Obligatory post about my boy… (by Kari)

Hello UEA community…

Lots has happened since we last posted in the spring. I, for one, got to meet my son. He’s been captivating. If I were to write anything, it would have been about him, and frankly I didn’t want to leave his company to write about him.

But, since he is so captivating, I will write something about him: he’s coy, inquisitive and cautious. He thinks I’m safe and that his father is exciting. And he’s doing just fine in the city without a yard.

The Machine (by Casey)

It’s contradictory to the bursts of sunshine that shot through our glass balcony railing and into the apartment this morning. The neutral tan carpet was blazing with early Spring light – yellow, not gold, and almost greenish as though tinted by the new leaves it helped create. Spring light always looks like it has something to prove. It shows up on the scene with relieving warmth and brightness, ready to prove itself and outshine the dull Winter sunlight (though even a dirty mirror could do better than December in the sunlight category). But we, the receivers of Spring, could care less what it has to prove – it’s brought warmth and brightness; that’s all we’ve wanted.

I woke up to this shiny world, cracked the slider door, and sat down in the slowly receding patch of sunlight on the carpet to read and enjoy the peace and light. Through the crack of the door, I heard what sometimes sounds like ocean breakers, but today sounded a lot more industrial: a mixture of traffic, rumbling trucks, steel plates, and… birds. Usually, it soothes. Today, it screeched me back to the truth, reminding me of the machine the city is: the bright park-like morning was wrapped in a drop-cloth of moving gears and wheels. And while I didn’t exactly mind it, I tried to ignore it and imagine it away, attempting to take myself back to the peace of the sunlight. But I couldn’t. As I listened for the quiet underneath the rattles and wheels, all I heard was a metallic, shifting hum.

The windows on every building reverberated with the sound of steel plates being run over by rattling, unsteady 16-wheelers. Bricks echoed with impatient taxicab horns. The very glass of my balcony railing magnified the sound of airplanes shooting into the sky miles away. There was no quiet, if you really listened. The overly ambitious Spring sunshine had done its job – like a Frankenstein out of control, it had gone a step too far and woken the city as well. The many geared machine sprung into action, daring anyone to find its off-switch and, much less, flip it. The trucks came and went, sirens diminished as they rolled down the road, but the hum was always there.

If you’re not listening, the hum is soothing, almost non-existent… easily imagined into something else. But if you truly listen: pause and strip away any daydreams… you suddenly hear the threatening nature of its turnings: it can’t stop. It doesn’t. And it won’t. It’s a machine. And you’re merely a working part.

Urban Lullaby (by Laura)

The traffic outside of Kari and Casey’s windows may sound like the ocean, but the traffic outside my windows sounds like an earthquake. I live underneath a helicopter flight path, so I hear everything from weather choppers to military hawks flying over my house all day, every day. They’re loud enough to halt conversation – in person or on the phone. They shake my house and drown out the sounds of my baby crying in her crib.

Except today. We have been under tornado watches and warnings for about 24 hours, and nary a copter has emerged. I suppose they stowed their big birds until the twisters went packing, hid in their basements with the rest of the southeast United States, and waited it out.

Growing up, I remember staying at my Grandparents’ house, which was close enough to the Orlando International Airport that I heard planes overhead every night. The sound became sooting to me, etched in my memory like a lullaby. It was the most industrial noise of my childhood, and it was booming and smooth and warm.

This is my grown-up lullaby. I just heard the familiar chop chop chop and I knew that the weather was clear, the world was safe, and I am home.

October? Really?

Has it really been nearly 5 months since we posted?  It appears so.

Don’t judge us.  As Casey reported back in the fall, Laura still has her gorgeous little girl.  I’m burgeoning with my little something, due in May.  And Casey really did trade in the gold fish for another little something, due in August.

Life’s changing.  We think we’ve got our heads (and stomachs) straightened out, and we hope to be back to writing soon.

But, if we’re not, we know you’ll miss us.

Snapshots (by Laura)

Little girl with a floppy garden hat, smiling through her eyes.

She glances at me through the pews and shyly tucks her head and looks away.

Music playing,

Voices echo. Melodies and harmonies mix.

Arms raised, hands reaching,

Faces turned upward, eyes closed, and peace is abundant.

Joy is present.

Where We Have Been All Your Life

orrr… just for the past few weeks.

here’s the thing. one of us has a very cute baby (that’d be Laura). one of us just found out they will be having a cute baby in the spring and is currently in the throws of… throwing… uhh… being sick (that’d be Kari). and one of us is pondering getting a third goldfish because her other two died (thaaat’d be me).

as you can see, we’ve had some things commanding our attention recently, so this blog has been falling a bit by the wayside. however, it will not die. not until we say so.

in addition, all or most of us three are preparing to take part in National Novel Writing Month, which begins in November. so there may be a continued hiatus on this blog for a bit longer. but don’t give up on us.

as you wait for more Urban Ever After, take a walk in the crunchy leaves, twirl in a field of cornstalks, make a jack o’lantern… enjoy Fall! we’ll be back before you know it. we think.

view

from the balcony on this beachy-city morning.

Fickle (by Laura)

Just when you think you’ve got it pegged, it goes and changes on you.

