A Weekend in Maine, then back to Boston

 October Travelogue, Part II

After covering a good part of Boston on foot, (Did I mention I have been shopping for attractive, comfortable walking shoes for some time? I can't seem to find them. So, much to my daughter's chagrin, I wore my tennis shoes), we headed in a different direction on Saturday. 

The morning began slowly: we walked the cousins' dog through a walk, then picked up breakfast sandwiches at the corner shop, and had a leisurely visit over coffee with the teen cousins still in town. Then we loaded up in their borrowed cars to head north for a weekend in Portland, Maine.

The drive is about ninety minutes up the highway lined with autumn glory. Our first stop, after the bathroom, was Len Libby candies. They are famous for their 1700 pound chocolate moose, standing in a lake of blue chocolate since 1999. They are also famous for their caramel taffy, which is why we stopped. We've become addicted to it after our son's girlfriend started bringing it to us when she visited. We loaded up on taffy, candy, and some tchotkes - a Christmas ornament and a stuffed moose for LK's friend - before heading into Portland.

There we waited 30+ minutes for lunch at Gilberts.  Apparently a cruise ship had recently pulled into port, so we were competing with other tourists who heard this was the best place for chowder and lobster rolls. As diners left, they'd smile at all us waiters and encourage us with a friendly "It's worth the wait!"  And indeed it was. We finally got a table on the deck out back on the harborside, which was chilly but sunny. I had the appetizer sized crab cakes, which I shared, and the chowder. My daughter ordered the chowder in the bread bowl, which we shared. And everyone else ordered lobster rolls, which were loaded with lobster meat and very little mayonnaise. Just what you hope they should be.  (The kids were loving oyster crackers, which we haven't eaten in years, so I bought some at the grocery the other day to eat with butternut squash soup, since it's now cool enough for soups and stews) After filling up, we strolled around Portsmouth and popped in and out of shops. We were looking for a gift to take back to our brother and sister-in-law, new shoes, and anything eye catching. I found some books I wanted to buy but put them back because I didn't have space in my bag or my brain. I had bought a used copy of Wendell Berry's The Unsettling of America at Brattle's, but I wish I had gone ahead and bought the copy of Celia Thaxter's short stories that the Portsmouth bookstore had on sale. I'm not that familiar with her writing, but one of her garden essays is included in our Nature Writing textbook, so I'd like to learn more. I think she's one of those early 20th c. women writers whose work wavers between sentimental and scientific.  In the interest of representing women in the nature writing genre, some authors like Thaxter and Gene Stratton Porter, whose voice is a bit dated, are being revived. 

I also wanted to buy a novel about Winslow Homer, because I was hoping we were going to be able to walk by his house on Prouts Neck, but the trail was closed because someone had fallen off the cliff and died recently. 

Instead we left Portsmouth having purchased nothing but some bracelets from a street vendor for the girls, and instead went to see the Portland Head Light at Cape Elizabeth just down the road. The lighthouse and the view were beautiful, and we took a lot of photos, along with everyone else, including several bridal parties who were taking advantage of the golden hour for a photo session after their October nuptials. 

As the sunset waned, we left to go to the girlfriend's house for dinner with her parents. They treated us to an authentic Maine meal with oysters and fresh lobster complete with bibs and blueberry pie for dessert. We had a great time visiting around their backyard fire pit and laughing over great food and wine. 

The one and only dim spot of the trip was the hotel I booked. Note to self: hotels in Maine book up in October. I had initially been shopping out Air BnB properties, but when we decided to only stay one night, I decided to find a local hotel on the beach. Here is where I should have booked early. The place I found was a great location, even though our son's girlfriend was a little worried when she heard it was Old Orchard Beach, apparently the Coney Island of Maine. But we were a little north of the Ferris wheel and carney rides. Unfortunately, the hotel gave us the wrong room, with only 1 bed, when I had booked a suite with 2 beds and pull out. And since it was late check-in, no one was at the property to help us out -- and no other hotels in a 30 minute radius had rooms. The two boys stayed with our friends, the two girls and I slept in the one uncomfortable double bed, and my husband spent a miserable night on a slim couch with no sheets, only the bedspread from the hotel bed, which I always hate to touch.  The next morning the clerk who checked us out couldn't help us with refunding the cost of the larger room, and she said she had had a number of unhappy customers that morning.  Eventually, I did get a credit for the price difference, but I had to call several times to get an answer. 

