Marathon Sunday

Things tend to happen all around me - cool, New York things - and I'm either unaware of them or unmotivated to participate. I blame New York. There's way too much going on here. Festivals, readings, West Indian parades, concerts, shows, indie craft fairs, etc. It's overwhelming, and when faced with all these options I tend to throw my hands up in the air and go back to my normal, you-can-do-this-stuff-in-any-town-in-America activities.

Once in awhile though, I'm able to focus in on something and be a part of it. This past Sunday for example, I rolled out of bed, walked three blocks down the street, and watched the best runners in the world glide past me. The New York Marathon. Very cool.

The course runs through my neighborhood, and thanks to the helpful marathon website I was able to time my arrival on the sidelines to match the arrival of the first male runners. Olympians, world record holders; I stood on 4th Avenue for a good 15 minutes waiting for them, and they flashed past me on a wave of "wooo!"s from the crowd. I got the chills. I wondered if the great Haile Gebrselassie would win (he wouldn't).

Behind the pack of leaders came a steady trickle of great-but-not-the-greatest runners. Show's over, right? Funny, it turned out not to be. I loved watching the non-elites. Many had their native flags stamped on their racing pinnys. Lots of Brits, Norwegians, Frenchmen and Italians. Really?, I thought while Oliver sipped his McDonald's coffee next to me. These people came here all the way from Europe? Just for this race? Tall Germans with square jaws ran past in pairs. A man wore shorts made of the South African flag.

A number of runners had their names written on their shirts. Handwritten; they had done this themselves. I was confused, but only until the woman next to me started yelling "Go John! Vive le France, Phillippe! Keep it up Paco!" Ah. Hey, everyone needs a boost now and then.

Some hours later, we happened to be up near Central Park, where the marathon finishes. "The race is still going... should we go watch for a bit?" I asked. We hemmed and hawed, then found ourselves up on a hill overlooking the flood of finishing-somewhere-in-the-middle-or-maybe-towards-the-back runners. It was mile 24, and some of these people looked like they were just barely hanging on. One man made his way over to the sidelines and stopped, clearly hobbled by a leg injury. He was so close! But he clearly couldn't go on. He let out a frustrated cry and struck the fence in anger. He bent over for a few seconds, then started to walk forward.

One man ran by in a head-to-toe orange spandex bodysuit. Another wore a hot dog costume. Two runners - an older father and his 30something daughter perhaps? - held hands and seemed to each pull the other along toward the finish.

And the crowds kept cheering. Just as they had back in Park Slope, people yelled out for total strangers. I think this might have been my favorite part of the race, the whole "rooting for the best in all of us" thing. There is such pain and struggle involved in running a race like this... and so much joy and humanity in screaming yourself hoarse to show your support for these struggling, complete strangers.

November

Yesterday was one of those rainy days, and looking out the floor-to-ceiling window I sit next to at work I could see an enormous curtain of mist. It looked almost like snow, although I knew it was too warm for that. Low 40s, Fahrenheit. Not just yet, winter.

For as long as I can remember, there have two months in each year that I hate: February and November. February is gray and slushy, with no immediate hope for spring and no leftover Christmas glow. November is also gray, and leafless and sluggish and not quite cold enough for beautiful, cleansing snow. Blecch. It doesn't help that November comes right after October, my favorite month. The whole month of October seems to be this big, flaming red and orange reminder to enjoy each moment. And November? It always says to me "hope you enjoyed those moments. They're past now."

This year is different, though. This year I'm enjoying November. Pleasantly surprising. I think it's partly due to the fact that I'm STILL excited about not being hot anymore (stop complaining about summer, Allison!), and partly because my current situation has completely upended the way I look at the cycle of the seasons. The end of fall, far from representing endings and darkness, means anticipation now. When winter - the great void - officially starts, I'll be mere days away from new life! A new beginning! Who needs daffodils and sunlight? Give me a snowy day. Howling wind. Wrap me in a blanket and hole me up in my apartment - I don't plan on going outside for longer than 30 minutes at a time.

Honestly, I could probably be spending this month in the flames of Hell and still feel good about it. Just two more months to wait! I'm so excited to see what (and who) he looks like. I can't wait to hear the sounds he makes while he sleeps. I look forward to picking him up while he cries and putting an end to the tears because my presence comforts him.

Little things for the little one

My urge to create continues. With the busy book behind me, I've turned to other things. Little things. Things that I can finish relatively quickly and feel good about, which will hopefully inspire me to make more things. More little things. I've got a half dozen different projects in mind, and am looking forward to an upcoming trip to Amish Country, where I'll meet up with my parents and cruise the reasonably-priced fabric stores with my fabric mentor (Mom).

