This year we even roasted the seeds!

Like last year, this past week Eric pressured me into using Spookmaster "trace & carve" designs to carve pumpkins this year. I went along with it and have to admit, once again the results are pretty impressive.

Here's our pumpkins! Eric did the skull, I did the witch*. Happy Halloween!





*Buaaaa-ha-ha-ha-ha!

I demand my share of the life-saving potion!

The H1N1 vaccine arrived in the Bay Area today and Eric, myself, and thousands of other pregnant women, their partners, parents of small children, others who fall into the high priority category, and people so desperate to get theirs they were pretending to fall into the high priority category lined up to get jabbed.

When we arrived, the line was out the door, through the parking lot, down the bock, around the corner and then down* the next block. Here we are at the end of the line. We got there at 6pm, an hour before the clinic was scheduled to close, and there were easily 200 people in line ahead of us. It seemed sensible to walk to the front and see what chance we had of actually getting the vaccination before deciding to stand in line for an hour, maybe more.

The nurse who was managing the line was actually just about to count back in the line and hand out cards to the people that she estimated would be able to receive the vaccine that day. They had plenty of vaccine, the challenge was not having enough people to administer it quickly enough to meet the demand. (Self-administration was not an option.)

I walked with her back up the line as she counted and as she would point to someone and say a number, at least one out of every three people would blurt out "I'm pregnant!" with a desperate, scared look in their eyes, or "I've been here since 3:30 with my kids you can't turn us away!" or "Gimme gimme gimme!" - this just at hearing a number and having no idea what it even means.

Her count got to the end of the line with numbers to spare, suggesting that all of us were "in" for that day. Common sense suggested otherwise: it was about 6:25pm at this point, and the line had barely moved since we had arrived. We figured it was worth the wait.**

At about 6:45pm, with the line still essentially unmoved, another nurse came down the line asking that just the pregnant women come forward -that we were the only ones who would still receive the vaccine that day. I eagerly skipped to the front of the line, trying not to look the people who had been there for three hours or more or their children in the eyes. I feared them.

When the head of the clinic came out and officially told people they had to come back the next day, I feared that this was going to turn into a very gory pre-Halloween special event. After assuring everyone that they would get priority the next day and that there was plenty of vaccine to go around, the doctor apologized sincerely and then headed quickly inside and called the police.

The line did not disperse. People continued to stand there.

Meanwhile, inside the clinic in line for my shot, I sweet-talked the nurse into letting Eric come wait with me inside, and then, since he was there, why not just give him the vaccine too? They did.

We left feeling like we had stolen something.

It was 7:15pm when we left and the line was still there. The police were encouraging people to go home, the clinic was closed. I don't know what happened next.

*This block was a hill, so it was actually up the block, not down it

**"We've waited more than two hours to ride roller coasters. I suppose another half hour can't hurt," Eric reasoned.

Then we got married

This is the balloon in which we were married. (Pretty in its own right, and infinitely better than the balloon that launched along with us which looked like the Puerto Rican flag.)
This is the view from several hundred feet up, just after dawn.

This is us listening to Scott the Balloon Captain (and self-proclaimed "balloonatic") as he read us the ceremony.

When we landed, we were married. Eric helped me out of the basket while the balloon crew packed the balloon back up.

It was a wonderful, dreamy, perfect day.

Me-to-be

As I pick the last of the nail polish off my fingernails today, I am relishing memories of my bachelorette party from a week and a half ago.

There's something that feels kind of fun and subversive about being pregnant at your own bachelorette party. Nobody suspects that the bride-to-be is also a mother-to-be.

At the spa where we got massages, the therapist who knew she was doing a pre-natal massage literally went through everyone else in our group before looking questioningly at me - with my hideous mock-veil headband and plastic "I'm the Bride" pink sash - to confirm that it was me.

At the nail salon, the owner stopped by to say hello and after I gave a somewhat saucy reply to one of his questions his playful response was something along the lines of "And you haven't had several glasses of champagne today!" I just smiled. The sparkling cider can really go to my head.

I had a fabulous time and owe a huge thanks to Jamaica and Nonoko for their exceptional planning and incredible generosity. You guys rock!

On handwashing

Recently, in spite of my better judgment, I have started washing my hands regularly.