Happily, the hotel was right across the street from the beach, and the tide was out. So when I finally decided to stop trying to sleep just before dawn, I was able to get up and take a long, beautiful walk on the deserted beach before everyone else woke up.  They joined me for a bit before we had to get ready for Mass. 

After Mass and a delicious breakfast at the C Salt Market, we waved goodbye to Portland and headed back south, making a stop not too far down the road at an apple orchard where we picked 30 some pounds of tart, crisp apples - Cortland, Macintosh, Jonagold, yellow delicious, and something else I can't remember. Yum.  We photographed our way through the orchard before returning to the car with our harvest and some cider and apple cinnamon donuts. 

That evening back in Cambridge, we cooked in - Dan grilled steaks for the cousins, and we made apple crisp for dessert.  That night, filled with fresh air and antioxidants and exhausted from the short night, we all slept well. 

Our last day in Boston was museum day. We started with bagels and coffee, and then visited a friend at Boston College, She gave us a tour of campus and showed us around the track before having to meet her team for lunch. I regretted that we didn't bring her candy from Len Libby's or something from Austin. I am not a natural gift giver, but while I'm writing this, I'm sorry we didn't come bearing an offering of some sort. I guess we thought we'd take her to breakfast or lunch, but she was not an early riser and already had the lunch meeting. 

The rest of the morning was spent at the Boston Museum of Fine Art. It was free day for the holiday, which was good for saving money, but bad for having to wait in line. The line moved fairly quickly, but it ate into the time we had to see the museum, so we missed a lot of it. Highlights: the Obama's presidential portraits were on tour and were displayed in their own gallery to highlight the work of the artists, Kehinde Wiley and Amy Sherald. 

LK loved the Egyptian art and artifacts, especially the shawabti, the little doll effigy of a queen. We also made it through the American impressionists - Mary Cassatt and friends - but we missed all the European art from the Renaissance to contemporary.  Nonetheless, we saw enough to satisfy and nearly to overwhelm.  Definitely a museum that takes several visits to enjoy. Fortunately, our son bought himself a membership, so he can return often. 

After a restorative but boring lunch of sandwiches, we did some walking along the Boston Harbor before spending about an hour at the Aquarium - again we had free tickets. Aquariums are all very similar to me, and thus not very high on my list of things to do, but it was something the girls wanted to see. They love sea turtles, and two swam around the big tank at the center of this aquarium. 

By the time we finished there, evening was upon us, and a little sprinkle of rain. Our son had Chinatown on the schedule for dinner, the Emperor's Garden, which is located inside of an old, grand theater. The place was huge, and empty, which doesn't always bode well for the cuisine, but it was fabulous. We all shared plates and laughed and feasted our way through our last meal before our early flight the next day. It was a celebratory ending to a memorable family vacation. 

The Chocolate Moose at Len Libby's

Chowder and lobster rolls at Gilberts in Portland

Portland Head Lighthouse

Never enough lobster

Mercy Otis Warren, my favorite American historian

The Schwabti

This one is titled "Brother and Sister"

Me at the end of the day and first thing in the morning...

Can you see the seahoreses?

Till next time, Boston!

Grandparents' Day / Dia de los Muertos

On Wednesday, All Souls' Day, I started a post about remembering all my grandparents. I pulled out some photos that were still packed in a box to set out on our buffet, altar style. A few fake flowers from our "fall decor" box were scattered about, and we have one porcelain skull painted Calavera style  to sit amongst the photos, although you can't see it in this photo. Our daughter had to take a photo of her grandparents, my parents and in-laws, to school the next day, so that night we pulled out some of the old printed photographs to find something to share with her class for grandparents day. 

