When I was little my cousins lived right across the road from my house (<— as in the former, and the latter’s husband, and their little brother). They lived in the bottom between the creek and the road, and I lived on the hill above them. I spent a lot of my time at their house following my boycousins into treacherous situations and falling into – or willingly entering – the creek. I genuinely loved this kind of play, but in retrospect I wonder if I spent so much time with them to keep myself – and my freakishly long hair – away from Jessie and her Dreaded Caboodle. She ALWAYS wanted to “do my hair”. The closest I’d ever come to “doing my hair” was tucking it into my shirt so it didn’t get wound up in the back wheels of my big wheel (…ever again).

Anyway -

Oftentimes when I’d fall (/jump) into the creek, my aunt would put me in Doug’s dry clothes and I’d wear them home. This thrilled me to no end because then I got to wear – and keep – BOY UNDERWEAR. Constrained to the land of hearts, stars, mermaids, and pink, I lived for the motorcycles and GI Joes making their appearance in the laundry cycle. My parents let me wear them (thanks parents!) and I distinctly remember sporting the motorcycles one day in first grade – the same day my friend Joey showed up in a brand new puffy painted MTV denim jacket.

Anyway -

That kind of stuff – the day I walked into the kitchen with a golfball stuck down the front of my (Doug’s) GI Joe briefs and said “look Daddy, they have a pocket!!” – that’s kind of the epitome of my mentality as a child. I wanted to be a boy. They had more fun, easier clothes, better toys. I went through phases as a pre-K aged kid where I made everyone call me Kevin, and then Josh. I wanted (and got) Tonka construction toys instead of Barbies. I wanted (and got) my first pocket knife at age six. I wanted to wear boy underwear, flannel shirts, and converse. No pink. No dresses. And don’t ever touch my hair.

When Meggan and I became friends later in elementary school she was always trying desperately to fix my hair. “Please just let me fix your bangs! They look funny! They are falling out of their clips!” She was a girly girl and couldn’t fathom my tomboy ways. She hooked me up with her cousin Greg in fourth grade (ha!) She sighed (in a loving kind of way) when I showed up for the first day of fifth grade in brand new mini hiking boots that matched my dads, she in her bright white cheerleading shoes with the colored tabs that you can switch out to match your outfit (which was red and white… on our first day of fifth grade). She did not understand things like my rock collection, but loved me anyway. I did not understand things like curling irons, but I loved her anyway. She was the first one to notice and freak out any time I adopted any new little bitty femme habit.

So she, more than most of my friends, giggled hysterically and completely understood the disconnect when we showed up at her parents’ pizza shop on Saturday night with Hazel sporting the new shoes she’d picked out and suckered her grandpa into buying for her (my dad cares very much that his granddaughter is well-dressed and that her hair is combed… it’s kind of adorable, but very weird to me). Sometimes I don’t know where this kid came from.

Hazel is lucky to have an Aunt Meggan to school her in the ways of makeup-wearing, getting poker-straight hair to do anything but, and everything other girly thing under the sun.

Except nailpolish. I do love nailpolish. But usually only… brown. Brown glitter. :)

Meet Chris and Jodi. Super nice, super cool, musically inclined, tooth-achingly-adorable couple. They just moved into a new place together and had us over for supper last night. Partway through the meal we were talking about how our paths have crisscrossed over the past decade, long before we actually met many years ago… how Mikey used to know Jodi’s cousin… how she grew up with my best friend’s ex… how some of Chris’s family graduated with Mikey’s sisters… and lots of other small-world anecdotes. I tell them about the blanket, whose status I am now updating to The Blanket. Capitals.

About a minute into the tale I start to mention names and places, and Chris throws has hands out like a traffic cop.

“Wait. What? ………….. I know them. That’s my family.”

Different last name, family by marriage. He knows every single person involved. The blanket maker and her husband, the priest cousin of her husband… everyone. I showed him a photo of the blanket, and he said his grandma had one just like it in autumn colors. Well… of course she did.