If I may share:

The first thing I ever made for the little one (resting atop a scarf I made two years ago. Hey-ooo!). A rattle courtesy of Lotta Jansdotter's Simple Sewing for Baby. Lotta is Finnish (Finn power!), and I love the Scandinavian aesthetic a lot of her stuff has to it. Modern, spare, not overly cutsey... but ridiculously cute at the same time. I look at this and I can see the fat little hand that will eventually grab it.

Project number two: simple baby hat. I'm not sure how well it's turning out, but I am insanely proud of myself for finally learning how to knit in the round. I can make more than just scarves now! Oh, the visions I'm having... hats for all of us, sweaters for the baby...

Project number three (in progress): get better lighting for this apartment! Such is the cross I bear.

Maine

I like my life. In the decade or so that I have been an adult, I've had a lot of fun. Going here and there, doing this and that... it's been really nice. I know that's about to change - in a good way of course; I welcome the change - and I've been trying to make the most of these last months as a carefree, possibly somewhat self-centered, childless person.

Last weekend, for example. My last "just for me" adventure for quite some time (I imagine). I drove up to Maine for a long weekend trip with a friend. We spent a rainy day in Portland. We went to Acadia National Park. We ate really good seafood. We had "drinks" in a church-turned-bar. We cracked jokes, discussed the finer points of the greatest juvenile literature series ever written, recalled songs from our elementary music classes, talked about our families, stayed in a motel room that looked like it had been sawed off from a corner of my grandma's house, bought fancy soaps... etc.

Did I mention how much I like my life? And the people in it? Did I also mention how totally cool I am with the fact that it will be very different in a few months? This trip, planned before I was pregnant, was perfect at the perfect time.

A few pictures. I forgot to bring my camera along for half of our excursions... these were all taken in Acadia. Gol, I do love the North Atlantic.

Magic!

        
My favorite from the most recent batch of ultrasound photos. Is he breathing out phosphorescent bees? I knew he was special!    

Full disclosure: those aren't bees. They're fingertips. A little less dramatic, but magic all the same. And I still think he's special.
      

All right, I give up.

I know that "every woman's pregnancy is unique," but there were certain things I assumed would happen to me. You know, because they happen to everyone. I thought I'd have weird cravings. Or cravings at all. I thought I'd suddenly have a more sensitive sense of smell. I imagined a beast-like hunger that could never be satisfied. I pictured morning sickness.

Never in all my idle imaginings did I think I would no longer be able to read.

I mean, I can still read. The letters still come together to form words. My eyes can still scan them and create meaning. It's just that I can't focus.

This is really killing me. It's just so strange. I can't tell you how many books I've started and tossed aside in recent months. Or how many I've sort of limped through, only half present but desperate to hold on. I've tried re-reading old favorites - I think "The Hero with a Thousand Faces" is currently gathering dust under my bed, where I finally chucked it one evening. I've tried reading new (to me) books by some of my favorite authors. Meh. I've tried reading more "candy"-like things - a mystery, a Bill Bryson book about traveling through Europe, "High Fidelity". Eh.

It's sad, because I can't imagine myself doing much reading after the baby gets here. These months, right now, were supposed to be something of a "last hurrah" for me. Who knew?

I'm just going to put it in writing then, and by doing so let it go: no more books for awhile. And that's totally okay.

Thankfully, I'm able to handle The New Yorker. I guess I'll just be reading magazine articles for the next three and a half months.

And maybe I'll get some of those food cravings, too. Anything can happen, right?

Bad pictures / good project

As a 30th birthday gift to myself, I put together a "life list" this past December. One of the items on it was "learn to sew."

My mother has been sewing since she was an adolescent, and she is amazing. She made clothes for me when I was a kid, she quilts, she has a little just-for-fun, very-low-key business of selling American Girl doll clothes, etc. I grew up with a basic knowledge of the craft, and even made a little piece here and there, but I never had the desire to buckle down and really learn it until quite recently.

While this desire to start sewing was building within, I got the news that a set of friends was expecting a baby. Lightbulb moment - I could make them a busy book!

Over the years I've watched my mom make a series of these books for friends, relatives and co-workers. So cute! Educational and fun! Making one would force me to go over the basics of sewing again and again (change the thread, change the stitching, etc.), but the whole thing wouldn't be too complicated for me to handle.

It was settled, then.

Below are some photos of the finished project. I had to use flash on my camera, so the colors look a little washed out... ah well. You get the idea, right?

 (baby ladybugs are inside... in case you were wondering)

 (Rabbit and crocodile finger puppets in the cars.)