This had me wondering first, why don't we print photos any more - Poor youngest daughter, she doesn't have photos of herself to look at beyond her first year. And secondly, why don't I tell her more stories about her grandparents and great grandparents? I was so, so lucky to live around the block from my grandparents when I was little. I was over at their house daily. Then my parents moved a little further, but we were still with the grandparents weekly if not more.  They ended up living just a block away from each other, so we could visit both in one day. Once I started driving, I could drive myself to their houses, and I did. After track practice, I'd stop at one or the other's house. I'd eat a snack, chit chat, maybe do a little yard work, and then head home. They'd ask me about school, life, what I was reading, tell me stories abut their youth, etc.

It was a blessing to have these four old people who wanted to know me, to hear about my day, give me affirmation. We've tried to be intentional about making sure our kids have relationships with their grandparents, but it's been harder as they've grown older and have school and work and their own friends to get them to go on trips back to see the old folks.  And it's even more of a loss for my youngers, who saw the grandparents even less while we lived in Guam and California.  Now that we are a little closer, I hope we can establish more frequent visits- so far we have. My parents need to take on the roles of storytellers, to share the past, the history of our family, the folklore of  the family - the kidnapping of my grandfather, the polio my other grandfather had. The dances my maternal grandmother had in her living room. There are lots of tales to tell - the kinds that reveal character and give roots.  I tried to tell a few as I set out the photos, but I don't have the magic touch. The pictures will have to do. 

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Boston bound

Happy Last Weekend of October! 

It finally feels like fall here in Texas, with morning temps in the 50s and afternoons sunny and 75. Apparently, this summer's 75+ days of 100 degree weather were an anomaly even for Texas, but with changes to the climate becoming ever more evident, next summer will surely be similar, or worse. With temps in the 90s up until about 10 days ago, summer felt extra long. So we headed east to experience fall for a few days in early October. 

My family had not heard the term "leaf peeper," but I remember my grandparents talking about going to New England in the fall to do just that - peep at leaves.  But honestly, this trip to New England was planned back in July in order to peep at our son, not the leaves. The fall color was just a perk. 

We used the extended Columbus/Indigenous Peoples weekend to fly to Boston, spent a couple of days touring the city led by our indomitable tour guide/second son, and also drove up to Portland, Maine, for a couple of days to meet his lovely girlfriend's parents.  It was a perfect weekend: time with family, glorious weather, visits to historical sites, no travel hiccups, very minimum kid complaints - other than from the kids who didn't get to join us - and lots of interesting and beautiful things to look at. 

Not everyone would like the way we travel - we tend to be one step above frugal travelers. We stay with family or in budget hotels, walk a lot, eat one main meal a day and get the rest of our nourishment from small bites along our routes, which focus on highlights of history, art, and architecture.  We used to road trip everywhere, but now we have upgraded to budget flights. Because our 16 year old has flight anxiety, I try to book direct flights, and this time, I just happened to score a deal on Jetblue - maybe because we booked months ago.  Even though Dan is now retired, we still qualify for the perk of a couple free bags for military members and veterans on some budget airlines, so we don't have to buy bags.  So we aren't the cheapest of travelers, but we aren't luxurious.

Although I was prepared to scour travel sites for a place to stay because my son's place is too small, and to bachelor paddish to host five members of our family, we were able to stay at my brother-in-law's new house and borrow their car for the Maine excursion. That family has just moved to Boston - in fact, when I booked the trip, I didn't know they were moving there.  But the weekend we picked to visit is also their 20th anniversary, and they happen to have a friend who had rented a villa for a month, so they flew off for a more upscale experience. The perk is, we were able to use their house and car in exchange for keeping their dog company. A great trade, although we missed spending time with them.

