My friend Jeff McMillen has been working on a new look for fannfare. The current “shipping magnate” theme is a little odd, but it’s what was easy in terms of getting started. The photo sort of looks like an abandoned pier or something, don’t you think?

I’ve been busy here with Shaun in Denver — going on two weeks now! We split the time up with a much-needed trip to Chicago to see Aunt Jenny, and are now back and into the daily groove again. Ruby didn’t do too well with the time change (read: Mommy didn’t do too well with the time change), and it was only an hour! The getting up at 5AM got old after, uhm, once.

Spring seems to have sprung here, which is always welcome. The cherry blossoms (and the thousands of tourists) are out in great force — both will peak this weekend. My peak will be Shaun’s return home.

The following, in closing, is “Hokey Pokey Poetry” Shaun sent me, simply credited to Tarasine Buck, “a programmer’s wife” in Utah. Made me smile.

O proud left foot, that ventures quick within;
Then soon upon a backward journey lithe.
Anon, once more the gesture then begin:
Command sinistral pedestal to writhe.
Commence thou then the fervid Hokey-Poke,
A mad gyration, hips in wanton swirl.
To spin! A wilde release from heaven’s yoke.
Blessed dervish! Surely thou canst go, girl.
The Hokey, the Pokey — banish now thy doubt.
Verily, I say, ’tis what it is all about.

When I first saw this video, I thought of myself and all the mothers I know doing our nightly routine…after the baby is down.  Laundry, dishes, bits of work, catching up with friends, writing notes, checking email, doing bills, updating the calendar, chatting and snuggling with spouse, planning meals for the next day and on and on.

This guy’s got nothin’ on me, and I’ve got boobs.

Shaun and I were listening to NPR on the way to breakfast with Ruby this morning…a program about Super Powers and whether or not one would choose invisibility or flight. The general consensus was that people who choose invisibility are sleazy and amoral. Of course, as we were riding along I was imagining my invisible self robbing a bank. I also wondered if I were invisible, would everything I touched become invisible (read: myclothes, my glasses, my Starbucks coffee), or would I have to be naked too?

Shaun, my ever cute and moral husband, chose flight. “Great!” I thought, “Maybe he could pick me up and get me out of the bank I robbed once someone noticed a floating bag of cash heading for the door.” Then again, he might just pretend he couldn’t see me.

I like to crack Shaun up. He smiles a lot, and finds many things funny, but to get a good laugh out of him is a real score. One of the men on the NPR program got really animated about the problems he had with folks choosing invisibility. He was, in a word, judging. He wrapped up his thoughts about us by saying we were “fearful, crouching masturbators.”

I was a little surprised and asked Shaun to confirm what he had said, not sure I heard him right. He repeated “fearful, crouching masturbators.”

I replied, “I think that’s the name of Ang Lee’s new movie.”

Prince is still so hot. Regardless of what you think of him personally, he is a musical genius. It has to be so cool to be Prince. Granted, he probably wakes up and eats macrobiotic wheat things (more bacon, please!) and hands out some copies of The Watchtower around the neighborhood before getting down to writing one of the thousands of songs that he’s given the world. After that though, every minute, he rocks. Imagine!

I am thinking of it because I cannot stop watching this video. Prince and Three More Previously Undiscovered Oh-So-Sizzlin’ Ladies. Who else would be able to find twins who command the stage like that? I think he just attracts The World’s Sexiest People. I guess that’s why I’ve been a fan for more than 20 years.

And, all that talent from a five-foot, two-inch tiny dynamo! You would think all that funk and soul would take up more room. I just want to pick up His Royal Badness and bounce him up and down on my pelvis. Then tuck him between the pillows of the couch until I am ready for more Black Sweat.

“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you. I only want you to have…some……fun.”

My brother Roger’s wife Keren is having a baby! And it’s Roger’s too!

Since finding out last night, I’ve been so rocked about being an Aunt. All of the tiny-baby-shopping and none of the sleepless nights! Except for the ones I volunteer for on visits so that they can get some sleep. They are bringing another Libra into our midst in October. What wunnerful news.

I still remember Baby Roger Alexander coming home AS A BOY. My sisters’ and my reaction (until we got to know him, of course)? Euw.

