What I did on my summer vacation, by Ali

Okay, so summer is just begininning. But I have been traveling, with limited internet access along the way. This is why you have hear neither hide nor hair from me. (Fear not, beloved worriers: all is well).

First, we went to New York City for a handful of days. This was delightful. Stayed at the Marriott in downtown Brooklyn, which was only just being built back in the day when I called myself a Brooklynite. At the time, it seemed like a crazy idea. A Marriott? In the middle of Brooklyn? But it was lovely, well-appointed, centrally located. And filled with people who apparently didn’t think it so crazy after all.

We did all kinds of things. Dining out, the Ellis Island museum, funky little shops. At one point, we went to the Promenade in Brooklyn Heights, and Merrie took photos of the New York skyline with my camera:

Photo credit: Merrie

I got to visit my sister’s light-filled, Pottery-Barn-esque office:

That is my sister in the background. She is yelling at children. It turns out that light-filled, Pottery Barn-esque offices are not the place for high-energy children.

Also on the trip, I got to meet my new friend Oscar.

Oscar might need to go on a diet. He is HEAVY, dude.

(if you weren’t around in February 2008: yep, it’s real).

Merrie and I had been watching Project Runway, and we made a trip to Mood Fabrics in the fashion district, the place where designers. We also wandered through the city imagining outfits inspired by the random things that we saw — one of the tasks of Season 2 (and if you watched that season, please don’t give away the winner, for we still don’t know). Anyhow, we wound up snapping lots of photos of things, and my camera is now filled with dozens of pictures like this:

This would become a highly dramatic evening gown in black and white.

This would become a multi-layered skirt, gauzy silver mesh on the outside, poofy layers of sheer organza in the middle, steel-colored satin on the inside.

Perhaps my favorite thing were these parking meters in Brooklyn Heights, which had been wrapped in knitted cozies, part of artist Magda Sayeg’s “guerrilla knitting” projects:

Hand-knit cozies on parking meters! Pure whimsy! Delightful!

Following the NYC trip, Merrie and I had planned to take a road trip to the Midwest. We planned to leave the morning after we arrived home from New York. However, Blair was sick. Sick, sick, sick. He was too sick to look effectively after Wee Charlotte, so we faced a choice: stay home, or bring Wee Charlotte along for the (very long) ride. We opted to bring her.

First, we went to Minneapolis, where we stayed with Vikki, whom some of you may know from the amusing (and award-winning) Up Popped a Fox. I didn’t take many photos there, though you can see pictures of me trying to run up her childrens’ slide without touching the edges here. I assure you: the no-touch dash up the bumpy slide is harder than one might think. We saw some other old friends, we visited the Walker Musuem, we went to fair-trade coffee shops and marveled that male urban hipster attire resembles what the Star Wars geeks wore back in 1987. Seriously, Bill Haverchuck would have been so totally in if he’d been around today.

Then we went to Chicago, where I made better use of my camera phone. We saw many old friends. We visited Millenium Park, which, like my girls, did not exist when I lived there in the early 1990s:

My favorite was the bean:

If you stand underneath it, it looks like this:

Unless you move. In which case it looks completely different.

We went to the Art Institute, and of course to the beach:

And we had the breakfast that I have literally been dreaming about for fourteen years…and it was just as good as I remembered:

Get the cinnamon rolls, of course. But also the rice porridge. And the Swedish pancakes.

Next to that restaurant, we stopped into the Swedish-American Children’s Museum, a spontaneous decision that turned into hours of dress-up and pretend play:

Hejsan! God dag! Meet Brita and Helga, Ja?

Then we drove to Pittsburgh, home of other old friends. We went to the Carnegie Museum, where we saw dinosaur bones:

We made art, we went to the playground, admired all of the solid, old brick buildings, the solidity of the place, the many humbling monuments to the power of private philanthropy.

Then, more driving. FYI, if you are ever driving from Pittsburgh to Vermont, I highly recommend avoiding New Jersey. We sat in traffic long enough that our 8.5-hour drive became an 11-hour drive.