You're probably wondering if there's a typo in that sentence. There isn't. I actually make a point of not washing my hands too often. I have a theory, which I expect will soon be supported by scientific studies if it isn't yet, that frequent exposure to very small amounts of pathogens actually keeps me healthier rather than putting my health at risk. Judging by the woman next to me on my flight home from Vegas the other day who applied Purell to her hands literally every 3-4 minutes without leaving her seat or actually touching anything, I may be the world's only germophile, standing against legions of germophobes*.

But, there are other considerations now that I am pregnant. Getting sick has more significant consequences now than it would if it were just me moping around the house blowing my nose and whining. Even more seriously, H1N1, everyone's favorite swine flu, a) has a frighteningly high fatality rate for pregnant woman and b) is all over the Bay Area (oh no that's where I live!).

So, grudgingly, I am now very conscientiously washing my hands A LOT. And I am more aware of germs than ever. For example, last week I volunteered at Stewart Brand's Long Now talk where they fed we volunteers pizza before making us work. I had washed my hands and was happily munching my pizza when a late-arriving volunteer came over to introduce himself and offered to shake my hand while I was eating with my hands. Normal Ellie would have set down the pizza, given him a good nice-to-meet-you shake and thoughtlessly gone back to licking pizza sauce off my fingers.

Germ-aware Ellie looked him in the face and said "I can't touch your hand right now, I'm eating. You know, germs."

What have I become?

I guess a lot of things change when you have someone else's well-being to worry about, and already I am making different decisions about how much to sleep, what (and how much) to eat and how to deal with work and stress. I guess the good news is that kids are actually extremely germy, so my germ-limited life is probably going to be short-lived whether I like it or not.

Bring on the (non-fatal, non-permanently damaging) germs!


*I think my typo "germophone" in the first draft of the post is funny.

On Angels' Landing

Since last Wednesday, I've been in Zion National Park (without internet access, hence my absence. This is the second week in a row that I've been out of town for several days but I won't be disappearing again for a while, I promise).

This was the Moss family annual National Park trip and I joined my aunts Barbara and Jane and their brothers, my uncles, Bill and Fred, at Zion for a long and very enjoyable weekend in southern Utah.

The focus of the trips has always included wonderful and challenging hikes, and in the past has included the Grand Canyon (to the river and back all in one shot, against the stern warnings of signs everywhere), Half Dome at Yosemite, Brown Mountain at Glacier National Park, and many others. This year, the Angels' Landing hike was the marquis hike and a notable highlight.

It is worth noting that I am the only person in this group of five who does not have a crippling fear of heights. This is important with regards to the Angels' Landing trail because it is noted for its steep drop-offs and for a half-mile section of trail which follows a 'knife's-edge ridge' to the final destination. To aid hikers in not falling off, the National Park Service has thoughtfully installed a set of chains that you can hang on to as you scramble your way to the end.

It is a spectacular hike.

Here is where the 'knife's-edge ridge' section begins. Note the evocative warning sign:

This picture, showing the first section with chains, is taken from a spot affectionately known as "Chickenshit Ledge," which is also where I reluctantly left Fred and Jane (in the company of many others who were not up to the thrilling endeavor with the chains). We three did a worthy job together scaling over 21 switchbacks and nearly 1500 feet, and it seemed cruel that vertigo as opposed to lack of fitness or ability would prevent them from getting to see the full panoramic views at the end. They were bummed for sure but were also happy to sit there, eat peanut m&m's and tell passersby that they had sent the pregnant woman on without them.

This is a view of the ridge that leads to the end of the trail: look closely and you can see people walking all the way out to the end of the line (the left side of this big standalone ridge rock).

Wow!

Needless to say, I made it all the way and very much enjoyed doing it. For better or worse, I am totally unphased by heights and have no trouble at all walking with no handrail across a 36 inch wide span of rock with 1200 foot drops on either side. I'm not sure this is necessarily a trait that promotes survival, but for Angels' Landing it did the trick.

What remains to be seen is if I am as strong and fearless next year carrying a six-month old baby.

Up up and away!

On October 25, which is not far from now, Eric and I are getting married in a hot air balloon. It might look something like this:

This will be the official wedding ceremony and the captain of the balloon will officiate for us somewhere over Sonoma County. We are honoring all superstitions we can think of in the hope of getting great weather that day, as it is quite a weather dependent sort of event.

(It is worth noting that the weather in San Francisco today was a lot like the scene at the end of Karate Kid II. I was convinced that the tree in front of our place was going down more than once, but most of it is still there.)

