It's too hot

No time for a long post tonight. No energy. It's just been too hot.

Actually it's not that hot here, not like it was in LA a few days ago. 113 in downtown Los Angeles, how is that possible? And how ghastly it must have been. For one thing, downtown LA is more humid than Ridgecrest. Think of 113 with a dollop of humidity. Also, I don't think everyone in LA has air conditioning, and certainly not swamp coolers.

No one should be feeling sorry for us in Ridgecrest, because it's only been in the low 100s the last few days. Thing is, I'm SICK of the low 100s! I want 90s! And 80s! And 70s!

On Sunday we took a trip to the Kern River Preserve, in the Kern River Valley, which is -- oh, I'm not going to try to explain where it is, because if you're not from here, you won't understand. It's near Lake Isabella, some people might know where that is. Anyway, the Kern River Preserve was featured on a Huell Howser episode that we saw part of once, and we'd always planned to go, so on Sunday we went.

Unfortunately it was hot. Oh, and also, the day before, Saturday, had been their annual turkey vulture festival! I'm so sorry we missed that. But we were pretty busy on Saturday.

Anyway, so it was hot. And humid! Because the Kern River Preserve is right on the Kern River. So it was very green, and overgrown, and buggy, and humid. Just an odd experience altogether for us desert folk.

Here is a photo of my little darlings "enjoying" the Kern River Preserve.



What can I say, they were hot. We'll go back someday when it's not so hot.

And that is enough for tonight, except that I am really looking forward to Saturday, when the high is supposed to be 91.

Saturday in the parks

We had such a busy day today, so many activities. But first I must apologize up front -- I forgot the camera and so there are no photos. I'm starting to be very jealous of people who have cameras in their phones. Of course I usually don't even have my phone with me, or if I do, it's not charged, but if I were the kind of person who has a camera in their phone I'd also probably be the kind of person who always has their phone with them and it's always charged. Anyway.

It's still blazingly hot here, but we're getting to the time of year where it shouldn't be so hot anymore, so organizations are starting to schedule activities. The first thing we went to today was the Family Fun Fair, which was at Leroy Jackson park. It was sponsored by the United Way and lots of local nonprofits had booths. My Ridge Writers group had a booth, though we never actually found it. The Boy Scouts were there, Girl Scouts, Friends of the Library with a tiny booksale. At the Boy Scouts booth you could make a paper rocket and then a Scout would shoot it into the air for you, using compressed air. Boos did not make a rocket, but enjoyed watching others' rockets being shot into the air. This being Ridgecrest, there were also Tea Party supporters roaming around handing out copies of the Constitution along with obnoxious brochures. A man offered me one and I said "No thank you, we're Democrats," but he said "That doesn't matter!" so Rocket Boy took one.

Boos eventually got too rowdy and wouldn't stay with us, so we stuffed them back into the car and went to a rummage sale out at the fairgrounds. The sale was to help send a drama group from our high school to Edinburgh (yes, Scotland) next summer. Boos sat in their stroller and politely allowed me to look at books. I bought 4 and Rocket Boy found an old thermos and a tool set. Boos requested and received 3 balls (a baseball, a softball, and a golf ball), and we also bought some muffins at the bake sale.

Then home for lunch and a short nap drive. In the late afternoon we went to the pool on base to go swimming, since tomorrow they close for the season (Ridgecrest feels that you can't possibly keep a pool open when it's less than 100 degrees during the day). I have discovered a nice thing this summer, which is that it is starting to be fun to take the twins swimming. They're just a little more responsive, a little more helpful, a little less of a pain -- and somehow it all adds up to make swim trips more pleasant.

We spent most of our time in the wading pool, with just a couple of forays over to the big pool. A Mormon family with several children including a 2-year-old girl were also there part of the time. (Rocket Boy, afterwards: "Why do you think they were Mormons?" Me: "Well, the Brigham Young University t-shirt that the father was wearing was a clue.") As I sat in the wading pool, I was musing about how odd it is that we have so much in common with Mormons, when our politics are completely different. I mean we don't smoke, almost never drink. We don't have any tattoos. We're very family oriented. Then I noticed what the mom and the teenage daughter were wearing to swim in: one-piece swimsuits AND shorts AND t-shirts. I kept thinking the daughter was going to take off her shorts and t-shirt, but then the mother came out of the dressing room wearing HER shorts and t-shirt (you could see that she had a swimsuit on underneath), and I thought ohhhhhhhhhh. I guess we don't have much in common after all.

After the pool, we went to Nickoletti's for pizza, which didn't work out quite as well as it did the last time, probably because in the car on the way over the boos noticed that I had an apple and demanded the right to eat it. Honestly, don't you wish you were 2? They think apples are these wonderful special treats. Also raisins. Raisins are their favorite thing in the whole world. Except for maybe apples. Oh, and oranges. And watermelon. Anyway, they filled up on apple and had no room left for pizza because they have these teeny tiny little stomachs. Have I mentioned that they have only gained about one pound in the last 6 months? I wish I were 2.

After pizza we went to Freedom Park, which is the one park in Ridgecrest with really good grass. They must spend a fortune watering it. Freedom Park is right next to City Hall and the Rec Center, and it has a fountain and a gazebo/bandstand thing, and tonight at 7pm there was going to be a free concert by the local community orchestra. They have this every year -- last year I thought about going but it was very windy and boos were too little and I gave up on the idea. This year the weather was perfect for an evening concert. Boos were still too little, but I thought maybe we could hear part of the concert.

