Pretty How Town

An eerie resemblance:
(Left) One of our favorite photos of Waits.
(Right) Tom Waits album cover art.

One evening last week, after Scott got home from work, Waits started turning somersaults on the bed. We’ve never taught him how to somersault. He just stood up and hurled himself head-over-heels onto the bed. “Hurled” in the true sense of the word — pitched his body into the air, a fast arc of flying limbs. He didn’t need any coaxing or encouragement; he didn’t start off slow and easy, crouched low to the ground. No, he just took off jumping headfirst at the bed — fearless, reckless, with great abandon. Repeatedly.

Later, Scott and I watched Quantum of Solace and there went Daniel Craig as James Bond hurling himself through the air, crashing his boat headlong into another boat to make the bad guys stop, and I thought, there goes Waits. Indomitable.

Waits is at my favorite age yet, and being pregnant I haven’t had the energy to document it, so I’m trying my best to just soak it up and take it in, so that I can remember. The way his mind works: fascinating and fresh and wonderful. His sense of humor, his belly laughs. His endless commentary on whatever wondrous thing lies before us, whether it be a snail on the front steps, or how the water pipes travel in and out of the wall. His infectious enthusiasm. His unpredictability. I feel like every day with him is a sweet golden gift, teaching me to be more observant, patient, open; to go more slowly. He tries my patience a hundred times a day, but he also opens my eyes to the deep wonder of the world. I feel so lucky to be his mom.

What a fun day that was! Happy anniversary, my love.

• So apparently, I’m a bit of a recluse when I’m pregnant. Right now, I’m really into eating and sleeping and being with Scott and Waits. I mean, gosh, I’m making a baby up in here. As for the rest of you, I beg your patience. I’ll be back soon.
• Moonbeam is a boy! Oh my.
• I’m more excited about having another son than I expected to be. But how can I not be excited when I look at Waits and think, another one of those! I know that Moonbeam will no doubt be very different from Waits, but still. It’s pretty thrilling. I can’t wait to meet him. Speaking of which, have I mentioned how much I dislike being pregnant? Subject enough for another blog entry. Which you should anticipate with great dread.
• Neko Case is awesome. We saw her live for the first time a couple of weeks ago. I’ve never been so physically uncomfortable at a show [insert yet another complaint about being pregnant here], but I still loved every minute of it. What a fine, rich voice, like smooth apple butter. Especially loved “This Tornado Loves You” live. Before the show, the song didn’t really stand out to me on the album, but her live performance was kick ass. May be my favorite song at the moment.
• Mogwai is also awesome. I love me a good, thick wall of noise. Especially interlaced with tender, anthemic melodies. We made the mistake of getting there early and grabbing seats facing center stage. Apparently all of the amps were aimed directly at my belly. The term “loud” doesn’t really do it justice. We were being pummeled with sound. Of course, being pummeled with beautiful sounds can feel really, really good.
• My favorite laundry scent is Mrs. Meyer’s Geranium. OH MY GOSH I just want to keep my face buried in these clothes. Please, Mrs. Meyer’s, how do you make them smell so good?
• Spring is not my favorite season, not at all, but I do like it when I come home to find flower petals stuck in my hair. I also love showing Waits how things grow: buds bursting into bloom. He is awestruck.

Now for a nice, bitter poem about spring, by Edna St. Vincent Millay:

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

I know, things have been all quiet on the Pretty How Town front, but I have a great excuse: there’s a baby in my belly! Here’s the first picture of the wee one. Yeah, the ultrasound tech had to interpret it for me, too. Moonbeam is the little amorphous grey blob floating inside the dark oval. Upside-down, and facing in the other direction, spine toward us. I’m about 8 weeks along. Doc says everything looks great, and that she’s glad I feel so sick. Um, yay little baby.

We like to nickname our fetuses. “Moonbeam” seems a nice follow-up to Waits’s in-utero moniker, “Rainbow” (thusly named by our 3-year-old friend Isabel). Don’t worry, we’ll lose the nickname when the wee one is born. Maybe.

According to Stephen King: “Both Rowling and Meyer, they’re speaking directly to young people … The real difference is that Jo Rowling is a terrific writer and Stephenie Meyer can’t write worth a darn. She’s not very good.”

(Anne sent this quote to me today, and I love it. It’s always nice to have my own opinions backed up by an author I admire. Thanks, Anne!)