By the time we arrived home, we had been through ten states, and driven a staggering 2,800 miles. When we left, Michael Jackson was alive. By the time we returned, he was gone . So, by the way, was Neda Agha Soltan. When we left, Charlotte still wore diapers. By the time we arrived home, she was ready for underwear. We saw many things along the way: an old Chevrolet that had been crushed by a tree during a thunderstorm. European tourists with cameras clicking. A bearded man who moved stiffly in his “Kerry Lied Rally” tee-shirt, prompting a discussion between me and Merrie about the dangers of a nation where people begin to believe that folks with whom they disagree can’t possibly have honor. An Amish farmer in a horse and buggy. An aging preacher eating chicken-fried steak on Sunday morning. Children dashing in an urban fountain, their dripping clothes clinging to them like an awkward, shining skin. A man in baggy clothes who asked for money. A billboard that asked, simply, “Where’s the birth certificate?” (and, FYI, it’s here). A mother in a short skirt and sunglasses, chasing a toddler while talking on a cell phone. Business people and prepsters, scantily-clad teens and slow-moving elders with walkers. RVs and hybrids, dairy farms and skyscrapers, tennis shoes and designer heels.

America, baby, she was all there, laid for us to see.

Also: you probably know this already, but the food options along routes I-90, I-94, I-80, I-76, I-78, I-287, and I-87 leave something to be desired. Your primary choices on these roads: fast food with meat, fast food with potatoes, or (most likely) both. With limited choices and many miles to drive, we opted for Cracker Barrels whenever we could. It’s hardly health food, but they have an option where you can create a plate with a bunch of vegetable sides. Some of those vegetables are fried potatoes, but others are things like green beans, collard greens (with lots of meat), and cabbage. Besides, you can play a simple but challenging peg game while waiting for your food:

Then, at last, we arrived at home. And here is what’s funny. When I was in Brooklyn, I found myself wondering if I could live there again. And yes, I realized: I think I could. Then in Minneapolis, I found myself musing, “I could live in Minneapolis.” When I was in Chicago, I found myself thinking, “Chicago. Yes, I could live here again.” When I was in Pittsburgh — with its surprising amounts of arts and culture, as well as impressive cultural diversity, set among the solid bricks — I found myself thinking, “yes, Pittsburgh, too. I might even be able to live here, too.”

This surprised me, all of it. For years, whenever we talked about life, the future, I have said, “I just don’t know that I can live anywhere else now.” And then suddenly, I was gone for a while, and I discovered that I could leave. Just like that. I imagined my life in different cities, different neighborhoods. I imagined my girls growing up urban, seeing so many different kinds of people that they become almost color-blind. I imagined them riding public transportation, scootering their way through city blocks, walking up concrete stoops to our apartment-near-the-park, the one in the funky, slightly artsy neighborhood where people sling Timbuk2 messenger bags over their shoulders as they bike to work.

And the thing is, I could see it. I could actually see it.

Even when we returned home, to this place that is so beautiful, sometimes so charmingly quaint, where we know so many neighbors, and where I simply cannot make a quick trip to the grocery store, ever, because there are too many people I know, too many conversations to have…even then: I thought to myself, “I could leave.”

Then, the night after we returned home, we went to a potluck supper at some neighbors. They are M.D. and an M.P.H. who decided, around the time that they became parents, that they also want to homestead. They grow phenomenally beautiful produce in their gardens, and on their property, you will find chickens roaming, pigs lounging, sheep and cows grazing. This couple had recently gotten lambs, and all the children at the potluck — fifteen or so — wandered down into the field to help feed the lambs. Some of the lambs were frightented, and ran from the children. A few stood still, and allowed the kids to pet them. Charlotte chased the frightened lambs, crying, “Noooo! Come back, lamb!” Merrie gathered eggs and held their chickens. Some kids caught a frog and made a home for it in an empty ceramic crock. We dined on salads with bulgur and garlic scapes, quinoa and fresh herbs. Someone actually used the phrase, “it’s just past the goat farm, on the right.” The sun hovered low in the sky, casting long shadows and a gentle, golden glow.

Then later, when the sun went down, we went out to a nature preserve for s’mores around a campfire and a firefly hike. Fireflies lit up the fields, like sparks of electricity, and children captured them in jars, marveling at their light. Our feet sunk into boggy mud as we walked, and the dark, cool air smelled rich with earth.

And I realized: I could live elsewhere. I really could. But staying here, staying in this soft, sweet place, where one can hear coyotes and treefrogs in a single evening: why, that would not be so bad at all.

I hope your recent weeks have also been full.

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