fingers crossed, or, an open letter to the husband from the baron

dear the husband,

i think you are smart, and a good strategerizer. and also charming. i think that your interview will be smooth sailing today, and that your resume and experience speak for themselves. i also think that, even though your career is not born of cronyism, you should not worry about those who directly benefit from long standing friendships. furthermore, i believe that you should not concern yourself about those for whom obsequiousness is second nature; your talent and innate ability to lead outshine even the most accomplished sycophant. you, unlike them, are principled, which is among the very best things about you (in a dead heat, pretty much, with your willingness to do all the dishes all the time). i know you are not anxious, so i will not try to allay your nerves; another of the best things about you is your confidence, which is always and entirely kept in appropriate measure.

if, for some unfathomable reason, you are not selected for this job today, please know that it most likely has very little to do with you but has everything to do with circumstance and, sadly, military service bonus points. but, i prefer not to think of things that way. instead, i will imagine you in the interview, in your lovely suit (and beautifully starched and pressed shirt, you are welcome), passing your handouts across the table. whatever comes will come, and we'll address it then.

sending all my good thoughts, i love you,
-the baron

the garden in july

the garden, to which the baron alluded in her last post, is overwhelming her. really. she looks at the full-to-bursting bounty and feels dread. who knew that, with just a little water, those plants would take off so aggressively.?

the other night, the baron had two dreams: in the first, the baron, her mother, and one of her lesser cousins are at disneyland with harlan and chester, neither of whom are on leashes. at one point, they pass a reflecting pool (the likes of which the baron has never seen at the actual disneyland). chester walks out onto the pool, turns to look at the baron, then lays down for a nap. on top of the water. like jesus the cat. cut to: the baron, in her dream, wakes up in the morning. she knows it has rained, and she decides to go outside to check the garden. somehow, the garden has become the size of a field and the baron has only planted tomatoes. tidy rows and rows of tomatoes. AND THEY ARE ALL RIPE. every one is ready to be harvested. and processed for canning. and then baron woke up, a sweaty tangle of sheets and panic.

doesn't that sound like a bad trip followed by a stress dream?

in any case, see the cucumber (one of anxiety-inducing thousands) below, and the watermelon (one of a more manageable 6) too.

it seemed such a good idea

reader, as you may know, the baron and the husband are very, VERY keen gardeners. every year, they wait impatiently for the last frost to come and go so that they might get their newly sprouted seedlings into the ground.

early this past spring, the husband built three vegetable boxes in the sunniest spot in the yard. in previous years, they had had some success with vegetables, but the bounty was not nearly enough, so the baron thought, to justify the time, effort and expense.

so.

it turns out that gardening by box is a really good idea. a really, REALLY good one. so good, in fact, that the baron should not have erred on the side of caution by planting multiples of everything. and, reader, it's not as though she planted a few of each... she actually planted, for instance, 10 green bean plants, 18 tomato plants, 10 okras... you get the idea.

her worst idea by far turns out to be 16 cucumber plants, planted in rows of four, all of which are bearing cucumbers at an alarming rate. the baron thought that she'd try her hand at canning this year (she loves pickles), but reader, it's getting kind of ridiculous. she's spent the past two weekends a fixture in the kitchen, sterilizing jars and lids, mixing vinegar and water and pickling salt, trying to find a way to fit one. more. cucumber. slice. into a pint jar. it's been harrowing.

but.

she's still enjoying it. except.

after her last afternoon spent pickling, she now has a total of 16 pint jars and 3 quart jars of pickles; so, a lot of pickles. and there are still so very many flowers on the cucumber vines. AND the tomatoes (18 plants, remember?) have only just begun to ripen. sigh.

vic firth

the other day, while on the way to see 'harry potter and the half-blood prince', the baron noticed that the husband had purchased several new drumsticks, left in a jumble on the back seat of the his truck and partially obscured by a jacket. the baron could just make out the word 'firth' on one of them.

