shades of harlan pepper

all the dogs look forward to spring, but none so much as harlan pepper, he of the flinty gaze and and speckled chest.

so, because the weather has been looking up, enjoy yourself a photographic ode to harlan pepper.

lunch for a tiny, tiny king

1 roasted potato, 1/2 of a baked apple with nutmeg and cinnamon, and a spinach omelet with parmesan cheese. 

the baron would like to know if someone would come to her house and cook for her like this, please.

awesome awesomeness that is too awesome

a lifetime ago, when the baron was young, she thought she'd grow up to be an academician of the lit-crit variety, reading lots of fiction and theory and writing lots of insightful things and papers and essays (for publication and conference presentation, of course, because that's how it works when you choose the ivory tower route).  she decided this for herself after reading 'the great gatsby', but before realizing a number of things about the world of literary criticism: that everyone, BUT EVERYONE, had done some kind of scholarship of fitzgerald; that 'gatsby' was the most well-mined of all of his works; that literary criticism is a hard racket to break into; that sometimes the best and most interesting cultural commentary isn't necessarily reflected in the fiction written by entitled white men.

so.  that dream.  out the window.  ahem.

the baron, though, still has a thing for 'gatsby', and for fitzgerald.  (tangentially, on one of their first dates, the husband took the baron to see fitzgerald's grave.  she knew then he was a catch, but a CATCH!)  she rereads 'gatsby' every so often - her well worn high school edition - cringing a bit at her nascent literary critiques.  it still gets her, the story, the writing, the sadness, the ending - that damn green light.

----

sometime in the 1980s, the baron and the brother were gifted a nintendo gaming system.  the graphics seemed, to the baron, light years more sophisticated than the atari she had previously played.  they had, maybe, three games?  super mario brothers, tetris, and something else... she can't remember exactly what.

over time, the brother became quite good at those first games, and over the years has become a very, very skilled player of video games.   for the baron, who has painful memories of playing against her  brother during his late adolescence, the original nintendo system remains her favorite. 

(painful memories you say?

the baron: i don't want to play.

the brother: come on.  come ON!  mortal kombat is great.

the baron: i don't want to.  you always kill me right away.

the brother: i won't.

the baron: really?  ok.  how do i make my person jump?  or kick?

the brother: [starting the game] it's easy.

the baron: how?

the brother: it's easy.  figure it out.

the baron: but. how.

the brother: dude.  did you see that?  i just pulled your spinal cord out.  cool.)

----

someone else likes 'gatsby' too, and some old school nes.  the baron's been at it for two days and can only yet get past level 1, but reader?  it's kind of awesome.

today's word is diversion

the baron was at a fabric store the other day and spotted some very deeply discounted halloween fabric. deeply discounted enough, in fact, that the baron had this thought: 'hmm.  halloween is coming, and baby x will need a trick-or-treating bag...' and before the more prudent side of her brain could counter with 'halloween is yet 8 months away', the baron found herself at the cutting table asking for three yards, please.

the baron was at the fabric store to pick up thread to match a large - very, VERY large - quilt she's working on; that tree below, constructed from lots of different fabrics and appliqued onto a white panel of fabric, is the center of the quilt.  

has the baron mentioned it's a big quilt?  so big that her tiny singer sewing machine is dry heaving at the thought of having to quilt it?  so big that it's more practical to talk about it in feet rather than inches? 

so big that the baron decided to take on the smaller, more manageable task of a trick-or-treating bag instead.

oh, but reader, it's a lovely  bag.  totally worth two days away from the quilt-of-nearly-unmanageable-proportions.  she made it reversible, using two fabrics: one rather silly and one a bit spookier.  thus, depending on his mood - or his age - baby x can select which side he'd like to use.

see!?  clever, handy bag, eh?  this small project was not a useless diversion.

wait, was today's word denial?

tea for two

the other day the baron decided it was time for baby try some tea, good habits starting early and all that. 

as only half of baby x's tea went into his lap *and* he seemed to enjoy the bit of it that went into his mouth, the baron declared their adventure a success.  woot.

february 6, 2010

poor harlan.

the big game

the baron is obviously not talking about the super bowl.  she knows what she'll be doing on sunday.

goodnight baby x

the husband and baby x have a very well developed bedtime routine.  each night, the husband and baby x select two books, which the husband reads aloud while holding the books with one hand and baby x with the other.  once the books are finished, the husband recites 'goodnight moon', from memory, always ending with 'goodnight baby x'.

the baron isn't sure - or can't remember - why 'goodnight moon' is the book that is repeated night after night.  it's short and rhyme-y, certainly, which gives the book an easy-to-memorize quality.  but then, so is 'i love you, goodnight', another book in baby x's library.  'goodnight moon' is not even the most delightful of baby x's 'please, please go to sleep now' books (the baron favors 'guess how much i love you', which is so lovely to look at and to read that her heart breaks a little every time she finishes it).

there is something charming, and kooky, and amazingly clever, about 'goodnight moon' though, something the baron only figured out after reading the book a countless number of times. once she spotted it, 'goodnight moon' really started to grow on her.

it's that, in 'goodnight moon', margaret wise brown is self-referential, ridiculously so.  'goodnight moon' and another of her books, 'the runaway bunny' (also lovely in a makes-the-baron-cry-every-time kind of way), are all over 'goodnight moon'.

to wit:

the book on the little boy bunny's bedside table?  'goodnight moon'.

the only book on the bookcase with a readable spine?  'the runaway bunny'.

the painting on the wall behind the quiet old lady whispering hush?  an image from 'the runaway bunny' (it's the scene where the mommy bunny fishes for the baby bunny.  no, really, fishing, like in a stream, with a carrot as bait).

the quiet old lady whispering hush?  the mommy bunny from 'the runaway bunny'!

the little boy bunny in bed, to whom 'goodnight moon' is read?  the runaway bunny from 'the runaway bunny'!

it's all very cute and very meta, but here's the thing: these hidden asides aren't immediately obvious - at least they weren't to the baron - and that makes the baron love them even more.  they're super-secret jokes, put in by author and illustrator, for reasons hard to immediately discern.  no doubt, with a little help from her friend google, the baron could learn all about 'goodnight moon', for the gentle winks contained within it have no doubt been cataloged by someone, somewhere on the interweb.

but, reader?  the baron probably won't bother with trying to find out the whys and whens and how-many-other-times about 'goodnight moon'.  it's kind of delightful enough, just the way it is.

breakfast and some things to do today

it's another grim and dreary day where the baron lives.  

the baron's bastardized version of a cafe mocha is a good way to get the day started... especially since she has a long day in the kitchen ahead of her (see that to-do list below).*

*reader, this is baby x's menu for the next week or so. is it weird that baby x is eating like a king - a tiny, tiny king - while the baron eats protein bars and water with the occasional piece of whole wheat toast thrown in for good measure?  sigh.