I usually do more planning and reading prior to a bigger trip like this, but I didn't have as much time this fall, and I have been to Boston a few times before, although year ago.  Notable trivia: I went into labor in the Prudential Building with our first child 25 years ago. We were living in Newport, and Dan's brother was in Boston, and we came up to visit and meet up with some college friends. There was actually a business building chapel where we were going to meet them, but minutes after we entered, my water broke and I rushed to the bathroom.  We did not make it to Mass, but sped back to Newport. Fortunately, after I delivered, some nice Eucharistic Minister came by our room, and brought communion to all the Catholics at the hospital. 

Before this trip, we did read "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere" a few times before setting out, and I read some stories to the 8 year from A Child's History of America, which made me realize how much more American history I did with our kids when home schooling than our private school is doing. Fortunately, one of those kids whom I home schooled was our tour guide, and he was happy to lead us on a tour of notable spots. 

Our itinerary, if anyone is planning a trip: 

Direct flight to Boston Thursday night - nightcaps and short conversation with the brother-in-law before collapsing for the night. Rose early to take him to the airport before beginning our tour of the city.

Friday morning: Started in their neighborhood with a walk through Harvard and Cambridge, met up with son for coffee, and then took the subway into the city. We got off near Beacon Hill, where I finagled a brief tour of literary figures' homes - Henry David Thoreau, Louisa May Alcott, and Nathaniel Hawthorne all had houses on Pinckney Street. We missed Robert Frost's home, and a few others because only one person in our party was interested in the literary tour of Boston, and I have to compromise...

Next we headed to Boston Commons and strolled through the park, where they were setting up for a road race. Our route led us through the Public Garden, but the Swan boats were closed for the season, so the 8 year old had to settle for a carousel ride and a few photos by the Make Way for Ducklings statue (an happy literary stop for everyone).

From the Public Garden, we worked our way to the Public Library along a lovely boulevard whose name is escaping me, but which has some statuary of revolutionary figures including Alexander Hamilton. We also passed some architecturally significant churches, but since they weren't Catholic, we didn't go inside to pray. 

We did go into the library to admire the McKim Mead and White side of the building, and the John Singer Sargeant frescoes upstairs - an allegory of religious history - fascinating and somewhat militaristic, so out of fashion. I made a quick trip through to the modern cafe on the Philip Johnson side of the library, where a podcast or television show was being filmed. Overall impression: a fascinating architectural specimen. Not as many stacks of books as you would expect in a library. 

After that we all were starved for lunch. I wanted to get fresh bread, freshly picked apples, local cheese and local hard cider from the farmer's market in Copley Square in front of the library, but I was overruled again. We did get very delicious bowls from a Mediterranean place, a chain I didn't know about. 

Reenergized after lunch, we walked past all the high end shops on Newbury Street and made our way to the freedom trail. A stop at Granary Burial Ground to see the graves of Samuel Adams, Paul Revere, Benjamin Franklin's parents, John Hancock, and victims of the Boston Massacre, including Crispus Attucks, was entertaining, surprisingly, because of the tourist hawkers in costume. From there, I was able to make a quick stop in Brattle's Bookshop because others were promised a stop for a cold Sam Adams beer across from the cemetery - bad jokes abound on the placard out front. 

Still in motion, we headed towards Quincy Market and Faneuil Hall, crossing through the plaza where the Boston Massacre is memorialized with a star.  That's where the Samuel Adams brewery is, so that was another rest stop along the way.  At this point we had walked over 20K steps, so a cold beer never tasted better. 

Our journey was not yet over - we had to make it over to the North End, where our son lives. Through the discount fruit market where we bought a flat of raspberries and a flat of strawberries for $2 each - who cares that half of them were moldy.  Then past the home of Paul Revere, which was closed for the day, and then finally to our son's apartment which he shares with two other young men. You can imagine their decorating style tends toward curbside furniture, shelving made of 2x4s, beer signs, and dying plants. But it was clean and in an ideal location for young adults - restaurants down the street and a Catholic Church right across the road, so there is no excuse for missing Mass. The street level store was being converted to a clothing store after the former tenant, a psychic, passed away. 