The concert's theme was pirates and people were encouraged to wear pirate costumes. I ignored that part of it, thinking who has a pirate costume? About one-third of the many concert attendees, that's who. Is there something I've missed? Are we supposed to have pirate costumes? Is it a wardrobe staple now? (Shirts, pants, dresses, pirate costume?)

We got there about 20 minutes early, but that seemed good because it would give the boos time to wander and play and get tired so that maybe they'd listen to some of the concert. We brought a big ball to kick, but Baby B was on a mission: he walked very fast ALL over the park, so we had no choice but to follow him. As it got darker, both twins pointed out "Venie" (Venus) to us. My sweet boos don't know their colors, but they can spot Venus in the evening sky.

Finally as it got close to starting time we sat down on the edge of the fountain. (Most people had brought their own lawn chairs, but our lawn chairs all have black widow spiders living in them.) Baby A was willing to stay with us, but Baby B insisted on walking back and forth down an aisle in front of us. We decided that was OK as long as he stayed fairly close by. The concert began and the music was lovely. They played a selection from Pirates of the Caribbean, then the overture to Offenbach's Bluebeard, and then the overture to Pirates of Penzance. That's all I know, because we had to leave halfway through the third piece. Baby B, who seemed to be almost dancing through the first couple of pieces, began running back and forth shouting "Mommy Daddy Mommy Daddy" and we decided he was being disruptive to the other concertgoers, so we left. But really the whole experience was delightful. An outdoor concert is surely the best way to introduce toddlers to orchestra music.

There may have been Tea Partiers there, there may have been Mormons, there were certainly liberals (not just us). It didn't matter. Everyone was simply enjoying the music (and gearing up for the pirate costume contest, which was to be held during intermission). A lovely evening indeed.

Victorville

Today was an awful day: I'll just say that right upfront. None of us were in good moods, though technically healthy (I think -- please let the boos not be coming down with anything). But it was going to be 97 in Ridgecrest and there's nothing to do here (have I mentioned that before?). And more importantly, I needed to buy diapers. Baby A is very prone to diaper rash, especially since he is on antibiotics all the time, and I find that Pampers "sensitive" diapers irritate him less than the regular kind, and also less than Huggies "natural" diapers. However, no store in Ridgecrest carries sensitive diapers in size 4. So every few weeks I have to drive 90 miles to Palmdale to buy sensitive diapers at Target. (Roll on potty training.)

The problem was that we went to Palmdale last week -- just didn't make it to Target -- and the thought of Palmdale 2 weekends in a row was disheartening. So I had this bright idea that we could go to Victorville instead. It's almost exactly the same distance away from us -- the only downside is that you have to take Highway 395 south, which is the most horrible segment of highway in the known world. But Rocket Boy had the equally bright idea that we could also go to the Route 66 museum in Victorville while we were there, and that would make it an enjoyable outing.

OK, so first the drive was nasty. Got stuck behind slow vehicles, etc. And it's just an ugly, ugly drive. But OK, whatever. Ninety minutes, ninety miles, we're there.



We went inside the museum; we were greeted warmly; it seemed nice. And then the man behind the counter in the gift shop said to Rocket Boy, "I hope your kids know the difference between a toy store and a museum." What a stupid museum! Who is it intended for? It's chock full of darling toy cars that are right out where everyone (namely children) can see and touch them, except you aren't supposed to.

We didn't stay very long.

Next stop was Richie's Diner, recommended by the man behind the counter, for lunch.



This was a pretty fun place to have lunch, or would have been if our kids were older and my stomach was back to normal. I studied the menu and ordered a BLT, thinking it looked small. I wanted just a little bit of food. So the sandwich arrived and it was absolutely enormous, including perhaps a pound of bacon. I chewed my way through it and then felt sick. The boos ate a grilled cheese sandwich, Rocket Boy had a chicken pot pie, and then he and the greedy boos split a piece of carrot cake.

Then it was time for Target, except that we couldn't find it, because we had gone way off course to find the diner and we didn't have a good map. So we were driving along I-15, which runs through town, and we saw a Babies R Us. They sell diapers, we reminded ourselves, so we went there. We bought an ENORMOUS box of sensitive Pampers, and then since a Toys R Us was right next door, we had a look at tricycles, which we've been meaning to buy since last March. Their green folding Kettler trikes were on sale, $39.99 each, so what the heck, we bought two. The boos insisted that we also buy 2 more balls (sigh), and Baby B also wanted a book about Elmo, who he loves despite never having seen Sesame Street, but we managed to accidentally forget to buy that.

Then Rocket Boy suggested one more stop: Barnes & Noble. He did it for me, as a sweet gesture, but oh what a mistake that was. We packed the boos into their stroller and Rocket Boy pushed them around while I went to look at the fiction. I had a Cormac McCarthy novel in my hand when I heard passionate loud wails -- and I put the book back on the shelf. I knew I wasn't going to buy anything. It turned out that Baby B wanted a gigantic calendar, maybe 3 feet long, with a picture of a cat on it. We didn't want to buy that, because he would want to play with it, not hang it on the wall, and then he would rip it apart. So we just left, with everyone in B&N staring at us. And Baby B continued to yell pretty much all the way home.

Which was 90 miles.

When we finally got home and let the boos out of the car, they cheered up briefly. We got out the tricycles and set them up on the back patio, and for a little while everyone was happy.