“So wait, there’s more. We’ve also found out that Mikey’s dad went to seminary with this pair of brothers, Matt and John. How are they related?”

“Those are my dad’s cousins!”

So we think my father-in-law’s adolescent buddies are the blanket maker’s nephews, but we’re beginning to get mixed up in a web of cousins.

Kevin Bacon, you’ve got nothin’ on this woman.

Incidentally, thanks to these two lovely ladies for the blog mentions :)

I think that ever since we’ve moved home I’ve had this nagging fear in the back of my brain that we’d just drift away from all of our good friends in Toronto, and that they’d forget about us, and that eventually we’d just never see them again. I know this isn’t true and it’s just a complex I have – it’s why, if we had a class or worked together six years ago I won’t say hi to you in Target because I just assume that YOU don’t remember ME, even though I remember kids who moved away from my town in grade two.

But, wonder of wonders, our friends do remember us and were above and beyond welcoming. I had no idea how much I really missed their stories and hugs and music and how much I was homesick for their kitchens and cooking and teapots. We had places to spend the night, places to take afternoon naps, we were fed, entertained, Mikey got school things accomplished, we had the perfect little compact stroller to use for the week (I really need to get one of those contraptions for when we’re traveling and have a backpack full of stuff to tote around every day in addition to a toddler), we had playdates and lots and lots of laughing. We talked about futures the past and Hazel was promised lots of “I’ll tell you about it when you’re older” stories. We trekked all over the city to see lots and lots of people and when we got tired of trekking we planted ourselves in a pub near John’s and everyone came to us. When Hazel started to melt down I took her the half block home to chill out and Mikey stayed for awhile longer visiting. I miss that sort of convenience of city life.

I want to go back soon. I wasn’t sure how well she’d handle the travel and the activity after six months of calm, slow West Virginia life (um, sort of), but she was a champ. She cried for ten minutes of the combined sixteen hours of driving. When we took her out to the bluegrass brunch at the Dakota Tavern on Sunday morning and then decided to stay for hours, she got tired and fell asleep in the ergo to the sounds of those boys singing just like she did when she was a baby. Because in case you hadn’t noticed, she’s not a baby anymore.

Sigh.

Listening: Hazel and Mikey chatting downstairs
(Hazel is) Reading: Green Eggs & Ham
(I am) Reading: new issue of Mothering
Working on: wedding jewelry and other custom jewels; furniture painting; new bead sorting; a new group blog; a million other things I need to catch up on

Sorry for the disappearance – we made a secret trip to Louisville this weekend to surprise Andy, and I was afraid that he’d connect any little tiny mentions of anything and figure out we were coming so I didn’t warn you that I was about to go missing. Sorry VD, et. al.

We are currently in the ‘Burg for an extra night because our car needs a new thing-underneath-that-is-not-the-tailpipe-or-the-muffler-but-that-is-making-it-loud-because-it’s-broken. I don’t have my camera cord with me, but here are some things that are not photos:

- I love my brother from another mother, and so does Hazel, OH MAN so does Hazel. She loves her uncle like none other.

- I love my Cara – friend since birth, rarely seen since we both moved away from WV. Even an hour and a half laying on a hotel room bed chatting is great.

- I have spent hours and hours in the Etsy forums trying to get caught up on some SEO problems (maybe?) or some sitemap problems (maybe?) or some meta tag problems (maybe?) and trying to figure out what those things are and trying to figure out why we aren’t showing up in google and what to do about it if it’s something only we can fix and not EtsyCorp. Oy. I have either learned a lot or unlearned a lot – I’m not sure yet.

- One of my old Toronto coworkers bought a necklace from me and had no idea who she was buying from. Small world, eh?

- For some reason I have better luck at the Gabe’s in this town than anywhere else. I went to see if I could find some more of these 49 cent tulip tealight holders (fail), and since I had left Hazel with her papa and grandma I decided to look through the clothes. As in… clothes that are my size, not hers. I found an amazing 50s housewife dress for eight dollars. Amazing. Way too big for me, so I sent Maggie a frantic text & photo (so’s not to be one of those people talking on the phone in the dressing room) to see if she could help me take it in. She said yes, and I ran to the checkout line with a quickness. I can think of less than ten clothing items I have purchased for myself since Hazel was born, and man is this dress good. Just you wait. I love Gabe’s. I never would have been able to settle in Toronto without a Gabe’s – I can’t live without it. Erin and Andrea who? Foggy Hogtown what?

