What's in a Name? Part II

Last month, fellow blogger Estelle Yetti noted the OBX listserv's the thread about professionals' ironic surnames (i.e., Dr. Needles, the pediatrician; B. Lawless, the lawyer; Sparky, the electrician). She posed a valid question: "Dr. Butts, the gastroenterologist (that has to be a joke, right?)" That moniker may or may not be true, but at least it is more innocuous than what the proctologist in a Seinfeld episode named his boat and put on his vanity plate: A--man.

Speaking of doctors, my feet have been bothering me; perhaps I'll follow my ballet teacher’s suggestion and see her podiatrist: Dr. Footer.

Witnessing the rise of The Purple Octopus

Twice daily we pass the horse farms on Norwood Road. Twice daily my older daughter (age 4) points out to my younger daughter (age 2): "Horsies!" The younger yells each time: "I see the horsies!"

Twice daily we pass the construction on the old Stained Glass Pub building at the corner of 108 and Georgia. Once, I said to the girls: "look at the construction!" With the next passing, I didn't say anything. When we crossed the intersection again the next morning the older one said to me, "Mama, say to us 'look at the construction, girls!'" And so I do, twice daily.

One morning the girls were being silly and instead of yelling "Horsies" on Norwood the older yelled "Sea turtles!" The younger responded, while pointing to the horses: "I see the sea turtles!" If horses could hear my girls they'd have an identity crisis. Their species classification is now reassigned, twice daily.

Now we watch the walls going up for the new Fair Hill Plaza. I told them that the expansion on the corner will be a new restaurant called The Green Turtle. Each day we inspect the progress and (as I've been instructed) twice daily I ask, "How's the construction coming, girls?"

And twice daily they respond, according to their agreed-upon script: "We see the Purple Octopus!"

A Walk in the Park -- Interrupted

Yesterday I took my kids to Buehler Park to play and brought a novel to read while waiting on a bench. No longer toddlers or preschoolers, my kids do not require much assistance and scrutiny while climbing on the jungle gyms. However, I still sit nearby within earshot to intercept any fighting, to watch for any mishaps, and to scare away any creeps.

I noticed a mother hiking on the bike path that winds around the playground equipment. What a great idea, I thought. My kids are old enough that they don't need me underfoot, so I can get a little exercise too. I put down my book and started striding around the bike path, pumping both arms with a water bottle in each hand. I still could watch my offspring cavorting on the equipment and they could still see me.

Nonetheless, one child came running up to me. Uh-oh, worried because you can't see me? I wondered.

"Oh -- are you going to walk with Mom?" the other kid asked.

"No, I'm getting Mom to stop marching before everyone else notices!"

Transported to a different place

Today I took my daughters, their friend, and my niece to try out the new Sandy Spring Adventure Park. I only just learned about it from a confusing exchange on the OBX when I thought we were talking about the similarly new "Go Ape" place at Lake Needwood. Watching the girls traverse the ropes, bridges, and zip lines through the gangle of tall trees, I felt like I was transported to another place. They've done an amazing job with the Park. Just down the street from Olney, right off of Norwood Road, next to Sandy Spring Friends School -- you'd think you were in Costa Rica! (okay, maybe not). Interestingly, I happened to hear a woman who was there with her two kids negotiating with the Park manager for a special rate for home school kids. Wow! Climbing trees as part of your school day? I'm not telling my kids..

Pool Pals

You meet the nicest people at the pool. The last time I was sitting on the side when a young man- about high school freshman age came up to me. He extended his hand and asked if I was from a certain Latin-American country. I told him not that one, my parents are from Peru. They have good food he told me. We spoke for a bit and then he froze up, whipped out his cell phone and proceeded to text a response to the text he just received. I sat there watching him as he muttered out loud his response. "True that. I'll hit you back later." and some other words I could not make out. He took about a minute, thumbs flying, to compose his text. And I just sat there wondering, Do I wait? Excuse myself? Make a break for it and jump in the 2 foot section? He finished and we resumed talking. I couldn't help but feel like I was on calling waiting live, in person face to face.
Another time, my girls and I were in the pool when a little girl swam up to us and introduced herself. We said hello and told her our names. She told us her age which fell between the ages of my daughters. She asked if she could play/swim with us and we said sure. It was for just that session and then the whistle blew for adult swim. We would see her on occasion and the last time she wanted to join us while we were playing our family game. Of course, I invited her. While my girls felt like their time with me was compromised, I explained that this was a nice and simple thing to do. I found out from the girl that her older sister brings her to the pool. Where is she now? I asked. Over there hanging out with those boys. So why not hang out with this girl? She wanted the attention. Haven't seen her in a while though. You just meet the nicest people at the pool....

Lopeless Near Laytonsville

I strive to expand my palate by sampling new kinds of fruits. Yesterday while driving eastbound on Route 108, I slowed down to avoid being ticketed by a speed camera and noticed a local produce stand's handwritten signs. One read: "Lopes 2 for $5." Lopes, I pondered, what are lopes? Hmm -- must be some exotic fruit.

Intrigued, this morning I drove back to the fruit stand, parked, strode up to the two salespeople and enthusiastically inquired, "What's a lope? I'd like to try one!"

Their brief pause before answering me gave me pause... uh-oh, did I pronounce it incorrectly?

The lady cheerfully replied, "Oh, lopes are cantaloupes." She smiled. I smiled back sheepishly.

The kind young man sympathetically added, "Another person once asked me, 'What are lopez [pronounced as in Jennifer Lopez]?' "

I nodded, selected and paid for white nectarines, then shuffled back to my car ... lopeless, but a little more learned in fruit lingo.