The Old North Church (also closed) and the Skinny House - famous for being skinny - are also in our son's neighborhood, so we did a walk by before stopping off at his apartment for an hour's rest, and happy hour drinks - ginger ale for those underage.  We had a late reservation at La Famiglia Giorgio, one of many delicious Italian restaurants in the North End. Dinner was leisurely and filling - starters of bruschetta and calamari, overflowing bowls of pasta, a couple bottles of wine between the 6 of us over 21. I ordered the pumpkin ravioli appetizer and the waiter was afraid I would still be hungry but it was 8 or so large raviolis - so filling I could barely finish, but so delicious that I did. 

After dinner we ambled up to the cannoli shop that is NOT Mike's, the famous one. Even though we stuffed, and it was 10 pm, we waited in a fairly long line to order cannoli, that we took back to the cousins' house to eat for breakfast. After our walk back from the subway stop, the 8 year old was proud to report that her step counter watch had logged 32000 steps, which is about 15 miles. I am happy to report that the cannoli were not soggy the next morning. And the cappuccino flavored one was excellent with my morning espresso. 

Now to share photos and post- I'll have to come back to write about the rest of the trip or Halloween will be here and gone before I finish. 

Gates to Harvard

Harvard Chapel

Chasing geese near the JFK memorial

The bridge over the Charles River near Cambridge    

Home of Louisa May Alcott at some point

Near HD Thoreau's

Public Garden

Make way for ducklings

The Public Garden

Outside the library

Sargeant murals inside the library - an allegory of religion

The meeting of old and new in the library

Brattle's booksellers

Samuel Adams' Grave

Boston Massacre marker

Home of Paul Revere

The Old North Church

Peeking in the ONC graveyard

I

Book reviews

** I started this post before the queen died, and then thought I should compose some thoughts about this moment in history, when another chapter closed, not just in the life of the Royal Family, but in the life of Great Britain and in the perpetuation of the monarchy as it has been. So many firsts for the second Queen Elizabeth, but also many lasts, I am sure. While her loss does not seem tragic, it does seem momentous and heavy. I don't have anything remarkable to add to the tributes that have already been made, other than to add my admiration for her and my prayers for her soul to those of her many mourners,  ***

I just finished rereading Alice McDermott's After This. I'm supposed to be preparing for class, not writing book reviews, but her writing is so clean, so analytical, and yet it cuts so close to the heart. One minute I'm wondering how she gets her reader to care for these characters, and then I'm wondering how could we not? 

When I first read this book, I remember staying up till 2 or 3 in the morning, standing in the bathroom. I couldn't put it down. This time, I started it a couple days ago and read the first couple of chapters, but today I threw it in my bag when I left to substitute teach. While the students did their times tables flash cards online and Quizzizz and shouted all through their Blookit competition, I found myself forgetting where I was - I'd occasionally have to wrench myself out of the book so that I could walk around the room and make sure no one was surfing the internet. (Side note: Can I tell you how much students do online these days? I'd say 75% of the older students' days are occupied with online work - so much for fearing that home schooled kids won't be socialized. It's the school kids who are online all day that you might worry about...)

Anyway, what McDermott does well is write about the sorrows of life, the fallen sinners, the broken hearted, the dashed dreams, the deaths, the drugs, the mistakes, the loneliness and isolation and disappointments and cruelties that life inflicts and that worse, people inflict on each other, and then she makes life seem worth living after all.  The small putty hands of a child, the gratitude of a old musty virgin for friendship, the shared tears. She makes the big events and the small events - a son's death, a trip to the beach, seem equally momentous, equally graced with beauty piercing through. 

