The expiration date on my milk carton

Back when Chris went to sea (thank the Lord that is over), I would get excited about his homecoming when my milk's expiration date was after his return date. Now, the expiration date on my milk reads Dec. 02, so I am getting excited about Christmas!

On that note, may I say that I am so pleased by the perfect placement of Christmas in our seasons. Just as the last lovely leaf falls and the seemingly unending gray sets in, the joy-bringing anticipation of Christmas comes to the rescue and distracts our spirits from the temptation to be dreary.

Time Warp

I don't know if I have ever been quite so aware of time as I was yesterday, when we were leaving Boston. On 93 South, we came to the intersection: S to Providence, RI or N to Portsmouth, NH. A year ago, we would have turned N and it would not have occurred to me that I may someday do otherwise. But yesterday, when I watched the roads diverge as Chris veered right and the Portsmouth sign fell left, my brain spun into a time warp. The initial feeling was short of doleful, edging on longing, and closest to a deep yet simple awareness of time. Memories fired in my mind in quick succession then, as the familiar sign fell out of site, I blasted forward into curiousity, semi-nervousness and anticipation about the future. Which way will I turn 3 yrs from now, when we move again if we move again? Which way will I turn to go home from Nashville? Which way from Denver? Which way from New York?
Yesterday, we went to New York. Today, I am in New York. I am not worried.

Actionpacked 4 days

Thursday: Bell ringing at New York Stock Exchange. We met Navajo Wind Talkers and I got to walk around the floor while Chris joined the men on the bell platform. Later, we marched in the Veterans Day Parade down 5th Avenue. I was asked thrice if I was a reporter while I took notes in my cute peacoat. ha. After that, we went out for dinner and free drinks with a lot of uniformed men.

Friday: Turned 400 kids through the historic village. Whew! Then Chris and I went to a military gala, so I was excited about wearing a long pretty gown, getting my hair done, and standing next to handsome him in formal uniform. Chris gave a toast to New York City and did a really good job. Afterward, we changed into our pajamas in the car and downed some caffeine before driving directly from the gala to Boston, Mass. for the rugby match. Arrival time 2:45am.

Saturday: Chris played in Rugby match in Boston...lost :(. Ate dinner in Little Italy YUM! then went for famous cannolis and cappuccinos with a Bostonian friend. Spent the night in his 10-story warehouse-turned-apt. building. Nice view.

Sunday: Freshfruit and creme on Belgian waffles with a side of sunnyside ups and coffee! After the huge brkfst, we walked to Bunker Hill and toured the USS Constitution (Old Ironsides). Of course, we drove up and down Beacon Hill (my favorite place in America after Gruene Hall, TX) and scoped out Boston Common in its divine fall colorfulness. On the way home, we called up some friends in Connecticut and invited ourselves to eat dinner with them and meet their kittens, then surprised the Masalins (a family we love) before finishing our trip back to New York City. Home at 11:00pm.

How do I describe Boston? Were Boston a spoken sentence, it would be well articulated. Were it a written one, it would be in cursive.

A reason I like my job.

English Breakfast Tea in hand, I walk from the parlor of our 1890s house staff building, where my sewing colleagues sing English folk ballads in harmony, to the landing, where The Duke of Kent's Waltz (1830) streams from the blacksmith's office, then duck under a clothesline web on my way to the sewing room from which I fetch a handful of vintage buttons and return to my task of mending an 1860s gown.

Cider Donuts

Our history buff and battle reenacting friends, Annie and Jay took us to the Monmouth Battlefield in New Jersey where Washington and Howe clashed and stalemated in June 1778. "This hill is perfect for sledding," Jay told us at the top of the highest, steepest one from which you could see every other. Long shadows of leafless trees reached like skeleton hands over the convex ground hinting that the sledding season was soon to come. Our group hiked under their shadows and over the rolling hills of the battlefield where orchards and cornfields still grow beside 18th century houses. Jay stopped us periodically to enlighten us on facts of the battle: "Here, Washington discharged the obstinate Lee," "There, Molly Pitcher worked her famous cannon," "Down that hill galloped the British grenadiers- oh and Chris, your intimidatingly tall self would have been a brigadier."
After wondering the battlefield for an hour or so, we delighted in the marvel of cider donuts and well, cider from Battlefield Orchard before our Ruby Tuesday dinner and subsequent journey home.

Home=sleep. Chris and I were sleepy ppl- That morning, Chris worked the New York Marathon (morning=4am) while I helped with the hope-fillingly great orphan program launch at our church. Whew- what a day.