Dream Big

Periodically on the OBX we have a hypothetical discussion about what we'd like to see come to Olney. A movie theatre, you say? (well, we did have one for awhile), A bowling alley? Trader Joes? A Teen Center? Skating Rink? Panera's? Red Robin? Green Turtle? (oh, that is coming), Book Store? (been there), Craft Store (done that). This helps some of us feel like we actually have a say in what happens to our community. The truth of the matter is, it's the politicians, the developers, or the franchiser that has the power. But boy it feels good to dream, doesn't it?

For residents who've lived in this area back when it was the place in the country where you came to buy farm fresh eggs or that special salsa at Good Earth, they want to know where their sleepy little town went. For newer residents, yeah, it can be nice to live in this hideaway enclave far from the hustle and bustle of the city where the kids can roam free (no comment), but give me my convenient shopping and Starbucks!! I would hate to be an urban planner. Sheesh! What a job!

To the dreamers, keep dreaming! Make it happen! Talk to some movers and shakers who can help shape Olney - perhaps not as the sleepy town anymore but not as Rockville Pike either. How many gas stations, banks, fastfood restaurants, grocery stores, and pet stores does one little town need?? Good question.

The nature problem

Though we both work several miles south, when I was pregnant with our first child and we wanted to buy a house we were drawn to Olney. We loved the wide, green yards and imagined our family running through sprinklers in the grass. Now we have three kids and a wide green yard and a sprinkler at the end of the hose line but the yard -- nothing really prepared us for a yard to mean anything more than grass.

I'm a city-raised girl and this nature stuff that accompanies the grass, it's really pushing the limits of my comfort. The squirrels are eating my tomatoes and discarding tomato skins in the kiddie pool and an enormous cicada is trying to commit suicide against the panes of the sliding glass door as I type and the bunny rabbits that my daughters find so adorable, I think they're in cahoots with the squirrels. My strawberry plants are de facto just strawberry-leaf plants and I didn't really feel like sharing.

Where I grew up in New York we had bugs, of course. We had crickets. They were little and they chirped and they stayed in the bushes outside. When we moved to Maryland and found ourselves in the company of  the local enormous-to-us field crickets, we didn't know what they were. We called them jumping spiders for a year. We knew about the property taxes in Olney; we didn't know about all of the nature stuff that would come to us along with our big, green yard.

That obstinate cicada hasn't found its way inside yet but all evening I've been trying to capture a field cricket that's been chirping in the kitchen. We never hung curtains on the kitchen windows because we love the wide, private view of our big, green yard and I use the little brass hooks that once held the cafe curtain rods to store the baby's bibs. Somewhere in one of those bib pockets is a loud and lonely field cricket. Every time I approach he goes stealth quiet and impossible to locate and when I walk away he cheep cheeps again.

So the truth is, as much as I love the look of our big yard so much suburban nature is capable of completely unnerving me. There's a jumping spider singing in the kitchen and I know I'll hear it mocking me when I try to sleep tonight.

At least the grass looks good.

Game Theory of Wedding Anniversaries

Yesterday, my husband forgot our 12th wedding anniversary -- but I'm fine, because I won. Over the years, our wedding anniversaries have evolved into games of Chicken (two drivers careen towards each other on a collision course, waiting for the other to swerve first; one must swerve or both may die in the crash, but the first to swerve is the "chicken"). We wait for the other spouse to say "Happy Anniversary!" (HA!) first in order to see if s/he even remembers the anniversary. If by noontime no one has said anything, then (in a perversion of Chicken) the first spouse to HA! the second spouse wins and the second spouse is exposed as having forgotten the wedding anniversary in the first place. Yes, the strategy of the Chicken Wedding Anniversary game is to hold out and therefore test the other spouse's memory before saying HA!, but not for too long; otherwise, you look like the loser who overlooked this special day.

For our 1st anniversary, my husband and I raced to be the first person to gush HA! No silly mind games like Chicken for newlyweds. On our 2nd anniversary and isolated at home with a colicky baby, I phoned my husband at his office in the afternoon and asked, "Do you remember what day this is?" Silence on the other end. I won that first round of Chicken.

During the ensuing years, our record was fairly even; I'd forget some years and he'd forget other years -- but one of us was always the winner. On our 9th anniversary, we both lost. At Disney World, we spotted an elderly couple with adorable matching Disney-issued Wedding Anniversary Pins, cooed at the cuteness... and then looked at each other with quizzical expressions, "Wait, isn't our anniversary around now ... uh... it's today?! HA!" That evening, my husband purchased a cartoon wedding anniversary card, and then told me to save it for the following year.

He more than made up for the card on our 10th anniversary. After a whole day without a single HA!, my husband presented me with an eternity ring. I reciprocated with two marriage joke books from the MGH Women's Board Used Book Sale. No one lost this round of Chicken, although my husband definitely won in the gift selection department.

This year I played the Chicken Wedding Anniversary game coolly -- I waited until noon and called him, reached his voice mail and left him a message: a mundane question about the car and, oh by the way, HA! An hour later he buzzed back and admitted that he hadn't remembered our anniversary until listening to my message. However since he was in San Francisco, it was still morning for him and therefore technically he hadn't lost; in Olney I had already crossed into the afternoon. Despite these time zone differences, I think I still won. HA!

"Smells Like Home"

Just goes to show you that you can take your kids out of Olney but you can't take Olney out of your kids. Hopefully, that's a good thing. We had been away at the New York beaches for a week taking in the smells of surf, sun, sand and lobster rolls. As we were getting close to home, my daughter says, "Mom, roll down the windows. I want to smell the air." Strange request, I thought. But as I did, she says, "Ah, smells like home."