But then Baby A actually figured out how to pedal his, so he was screaming because it was hard, and Baby B didn't figure out how to pedal his, so he was screaming because he was jealous. And then Baby A got mixed up about which one was his (because they're identical) and tried to push Baby B off his, thinking it was his, and additional screaming ensued. And then Baby A brought his tricycle indoors and was screaming because it's hard to ride a trike on carpet, and then I made him put it outside again, so he was screaming because he wanted it to be inside. And then we had dinner (frozen meals for everyone except me; cereal for me; we're eating so marvelously well these days), and the screaming continued for whatever reason, and then it was bath night, which always involves screaming, and then we got into pajamas and read books and screamed some more, and then oh my god they went to bed.

They will be up again in 9 hours.

Smoke (warning: much too graphic)

We've been inundated with smoke the last few days, from the Canyon Fire near Highway 178 in the mountains to the west of us. The smoke comes and goes -- sometimes we have bright blue skies, and sometimes you can't see any of the mountain ranges that encircle us and the smoke swirls down like low fog.

A couple of weeks ago there was a fire a few blocks from us and you could see a huge plume of smoke from our front yard. You could also hear ALL the fire engines rushing to the fire. It made a big impression on Baby A, who adores fire engines. Now when I say something about the smoke from the Canyon Fire, Baby A says "Moke! Bire tuck!" and I agree that fire trucks need to do something about all the smoke.

I'm very sensitive to smoke under any circumstances, but right now I'm also still recovering from my latest weird bug, so when the smoke is thick I cough a lot. The babies take notice of this too, but what they say is "Mommy bow up!" which means "Mommy throw up." This is in reference to what I did when I came down with their stomach flu on Tuesday. Baby A had it way back last Friday and then no one came down with it all weekend, so I thought we were going to get lucky. But no, Baby B didn't want to eat dinner Monday night, and then Monday evening we heard him crying. We went in their room to investigate and found him, and his bedding, just drenched in vomit. Took off the sheet and blanket and mattress cover and his PJs, replaced everything, threw the stuff in the washer (without rinsing it off first -- oh, big mistake). An hour or two later more crying, back in again, vomit all over everything again, change sheet and blanket and mattress pad and PJs. The third time was after we'd gone to bed, so Rocket Boy got up and just did a minimal change. The fourth and fifth times were handled by me, and Baby B had already gone back to sleep by the time I got there, so I just left him. (We had run out of sheets and mattress pads by then in any case.) There was a bit more clean-up in the morning. But after that he was OK.

But Tuesday I was a zombie -- from the interrupted sleep, but also because I was coming down with the same thing. I thought it was just the mild nausea caused by the antibiotic I'm taking, but no. It got worse and worse all day, reminding me intensely of being pregnant. I got weaker and weaker, sicker and sicker, and finally in the late afternoon I went to the bathroom (accompanied by my two faithful followers), knelt down, coughed, and did the deed. Babies were extremely interested, and kept shouting "Mommy bow up! Mommy bow up!" I recovered enough to call Rocket Boy at work, hoping he would take the hint and come home early, but he didn't, he came home late. How I love my husband.

Wednesday they went to daycare in the afternoon and I spent the whole time (except the driving to and fro) in bed.

Today I felt a lot better, but I was still coughing from the smoke. And every time I coughed, boos decided I was going to throw up. For instance, I started coughing in Albertson's, while choosing tasty frozen food items. "Mommy bow up!" Baby A shouted at a woman standing next to us. "No, Mommy is not throwing up, Mommy is coughing," I corrected him. The woman moved away from us, just in case.

Meanwhile the boos appear to be entering a nudist phase. They have learned how to take off a t-shirt and shorts -- and so they do, every chance they get. In the evenings, when we go out to see the tortoises, they take off their diapers too. Since our yard is chock full of "owies," I foresee disaster, but they are unconcerned. I know this is all a part of growing up -- someday they will learn how to put ON their clothes too, and then my life will get that tiny little bit easier -- but right now it is annoying.

On the other hand, it is convenient for potty training, which I have not been paying any attention to at all recently. (I keep saying I'm going to start again "when we're all healthy," in other words, when hell freezes over.) But when the boos have taken all their clothes off anyway, they might as well sit on their potties and do pee poop.

So this morning we were doing that, and Baby A happened to grab a ponytail holder I had in a dish on my bathroom counter. "Mommy bow up!" he said to me. Even though I'd been hearing "Mommy bow up!" endlessly the last 2 days, I didn't translate it properly. I thought he was saying "Mommy blow up." "No, sweetie, it's not a balloon," I said stupidly. "It doesn't blow up." "Mommy bow up!" Baby A insisted, so I showed him how I used it to make a ponytail. And then it came to me -- when I throw up, if I have more than 15 seconds notice, I put my hair in a ponytail so that I won't throw up in my hair. This is one of those tricks you learn when you're pregnant. And yes, I did it on Tuesday. So now I guess the boos associate ponytails with vomiting.

My little prayer to the porcelain god (there's a phrase from college days) obviously made quite an impression on the boos. Almost as much as a fire.

Any day now we are going to be healthy again. Any day now.

Birthday in Death Valley

Today is Rocket Boy's birthday (we won't say how old he is) and so we went to Death Valley.

Actually it was a choice between the Trona Pinnacles and the Charcoal Kilns in Wildrose Canyon (in Death Valley), but it was supposed to be 97 today and that sounded too hot for the Pinnacles. The Charcoal Kilns are quite high up and it's always cooler there, so we went there. We left right after lunch.

