Even more fun

Thank you everyone for updating your RSS Feeds and referring links on your blogs and websites.

Most of you succesfully made the transition from make love. make curry to fraserhead. But I've still got a little lag in traffic and noticed that some of you are still visiting this site.

I promise you that fraserhead is just as fun. No. Its even more fun. And if you get over there right now to look at the adorable picture of charlie I just posted, I might even make you cookies.

http://www.fraserhead.blogspot.com

A little bit delusional

Hello, dear readers!

Guess what!? I have a new alter-web-ego that I'd like to introduce you to.

Friends--meet FRASERHEAD.

This may seem like it's coming way out of left field. You might be saying to yourself, "What the hell is Lara drinking?" or "Does she know that's not really the name of that movie?" Scotch, and yes.

But there is some rhyme to my reason, and it starts with my mother. Of course it starts with my mother: the woman who does arabesques in front of the stove and calls her shower cap a "helmet" and draws poodles on napkins. So the story goes: My mother's last name is Fraser. And she named my brother Fraser. And one day, she was out and about, probably romping through the streets like Mary Tyler Moore or some such thing, and she happened into a store that sold magnets which read, "Fraserhead." And naturally, being the woman she is, she thought, "Wow. That's neat. That magnet has our name on it." So she bought it. And for many years after, that magnet stuck to my refrigerator like glue. FRASERHEAD. Every morning, every night, every day. FRASERHEAD.

That magnet said FRASERHEAD for 16 years or so. Until I brought Joe home. Wonderful, practical Joe. And he looked at that magnet and said, "Oh cool. I love Eraserhead, too."

E R A S E R H E A D.

And that's how the legend died. You can imagine our dismay.

But when I look at it I still think it says FRASERHEAD. And for some reason, that makes sense to me. Fraserhead has taken on a meaning of it's own, a fact that might not seem too surprising if you know anything about us Frasers. So I decided to appropriate the term. Fraserhead. To me, it means everything inside my brain that's ephemeral, elastic, and a little bit delusional. I've been using Fraserhead as an alter ego for a couple of months, and this morning, I though it was time to get the blog in the loop. I hope you all don't mind.

Incidentally, when my mother found out she was a bit alarmed. She's grown very fond of make love, make curry. But please, let me assure you. I'll still be making love, and making curry. As often as I can. But Make Love, Make Curry is a mantra. Its a call to arms (as in: we should all find ourselves a loving embrace.) It is a slogan and a testament. But it's never sounded very much like a name to me.

I'm not a make love make curry. I'm a Fraserhead. Making love and making curry are things I like to do. See where I'm coming from here? The blog will still be flying under the Make Love Make Curry flag. But now it has a new, shiny address. http://fraserhead.blogspot.com

Anyways. I hope you'll forgive the slightly schizophrenic swap. It's for the best. I promise. That said, if you feel this change is deeply regrettable, let me know! After all, pleasing you is ultimately, my main priority.

**Note: I will not be updating this blog anymore. You can continue to follow the blog at http://fraserhead.blogspot.com. Thanks!

On a Saturday in October

Ok, so you know those personal ads? The ones where people write stuff like: "I love margaritas and long walks on the beach." OR "I'm a 30-something bi-curious gardner that loves to braid hair. Let's get a drink!"

I really like those personal ads. I think they're super interesting. But if I had to write one for myself, I've never been completely sure what would be on it. I mean, if you had to describe your perfect day, what would it be? Furthermore, I think I've always felt a little bit afraid of what my perfect day would look like. What if my perfect day is eating ice cream for lunch and watching an entire season of 30 Rock? Does that mean I'm lame? Does that mean I'm destined to grow old on the couch, with a belly I can no longer lift and a brain that is literally decomposing inside my head?

In any case, I don't think I have to worry about it because yesterday I discovered my perfect day.

It started just like any other, but it quickly became obvious that it was one of those days that just doesn't happen very often. It was delightful. Now, I have to admit that it was perfect because it was exactly what I felt like doing. If I'd woken up wanting to smoke cigarettes and watch people in the Marais, it would have been a little less magical. But I suppose that doesn't really matter.

I considered listing a detailed itinerary below, but to be honest, we didn't really do much. We ate the best waffles in portland and drank coffee in the morning. Drove out to Sauvie Island with the dog. Played on the beach. Took a nap. Cleaned the house. And by 2:00, we were eating popcorn and watching movies while our porch flooded from the rain. We did that for the rest of the night. With a short break for dinner. Lights out by 10. What a day.

This might mean I'm lazy, but I guess I don't really care. The point is, it was Saturday. And it's October. And I honestly can't think of anything I'd rather do more on a Saturday in October than mosey on the beach before a torrential rain storm, admiring the shades of gray. So what would your perfect Saturday in October look like?

Here's mine:

You can see more pictures here (including a really awesome shot of Charlie shaking all the water off her fur!).

Sweetness beyond compare

Charlie and Joe sit in this chair together and watch movies.  And while it all makes for a very funny arrangement--seeing as Charlie is a 50lb dog and its a small chair and Joe is a full grown man and all--the funniest part about it is that if Charlie gets uncomfortable she doesn't jump off, she just shifts positions and carries on.  Who says Border Collies can't be lap dogs!?