- I think there were other things, but right now I just want a bowl of Lucky Charms, which only happens on Plum Street.

(Just kidding about that other thing you know – I love Erin / Andrea / those boys way more than I love Gabe’s… way more than I love most things in life, in fact.)

This morning my mom told me that she would get me a puppy for Christmas. When I shared the news with Mikey, he replied – with a pout – “I thought I was getting you a puppy for Christmas.” the votes are in – I’ve clearly won this one. New campaign: Iafrate baby ’09!!

They might have to collaborate on the beag-let. Mikey doesn’t know how to get a dog or accessories. Either way, I will have a furry little bundle of joy SOON! And our apartment is going to be REALLY full.

Last night I was talking to Maggie, who, immediately after getting married this past summer, moved to Vegas “for the experience”. A quote from our conversation… Living here is an adventure, but so is a two-week vacation. I’ve had enough.

I also talked to my friend JK last night. Another mountain-mama who recently moved to Frederick, Maryland. A whole two inches from WV, but nonetheless she said I felt like I lost my spine and my identity and everything when I had to change the plates on my car.

I think there should be some compilation of leaving-WV-stories. I have several in my inbox from strangers who’ve seen photos of my tattoo and feel the need to share their story with me. Project! I can at least compile all of them and get actual books bound and printed from that Lulu company that will make you a book of any pdf that you send. Any suggestions for a title?

Tonight Michael and I ate a jar of my grandma’s green beans with our dinner, and it didn’t upset me. A month ago it would have. Maybe it’s only because I already cried about grandma food once today when I got an email from her which mentioned that she was getting ready to start making things for tomorrow’s dinner. I remember the first thanksgiving that Jess was away from home, we called her in the middle of the afternoon and I gloated to her about how I’d gotten the middle roll. I had no idea how traumatic it would be to be the one far away, who’d kill for even a scrap of an edge roll.

I will survive, as long as I keep getting cute emails like this:

Anytime ya’ll are ready to start our hippe commune and live off the land somewhere in middle america, I’m ready.  I’m sure Clint is too.  We can have puppies and babies and drive corn fueled cars.  Let’s go.

This is why – post Canada – I need to live near Jenn & Mario forever.

Things:

- There are tons of photos under this cut. Wedding and otherwise. Dialup users beware.
- Very good weekend. Very good wedding. Lots of crying and dancing and friends and pretend family.
- Mikey’s new baby cousin – Benny – is the most adorable thing ever. Samantha gave Mikey a lesson in feeding and burping. It was hysterical and I’d left my camera in the car.
- Two nights at the Campbells’ and lunch with four of the pairs on Sunday = I miss my friends ugh.
- I ate a mango earlier and contemplated what sort of tool I might be able to make from the hard piece in the center… then I remembered that I am not, in fact, living the LOST life.
- I still want a dog.
- I finally got the rest of those necklaces uploaded to Etsy, redid all of my shipping information to correspond with their new system, fixed photos that were broken after the total-server-update, and uploaded a few pairs of wintery earrings that I made today. Go see.
- At the wedding, more than once, someone on one side of the dance floor would yell “let’s gooooooo”……… and the opposite side would answer “mountaineers!!!!”………. I’ve never witnessed this at a wedding reception, and certainly not three or four times. It was so good.
- Yesterday on the drive north, we stopped at a burger king for some fries. I asked Mikey to buy me a happy feet toy. When we got to the window, a young kid came over with one each of three kinds – all hidden in their own big plastic egg – and asked which one I would like. I wanted to know what my options were. He ducked down to stare at me for a moment, then said “you know what? just take them all”, dumped them in the car window, grinned, and walked away. They are all amazing. Best fast-food toys ever.
- Last night just before I went to bed at two a.m. I checked my email, and after saying goodbye to lots of people all weekend with no crying whatsoever (okay, once), the following message from Dougie made me cry a lot. He always hunts on my parents’ land during thanksgiving week. I will not correct his grammatical errors, even though I want to:

