We are in full-on teething mode at chez Sattin, so I write this from the couch with Dash attached to me in the sling. It’s hot as hell (considering it’s about 90 outside and we don’t have air conditioning) and he barely fits in the thing, but it’s soothing to him so there we are. A sleeping teething baby is a good thing. Prior to this I tried giving him a pizza crust to gnaw on which proved a HUGE winner and caused an equally HUGE hissy fit when I finally threw it out. Amen to the sling.

There’s something else I’d like to share with you. On the built-in bookshelves in our Craftsman-style Cape, I have a strange habit of randomly choosing one book to display face-out. I’m not running a bookstore or a library, but for some reason I enjoy this little habit. It’s like giving each book a moment- or a month- to shine. Plus, it reminds me to readthebooksweownforgod’s sakeanddon’tbuyanymore!

Without further ado, may I present the Book of the Month and its’ opening passage:

“It was a wandering daughter job.
The Hambletons had been for several generations a wealthy and decently prominent New York family. There was nothing in the Hambleton history to account for Sue, the youngest member of the clan. She grew out of childhood with a kink that made her dislike the polished side of life, like the rough. By the time she was twenty-one, in 1926, she definitely preferred Tenth Avenue to Fifth, grifters to bankers, and Hymie the Riveter to the Honorable Cecil Windown, who had asked her to marry him.”

Dashiell Hammett is pretty greatly known for inventing the modern detective novel and not-so-greatly known as being the inspiration for the name of my son. Almost no one guesses right, which leads me to believe sales of Dashiell Hammet books aren’t so hot.
Neil would like me to add this: though it might have been inspirational for me, in truth, I never told Neil about it since we couldn’t agree on one single name for our baby. (Eli? No. Monroe? No. Jacob? No.) I kept it under wraps assuming it would never pass muster. Then, Neil discovered it in a baby name book (amazingly, because most of those books regurgitate the same names over and over and none of them had Dashiell listed) and called me from the bookstore. “How about Dashiell?” he asked. It was a huge moment for us, what with finally naming our beautiful son-to-be. And as it turns out, he doesn’t look like an Eli, a Monroe, or a Jacob anyway.

This 1945 edition of The Continental Op marks the beginning of my Hammett collection which will ultimately go to Dash. I wonder if he’ll read them or just roll his eyes at me.

One of my favorite things is finding vintage goodies at yard sales, tag sales, garage sales, flea markets, etc. Especially when I get a good deal. This 1959 Mademoiselle magazine was calling my name from a table at a church bazaar last month. It shared space with some cheezy christmas ornaments and assorted religious articles. I don’t even read the modern versions of this magazine, but for some reason I needed this old copy. The price tag was $5 and I ended up with it for free. Perfect.

So, after skimming a few pages, I’ve been inspired to go out and buy a current issue of Mademoiselle and compare their content and advertisements. I have a feeling the focus of today’s magazines has shifted a wee bit. If this copy is any indication, the ladies magazines of the 50’s seem to have marriage preparation as their primary focus. I’ll do a full count of every ad for flatware, and it will probably only be outdone by the ads for foundation undergarments. Pretty.

In other news, Dashiell turned six months old yesterday. Six! Months! I’m happy to share that he’s hitting all the milestones right on target, some of them even a little on the early side. He sits, he plays with things, he stands up holding on just for balance. He’s a regular one-man-band of baby tricks. He loves to be in water, especially when it splashes on him, which makes me think he may not be my son after all. But then he seems to want to eat every thing he sees, which makes him a mini-me.
Also, he has this new habit of coughing to get our attention. “aheh, aheh, aheh, aheh,” until we either come over to him or make the sound ourselves, at which point he breaks into a huge smile. Priceless. Happy half-birthday, Dash.

As I write this, the rain falls on my lovely new deck that I was really looking forward to spending all day sitting on. I hadn’t factored in the umbrella, so I think I’ll just stay in and write at the table. Grrr…. My flowers are happy to see the rain though, so I’ll let it go and channel yesterday’s weather, which was near-perfect. Sunny and warm. One of those days that make you wonder why you live in Maine because there’s far more bad weather than there are days like that.

We’ve been picking up our CSA share from the Wolf Pine Farm for the last three seasons and never once went out to see the place. Yesterday we drove out to Alfred to see where our food comes from and share breakfast with other share holders. People, the food was good! Pancakes, a delicious quiche, potatoes, and salty salty bacon. And obviously coffee. I don’t think I would have made it without the coffee. The farm is beautiful, with garden plots everywhere (duh), and river frontage where Dashiell got to dip his feet in. The kid loves water.

We ate outside with a couple of other young families and talked babies and real estate, and swapped tips for what to do with the abundance of some veggies we get in our share. (HINT: marinate and grill the kohlrabi! Brilliant! It’s great in a salad, but we’ll be trying the grill next time.) Dash was dressed for the occasion in his overalls (albeit with the Rogue’s Gallery onesie. a bit of fashion on the farm never killed anyone), and I was not dressed for the occasion in my flip flops. Memo to self: when going to farm, dress for farm.

I have lots of good memories of going to the Yarmouth Clam Festival when I was a kid. I think we probably went every year; driving to the playground in Yarmouth, parking the car, waiting for the shuttle to come. The shuttle was any one of the town school buses that were put to use picking up festival goers, bringing them to the center of town, only to return for their fried-dough-stuffed, Tilt-a-Whirled-selves later that night. That one day of the year would be one of the few times that I’d ever ride a school bus over the course of my life. And by way of explanation, for those of you who don’t know me, when your mom teaches at your school, you don’t get to ride a bus. I probably don’t have to tell you, for those of you who do know me, that the bus was every bit as good as the actual festival to me. I mean, it’s a school bus! For kids! Like me!
So this year marked year one of Dashiell’s (and Cathy, Marjetta, Michael, Cory, and Robyn’s) introduction to the Festival. For better or worse. He was pretty thoroughly entertained (the people watching is really, really good*) and only somewhat confused when the Kora Temple Shriner’s came through the parade with their tiny cars and big, old men. Can you blame him?
I think not.

* Highlights include fashion mistakes too numerous to mention and one mom “helping” her kids pee outside by holding them around their waists while they clung to their mylar balloons. Mom: helping might have better involved you holding the balloons so they could pop a squat more effectively. Just a thought. But it was good entertainment, so thanks for not thinking of that.

Dashiell: wah, wah, wah, I’m not hungry, I’m not cold or hot, I’m just wah, wah, wah, etc.

Neil: mumble, mumble, diaper?

Me: i didn’t hear what you said over the crying but if you just volunteered to change his diaper, go for it.

(baby and daddy disappear. three really short minutes later…)

Neil: look! i traded in that last baby for this new improved version. now with dry diaper! let’s see if this one works better.

Dashiell2: (looks at mommy) wah, wah, wah, etc.

Me: Must be a flaw at the factory.