Her stories are peopled with clueless nuns and ambitious priests and parishioners who light candles and say prayers while they have unwed sex or say heartless things to each other. But that same nun reveals her knowledge of her father's infidelities, the priest says a wedding on a weekday evening for a couple of teenagers, and a young couple imagining a life of sweetness starts off their marriage by sacrificing their dreams. Will their vision see them through? Will they find comfort and happiness in their marriage and children 25 years later?  McDermott's novel makes it clear that no life escapes bruises and disappointments, but sticking around to see what happens next may just prove that the heartaches were what made the joys sweeter. Even poor Pauline, the spinster office friend, is given the gift of affection, from her young friend who wants her around. That then is incarnational love. 

Also just finished Ann Patchett's Truth and Beauty for the second time. Here again is a story of brokenness, but also of moments of joy in shared friendship. The book is redolent with grief, and while it is clear that Patchett loved her friend Lucy Grealey, the poet who won fame with The Story of a Face, but later died of a heroin overdose, perhaps accidental, Lucy seems like a difficult person to love. While I was doing a little research on Grealey's book and poetry, I came across a letter Lucy's sister had published in The Guardian that disparages Patchett's book for profiteering from grief and for oversharing about Lucy's flaws. Perhaps Patchett's fidelity to her friend finds more sympathy once readers have finished Autobiography of a Face, because that book made people fall in love with Lucy Grealey. More than once Patchett mentions that she wished she had stayed with friend rather than leave to live with boyfriends in doomed love affairs. And maybe Patchett feels that by telling the truth about Lucy's neediness, and her inability to finish writing projects, her inability to let go of the desire to be beautiful by having one more surgery. on top of her need for reassurance, her audience will know Lucy better and forgive her more, or understand her more. Was the way she threw herself into relationships a thing of beauty? Surely her friends saw her as a beautiful person. 

I've been doing a lot of short story and poetry reading for my new classes. I'm really enjoying the new Norton Anthology - lots of new poets and poems arranged thematically, which is the way I like to read them. I have mixed feelings about some of the stories - I almost wish some were shorter, so I could assign more for a better understanding of literature and culture. As it is, I am only assigning 2 a week, and about 4-6 poems. It's not a lot, but not everyone is doing the reading as it is. 

Don't they know the truth and beauty they are missing out on when they forget to read? 

Back to school

Goodbye to August! Farewell to summer! Farewell, children, freedom, time!

All of the children who still go to school are now in school, and I have started teaching at a new school, as well. The start of a new school year is always exciting - new books, new pencils, new paper, new shoes, new teacher, new friends. . .  it a time marked with potential - to form relationships, to reform habits, to discover opportunities to serve and, of course, to learn.

And yet it is also marked with mourning, as we say good-bye to the big kids and the freedom of summer. 

Mrs. Darwin wrote about mourning her college kids' departures on her blog, and her description of finding a quiet place to cry struck a chord. I commented that I had a similar experience as I watched my husband drive away with our fifth child to take him to college. I had to sit down on the front step and catch my breath as the car pulled away and they were no longer waving back at me. I felt walloped in the gut. I needed one more hug. I had made him breakfast and helped go over his checklist, and then we had an hour or so of scurrying around the house and checking up on the to do list before it was time to head out the door. Why didn't we get one more hug in? Why didn't we sit and talk about important and meaningful things instead of loading the dishes and tidying up the kitchen? 

Usually I am the one that takes the kids to move in. This was the first send off I wasn't the parent driving off to the airport. The busyness of those weekends, checking off the lists of stuff, the physical labor of moving bags and boxes and catching flights and renting cars, usually is so exhausting that saying good bye is not so emotional - although I've shed a few tears in those rental cars. 

But seeing this fifth child off hit me hard. He's a part of the "littles." It was a hard year for him, and he had made it through, and we had grown closer in the process, I think.  So I called the boy up for one more goodbye, one more blessing, even though he and his dad weren't even to the highway yet. And good thing - they had driven off without the key to the storage locker where the older brother's hand-me-down futon, fridge, cheap carpet, and other sundries were locked up and waiting. So I got to speed off with the key to hand over and to grab that last hug at the interstate exit where they were waiting. 