In case you were wondering, there are maternity wedding dresses to be had out there, ranging in price from $39.99 to much much more. I bought a 'regular' wedding dress and am probably the first bride in history to ask the saleswoman, "Do you think I can gain five pounds and still fit into this dress?" Currently, I am on track to look neither normal nor pregnant, merely Ellie Extra Chunky for this wedding. Eh, I'll take it!

The balloon only holds eight people plus the captain, so this is going to be a pretty intimate event with just our parents and my brother joining the festivities on board. Anyone who knows me knows that I am not capable of celebrating any milestone, be it birthday, President's Day or any given Friday, on just one day, or even within one week. This is certainly no different. We are going to hold a big bash wedding party next August to celebrate with all of the friends and family (and our new baby) who won't be with us in the balloon.*

*OK, I guess technically the baby will be with us in the balloon.

Off-off-piste

In June 2008 I started this blog, which I called Off-Piste as a nod to taking a different road, or rather, paving an totally unknown road, into the next chapter of my life. I ended my very first blog post with:

So there I was: jobless, newly certified as an Ashtanga yoga teacher, shacking up with a guy I've been dating for about 5 minutes in a sublet we can't afford next to AT&T Park in San Francisco, and I've just decided to move from Washington DC where I've lived for three years to see what sort of life I can make for myself in San Francisco....

What happened next has been well chronicled in the posts that followed: we found a place to live in which we urban camped for a while, I started a company with a guy in DC, which failed shortly thereafter, leaving me unemployed again. In spite of being unemployed, Eric and I lived a full and celebratory life: we took a number of wonderful trips including Joshua Tree National Park and a week in Maui, we went skiing in Tahoe several times, we climbed Mt Shasta, and we explored the city and surrounding areas by bicycle, on foot, in kayaks and even on a motorcycle. We spent more than our fair share of time in wine country. I did eventually get a job, my 'dream job' in fact, and I rejoined the working world this past March, which has brought adventures of its own.

One evening in July, as Eric and I were enjoying "retirement" (we try to take at least a few minutes of our retirement every day just in case we don't get to retire later in life for any number of reasons), I commented to Eric that life at that moment in time was as easy as it will ever get. It was so simple! So blissful, so peaceful, so easy.

God or some other deity or universal life force with a mischievous sense of humor must have overheard me because the very next day I found out I was pregnant.

It was without a doubt the most exciting and wonderful news I have ever received and it was also perhaps the biggest single shock of my life.

Apparently, this is what living Off-Piste is all about: we're doing this a little differently. And the remarkable thing is that, while this wasn't "the plan" (possibly because there was no "plan") it is actually probably the best way to start the next chapter of our lives together that we could have come up with.

Telling friends and family has been a lot of fun, and many have been as caught off guard by this news as we were. When Eric told friend Anne from grad school that he's going to be a Papa her response was:
"You're getting a dog?!"

When I shared the news at work, it disqualified me for a long-term project they had been moments away from staffing me on. The colleague who would have managed me on that project told me:
"I have had a lot of people do a lot of things to avoid working with me but you are the first one who has gotten pregnant to stay off my team."*

And so, we continue Off-Piste. If I were starting this blog today, it might read something like this:

So there I was, not much more than six months into my dream job and already nearly four months pregnant, two weeks away from getting married in a hot air balloon, and seriously questioning the wisdom of becoming parents in our teeny fourth floor walk-up apartment in a neighborhood where the sidewalks often feature human poo, among other things...

This is going to be interesting!


*My response: "If having unprotected sex is what I need to do to stay away from you, I'm willing to do it." I think this made him uncomfortable.

Weasels playing yahtzee is also a favorite

I'm in Stinson Beach for a work offsite Wednesday through Friday of this week. We are staying in beach houses that all have their own flavor. I was pleased to discover not only glass dolphin figurines in the bathroom but this, the little know Japanese version of Dogs Playing Poker.

List of things I should know but don't

Having biked around San Francisco for a total of over four years now, I tend to think of myself as someone who knows the flattest routes for getting around the city, avoiding the worst of the hills.

I was recently proven dramatically wrong when a friend of ours, having heard about the route we took to bike from SOMA to Golden Gate Park on Sunday, said, incredulously:

"You don't know about The Wiggle?"

No, we don't.

But now we do. The Wiggle is the flattest path through the city, in particular going from SOMA to Golden Gate Park. This discovery is akin to finding out, after a year and a half of walking up and down four flights of stairs every day, that our apartment building has an elevator*.

