick Fiona up from play practice. I have to go to a girl scout adult meeting and then to a school open house. In the dark.

Jake has dinner on the stove. I make no comment, really, as I grab a bowl of cereal quickly and slurp it down. I glance at the clock. It's only 5:30. I sigh. It's so dark out. I grab my purse and my papers for the meetings and head out to get Fiona. When I drop her off, I almost hit Sebastian, hiding behind my car. He doesn't mean it, but I still honk at him. And then I drive off in the dark.

143/365 Evenin'

I get home from the best school meeting I've attended (committee, I mean, I love conferences and open houses). I have potential good news about the future of the school and I share it with Jake, who's standing on the sidewalk in the dark watching Billy and a dozen other kids run up and down the street. Mason is standing there with him and they're chatting--they think that after Christmas they might start a regular gaming night. That would be good for both of them. I love how venn diagrams work on this block. How people fit into each other's lives in different ways.

I chat with Zelda about high schools and Bree and Fiona and concerns and stresses that go along with parenting oldest children. I know how I'd write the script, but I'm all for happy beginnings, middles, and endings.

Jake tells me it's 5:30--time to pick Fiona up at play practice. It's a quick run over and back, and when I return, he's begun to make a deer stew for dinner. I send him back out with the kids and finish it up, with bacon greens on the side.

Nick comes out and take up his role of "Mr Hooey", who runs around and pretends to scare kids. They love it, screaming in mock terror. I can hear them while I'm cooking.

I call in the family for dinner, and Eliza joins us. It's a good evening.

142/365 Livin on Standard Time

We're also livin on Tulsa time, but we're always doing that so it really isn't noteworthy.

Time changed this weekend. It never impresses kids until after school the first day back. Then it shocks them. What do you MEAN we can still play? It's DARK!

But it's only 5:15, I remind them, pointing at the half a dozen clocks in the kitchen. And, looking like they're getting away with something naughty, they run back out into the dark.

141/365 Doing

We are a block of doers:

Travis brews his own beer; he and Zelda taught themselves how roast coffee beans. Then they took a class to learn how to make cheese.

Cicely makes her own wine.

Zelda and I both know how to can and make pickles, salsa, jam, jelly, am I leaving anything out?

Jake and Justin are deer hunters and after seeing that Jake processed his own, Justin figured it out himself.

Len is a super-gardener. Zelda, Joy, Valerie, Jen and Dan, Cicely, and myself have gardens to one extent or another.

Ok, so all of that has to do with food. So in the category of the arts, Nate is in drama productions several times a year. Fiona's in her first. I play flute and dabble in guitar. Nick is taking fiddle lessons (as is Bree and I'm not sure about Noah). Fiona and Daisy, Anton and Nate all play piano; Jen is a piano teacher. I know and teach several different visual art forms. Justin painted a mural in his dining room. Bobbie sings in the church choir. Iris and Fiona are Irish dancers.

Being raised by a small town general contractor, Jake can roof and do basic carpentry and drywall, insulation and electric work, concrete and plumbing. Barb can trim a tree, and I can fake it based on familial knowledge. Many of us know how to shoot a gun (and I can shoot a bow...). Gretchen has an intuitive sense of physiology backed by book-learnin' and experience. At least 6 of us have taught in one kind of classroom or another.

We're not the sorts to figure it's too hard to learn something, or that it wouldn't be worth it. We like to know and we like to do.

140/365 Spend the Night

When I think back to "idyllic childhood upbringing location" I always think of Orangewood. It's the street name--that is how my family refers to the house we lived in when I was in 3rd and part of 4th grade. But in my mind, we lived there for 8 or 9 years. No neighborhood would compare until I moved here.

It was a cul-de-sac and one of the family had painted kickball bases and pitcher's mound in the circle. Start with that. There was one girl my age on the block, Patti, who was never a good friend but she was an available friend. Her brother Matt, kind of a rat-fink of a kid, was my brother's age. There was an older boy, Geoff, who played with them long after that should have been boring. But whatever. When I put it on paper, it obviously cannot compare to what my kids have here. But we had similar rituals of trick-or-treating and spend-the-night. Patti and I spent the night at each other's houses a lot, mostly in my basement, which to call finished would be not quite correct.