When Mother Theresa was criticized for not battling the root causes of poverty and instead “only” treating its symptoms, she quoted the Indian poet Tagore: ‘Let me light my lamp,’ says the star, ‘and never debate if it will extinguish the darkness.’ (via my father-in-law)

…

… A scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty … Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.
In a few breaths’ time I will speak some sad words to you. But you must hear them the same way we have agreed to see scars now. Sad words are just another beauty. A sad story means, this storyteller is alive. The next thing you know, something fine will happen to her, something marvelous, and then she will turn around and smile. (from Little Bee, via Elisa)

…

The interior life is often stupid. Its egoism blinds it and deafens it; its imagination spins out ignorant tales, fascinated. It fancies that the western wind blows on the Self, and leaves fall at the feet of the Self for a reason, and people are watching. A mind risks real ignorance for the sometimes paltry prize of an imagination enriched. The trick of reason is to get the imagination to seize the actual world — if only from time to time. — Annie Dillard, from An American Childhood (via Erasing)

Uncle Jamin helps Waits decorate the tree on Christmas Eve.

You know you’re an engineer if …
… you hang your stockings with electrical tape.

Scott’s birthday celebration. (Birthday crowns courtesy of Waits.)
Highlight of the evening was surprising Scott with a turntable
and a box full of old records (Beatles! U2! REM! Bruce Springsteen!)
from our friend Stephen.

A wonderful afternoon at the Tennessee
Aquarium with dear friends.

Inside the tank, Waits shouts “Hello!” to the sea creatures a little too loudly, so Bain tries to shush him. It doesn’t work.

Following his near-death experience, Klaus cuddles up to Luke.
Luke feigns an air of total indifference towards animals, but Klaus seems
to know better. Close-up of major cuddling action:

Other memories not documented on film:

- Eating, drinking & making merry with dear friends at various holiday shindigs. I like parties.

- Painting and wine with Joy (overall excellent combination)

- Playing pool with my brothers at one of those down-home, grungy, smoky pool halls with a surprisingly eclectic clientele and terrible Top-40 music. We had so much fun.

- Waits riding his scooter around my brother’s suburban neighborhood, displaying a surprising amount of street smarts. Twice, he recklessly jumps onto Toby’s skateboard with both feet. Jamin comments that Waits has “a limitless supply of enthusiasm and confidence.” Indeed.

- Turns out, traveling with a cat isn’t so bad. Apparently, Klaus is a dog trapped inside a cat’s body.

- Learning to play poker!

- We rang in the new year with best-friends-who-also-happen-to-be-family (ditching The Kid with his long-suffering grandparents). After a rollicking game of Signs, a much-argued playlist, and various discussions over margaritas and wine and a celebratory pack of Dunhills (and Red Bull? really?), we almost missed the ball drop. i.e., the best kind of New Year’s Eve celebration.

The Nightly James Brown Dance Party at Thanksgiving, featuring most of Waits’s cousins. Bennett showed off his best electric boogaloo moves, and organized the official dance competitions. I’m not sure what Waits was doing with that cane, but whatever it was, he was king of the dance floor.

My mother-in-law bought me some of this divine mohair yarn, on the condition that I use it to knit something for myself. I’m so excited. I think some sort of wrap or shawl is in order. I keep taking it out to run my hands over it and drink it in with my eyes. I imagine that this is how some guys feel about beautiful cars.

One of the greatest delusions in the world is the hope that the evils in this world are to be cured by legislation.

— Thomas B. Reed, 1886 (via my brother Jamin)

As I filled in my ballot this morning, while my friend Joy helped to watch Waits, I was thinking about how fortunate we are that our electoral process, for all of its flaws, does not yet involve armed thugs or other such coercion tactics by the parties in power. I’m really glad about that. Who knows, this current luxury may soon be just a nice memory we’ll be recounting to the grandkids, but right now I think it’s pretty great that I’m able to walk in, unmolested, and cast my vote for President without having to worry about my home being trashed or my family being kidnapped, tortured, or killed if I don’t vote in a certain way. Whether or not the system is rigged; whether or not democracy is actually the new world order; it’s a great honor and privilege to be able to vote, especially considering those who have gone before and paved the way for us to do so. It’s also really nice to have friends and family who may vote differently, but who love me all the same.

“She Came Along to Me”
words by Woody Guthrie, performed by Billy Bragg

Ten hundred books could I write you about her
Because I felt if I could know her
I would know all women
And they’ve not been any too well known
for brains and planning and organized thinking
But I’m sure the women are equal
And they may be ahead of the men

Yet I wouldn’t spread such a rumor around
because one organizes the other
And sometimes the most lost and wasted
attract the most balanced and sane
And the wild and the reckless take up
with the clocked and the timed
And the mixture is all of us
And we’re still mixing

But never, never, never,
Never could have it been done
If the women hadn’t entered into the deal
Like she came along to me

And all creeds and kinds and colors
of us are blending
Till I suppose ten million years from now
we’ll all be just alike
Same color, same size, working together
And maybe we’ll have all of the fascists
out of the way by then,
Maybe so.