Vacation reminiscence 1

Hosstache.  Or Hossstache?  The guy who gave us a boat orientation was so effective at shoving out any other memory and replacing it only with the fear that we would somehow ruin his boat that we all forgot his name and subsequently referred to him as "Hoss." Later, in homage to his sparse grey moustache, this evolved into Hossstache. A variant, HOSSAGE, was also developed.

Hossstache kept his sunglasses on while leading us through the proper operation, anchoring, and tying of the boat, ominously referring to all kinds of damage that 23-year veteran houseboaters had caused "just last week" and implying with every instruction that us four inexperienced mid-twenties hooligans had come to Patoka Lake with one objective: to RUIN Hossstache's boats.

When he asked who the main captain would be, we all pointed to Allison, who raised her hand with confidence.  Hosstache glowered.  "Have you ever driven a houseboat before?"

"A little."

"Well, don't think you know ANYTHING about driving a houseboat."

After ticking off the various ways we could screw up driving the boat, he encouraged us to ask questions, chastised Andy for asking a question, went to extraordinary lengths explaining the refrigerator's operation (it boiled down to "it keeps food cold"), and admonished us not to 1) flush toilet paper down the toilets 2) flush pee down the toilets 3) defecate while habitating the houseboat.

Apparently no real houseboat owner goes number two in their own houseboat's fully equipped bathrooms because they don't want to deal with cleaning out the sewage tank.  We were mystified as to why Hossstache assumed we'd care, since we weren't going to be the ones cleaning out the sewage tank.  He took a foreboding pause. 

"Do you know what papier-mache is?"

We all nodded.

"It's mainly paper and water, and if you flush toilet paper, well then, you've got those two ingredients right there.  Add to that a little of you know what and it's not pretty," he warned.

He also warned us not to swim while the generator was running and assured us that he would be eagerly looking for this particular offense so that he could fine us, then kick us off the boat.

While Hossstache's current housboats bear names like "It's Five O'Clock Somewhere" and "Margaritaville" (our boat), Matt surmised that his previous fleet included "The Gestapo" and "Himmler."  During our first night in the lovely little cove where we anchored, we fully expected to see Hossstache approaching in a black speedboat bearing the Jolly Roger.

Of course nothing bad actually happened and we didn't get fined and we didn't do things wrong and everything worked out...

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Subscribing to zzzzs on Saturday; then ensuing fun

Almost there.  I'd been pretty good about sleeping until this week, when I've fallen off the wagon and have been staying up till 2 and 3 am every night; I should have known better--without sleeping pills or alcohol this is inevitable--but I'm looking forward to getting back on track with the long car trip to Indiana this weekend.  Then, of course, we'll be making use of alcohol, and that combined with my accumulated exhaustion from this week will make for some exxxcellent sleep.  I think Andy is in the same boat, but in reverse; he's had to get up at 5:30 am quite a bit this week while he manages another agent's caseload, so he's crashing hours earlier than I, but is similarly deprived.

My packing spreadsheets have paid off--I've got all our linens & towels washed, folded, and packed along with shoes and toiletries in one suitcase, plus all my clothes washed folded & packed in the clothes suitcase.  Now Andy just has to add his stuff to the clothes suitcase.  I'm sure that this planning will not, however, erase the inevitable last-minute rush of corralling the cell phone/camera/chargers/sunglasses/other essentials into my purse, nor will it necessarily prevent me from leaving behind something that I'll later want (because I didn't even think to put it on the spreadsheet in the first place).  I hate looking at these things that we still have to use and thus delay packing.  The cell phone sits here on the desk, mocking me this very minute.

Of course, one of the great things about planning to pack/packing is that it's an excuse to ignore less desirable tasks, like figuring out where to put this accordian folder and stack of papers that are also staring at me from the desk, or going through the effort of carrying that box to the garage.

Can't wait to see my pa tomorrow--while we're gone I'm entrusting him with the fledgling cucumber, melon, and tomatoes that have suddenly taken off out on the deck.  I swear that the first cucumber seemed to grow four inches overnight.  I didn't even notice the melons until they were double the size of a pingpong ball, probably because I was focusing so much every day on training the vines onto supports.

Speaking of pingpong, on our surreal midnight rendezvous at the Cacapon State Park Lodge game room last month, we noticed that earlier patrons had left some helpful clarifications on the instructions for pingpong players:

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Not that I’m all for any mainstream party candidate, but...

