carrying

I'm carrying a secret. Hush--don't tell.

I am carrying more than that, and where all the world will see. We have not shared this with many people until confirming it with a doctor. This is hard everytime I talk to a friend, my in-laws, or when they ask for announcements at chapel.

It is harder when it feels that everyone I talk to glances at my belly more than once during our conversation. An expert could probably tell that my pelvis has adjusted already. But my co-workers, I hope, only notice that I have a little padding where I used to be flat. If they suspect anything, they are polite, and will be pleasantly surprised in a week or two.

Per my nature, I have checked out a pile of books from the library with more on reserve. Who knew that I should have read the preparatory material before my wedding night? It seemed that "Intended for Pleasure" was all we needed to have a healthy start. No one mentioned what you should do if you were prepared to get pregnant.

So then I panicked that I had already compromised the baby's health. My patient husband stood by as I, with big nutritional book in hand, poured over the prenatal vitamin labels; even more patiently, he served himself a helping of the grains I am experimenting with; more patiently still, he let me nervously plan the next nine months, which will inevitably NOT go as planned.

Then I step back, take a breath, and comment on the miracle taking place. "Our baby is still smaller than a dime," I tell him. Finally, I understand the excitement that surrounds the ultra-sound. When will we get to see?

Married Life

How is married life? They like to ask that question. I am puzzled, then my face melts into a faraway expresion, and I reply that it is wonderful. It is the only soundbite that I have. Afterall, they understand--don't they?

I am no poet, so help me here: How do you encapsulate the thrill and quiet of your first few months of marriage?

It is the building of projects together, of eating dinner together on the back porch, of the time-consuming house work, of enjoying the sunsets from the sunroom, of waltzing in the living room with meaningful looks to the song "Small Home", of cooking together, and at the end of the evening, neither one of us has to drive anywhere. There is someone to thwart the orderliness of the house, force me to put my feet up when I am gung-ho, to laugh at my clumsiness, frighten me further after watching a scary movie--before holding me tightly in his arms. Married life is a rose--it has its thorns. But he is also there in the middle of the night when I wake from a nightmare or get too cold.

It is the absolute delight of coming home to him. My heart sings and twitters the whole twenty minutes of my commute. I can't wait.

If he is working, then I have about an hour to tidy the house and start dinner to welcome him home. He can't smell, but coming home to dinner on the stove is always a welcoming sight. Greeted by a cheerful wife, the gleeful dog, Roxanne, a clean home, and cold Guiness, a smile beams from his face. I always get a lovely hug.

Winter came back this April, but before that, when the days were long and seventy degrees mid-day, we worked a lot outside. My upbringing convinced me that home, among other things, meant home improvement projects. Since I was four-years-old, my parents and I were always working on something. If we weren't, it meant it was to move. Mark and I bought a house with lots of improvement projects. Each one brings us closer together and makes the house feel more and more like home.

Mondays were difficult. He has the day off, and I would have to go to work. All day I would want to be at home, throwing the ball for Roxanne, tending to my roses, and loving my husband.

If you have soundbite for all of this, it would be appreciated.

Dingle, home of really, really good food

To D.,

When you think of Ireland, you might think of sheep, green fields, cliffs diving into the sea, and Guinness. Guinness and Whiskey are the only notable culinary items the island has contributed to the rest of the world. This is a shame since they pride themselves in scrumptiously, fresh produce, local lamb, fresh dairy, and excellent seafood. Sheep sheparding is hard, dirty work, so maybe they never took the time to create something special of all their delicious food sources. Everything tastes good enough on its own--why change a good thing?

But there is a little town, a slow town, nestled between the coastal mountain ranges that did take the time to marry one taste with another into sumptuous courses. Dingle Town. Much to the townsfolk’s dismay, this little harbor has officially been renamed to something pronounced An-dang-un. Whatever it is called, their chefs know how to cook and their bands know how to play.

This is where I had the most delicious chowder in my life (which is saying something since I lived most of my life on the coast). I didn’t know anyone could make seafood taste that good. The chef would not give me his recipe. Not that it matters to a Coloradan. The ingredient list probably includes Dingle Bay shrimp, boiling the clams with a dash of Dingle Bay sea water, grilling the white fish over Irish peat, or some equally local particularity--all of which is unavailable here.

A quick search for recipes from Dingle landed me here: http://icecreamireland.com/. You are much better than I at watching sugar intake, but these recipes do look delicious. You’ll have to visit him when you go, as well as Dingle Crystal (http://www.dinglecrystal.ie/). The owner/artist of this shop rides a Harley. He had several pictures of himself seated on the Harley and toasting the camera with a wine glass of his own creation. Beautiful stuff.