We moved here in August two years ago, and it was hot. I’m from Florida, though, so I’m good with hot. Hot is goooood. Museums were cold, ice cream vendors were plentiful, and the National Mall was my playground. This, I thought, isn’t so bad. I almost like it. Then, this underhanded creature called “Fall” started sneaking in. Ok, seasons. I’m onto you. It just so happened that Fall was my favorite season, despite the fact that I’d never experienced it (details, details). So I loosened my death grip on my ice cream cone and channeled my excitement into buying warm scarves and drinking pumpkin spiced coffee beverages. The fall enticed me with its golden sunlight and outdoor attractions. Why, hello there, marble monuments; how do you do? I also discovered the outdoor farmer’s market called Eastern Market around this time, which served as an enabler to my scarf addiction. Shopping for scarves outside while wearing a scarf while scarfing down (yeah, I just wrote that) a nonfat, decaf, soy, grande pumpkin spice latte? Bliss. Fall was kind to me.

But that seductive mistress hightailed it out of here at the first sign of Jack Frost. Oh, for the love of temperatures above 70 degrees. Oh, heck – I would settle for anything above 50 degrees. Winter served as the great unraveler: unraveling all I had come to love about DC and erasing my favorite haunts from memory. Warm sun? Gone. Crunchy fall leaves? Gone. Cute scarves? There, but no longer cute when I wore 4 at a time, refugee-style. I have a few good memories of being touristy in the city (while drinking more pumpkin-spiced lattes), but the best part? The snow. The city was transformed, and each scene was my new favorite spot.

I quickly tired of the winter, though, and prayed for spring. I had heard of this elusive spring, but had never experienced it. But slowly, the White Witch’s spell weakened over Narnia- er, um, DC… and flowers started blooming. I discovered trails, the Arboretum, and cafes with outdoor seating. I rediscovered Eastern Market and browsed the art there. I made up with the city and added new favorite spots to my repertoire, like the Cherry Blossoms around the Tidal Basin. Ahhh, beauty. Tranquility. Delicate art formed within nature by a God too great for words. It was perfect.

I think you see where this is going. The blossoms blew away, the sun renewed its vigor, and summer pounced. Sunburns ensued, and my most recent happy place became a dirty pond surrounded by boring trees.

It’s clear the city does not want me to settle on a favorite spot. But this way, my memory is rich with eclectic places, and my options are endless. What will be my next new happy place?

New in Town: Yards Park (by Casey)

Don’t let the rundown, windowless warehouses around Yards Park scare you away. DC is cleaning up the area around the new Nationals’ stadium and turning it into a family-friendly recreation area. David and I went to check out Yards Park, which is just across the street from Nats Park, last week. The “grand opening” for the park had occurred just a week or two ago, so we weren’t entirely sure if we should expect tons of people or just a few enthusiasts.

Put it this way… there were more dogs than people running around and enjoying the grass. Looks like the hype hasn’t caught on among the homo sapiens yet. Because there was literally only a handful of people (and their dogs) at the park when we went, it seemed a little post-apocalyptic – kind of like a jelly donut with no jelly inside. The shell was pretty and appealing, but it was missing the energy that people (or jelly) provides.

Yards Park is half-bathed in the white light of Nats Stadium. From certain spots on the grass or maybe from the 2001: A Space Odyssey-type pedestrian bridge, you might be able to catch a glimpse of the enormous screens inside the stadium and see the score. The park has the potential to be a beautiful place to take your family before a ballgame, or for a picnic on a Fall afternoon. The aforementioned bridge, a spacious dock and riverfront area, a waterfall and fountains, and a wading pool are the most enticing features.

To me, the wading pool was one of the most remarkable parts (although I do love the bridge and the waterfront as well). I couldn’t believe it was there. A wading pool that people were encouraged to step into and splash around in? Most of the bodies of water in DC are off-limits it seems (and to a person who loves water like I do, let me tell you the temptation is sometimes too great). I pictured all the happy moms who for once could let their kids get soaking wet and not have to worry about a park ranger invasion. And if the wading pool is mistaken for a wishing fountain by unsuspecting patrons in the future, I will go there a lot to take advantage of the benefit and blessing that is an all-access body of water. I’ll just splash a lot to cover up the fact that I’m hoarding quarters with my toes.

Seriously though, the wading pool, the grassy lawns, and the amount of space to run and play supports my conclusion that Yards Park isn’t your run of the mill tourist attraction. The atmosphere feels like it was built to accommodate the stroller-pushing families, the pregnant young couples, the golden retriever-walkers, and the college student joggers of DC. The neighborhood revival effort has started to pay off, and while it was mostly deserted when we went to explore, I think next spring and summer it’s going to be packed out with people and dogs (and jelly donuts, maybe, even… when the open-air food court arrives).

The Professor (by Kari)

Yesterday, when walking to my office, I noticed a sweet smell. ‘Pipe tobacco…’ I thought. I smiled as I waited for the walk signal, thanking the city for the images of Sherlock Holmes and fireplaces it was planting in my mind, but chalking the smell up to the mysterious whiffs that often blow through, like the bergamot I wrote of a few weeks ago.

Great was my surprise when there arrived beside me a grey old man, dark from time spent at excavations, lean from sitting in libraries, and smoking a deeply curved pipe. It’s true, we’ve got all kinds in the city.

I smelled the pipe again today, and silent greeted The Professor with an averted smirk as he stood beside me, waiting for the walk signal.