Any thing you want me to tell the dogs, cats or horses?
I’m taking an apple for the horse. I know there is three but only one of them will come to the fence so he/she wins the apple. I’m sure the dogs will be inside, but i’ll take them some bologna at lunch time. And that cats, I’m not taking them anything cause I hate cats. Oh I need to go see the bullet hole too. See you later. Wish you guys were going to be there to fix me some coffee when i’m freezing my ass off.
Peace
Douglas P

photos………..

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I have been absent for several days. I’ve been in seclusion mourning the loss of a fictional being. Just kidding.

Last week I got fun mail. My grandma sent us oreos / mister bee’s / cheese / lots of halloween candy. Amber sent more oreos and some photos of us, Toni, and Danielle, which made me cry a lot. And Maggie sent an issue of entertainment weekley with a 24 page guide to LOST, as well as an enlargement of a photo of the two of us with Adrian, Matt, and Josh from the summer that we watched Sistersville’s fireworks from the cemetery on the hill. It also made me cry. Here is her envelope decorating:

Yesterday Angie, Julie, and Tracie arrived around four. Angie, of course, being my SISTER, and some Iafrate-cousins who live in New York. They left around eleven today, and even though their visit was short it was great fun having someone here to see us. We were transported back to their younger years, and in less than twenty four hours there was a dance party…

an intense game of Clue….

and a pretend mass, with Fr. Michael, as always…

and pancakes for breakfast…

(Mikey’s wearing one of Dallas’s sweatshirts. aw.)

After they left I fell asleep reading, and then Mikey, John, and myself went to a late-afternoon showing of Death of a President. It was so good. It was certainly not a simple movie about a fictional assassination of our president. The shooting happened almost straight-away, with the rest of the film covering the aftermath, the trial, and the like. It was about what that particular event would be like in today’s america – a rush to blame a Muslim or a group of terrorists, a broadened patriot act, how our current war would factor in – and instead of using a fictional president, they just decided to use Dubya. They pulled it off VERY well. The only scene where a glaring flaw caught the eye of Mikey and myself (or at least the only one that we discussed… maybe he noticed more) was a shot of Colin Powell at the funeral… they showed him in a blue suit. They could have chosen a better clip for that. Him in a black suit at least, or, to be accurate, military dress. There was also a scene where protesters in Chicago were cheering when the news came out, and I seriously doubt that would happen. Everything else was pretty dead-on. I’m not saying that they made it seem “real” because it was easier or whatever… it was definitely an attention getting tactic. The whole “well here’s what your alternative – Cheney – would be like” storyline was really good, too. But it wasn’t just a pretend assassination story to make heads turn.

Tonight we seriously had to bundle up to walk to mass. And it wasn’t even windy or any other horrible weather things.

Fuzzy.

On the agenda this week: make things, make things, make things. Drink and play games for Cheryl’s birthday on Saturday night.

Reading: The Bad Place by Dean Koontz
Happy anniversary: Mama & Daddy

Such a good weekend. Today Camran said that if any of us could sell $300 in the last couple hours of work, he’d send us to Jamaica.

“I don’t care about Jamaica. Send me to West Virginia.”
“I’ll do that.”

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I just got an email from netflix asking me to come back. Baby, I wish I could. There’s a hole in my life that cannot be filled. No one can replace your speedy red envelopes.

Also, Mario called from the annual Campbell-halloween-party to tell us about costumes. I didn’t even talk to him… I just sat on the couch and cried. I CAN’T WAIT TO GO HOME.

Mikey made a new desktop tonight. It makes me really, really happy.

I want to live within an hour of Mario & Jenn for the rest of my life (not counting now of course). How is it that I can want things like THIS, but still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up?