Rocket Boy doesn't like me to make a big deal out of his birthday, in fact he would rather I forgot what day it is. This always leaves me in a quandary, because I feel that birthdays should be celebrated. You survived another year! You're still with us! Who cares how old you are? But not everyone sees it that way.

So I was pretty low-key about it today, I let him get up first and change the boos' diapers. When he said he wanted to mow the lawn, I said fine, do it. But when he suggested Death Valley, I also said fine, let's do it, even though it might not have been my FIRST choice of an activity for today.

But I'm always glad I went to Death Valley. It's such a weird, quiet place. And so empty today. The first time we went to the Charcoal Kilns, back in April, it was quite busy, with lots of people on their way to hike to Telescope Peak. Today -- NOBODY.





When we came here in April, Baby A was afraid of the kilns, but this time he was braver. He and Baby B ran happily in and out of first one kiln and then another, stomping their feet while inside to hear the echo.

After the kilns we drove a little further up the road, to the trailhead for Telescope Peak, but I was feeling a little dicey, so stayed in the car. It was nice, though, about 72 degrees with a glorious blue sky.

Then we drove to Panamint Springs and had an odd dinner at the restaurant there. We were the only ones in the restaurant, and when Rocket Boy told the waitress we were from Ridgecrest, she gave us a 15% discount. Since the food is quite expensive there ($8 for a hot dog), it was nice to have the discount.

Then we drove home. It's such a lovely area, such a lovely drive. I'm still getting the Kaiser Permanente good health newsletter for some reason, and in today's edition there was an article about reducing stress by having a "quiet mind." Death Valley is like one gigantic quiet mind. Driving home through Panamint Valley, and then Searles Valley, and then finally the Indian Wells Valley provides a lot of time and space for contemplation.

We stopped at Albertson's on the way home and got a little cake, and then we had a tiny celebration of Rocket Boy's birthday before the boos went to bed. (The tortoises just had lettuce.) Boos were funny -- kept taking little tastes of the cake while I was gathering up plates and candles and whatnot. We lit candles and Rocket Boy obligingly blew them out after I sang Happy Birthday. And then he opened his cards and gifts. I had gotten him a DVD of "The Brave One" and also made a photo memory book of every photo we ever took of Whiskers. He seemed very pleased with both gifts. Boos were impossible to put to bed after all that sugar, but eventually they did go.

Rocket Boy drives me batty much of the time, but after that terrible bout of pneumonia/valley fever/aspergillosis/whatever it was! last month I realized how much I would miss him if he were gone.

Fires and puzzles

They say that God never gives you more than you can handle. I have never believed that for an instant.

First of all, people often receive more than they can handle and consequently lose their minds, go on shooting sprees, etc. Secondly, I don't believe in the sort of God who goes around handing out experiences: here's some for you, here's some for you, whoops, overloaded you a bit there, sorry, I'll take back that disaster and give it to him instead, etc.

Case in point: the woman who lost her home in the dreadful fire raging in the hills above Boulder and then had her car broken into and lost everything she'd salvaged from that home. Note to God: that was more than anyone could handle. God: I didn't do it!

I've been watching the Boulder Daily Camera online obsessively for updates on the fire. We feel so far away from it all! We haven't talked to anyone in Boulder since it started. I don't think I know anyone who lives in the burned area, though I used to -- a guy I dated briefly when I first moved to Boulder. But he's dead. I do wonder if his house burned, but it's no concern of mine, or his for that matter.

Going back to the God thing, I will say that it was nice of Providence, or Fate, or whoever would like to take credit, to have held off giving Baby A stomach flu until after I was mostly recovered from my bug. I still don't have a lot of energy, but I'm doing OK, and it's good to feel OK when you have a vomiting toddler. Baby A threw up his morning medicine all over his highchair, and then the raspberries he'd eaten earlier onto the carpet next to my computer desk, and then the water I stupidly gave him (mixed with more of the earlier raspberries) onto their ABC puzzle, and then once more with feeling, all over my white pants and the carpet.

My solution was to put on shorts instead (in the hope that the next expulsion would hit my bare leg) and bring out another puzzle. I have really created a monster with this puzzle thing. Baby B is an outstanding puzzle maker! He can make Cow-pig Animal (their name for their favorite puzzle -- a nice 24-piece wooden barnyard scene) all by himself. He can make all the puzzles all by himself, although I think he thinks the word for puzzle is "animal." Both he and Baby A call all the puzzles "animal." There's "Bear Animal," "Buh-fly Animal," "A Animal" (that's the ABC puzzle). He is ready for the next level, but I do not have the next level available. So I got down an adult puzzle that claimed to have big pieces for kids, small pieces for adults, so the whole family can do it together. We worked and worked on it, Baby B tried so hard, I frantically worked to put the edge pieces together -- but it wasn't very successful. I need some easier puzzles.



(For illustration purposes, here we are making Cow-pig Animal with Dada, on a less vomitous day.)

So anyway, then we took Baby B to daycare, and then Baby A and I went home to spend the afternoon together. And what did he want to do? "Cow-pig Animal!" It turned out that Baby A wanted some catch-up time with the puzzle. He can't make it all by himself yet. So we made Cow-pig Animal about 43 times (I think it was actually 6), until Mommy lost her mind and then we sat on Mommy's lap and checked on the progress of the fire, and had some crackers and 7-Up, which we did NOT throw up, and thus the afternoon passed by.