-hey! do those drumsticks say firth? is that colin firth?
-vic firth. it's vic firth.
-oh, i thought-
-yes, because colin firth makes drumsticks? because I DRUM LIKE MR. DAH-CEEEEEE!
-...

scenes from a vacation

the baron and the husband recently took a trip abroad, to ireland.

the baron thoroughly enjoyed their trip, especially:
being free of the husband's blackberry
the pleasant surprise of finding vegetarian restaurants in nearly every city they visited (and eating the vegetarian version of the traditional irish breakfast)
the weather
the excuse to imbibe every day - and she'd never had guiness or irish coffee before
the hotels
the novelty of watching 'gilmore girls' in a foreign country

the baron didn't particularly appreciate:
the lack of good fabric stores
that the husband hit two curbs
that gasoline cost 1 euro 20 per litre

below are some of the photos from their trip, which the baron has decided to present to you without context. enjoy!

tales of car ownership

the baron drives a 13 year-old saturn, a gold one, a two-door coupe that has seen better days. she inherited this car from her mother four years ago, and - visions of NO CAR PAYMENT dancing before her eyes - was glad to accept it.

this car, a lady car, the baron named shep.

***

the baron's friend lalee has driven a mid-sized red chevrolet pickup truck for a few years now. this truck, bought new, was named pretty morgan freeman, or pmf.

***

the husband, who drives a full-sized, extended cab chevrolet silverado, has not named his truck. though this ford was, for the time they had him, referred to as aragorn.

***

mr. c recently bought a volkswagon rabbit, name as yet to be determined. (the short list, so far, is rupert.)

***

the other day, the baron retrieved a voice mail from her mobile phone, a message from lalee indicating that she was changing the name of her truck from pretty morgan freeman to hope.

the baron balked, and called the next day.

-dude, you're renaming pmf hope? that's a terrible name.
-H-O-P-E?
-right, hope?
-no, H-O-K-E. i'm renaming him hoke.
-hoke? that's a GREAT name. for a minute i thought i'd have to have some kind of intervention, like maybe you were giving up on life. or that you were imagining some kind of young woman with down syndrome who was overcoming some adversity. why are you changing the name?
-well, i'm not that big a fan of morgan freeman, and also, he's been secretly dating his adopted granddaughter.
-sorry, what's that?
-i read all about it at the huffington post, which - i think - sourced their material from the national enquirer.
-ah.

that time they went to new orleans, or, that time they thought they were moving to new orleans

once upon a time, the baron and the husband thought they'd be moving to new orleans. the husband went out first, for work. he wasn't able to find a house or an apartment right away, so he and the dogs moved into the westin new orleans....


where they adapted to the lifestyle quite nicely.



then they moved into a house...




and the husband was assaulted on the street just outside the french quarter. strangely enough, after that, they decided new orleans was not the right place for them. they packed up their stuff and drove back to arizona.

that time they went to costa rica

in 2006, the baron and lalee went to costa rica. on a lark. it was a pretty good week, and from these photos, it appears to be JUST TWO OF THEM, DOESN'T IT?


in playa tamarindo at witch's rock cafe. the baron and lalee showed those nachos who's boss.


lalee's birthday, another beach. april 7, 2006.


lalee's birthday dinner, playa langosta. awww-kward.


the entrance (from the beach) to the hotel. the baron really liked those monkey sentries.


coffee and cream and sugar. a good way to pass the afternoon.


their last night in tamarindo.


trying, unsuccessfully, to set the camera's auto timer before leaving the hotel.


their last breakfast.

that time they went to tahoe for that fire grant thing

the february before the baron and the husband moved from san francisco to phoenix, they traveled to the nevada side of lake tahoe for the husband's work (something, something, fire grant). the details of this trip - the fire grant part, anyway - are murky. the following details, however, remain clear in the baron's memory.

it turns out, dexter has some kind of fascination with snow (and also sand). as in, she can't be in either one of them without going whack-a-doodle happy crazy... her joy is evident, below:




here are the baron, immediately after having FACED into the snow, and dexter, enjoying the day. did the baron mention, she's actually not that fond of snow?

that time the husband got hit by a hippie in a vanagon

(he was shaken, but ok. and bought a dark grey silverado shortly afterward.)

that time they knew they were a family

they climbed in there themselves. the husband just shut the door for the photo op.

that time the husband was mustachioed