But Who Will Take My First Day of School Picture?

I've been distracting myself all week with provocative activities, but I can't avoid the fact any longer. I start school tomorrow. All the little pep talks about doing something I love and not needing to be the best have apparently fallen on deaf ears-- I'm nervous as hell! Luckily for me, I'm not in this alone. Trollz (pronounced "troll zee") jumped into our car on a family camping trip in Texas. She immediately started talking trash, spewing things no self-respecting mother would ever say. My children are justifiably not great fans of her. Trollz gets around. For example, my plane out of Tuscon was cancelled after a family wedding. "Screw it," said Trollz. Lickety split, I was in a rental car driving toward the Grand Canyon, adding an extra couple of days to my trip. Trollz is brave, thumbs her nose at convention and loves the beach. Thank goodness I have room for her in my equipment kit.
(The picture was taken 2 weeks ago in Maine.)

Sensations, 4:49 A.M.

The shy, sleepy smile of the attendant as he lifts his head to acknowledge my entrance through the turnstile onto the train station ramp.

The end-of-word lilt in the "Mornin" of the woman of subcontinental origin.

The arthritic limp of the old man exiting the car at Jackson.

The surprisingly autumnal scent of the pre-rush hour Chicago air.

The empty Tribune parking lot, all the trucks still out delivering their morning loads.

The morning glories opening themselves to the waning moon and buzzing street lights.

The look of surprise on the face of the elderly dog walker as she responded to my, "Good Morning."

35 minutes of this:


Pattern is Veronik Avery's Notre Dame de Grace Pullover, in Reynold's Andean Alpaca Regal. The double seed stitch is the perfect accompaniment for all of the above.

P.S. If anyone has any hints for photographing knitwear, I'd be most grateful. Thanks!

The Best School Supplies Ever

My Adult Life, v.1. In my time and place, smart girls did not want to be the favorite of Mrs. Jondreau, the home ec. teacher. Smart girls wrote for the school paper and worked hard on the path to law school. Some combination of parental pressure and feminism planted a deep seed of doubt that the "girly arts" were appropriate for smart girls.

My Adult Life, v.2. When it became impossibly apparent that, for this smart girl, a life in law was not the thing, the smart girl became an ill-defined "stay at home mom." Three wonderful adults later, that gig has played itself out.

My Adult Life, v.3. It's back to Mrs. Jondreau and that which I truly love. Doesn't Escoffier just kick John Marshall's ass? Mother Sauces v. Marbury v. Madison? No contest. Head cheese v. the Slaughterhouse Cases? Don't even go there. I feel more alive, and younger, than I have in years and years. Keep your fingers crossed that the exhileration will sustain me through 4:30 am wake-up calls. 6:00 am class starting times and 12 hour Fridays!

I Like Trains

When I was ten, living in a small Midwestern city, my mother let me take the bus downtown-- by myself. I don't know the intended purpose of the trip. Nevertheless, I had cash in my pocket and absolute freedom. I strolled the streets, checking out everything that caught my eye. Geek that I was, my favorite place was the stationery store. I still display the cat I bought there. My quarter and the city's wheels opened up a new world to me.

When I arrived at the university in a substantially larger Midwestern city, one of my first stops was the metro transit kiosk on campus. I gathered a fistful of bus schedules and set out to explore. Money in backpack, my best friend and I took circuitous routes and made outlandish connections. Still, we got places that would have been impossible to reach on foot. Our eyes were opened to the chamber orchestra, the Russian tea house, classical dance and dancing at bars with gorgeous Colombian men. Our dollars and the city's wheels fed a desire to become part of something bigger.

Now, I live in Chicago, 3 blocks from an L stop and 8 houses from the tracks. If I wake with a start sometime after 4, I know it's because the trains have begun their morning runs. The magic of mass transit still moves me. I celebrated this love last weekend in Maine, at the Seashore Trolley Museum. Trolleys, buses, trains and subway cars from across the world were on display. All of those beautiful machines carry stories of lives that were changed by public transportation. I am grateful to be one of them.