Crystal, the woman who cleans for us every 2 weeks, came today, so she washed windows and cleaned bathrooms while we made puzzles. Then we took her home and picked up Baby B from daycare and brought him home. And what did Baby B want to do as soon as he got home? "Cow-pig Animal!" Baby B needed to reassert his dominance over the puzzle-making, but Baby A was having none of that. Soon puzzle pieces were flying and little people were screaming. Boos do not understand that puzzling is a quiet, contemplative activity.

Dada came home with a sack of dinner and I went to my bed for a 2-minute rest. Whoever is in charge (and I really don't think anyone is) regularly gives me more than I can handle, but today it was just a little bit more.

And now the weekend. They say the Boulder fire is 56% contained and could be 100% in 3-5 days. We're cautiously hopeful.

How not to treat spiders

Today I am feeling better, thanks to the miracle antibiotic I was prescribed yesterday. When I think how much I didn't want to take another antibiotic, I shake my head. Clearly I needed one. It wasn't just a virus.

But taking care of two-year-old twins when one is recovering from a bug is a little harder than when one actually has the bug (this bug, anyway). Instead of dreaming through the day, I was awake and aware throughout, and the babies seemed to be conscious of this and were consequently more trouble.

Still, I cannot blame them for the trouble I got myself into with the first spider this morning. We were just back from the park and library, and had gotten out of the car, when my eyes lit on a spider web at the southeast corner of the garage. It had gone from being a few stringy strands to a big thick horizontal web. And somehow that made me mad. How dare a spider make such a big web in my garage? There was no spider visible in it, so without thinking this through, I stuck my foot in it and pulled the whole thing down. I was pleased with myself for about 2 seconds, after which I noticed the big black spider right next to my foot.

Black widows often make themselves a little hiding place within their web -- it looks like just a thicker part of the web. Clearly this one had just popped out of its hiding place.

Black widows only bite when threatened. This one was threatened.

I completely lost it, started screaming and rubbing my foot back and forth on the concrete, then ran over to the grass and started rubbing my foot back and forth as I ran back and forth across the grass. I didn't feel anything on my leg, ever. Finally I looked down, saw nothing, dared to look at the bottom of my shoes, saw nothing, and went shakily back to tell the boos everything was fine.

The fact that I was wearing shoes and socks, not sandals, may have saved me -- except that if I'd been wearing sandals I never would have pulled down a black widow's web WITH MY FRIGGIN' FOOT.

A few hours later, the twins were getting restless, so I suggested they play with "Table Why" (their water table). They were delighted and we got it all set up with fresh water and toys. After they had been playing for 15 minutes or so I realized it was snacktime, so I fixed them each a snack bowl with some Fig Newtons and goldfish crackers and brought them out to them.

A few minutes later I realized my mistake.

Have I never given them a snack while they were playing with the water table? Surely I have, surely. But maybe not. Anyway, today the boos decided to do a science experiment involving Fig Newtons, goldfish crackers, and the water table. Oh, so gross. "Do Not Put Snacks in Table Why!" I shouted, going to get the hose. I had to take out all the toys, hose them off, dump out all the water, hose off the water table, and then leave it in the sun to dry.

Boos were more intrigued than upset, and afterwards told me seriously "No bar wa'er" and "No kacker wa'er." I agreed. "Kayak wa'er." I agreed.

But I was mad, because an activity that could have lasted an hour had lasted 15 minutes. I decided rather than take my anger out on the boos, I would take it out on the spiders that live on the patio. So I began spraying all the various webs with the hose (everything on the patio has a web).

A few weeks ago I had finally gotten brave enough to use the spider-killing spray on the black widow that had a web just to the east of the patio door. It upset me very much to use it, especially since she was positively writhing in agony, but I was glad she did finally die. But then a week or so ago I was dismayed to find two new black widows -- younger, smaller, but definitely widows -- happily ensconced on either side of the patio door.

So I sprayed their webs with all the strength in the hose. And down came the new widow to the east (the hiding place for that web is in a patio chair that hangs above the web) to see who was messing with her web. I turned the water on her full force, sprayed her and sprayed her and sprayed her. Finally I calmed down and shut the water off. She shook herself off and walked happily around the corner.

Later, when we were out in front again, waiting for Daddy to come home with the pizza, I checked on the web by the front door. I had sprayed that widow dead only a few days ago. Her body was still lying there, still dead, and there was another dead spider there too, who must have gotten caught in the fumes. He was black but with an interesting red and white pattern on his body. I studied him, sorry he'd had to die.

If spiders have any sort of system of revenge, I am so screwed.

Re-reading Shirley Jackson

Instead of forging ahead with new books for my list of 100, I've been drifting through things I've read 100 times before -- old familiar friend kind of books, that are as easy to read as drinking water because I know what the next sentence is going to be, and the next and the next. Earlier this year I decided I was going to count that type of re-reading (specifically books by B. Pym), but more recently I've changed my mind. Thus last month Brideshead Revisited didn't count even though I read it cover to cover, because I've read it so many times before. (Note: one way you can tell you have read something a lot is when you can read it backwards, last chapter to first, with no comprehension issues.)