Eric said it best in his response to the friend's follow up email with additional info about The Wiggle:

"I can't believe we've been getting all that unnecessary exercise! I'm definitely going to wiggle from now on."


*I remain reasonably sure that it does not.

Still doesn't make it OK to list a one bedroom with a "nook" as a two bedroom

We are looking for a new place to live and I checked out a place on Saturday that was listed on craigslist through a local broker named Gavin Coombs. His listings are all over craigslist and though I have never met him in person, I have heard he is quite the local character. Apparently he is particularly well known for his prominent chin.

In confirming the appointment to view the place (one of his helpers would open the door for us but would not know anything more than the apartment number), his email included the following third person reference which I felt was worth sharing.

"Circle back with broker G if you have any follow-up questions or if you'd like to rent after viewing."

I'm almost tempted to start referring to myself as Consultant E but it doesn't have quite the same ring to it.

Yogi E?
Not quite.

Blogger E?
Hmmm.

Hardly strictly the best-kept secret in SF

You may remember Hardly Strictly Bluegrass from last year when Eric and I had to hang our bikes from a tree to lock them up because it was so crowded and there were so few places to put bikes.

To give you a sense of how much more crowded it was this year, we got there relatively early and we had to lock our bikes hanging up in trees three blocks away because the trees, benches, signs, everything was so covered in bikes. It resembled a pestilence of some sort, actually. An example:

The festival lineup gets more and more impressive every year and this year was no exception. We saw Gillian Welch, Earl Scruggs, The Del McCoury Band, Aimee Mann, Doc Watson, and others and the artists love to bring each other up on stage, so we also saw cameo appearances by Emmy Lou Harris and the Old Crow Medicine Show. (There is an even longer and even more impressive list of people we didn't see.)

One thing that felt different this year from last was the crowd. San Francisco crowds are always completely weird (par for the course: we saw two people, not together, wearing red clown noses) but there was something a little off about the crowd gathered this weekend. A little crazier, a little edgier; more than a few of them really seemed like they could be running meth labs somewhere in the outskirts of the city. For example, the people we sat next to today included a guy they all called Roach who was twitchy and kept trying to sell us cans of Budweiser for $2, a skinny bald guy in cutoff shorts and a hoodie who brought not one but two plastic bottles of Dawn to fulfill some ill-conceived bubble-blowing vision, and a woman in her early twenties with pretty blond hair and too few teeth for someone of her age.

They got to be tiresome neighbors after a while, and we were in the shade which was easily 15 degrees cooler than in the sun, so we left those creepy tweakers behind and moved to a sunnier spot, ate some pizza, and enjoyed the show (both of humanity and of music).

Memo To Everyone Who Is Trying to Kill Me

Attention all operators of motor vehicles in the city of San Francisco:

I kindly request that you please signal when you are going to make a right turn so that bikers like me can go around you on the left side. If flicking the little lever to use your signal is too much effort, perhaps just a brief flick of the eyes to the rearview mirror so that you don't turn right into me? Is that too much to ask to avoid senselessly murdering someone?

Further, I would ask you to please refrain from double parking in the bike lane on busy streets. I can understand how convenient that must be for you but it is a real hazard to bikers.

Also, would you be so kind as to look for approaching bicyclists before suddenly pulling out of a parking spot with no signal or any indication of imminent movement? I would be so grateful, really.

And finally, please, please, look for bicyclists in the bike lane before suddenly swerving over into it and almost hitting me. (Taxis, this applies double to you.) Do you have any idea how scary that is when you do that? If you did, you would understand why I have to yell at you and maybe give you the finger. And why I have to swear extra when I can see that you are inevitably talking on your cell phone. (You know that's illegal, right?)

Though you act as though I were, I am not in fact invisible when I put on my helmet, roll up my right pant leg and hop on my bike to ride to and from work.

I beg you to spend the infinitesimally small amount of extra energy and attention required to be more biker aware as you drive around your thousands of pounds of motor vehicle.

7:15pm, Thursday evening

[Eric and I, sitting on the couch. Windows are open. There's a ruckus from the street. Eric stands up and peers out the window.]

"It's those Mexicans again, riding little bicycles, drinking beer and singing," Eric reports.

"Which ones?"

"The guy who wears the Steelers jersey, and the older guy who called you 'churro.' "

"Oh yeah, those guys."