I'm sure there's a meme about how saying good-bye doesn't get any easier with practice . . .

This past weekend, I was the one flying off and renting a car to help our oldest daughter move back into her apartment at college. She spent the summer in San Diego, couch surfing and house sitting and working for the rec center.  The moment of saying goodbye was back in June, when I was sad and hurt that she didn't want to spend the summer with us, but totally understanding of the reasons why. When I was 20, I wanted independence, too. In fact, that was the summer I spent in the UP working at a camp for kids with special needs. Bay Cliff Health Camp it was called, and it was a magical, wonderful summer, but that's another story.

I think my daughter relished her summer, too. She went sailing and surfing and to the horse races and made dinners for herself and for her friends and got herself around town. She lived on her own dime and made it. When I arrived on Friday, we went for a walk and got lunch, did some shopping for apartment stuff, and then split up to spend time with our local friends one more time. Saturday morning we ran a fundraiser race together (with a couple of my mom friends along, too) and then drove up to her campus - after a stop at another friend's new house for lunch. Traffic through LA was a slog, so we had time to catch up and talk about the future, etc, before arriving for the move-in, which was much easier this time around, compared to last year, which was her sophomore year, but first year on campus.

This year she has an apartment on campus that she shares with 3 other girls. She stayed there Saturday night, but I drove up to the base, about 35 mins away to stay in the Navy Lodge, because I was too cheap to pay for a Malibu hotel and to worried about sketchy environs to get a more affordable hotel near the highway. (I was questioning that choice after the rental car company gave me a huge truck, the "upgrade" I didn't want, that was not cheap to fill up.) Then Sunday after Mass and brunch we did a little thrifting for kitchen items, but not too much, since the other roommates were still arriving and decorating will happen later.  We had a time for a short walk and sandwiches before I had to make the slog back to the airport.

The whole weekend felt somewhat surreal. I have now been back to San Diego 5 times since we moved a year ago. That's a lot - an unusual amount because of college moving, college visiting, and the graduation event. My friends were teasing me about when my next quarterly visit was going to be. I've practically socialized more with those friends far away than I have with people we are getting to know here. And perhaps it has prevented me from rooting here. I am still questioning the decisions we made last spring, and while everything is fine, good even, I miss the friendships that took years to develop, sunsets over the ocean with hills silhouetted in lavender, walking on the beach and to the library and Mass. I feel in limbo about investing in life here because I don't want to stay put.  Sometimes I just have to stop thinking.  I know if I read back over this blog, I would find post after post about feeling displaced, about looking forward to the next thing.  I am truly grateful for the opportunities we had to discover new places, and although I complained here about rootlessness - isn't that part of the purpose of journaling, to exorcise the complaints? - I did appreciate what we had at the time. But maybe not enough.  This lack of gratitude, this pining for elsewhere, is a sin, a failing, a fatal flaw, I'll spend my life fighting. 

Even now I am pining for the summer back. For the years back with the children small again. For the days when we took up a whole pew at Mass. Saturdays at the soccer fields. Friday night football. Camping trips. Beach days. Museum days. Birthdays. Reading at bedtime. Wasting time at the playground. Did I appreciate those years enough? Of course not, although I am grateful for being able to relive preschool days with the youngest, and now third grade... 

Ah melancholia.  This has been my little indulgence, now it's back to work. I have lessons to plan, poetry to read, grading, email, etc, etc. And then two more kids at home to enjoy for a short time. 

A last day outing: First the Elizabet Ney castle. She was a German sculptor who immigrated to Texas in the late 1870s. Made her career during busts of famous people and patrons.

Her home is now a museum. It's really a very small castle, but an interesting place to visit.

A life cast of an infant. Why didn't I do this with all our kids?

Last BBQ lunch at Blacks

And now a college student, doing his own laundry!

The third grader and junior off for their first day!

Posing

Feeling sad to say goodbye

Spending time with the older daughter

Apartment style living

Malibu waves and sunshine make it hard to leave