A few days ago, feeling too feverish to read anything new, I plucked Life Among the Savages by Shirley Jackson off my bookshelf. This is not one of her Gothic/haunted house stories, it is a book about her homelife with her husband and children, in the 1940s and 50s, written for laughs. (She was the precursor to Erma Bombeck. And Stephen King, actually -- he considers her a major influence. Can you imagine anyone today being both Erma Bombeck and Stephen King?) Anyway, the book is soooo funny. But I never realized before (not having had children the 18 or so times I had read the book previously) that in fact it is not funny, it is horrible.

I could give endless examples. Here are some from a long scene about a summer morning.
"...Laurie began to chuckle maliciously. I saw that he was putting Jannie's red sandals on his own feet, reflected briefly and bitterly on the theory that seven-year-olds have good days and bad days, and said briskly, "Just for that, you can put Jannie's shoes on her feet, and buckle them for her, too."
I knew immediately what he was going to do, and, with speed, I made a strong tactical retreat downstairs before I could see him do it...."

"I turned around. Jannie was balancing the fruit juice glasses one on top of another. Laurie was making a train of knives and forks. Sally finished with her bottle abruptly and threw it on the floor.
"It's hot," my husband remarked. He sat down at the table, rescued a knife and fork from Laurie and a glass of fruit juice from Jannie. "Why do you let the children play with things on the table?" he asked. "Don't they have enough toys of their own?"
I did not feel equal to answering..."

"...Jannie teetered backward in her chair, Laurie crashed into her, and they both went over, Jannie's plate, with egg, moving gracefully off the table after them.
"Can I have my candy now?" Jannie asked me, looking up hopefully from the floor. "Laurie did it."

My children are two and a half while hers were 7, 4, and 1 at the time, but somehow there's no real difference.

Shirley Jackson was such an interesting writer. I've just requested a biography of her from the library. I know that she was a heavy smoker, alcoholic, and very overweight, that she died of a heart attack when she was only 48.

But I think what never really struck me about her before is that she was a transplanted Californian who got married in her mid-20s to a New York Jewish intellectual (Stanley Edgar Hyman, who at the time was the Big Name in the family and now is essentially forgotten except as her husband) and then over the next 11 years they had 4 children. So while she was writing her amazing books -- The Haunting of Hill House is my favorite, but We Have Always Lived in the Castle is highly thought of too and then of course there's that short story, "The Lottery" -- she was also doing all the work of raising four children and running the household. And what she is saying, in Life Among the Savages, is that being a housewife when you're actually supposed to be something else (in her case, a writer) is so so so hard.

I would love to read a feminist analysis of this book. There's a lovely section about the birth of her third child. When she checks into the hospital the reception desk clerk asks her occupation.
"Writer," I said.
"Housewife," she said.
"Writer," I said.
"I'll just put down housewife," she said.
...
"Husband's name?" she said. "Address? Occupation?"
"Just put down housewife," I said..."

Something I read somewhere said that she was a devoted mother and her kids all loved her, even though she didn't keep a very clean house, wrote books like this about them, etc. That reassures me. Life Among the Savages is full of very sweet descriptions of things her kids do, not just awful things, but very weird and lovely things too. And it gives a very clear picture of how the weird and lovely things occur smack in the middle of the awful things, giving you no more than a moment to focus on the weird and lovely, before you have to go back to dealing with the awful.

One more quote, because I can't resist. This is from a section about trying to take the older 2 kids shopping for clothes:
"We got out of the bus, apologizing, and reached the sidewalk without trouble -- quite an accomplishment, with the doll carriage, Linda [one of Jannie's imaginary daughters], and Laurie, who remembered his manners at the last minute, and ran back from the sidewalk to hold the door for me after I had already gotten out, leaving Jannie alone and disconsolate, so that she started sadly down the street alone pushing her carriage, with the crowd separating to make a path for her, and one or two old ladies turning to smile and tell one another that she was sweet, and cute, and adorable.
By the time Laurie and I, shouting, had caught up, Jannie and the doll carriage were almost inextricably caught in a revolving door."

How does anyone ever make it through their children's childhood?

I'm realizing that I'm too tired to do this subject justice, and the codeine cough syrup is kicking in again, so I will stop. I still have a very puzzling illness -- fever, cough, dizziness, and now a weird sort of sweating. It made the day go by quickly though, because I had no sense of time. I would look up from the computer and find 3 hours had gone by just like that. Normally I get bored when I'm home with the twins all day and I have to keep thinking of more things to do, but not today. No, today I was on their schedule, or lack thereof. When they requested a new puzzle, I brought it down. They reminded me about snack time. When Baby A got tired, he lay down on the floor next to my computer chair and took a nap. Baby B went off to make the puzzle by himself, and when he got tired, he lay down on the floor next to the puzzle table and took a nap. No need for any nap drives.

And for that I am grateful, since I had no business being on a highway today. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

The central coast... on Labor Day weekend

We've been wanting to drive to the central coast area of California for quite some time now, but have put it off because it's a long drive and we didn't feel up to it. We've also put it off because Rocket Boy was so desperately sick. Also, my cousin who lives in San Luis Obispo is out of town so we can't visit her until October. Also, the twins have been sick and I'm sick, with a horrid cough. And then along comes Labor Day weekend. Three long hot days in Ridgecrest. We just couldn't bear the thought. We argued about it all morning, and finally after lunch on Saturday I gave up and started packing. We were on the road just after 1 pm, headed for the little coastal town of Lompoc, which is near Vandenberg Air Force Base.