Fiona spent the night at Bree's house last night and came home this morning before tae kwon do and didn't seem too tired. But she was. Crabby by dinnertime and whiny by bedtime. Just like I remember being when we lived on Orangewood.

Later--on Fairwick or in Columbia, there would be spend-the-night events, but they were always school friends. There just weren't neighbor kids.

The one nice thing about Patti (seriously, she was kind of a user and she was the third girl in a row in a family that really just wanted one boy so she had an ego the size of a thimble) was that she didn't go to my school. 3rd grade was a really difficult year for me, having essentially skipped 2nd grade (I moved from the middle of 1st to the middle of 2nd). Instead of being the smartest kid in class, I looked like the kid who had to go to 2nd grade for catechism. And being a year behind in a classroom that is rigid about ages (as opposed to montessori, for instance) is socially impossible. It was good to come home and be able to just hang with Patti. I caught up by 5th grade--but by then we'd moved and I had school friends and probably wouldn't have hung out with Patti anymore anyway.

That's the difference: I see Fiona with Bree and Eliza for a long time. Iris less so, since she's busier and doesn't wander up to play as often. We'll see how the school year progresses. But Bree and Eliza seem firm for now. I hope so.

139/365 History of the mirror house

The house across the street is a mirror of mine. Our identical front doors look right at each other. This is probably bad feng shui or something. They have the same porch configuration we used to have (I have a photograph...). The only original difference is the bay window on their second floor above the porch. Ours is flat. I kind of prefer the flat, now. It used to be, the flat front style of house, like a children's drawing, drove me crazy. But I like the imposing chunky red brick look now.

So I've seen that house now for 12 1/2 years. Stared at it a lot while I sat on the porch talking long distance to friends I don't have any more or to my mother just a block away. It used to be Eleanor's house, hers and her son Gary's. He ran a delivery service. He grew up in the house and was older than me. They'd probably had the house 40 years at that point, which means Eleanor and Mr. Eleanor (long dead) moved here in 1960 or so--by then the neighborhood was just starting to go downhill. Most of our houses were boarding houses by that point, and had been for 20 years, so you know what that must have been like. On the other hand, maybe the Eleanors inherited it like the owner of my house did. Maybe it had been in the family a full generation before, which would mean it wouldn't have had a chance to have many owners.

Gary hated our street and hated the house. He was nice to me, mostly because he parked his stinking gasoline-leaking vans in front of my house for days at a time. But he was pretty thrilled when his mother conceded defeat and he could leave this place "to the fags that keep moving in." He was behind the times, though. They were already on their way out when Jake and I bought our house.

It sold quickly--Eleanor sold at the right time--but it was sagging and suffering from years of neglect. Kristina and Mark Walsh, who were moving back to St. Louis from New York (well, he was moving back, and she was his young second wife), bought it with, I suppose, the intention of rehabbing it. They were here right in the middle of the drug wars on the corner (drug wars is wrong. Drug detente?). Kristina would stand in the middle of the street and yell profanity down at the corner. Get in the way of cabs. She was interesting this way. And fun, in a way.

But like many fast-talkers, she kept saying how great this block was. How lucky they were. What an awesome location. And then they promptly moved into their house a few blocks south, the one they'd sunk the money into, and dumped this house on the Friedmans. Now, I'm not going to defend the Friedmans on this one: they owned rental property and had rehabbed several houses, and Bruce did this full time, not on the weekends and evenings. They should have looked a gift horse in the mouth.

They moved in and so did Eliot. Eliot was here every day for nearly a year (but ask Travis and he doesn't remember Eliot, because Eliot got here at 9 and left by 3. Every danged day). He drove a big truck with a horse trailer behind it. He was the contractor. The Friedmans were going to live here forever and wanted the house done right. He took forever. We got to know Eliot well.

The Friedmans replaced the furnace and the AC. Many of the windows. Restored some woodwork. Put in a master bedroom and bath on the third floor (my thought, and my father's: who wants to climb all those stairs when you can stuff kids up there instead?). Bruce tooled around in the front yard a bit; he annoyed the next door neighbors to the east by not cutting his backyard nearly often enough.

Other neighbors were annoyed by the dog, a big lanky fellow with no training. He would bark and bark and bark and bark and bark. They'd report him as a nuisance, and then he'd show up at my door to complain. But I liked Bruce. I always, ALWAYS, knew he would be there in a pinch. He'd call the police on the bad guys. He'd be nosy. He'd keep tabs on the shifty developer on the corner. He always had a theory and always had something going on, but he was a good guy.