Eating eggplant parmesan leftovers for lunch and laughing at Allison's e-mail:

This is all true.  I checked on Snopes.com .
-------------------------------------------
From: [Redacted]
To: [Redacted]
Subject: WHO IS BARACK OBAMA?

There are many things people do not know about BARACK OBAMA. It is every American's duty to read this message and pass it along to all of their friends and loved ones.

Barack Obama wears a FLAG PIN at all times. Even in the shower.

Barack Obama says the PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE every time he sees an American flag. He also ends every sentence by saying, "WITH LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL." Click here for video of Obama quietly mouthing the PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE in his sleep.

A tape exists of Michelle Obama saying the PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE at a conference on PATRIOTISM.

Every weekend, Barack and Michelle take their daughters HUNTING.

Barack Obama is a PATRIOTIC AMERICAN. He has one HAND over his HEART at all times. He occasionally switches when one arm gets tired, which is almost never because he is STRONG.

Barack Obama has the DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE tattooed on his stomach. It's upside-down, so he can read it while doing sit-ups.

There's only one artist on Barack Obama's iPod: FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.

Barack Obama is a DEVOUT CHRISTIAN. His favorite book is the BIBLE, which he has memorized. His name means HE WHO LOVES JESUS in the ancient language of Aramaic. He is PROUD that Jesus was an American.

Barack Obama goes to church every morning. He goes to church every afternoon. He goes to church every evening. He is IN CHURCH RIGHT NOW.

Barack Obama's new airplane includes a conference room, a kitchen, and a MEGACHURCH.

Barack Obama's skin is the color of AMERICAN SOIL.

Barack Obama buys AMERICAN STUFF. He owns a FORD, a BASEBALL TEAM, and a COMPUTER HE BUILT HIMSELF FROM AMERICAN PARTS. He travels mostly by FORKLIFT.

Barack Obama says that Americans cling to GUNS and RELIGION because they are AWESOME.

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Bo is moving to Boone

And Claudia is already there!  I still can't believe that for the next few years we'll get to go down both for our own nostalgia AND to visit family.  Claudia finished her doctorate in economics this May, and now she'll be a professor at Applachian State.  Andy and I recommended the trailer park on Bluebird Lane for good measure, but they found a gorgeous little cabin to rent in the woods near Trashcan Falls. 

Their move is allowing us to continue the trend of outfitting our apartment with free, previously owned furniture.  In a couple days, Bo is going to drive over from Martinsburg with two bookshelves and a mishmash of other things they're jettisoning in the move--rice cooker, shelves--which I will apply to our place, then self-righteously glow with environmental glory. 

The next time we see him & Claudia, it will be in the mountains!

Mom called today from New York.  She's just gotten to the Hudson Valley (a town called Pawling), where she'll be living & digging until December.  The dig coordinators are putting her up in a 3-bedroom apartment with an aspiring young Chilean who is getting ready for grad school and some as-yet-unknown roommate who will arrive in a couple weeks.  She's less than an hour's drive from Geoff, Heather, and the babies, and her apartment building is next to the library--she's basically in seventh heaven.

I've been researching health clinics in the Hudson Valley and what I'll need to do to get on her HIPAA form and make appointments/pay bills for her. I've got a few calls to make next week and when I give her the info, she better make an appointment and keep it, or else I'm driving up there and making her go.  On the phone I told her, "Your health is more important to me than it is to you!  You MUST go to the doctor!  I'm on my soapbox!  Who's the mother now, mutha?!"
"You are, apparently?"
"That's right I am!  You get to be the mother again once you go to the doctor."
"Ohhhhhhh, well.....maybe."

Who knew that the gentle Pam C. was so secretly stubborn?

In any case, out of my immediate family, this leaves only my dad in West Virginia from now until December.  How strange.  Geoff and I used to be the only ones who had made the big exodus; first we were both in North Carolina, then we both moved north.  Now dad's the only one?  Something's not right here.

Kitties @ our trailer in Boone:

Callie, the feral cat who bit/tore me up, with James, the feral cat we loved:

Harriet's kitten Grape Juice (who was adopted and renamed Lucy) on the futon:

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Oh no

I finally signed up for Twitter.  Twitter friends, prepare for me to tweet you to death.