The 250-mile drive to Lompoc was very interesting and pleasant, since we took less-traveled roads as much as possible. We journeyed 100 miles on Highway 166, which runs along the edge of the "austere, yet inviting" Carrizo Plain National Monument, where we want to go someday and hike. Maybe when we're in our 80s.

The whole drive took a little more than 4 hours, getting us to Lompoc around 5 pm. I had to pee, babies needed diapers, we were hungry, but we REALLY needed to find a hotel room, because we had not made a reservation. Rocket Boy had called around, trying to find a hotel with cribs, but had not actually reserved one (because we were still arguing about whether or not to go). We brought one crib with us so we only needed a hotel with one. It turned out, however, that Labor Day weekend in Lompoc is not the time or the place to be choosy. We drove to at least 10 hotels -- maybe all they had left was smoking rooms, or the only room they had cost $199. And no one had a crib. There was a huge Trailways bus driving around town, dropping its seemingly endless supply of passengers off at different hotels. Twice the bus arrived just before we did. I began to get frantic.

Finally we found a non-chain hotel with a non-smoking room for $65/night. No crib, but two queen beds. We figured one twin could sleep in our crib and the other could sleep in a bed.

Then we had to find food. By now it was after 7 pm, cold and foggy (and the twins were in shorts). We had spotted a Carrows on the main street in town, H Street, so we went there. Unfortunately they were having a staffing problem. We were seated after about 15 minutes, but even though by then it was close to 7:30 and the place was emptying out, it took ages for our food to come. We were waited on by the hostess, who appeared to be losing her mind from the stress of trying to hold the restaurant together.

Somehow we managed to consume some food and get back to the hotel. I changed the twins into diapers and sleepers, but now we had to get them to go to bed. Back and forth they went -- first one wanted to be in the crib and the other on the bed; then they would switch. I told Rocket Boy to take his laptop and go to the lobby, so I could turn out most of the lights and get them to calm down. Even then it was deadly. And I started to think: what exactly is fun about this vacation? Is it really enough to get out of Ridgecrest if one's life is made infinitely more difficult as a result? This seems to be THE big question in our lives now.

The next morning -- today -- Sunday -- we partook of the continental breakfast provided by the hotel and nothing too terrible happened. After I finished eating I followed the twins over to a little lounge area with a fake fireplace and couches and lots of magazines. I picked up Time, attracted by the article about Jonathan Franzen's new book. Now I am not a big Franzen fan. I didn't like The Corrections. But I'm willing to give his new book a try. But then I read, in this fawning article, that Franzen took up chewing tobacco in order to break through his writer's block. And (natch, it being unbelievably addictive), he's still chewing away, preparing to contract mouth cancer, tongue cancer, ruin his teeth, and all the other lovely things that chewing tobacco causes. And the article made it sound like a good idea! How many young idiots are going to start chewing tobacco now so they can be a big name like Jonathan Franzen?

This article made me so mad it really ruined my day.

But onward. We checked out of the hotel and drove down Ocean Avenue to Ocean Beach Park, which looks like it would be a great place to bird. Here we are in the park:



Then we left Lompoc and drove to Buellton, where we had an OK lunch at Andersen's Pea Soup -- nothing wrong with the food, just our two-year-old dining companions were as usual a bit high-spirited.

After Buellton we proceeded to Solvang -- not to shop, but to go to a really nice park that I had read about in the Santa Maria newspaper (when you travel, always check local papers for things to do, places to go). The park was called Sunny Fields and it had this great play area. Here we are, not wanting to leave:



Then we went to downtown Solvang, which was a mob scene, because we wanted to go to a nice bookstore there, called the Book Loft. Here began the misery of the rest of the day. After much effort we found a parking place, loaded the boys into the stroller, and found the bookstore. We decided to go in separately, first Rocket Boy, then me. When it was my turn I went upstairs to the used books and was scanning them quickly when suddenly I needed to go to the bathroom. I looked around for a restroom and saw nothing, so I went downstairs and back outside to tell Rocket Boy that I needed to return to the public restrooms in the park that we'd walked through. He said "No, there's a restroom on the first floor of the bookstore, use that." I couldn't. I couldn't walk back in, past the mild-mannered man at the front desk, and use their restroom and then not buy anything. And I couldn't buy anything because the twins were screaming.

So Rocket Boy said fine, he would get us some iced tea at the cafe next door and meet me back at the car. I pushed the stroller back to the public restrooms only to find that they were being cleaned. There was a line of about 10 women waiting for the cleaning to finish. I decided I couldn't stand in that line, but instead would just suffer. So I packed the twins back into the car, Rocket Boy came with the drinks, and we set off for home. Which was 4 hours away.

Since I have a bad cough, I've been consuming beverages almost nonstop for the last few days. So I really desperately needed a bathroom. But the more I need a bathroom, the more embarrassed I get about needing one. I start to feel as though I am not worthy of using other people's bathrooms. If I only need to go a little bit, I can stop at a McDonald's and run in and use the facilities without buying anything and it doesn't bother me. But if I really need to go, this becomes impossible. I can only use a McDonald's bathroom if I first buy and eat a large meal. I feel that otherwise, McDonald's staff will chase me out of the restaurant. Since I can't take the time to buy and eat a large meal, because I really need to go, McDonald's is out. The only thing that is not out is the bathrooms in rest areas, or possibly parks, but we weren't on the kind of highways that have rest areas. There were some parks, but because I really needed to go, I felt that we could not possibly stop in any of these parks, because it would delay us.

