Pumpkins

Definitely not the most attractive photograph of a pair of pumpkins I've ever seen, rather blurry, but there they are, the dueling MLB logos. To the young ones in my life who will be adorning festive disguises and holding bags wide open in the doorways of strangers for candy and sugar to be dropped inside, Happy Halloween!*I just sent my girl AB a note saying I had an uneventful weekend, then went on to detail the things that I did do, which then seemed more eventful than I gave them due credit for being initially. Friday Craig called me on his drive home from work. This is an everyday occurrence: the courtesy call, the "I'm on my way" call. I look forward to it habitually, I like to hear his voice sound excited at the prospect of leaving the office, I like to banter with him about dinner plans and potential evening plans and so forth. Anyway, this particular call began with an inquiry: How would I feel about trying a new recipe from one of our cookbooks, drinking some wine, renting some movies? I would (and did) feel absolutely delighted to do that. I like the kitchen. It doesn't always agree with me, but I'm entertained by chopping things (though me doing so drives the living daylights out of Craig because I do it methodically, pausing to admire each slit through a vegetable, occasionally throwing piled pepper veins away, or onion paper, or bean ends, making grand attempts at slicing so evenly that the recipe will ideally yield a photo opportunity). Regardless, he devised an interactive and partnered project for us for our Friday night. Craig and I used to go to bars. We did a lot, actually. On visits to see him out East we even went to bars. Now, living together, that's a rarity. Whether or not I care is a different issue altogether; I do genuinely believe he'd give the world and half his life up to live near his friends from college so he could go to bars regularly, any given Tuesday, every Sunday for football, Friday and Saturday nights to prowl around. But not with me. So, here we were with our sights on chicken cacciatore, the chicken bone-in (something we declare our mothers are perfect at doing but can't seem to gather the courage to do more often ourselves). The partnering actually worked very well for this recipe. He battled the chicken skin, I happily chopped a pepper and onion. And overall, the meal was decent, although Craig did not hesitate to constructively criticize our efforts, or, the recipe, he clarified. I suspect the flavor was weighted heavily by the rosemary. But not one to judge, I would have kept that to myself. I told Craig so. He countered, What's wrong with having an opinion? And I tried in vain to express that it's perfectly sound and normal to have an opinion, it just isn't as common that the "opinion" is regularly pessimistic, if an opinion can be such a thing. Craig's standards are set so high you'd have to be unearthly to meet them, and this causes anxiety in me often. I feel that my tendencies tap more into the easy-going end of the spectrum. But the bottom line drawn by Craig was that I would make a terrible food critic, because I would "love" everything. That may just be the case.*So Saturday we got lost briefly in Atlanta. The question was, Is our exit Boulevard or Memorial? Again, this is where I fall short. I get lost in a shoe box. But this time I felt positive that Memorial seemed right. Craig, for once having not looked up the address to our favorite Atlanta breakfast spot, wasn't certain. So we drove the shape of a square for about 15 minutes until figuring out where we were. Ria's Bluebird is this funky artsy restaurant located in somewhat of a junky part of town. The decor seems arbitrary, for instance the wire mesh dragon hanging from the ceiling with a winding orange string of light through its gut like the fire the dragon would breathe. I noticed it for the first time Saturday because we sat inside Saturday for the first time versus out on the covered patio, the latter which is has a bamboo garden along one wall and has hand-sewn cushions for seats that look like breakfasts: eggs over easy on one cushion with a side of bacon, a stack of pancakes on another, for example. Ria's would receive a glowing review from this amateur food critic. Their omelets of the day are quirky: tomatoes, asparagus and goat cheese last time we were there, avocado and brie this past weekend. They serve tofu on their breakfast menu, and Saturday grouper was on the specials menu. Anyway, its setting is intimate. While you wait, you stand outside and sip a mug of coffee you paid cash for at their coffee bar. (The place is too small to contain a waiting list's guests inside.) This past Saturday I fell in love with their coffee. I've noticed it was good before, but for some reason I couldn't get enough this past visit. Craig ordered banana pancakes and pointedly stated These are the best banana pancakes I've ever had. And he calls me a brat?*After Ria's we drove to Atlantic Station, the new Live!Work!Play! community adjacent to Midtown. Interesting and chic, but wandering along a strip of homes selling for 500,000 +, I had a hard time swallowing the price tags on these things. They are identical, all in a row, and not built so impeccably that I can imagine shelling out such a large sum of money! But, for many, location is everything, and I won't deny the swelling envy I felt walking through the Station. Very urban.*And we washed cars. Craig influences me in positive directions sometimes. He actually very nicely washed mine for me, and we both tackled the "loose" wax jobs. I haven't seen my vehicle that sparkly since off the lot two Decembers ago.*All weekend I had dreams, terrible ones, the kind that leave me unrested the next morning. I dreamed of plastic dolls, working on a Saturday, pens falling out of a pencil cup. I dreamed of holding infants incorrectly. Much of what happened in my dreams was right there when I woke but I didn't like any of it so I forcibly got rid of it. Last night I dreamed that I was sitting at a bar next to my friend EL, who is so very pregnant and is about to give birth any day now (for real). She was to my left and I haven't seen her in years, literally years (in real life) and in my dream I kept caressing her fat pouch coaxing the thing inside to kick my gentle hand. To my right sat a gentleman who wanted to be more than friends. Must be the moon, or the weird end of October holiday. It's funny, I even started this at 10:31 on 10/31! Sheer coincidence. I don't know if we will see trick-or-treaters tonight. But Craig bought candy, just in case. And he sprinkled a couple of pieces in my lunch bag this morning before we left for work. Cute.