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Gladys

(Great) Aunt Gladys probably won't be allowed to live on her own anymore.  The brightest scenario is that she'll have someone with her near round-the-clock; otherwise, it's a nursing home, where she doesn't really belong.  (And what would happen to the farm?)  She's so forgetful now.

When Glenn died in 2002, it wrecked her.  Nearly a year later, I told her she looked thin.  She said, "Well, after he died I didn't have any appetite.  I never got it back; I guess my stomach is shrunk up."  It was a dazzling summer day, like most of the cool, sunny summer days in the mountains.  She stubbed out her cigarette, poured whole milk into a dish, and set it out near the shed where the feral kittens live.  She came back inside and took a sip of black coffee.  Boots rubbed against her legs.

Glenn's black and white border collie Boots was such a treat.  He taught her each cow's name, then could ask her to herd home just that single cow if need be.  Boots was so attached to him; after he died, the only person who could really interact with her was Gladys.  When we'd come over, she'd hide under the kitchen table or stay close to Gladys, backing away if we tried to pet her.

Boots was hit by a car a few weeks ago.  I didn't know that she ever went all the way up the long driveway, but she must have gotten to the gravel/paved part of the road.  Mom says that Boots getting killed is probably it.  Too much grief to handle because Boots was her only companion, her last daily tie to Glenn.

Sure, Granny goes over a lot like she always has.  For the first couple years after Glenn died, I think they mainly just talked about him.  He was Granny's favorite sibling and she used to keep the books for his farm.  When they were young, she says she was jealous of Glenn because when they'd ride to Quinwood to get groceries, he got to ride the horse and she had to ride the pony.  But then later Glenn would trade chores with her because he knew she hated milking the cows.  When she was twelve, Glenn taught her how to drive and later loaned her his yellow Ford pickup to drive to high school her senior year.

But in the last couple years, as they've both become more forgetful, so much foggier, their conversations are looped--they never get past the first things they talk about.  Last year when I was in visiting Granny and Pawpaw by myself, Granny and I went over to the farm and I listened in awe as Gladys and Granny repeated the same 10 minute conversation four times over.  It would get to the end and Gladys would say, "Now have you heard anything from Brent?"  Granny would say, "Well, let me see...have I?  What was the last thing I heard from Brent..." and they'd have the exact same conversation over again. Four times.

I guess Granny is lucky because she has Pawpaw to watch out for her, make sure she's taking her memory and blood pressure meds.  But Gladys hasn't had that.  She's had caring neighbors and family for sure--neighbors and family who call, visit, write--but none of them live with her.  Just a (now dead) dog.  And I guess maybe now she may lose living at the farm, which is the only thing she's wanted to keep doing since Glenn died.  Living at the farm where he used to be, then where Boots used to be, now where it would be just her--or I guess her and a nurse/helper if she's lucky.

On the farm in Greenbrier County: clothesline, blooms, and shed where the feral cats live:

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Homage to culinary creaminess

I recently made hollandaise for the first time, as part of a delicious foray into eggs benedict (southwestern style!).  Shortly after, I made macaroni salad for the first time in my life.  Coming up, I had a horrible aversion to mayonnaise, so I hated macaroni salad, potato salad, coleslaw, and the like until I was about 20 years old. 

[One exception: when I was kid and we'd spend several weeks of the summer in Greenbrier County with Granny and Pawpaw, we'd pick wild strawberries.  We'd get up early, crawl into Pawpaw's old Jeep, and head up the mountain where we each got our pail--an old tobacco can with a wire handle--and pick berries until lunchtime.  Then we'd clamber back to the Jeep and Pawpaw would bring out the lunch he'd packed for us, which always included bologna sandwiches with Miracle Whip, lettuce, and early tomato.  While I couldn't stand the thought of mayonnaise or "salad dressing" otherwise--nor did I particularly like bologna--these sandwiches were heavenly.]

Now I look for sneaky ways to eat mayonnaise with all kinds of things.  I have a recipe for banana muffins that uses mayonnaise as the liquid part of the recipe.  Another favorite is Mimi's "poor man's sandwich" (pickles, mayo, peanut butter, and onion).  With all the great veggie burgers and mayo-based salads to eat in summer, we practically need a mayonnaise dispenser in the door of our refrigerator.  My before-bed snack twice this week has been mayonnaise on a piece of bread with a piece of cheese on top.