The Friedman's second child was diagnosed with some pretty intense psychological issues this past summer, and they came to terms with the fact that they weren't going to be able to manage him in such a big place. So they moved behind me, and down several houses, to their rental 4-family. Tiny space, lots of people, kind of Depression-era living. I can only assume that they will move on to a smaller manageable house in the future once they sell the one that mirrors mine.

The renter, the woman who won't talk to me, in her infuriating little car and porch littered with cigarette butts, I've pretty much said what I need to say there.

Today the for sale sign went up. "Coming Soon" it says at the top. I wonder what he's listing for. My hope is that he isn't naive (he doesn't seem naive) and that he's listing it low to sell it fast. It would be great to see that place heal a bit.

I know, because I'm busy healing my house from its years of neglect and boarding house status. Every time I change something to remove the past: wallpaper, flooring, paint, whatever, I feel it take a sigh of relief like I've pulled out a splinter.

I have a feeling there's a few splinters across the street.

138/365 Autumn Snow-less Day

The leaves are falling. The sky is blue but the wind is cool and dry. My lips have chapped and Daisy's skin is itchy. It's fall, finally here, and the tomatoes still aren't dead. They aren't red, either, but salsa verde is in my future soon.

The kids were home today from school due to a water main break. Old city pipes. So they played in the sagging back yard while I worked on quilts. At 3:45, Zelda pulled up from school with her kids. I opened the window, the big 5 foot wide window with no screen, holding Daisy back with one arm because she's impulsive like that.

"Hey, you know what?" I called out to her. And I explained the water main thing. She understood.

The girls went over to her house.

137/365 FINE

Sometimes I don't hide things I should. I blurt a lot. And I vent my feelings fast and loose.

And I'm going to say it: the woman across the street just makes me mad now. Makes me really mad. Like "you don't want to know us, FINE!" and I can't write FINE big enough to make my point.

No news on that front, just continued lack of eye contact and response. I've waved a few times. Smiled. Said hi. And nothing from her. Like she's looking into the air. And it makes me mad. I want to yell at her: "Great, next time you get mugged, see if I care!"

But I would care. I would care and I'd try again and I'm hopeless that way.

136/365 Awaiting Trick Or Treat

It's hard to wait. It's especially hard when folks start ringing doorbells at 5:00. So we go sit out in front and wait. Kids get dressed in a hurry--always in a hurry--and then wait. Visit up and down the few houses that are ready. And wait. Billy almost went over the edge waiting, and he didn't even know what he was waiting for. Fiona and Daisy were even more crazy with waiting.

Nick had put together what was described as "disturbing" haunted house in his basement and all the kids wanted to go through, but could only go through a few at a time. More waiting. Finally, the big kids set off with a few parents, but I lagged behind with Billy in the wagon. He never really understood what was happening. Kept trying to go inside people's houses, I mean, we walked up ALL THOSE STEPS, why would we turn around? The candy was interesting but mostly he wanted to pull the wagon. Daisy wound up in a second round of Bonnie Dee - Naomi - Rickie - Kendall and I eventually abandoned her to Joy so I could take Billy back home. He hung out with Jake a bit and I remembered that yes, every Halloween is this way. Exhausting hurry up and wait and vibrate with excitement and push the limits.

It was all over and done with by 7:30 and it felt like 10:00.

135/365 Block Barbecue

Halloween afternoon, we got home from a bike ride and hurried over to the Paxton's for a barbecue. It had been a long time and it was good to share a meal and talk with neighbors. And it was good food: I made my feta-pickled beet-lettuce-carmelized walnut salad; Zelda's sweet potato-black bean chili was phenomenal. Nick made cheesy potatoes that we ate while still hot enough to burn our mouths. Christy brought this chocolate cake thingy and Valerie made whoopie pies. Shrimp, burgers, hot dogs for kids, it was good stuff and a good time. Photos:The second grade boy set in the foreground, with the kindergarten and preschool girls behind them.

Jake, Travis, Rob, the grill, a few beers.

Bonnie Dee and Daisy with balloons (their presence, the balloons, I mean, was never fully clear to me)

Billy loves wagons. He cannot quite pull his sisters around in them, though.