On and on we drove, to Santa Barbara, to Ventura, up Highway 126 to Santa Paula, Fillmore. At one point Rocket Boy stopped at a roadside stand to buy fruit. He pointed out to me that they had an outhouse in back. I ignored him.

Driving through Santa Clarita we got lost and missed the turnoff to Highway 14, so we took a winding mountain road for miles and miles and miles, all the way to Palmdale. We were going to have dinner at the Denny's in Palmdale, but I said "let's push on to Mojave." I was in so much pain, from both bladder and bowels, I was near tears. And I thought, this inability to help myself when I most need help is not limited to elimination situations. The worse some problem in my life becomes, the less able I am to solve it. I should think more about that, someday when I am not so tired.

We reached Mojave, we reached the Denny's, we parked, we got out of the car, we put sandals on the twins (faster than shoes and socks), we walked to the door. Baby A began to cry. He wanted something in the car. His hat. "Just forget it," I said, but Baby A cried louder and louder. We went back for his hat, and of course Baby B's hat too. Tried again. Baby A still won't enter Denny's. Something about the car. We had to calm him down -- we couldn't START our evening meal with one child screaming at the top of his lungs. Finally I found a small toy car in the diaper bag and gave it to him and that calmed him down. We went inside and I RAN to the bathroom.

And then we just had to get through yet another meal in a restaurant with two-year-old twins, two more diaper changes, the 1-hour drive from Mojave to Ridgecrest, bringing all the stuff in from the car, two more diaper changes and getting twins into sleepers, reading stories, setting up the humidifier, and putting two little men to bed. And this blog post.

And now I am going to take a large dose of codeine cough syrup AND a melatonin and sleep for hours and hours and hours. I think Ridgecrest is going to seem just fine tomorrow, and maybe that is the number one purpose of this sort of trip.

End of August reading update

Well, we survived August (all of us except Whiskers) even though there were times I really didn't think we would. During all the awfulness I managed to read 8 books, 2 of them on CD, 5 of them mysteries. What can I say, it was that kind of month. Here is the list:

61. Chasing the Sea: Lost Among the Ghosts of Empire in Central Asia by Tom Bissell. I saw this book mentioned in a review of Bissell's latest book, which is about video games. I have no intention of reading the video game book, but I immediately put in a request for this one and soon the little library truck brought it to me from Bakersfield. Such an interesting book, all about the tragedy that is Uzbekistan and the Aral Sea. Bissell was a Peace Corps volunteer there for a few months, before he fell apart, quit, and went home. This book is about his trip back a few years later to write an article about the demise of the Aral Sea. He includes a bit too much history for my taste, especially since it's all unremittingly brutal and horrible. But most of the book is fascinating and Bissell himself is an interesting, though flawed, travel guide. My 10 days in the Soviet Union back in 1986 left me with a permanent need to know more about that train wreck of an empire.
62. The Ice Maiden by Edna Buchanan (audio book). Maybe this would have been good to read on paper, but read aloud on CD it didn't grab me, and I hated the ending. OK for nap drives, but not otherwise.
63. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson. Sorry, I know the rest of the world adored this, but I didn't. It was way too slow and ponderous for a mystery. I kept wondering if the translation was the problem. Or if Sweden has different standards for mystery writing. I was also very distressed to learn that Stieg Larsson did not leave a will when he died, so the millions of dollars that his estate is earning from these books are going to his father and brother who he did not get along with. That did it -- I'm not buying the other 2 books, though I may end up reading used copies somewhere down the line.
64. Personal Days by Ed Park. I loved this! And now I can't remember where I heard about it. The library found me a copy in Fresno to borrow. It's about working for a company in the modern era, the ridiculous things that happen, the layoffs. Post-modern, but accessible. I'll be watching to see what else Park writes.
65. A Great Deliverance by Elizabeth George. I finally read one of my birthday books -- the mystery of course. I've seen a lot of Elizabeth George mysteries dramatized on PBS but somehow this might be the first one I've read. I thought it was a bit over the top, but very well written and enjoyable. I will definitely read more of these.
66. At Lady Molly's by Anthony Powell. Book 4 in the 12-book series. I've kind of got the rhythm of the dance now, and each book leaves me ready for the next (the next one is actually waiting for me at the library right now, so that's good). The only problem is that I keep needing to refer to the earlier books. I probably should just buy the whole series.
67. T is for Trespass by Sue Grafton (audio book). I didn't think I would like this, because I didn't like "S" at all and "T" is an unusual mystery -- for one thing, you're introduced to the villain in the very first chapter. Also I don't like the woman who reads Sue Grafton's mysteries. But I kept with it and it got better and better. By the end I was making excuses to go driving just so I could listen to more of it.
68. Hard Truth by Nevada Barr. Not nearly as good as the other mystery I read by her, which was about Yosemite. This one was set in Rocky Mountain National Park, so that was a plus, but otherwise I thought it wasn't paced right -- the book needed more filler. There was too much awful stuff too close to the beginning. In a mystery, pacing is everything, and this one just didn't cut it. But I will read more by Barr, since I liked the Yosemite book.

And onward we go. Thirty-two more books to read by the end of December. I'll try. All I want to read right now are "comfort books" (similar to comfort food, but less fattening, assuming you don't munch on cookies while reading). But comfort books count too. I didn't say I was going to read 100 GOOD books. Some other year, when the twins are older.