We spent time this weekend with our friends Wendy and Dave, much to Ruby’s glee. They have a big beautiful house and three licky-licky dogs (including a pug that’s about Moose’s size) and they were serving lots of cheese…all Ruby favorites. She had such fun that she actually dropped off to wistful sleep in her playpen, which is not always easy when we are “on the road.”

This morning as we left for school, the wind was fierce, but we walked anyway. I picked her up and snuggled her as I walked, but the gusts were still bugging her. I said “I know, I’m sorry, honey — it’s windy!” At that moment, she threw her hands up in the air as if in victory and squealed “Windy!” “Wow, how adaptive,” I thought.

Moments later, with another victory flourish, she squealed, “DAVE!”

Ambrosia. This must be what folks who aren’t depressed feel like! Every now and then I have a completely stress-free and marvelous day. The many things that need to fall into place (where’s Shaun, is he working? How’s Miss Ruby? What’s the weather like? Is there too much work to do?) did just that today. The weather was poetry again. Shaun’s laptop was in the bag except at Ruby’s naptime. I slept in (thanks to the pneumonia…but still!) and woke to happy baby, happy husband, happy dog. We refilled the propane tank, found rosemary (why is Safeway always out?) at Eastern Market, got the Starbucks NY Times puzzle, all with great parking spaces, or Shaun circling to let me run in.

Ruby napped like a champ while I finished the newsletter I have in-house right now. The front and back doors were open and the neighbors all said Mayberry “Hello!”s and were out in great force. Mom and Dad came for the delicious Fanning lamb (see separate post for recipe) and a visit with Miss Thing. We watched Being Julia which was very pleasant, and we’ve called it a day. A good day. A great day!

Now, if I could just finish The Mood Cure and figure out how to have these, naturally, every day, I would be a monkey’s uncle. A happy one.

Ah, yes. Three more words we musn’t forget in the prescription for a perfect Sunday?

Caramel apple pie.

4 cloves (or just lots) of garlic, minced
2/3 cup lemon juice
1/3 cup dry vermouth
1 tbsp. rosemary (I use more)
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. black pepper
1/4 cup olive oil
1/4 cup Worcestershire sauce
2/3 cup dijon mustard

1 4-6 lb. leg of lamb (we like the boneless one at Costco, fat removed)

Combine ingredients for marinade and mix well. Place lamb in the marinade for 24 hours in the fridge, turning every couple hours (except when you are asleep!).

Place butterflied leg of lamb on grill over medium heat. Cook lamb for 20 minutes on each side, brushing with marinade as you go. Remove from grill and let rest—cut into thin slices. Serves 6-8, including folks who “don’t like lamb.”  Try it!

It’s warm outside.  I bundled Ruby and I up this morning for the walk to school, and as I opened the door, an angel laughed, pinged me in the forehead, ripped off our jackets and left us wheezing and giggling as we tumbled down the stairs into the glorious day.

I have the back door open so the intoxicating breeze can waft through the office.  Moose is chasing the sunlight across the floor (read: getting up and laying down again when the sun shifts).  This is bliss.

I can’t wait to go to the park later — I am sure there will be a hum in the air as the bleary-eyed Moms and Dads emerge from their wintery houses and head for the sidewalk.  We’ll all rev up from a trudge to a skip as we approach the various jungle gyms.  I imagine “The Age of Aquarius” playing as we all leap around and shriek at each other, unable to contain our springtime glee.  Me?  I’m just going to introduce myself to everyone and invite them all over to our porch for lemonade and close intimate friendship.

“Hi, I’m Amy.  I love you.”

It’s been a long winter.

As I sit at my desk, I can hear my neighbor calling “Marmalade,” which is, to date, NOT one of the names of her SIX DOGS.  Mail-call around here is crazy — the dogs see the mailman park down the block, and they bark (and bark and bark) his arrival for the entire row of houses across the street and then the handful down our block.  This takes no less than a half an hour. On days when Ruby is home, this happens exactly at the same time as naptime.  Every time.  My mood around that varies, as you can imagine, depending on how involved Ruby decides to get in the whole endeavor.  My fear is that a SEVENTH dog might just put us all over the edge.  Not to mention, we live in rowhouses, people!  If you tipped my house over backwards, that’s how big our yards are.  These dogs are not running free.

Who is Marmalade?  And why is he or she running around the neighbor’s yard?  Better be visiting.

And the name?  I don’t like it for any pet.  Marmalade.  Now, put “Lady” in front of it, and that’s a whole ‘nother story.  Sexy.