For the good of the order, here is the macaroni salad recipe universially endorsed on allrecipes.com, with amounts and steps tweaked according to the comments from reviewers and my own two makings:

INGREDIENTS

2 cups uncooked elbow macaroni
3 hard-boiled eggs, chopped
1 very small onion, chopped, or a couple green onions
2 stalks celery, chopped
1 red bell pepper, chopped
2 tablespoons dill pickle relish
1.5 cups Miracle Whip (I use generic "salad dressing" mayo)
3 tablespoons yellow mustard
1/4 cup sugar
2 teaspoons white vinegar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon garlic salt or seasoned salt

DIRECTIONS

1.  Cook macaroni according to package directions.  Drain, and set aside to cool.

2.  In a large bowl, stir together the Miracle Whip/salad dressing mayo, mustard, sugar, vinegar, salt and seasoned salt.  Add the eggs, onion, celery, red pepper, relish, and macaroni.  Stir until well blended.

3.  Cover and chill for AT LEAST 1 hour before serving (preferably overnight) or else it will be way liquidy.

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Planning, foresight, etc.

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See you tonight?

I only get moments with my New York State & New York City sisters-in-law very occasionally, so my time with them is precious.  Last night we got to host Jenny, who got in very late due to a bizarre chain of exhausting events with the Greyhound bus that involved the Newark, New Jersey police.  Sitting on the couch after 11pm watching the 13th inning of an Orioles / Red Sox game, Andy helped Jenny--as he has been helping me for the past several years--gain some common baseball knowledge.

"You mean they have GROOMING regulations?"
"But not the Red Sox."
"THAT'S why they're so scrappy looking?!"
"Yes."
"It all makes sense now."

This is good information for Jenny to have, since she's moving from New York to Boston in less than a month.  We've taken our trips to New York for granted for the past six years and are selfishly sad at losing our place to stay & personal NYC knowledgebank/tourguide, but we're excited that she's finally going to be with the love of her life (who loves baseball), and also excited that we can start exploiting her accomodations & knowledge in Boston--she went to college there too, so she's got it all.  Cat & Jonathan!  Niki & Glenn!  We're coming to Boston sometime.  Also, Jenny just had a short piece published in that magazine with the gorgeous photographs, The Sun.  She really does it all.

I've actually got a lot more to say, but I've got to go get ready to go out--The Agrarians & Krestovsky are on a bill kindly organized by MT6 at The Depot, and we don't want to be late.

XO,
Erin

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Cacapon State Park

Last weekend, Andy and I met up with Casto parents, uncle + his lady, siblings, & cousins at Cacapon State Park in a couple of cabins.  You have to drive through Berkeley Springs and the unincorporated town of Omps (!) to get there.  Geoff & Heather came down from New York with Zack & Alek.  I spent lots of time with the twins, soaking up their baby sweetness, and for reasons that I can't define, I had one of the most transcendent experiences of 2008 when Zack fell asleep in my arms while I sat on the cabin steps talking to his parents in the late afternoon.  I still can't believe that everyone made the trip, really. 

Denny & Rachelle came up from North Carolina with Riley and baby Jake, and Parry & Marsha came with brand new baby Lily.  Jon came from Pennsylvania sans children, as did Andy & I from Maryland, (Chris was with Claudia in Morgantown for her graduation), and we just hung around.  Some people went fishing.  We went walking through the woods and watched a hawk for a good ten minutes.  Goofed around with a tiny bit of tennis.  Some intense games of Scrabble.  A fire in the fireplace.  Geoff's homemade beer & mead, supplemented by the ubiquitous Bud & Bud Light, a midnight trip that Andy and I made to the game room in the Lodge to play pinball and pool.

It was strange; we grew up just one house apart in Point Pleasant, and now we're so scattered.  Now we have our own states to live in, our own parenting philosophies and baby schedules to defend and keep up with (well, most of us), our own life partner to negotiate the Casto circus with, and here we were, tucked into two cabins at Cacapon State Park with our parents.  It was strange, but it was so wonderful.  I feel like there should be a documentary about last weekend.

Prudence has grown up since I saw her in February:

Andy, Geoff, and Jon went skeet shooting with wobble traps.

Andy named Zack "the Suri Cruise of the Casto family:"

Alek has awesome bedhead:

 Forest floor moss covering:

Burry n' Pam enjoying their grandkids:

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