We've been struggling of late with Charlie's many indiscretions towards her canine companions. She's a real complicated little gal. Lucky for us she's too cute for words, otherwise--well, she'd be in the dog house (so to speak).  Last night, I dreamt that we rescued a tiny little terrier and a fluffy little maltese for her to cuddle with.  In my dream, she and those two little dogs snuggled deeply and truly. It was sweetness beyond compare.

When I woke up, Charlie was lying right next to me on the bed. A fuzzy little spoon. And she yawned and stretched and licked my cheek, and I'm absolutely convinced that she must have been dreaming of snuggles, too.

At the table

The table, to me, represents the essence of family--whether your family is a hodgepodge of friends, or a menagerie of animals, or ten screaming children. The table is at the center.

The Kitchen Table, I am sure, is the most celebrated piece of furniture in all of human history. Though The Bed might give it a run for its money. But in all seriousness, there is something special about the table.

Growing up at 1701 Browne Avenue, we ate dinner almost every night at the dining room table. Our dining room, incidentally, was something more like a fish bowl, with great big windows facing the street, allowing passersby a moment of inclusion in our family gathering. The windows were never covered and I have very fond memories of sitting there in the morning and staring out at the world, milling around in my thoughts. I love tables. I love what they represent and love the way they feel. I like making them pretty, and seeing them covered in heaping plates of delicious food. I like sitting at them and wandering through a million possible futures.

Surprisingly, despite all my gushing over the sacredness of tables, it's been 5 years since I've had a proper kitchen table. The kind that felt like family. And now, dear readers, after years of eating in my bedroom, at the couch and on my floor, I finally have a kitchen table of my own. Behold.

Albeit, it's much smaller and less dignified than the table I grew up with. But it's mine. And it beckons me to come and sit and eat and watch the world outside. Now some of you may recognize this table and say, "But Lara, I've seen that table before, you've had that thing for months!" And if you said that, you would be right. But the difference is that before it was outside. Now it's actually IN the kitchen. Which means I can eat breakfast in my pajamas at 6am and stay up late writing letters in my bathrobe.

So, here's Cheers to the kitchen table, in all its crumby wonder.

I knew it was coming

Fall is in the air. It happened on Saturday. I knew it was coming because I could smell it on Charlie's fur. That's one of the things I love most--and have missed most--about having animals. It took a couple of weeks, however, for the transformation to really take off.

I mean, to be perfectly honest, it was 80 degrees this weekend and we ate chips and guacamole for lunch, which doesn't really say Fall to me. But something has changed. Subtle and tangible. And I am so very, very happy.

I've heard that there are so many leaves in Ladd's Addition, we aren't even allowed to park our cars in the street because the sweeper trucks come everyday. I can't imagine what this place will look like, swimming in an ocean of crispy colors. I can't imagine what it will be like to look up from the sidewalk and see straight through the branches to the elusive blue above.

This weekend I felt so charmed by the world around me that I thought I'd take some pictures of the beginnings of fall and the last vestiges of summer. Inside and out.

These ares some of the things I love most about Fall, my favorite season:

Sweaters, coats and boots (yes, that counts as one thing)

The way animals smell when they come in from outside

Back to school excitement

Soup

Toasted pumpkin seeds

A cozy home

Fresh pressed apple cider

Thinking about Christmas

What do you love most about Fall?

I'll give you a hint

It's been an interesting couple of weeks. On more counts than one. But most of them work related--which means, I suppose, that it's actually been quite a boring couple of weeks.

And then of course there's Charles. But I'm not quite ready to be the author of a mommy blog...so I'll refrain...for today (though there's lots of juicy gossip to share).

The thing I want to tell you about--the really big thing--is the one bit of interesting that actually lives up to its name, and it's something else entirely.  I'll give you a hint:

Got it? Need a bigger hint?

How's that? I thought that might do it. So there you go! How, might you ask, did I suddenly become the proud owner of such a beautiful machine? Well, it starts with a glass of wine and ends with a dog.  Need I say more?  My Macbook never stood a chance in this house.  This one, I hope (*I pray fervently*) will remain out of tail range. I reasoned with myself that it was a good purchase because if I spill I glass of wine on the desk, it will only ruin the ridiculously expensive keyboard, and not the obscenely expensive computer.  I'd have to literally pour a bottle of wine on it, or step on it, or run it down with a chair--none of which are out of the question, I assure you. But I think I've lowered the odds a bit.

I've been acting like an eight year old all day. It was cute at first, but I think Joe's getting frustrated that I keep ignoring his requests to pick up my clothes.  It's like all of a sudden, nothing else matters. Except of course the dog. And Joe, I guess...but you get the picture.

I'm really not even sure if I'll be able to sleep tonight. I might just sit here and stare at it. Gazing into the future of endless possibilities. Drooling on its impeccably shiny display (but not, dear god, the keyboard).

So, this is all to say that we are now a family of four. Me, Joe, Charlie, and the computer without a name.  We've got ideas, but are open to suggestions. What do you think?

 I'm sure my life will start getting a lot more interesting all of a sudden, so I should have a lot more to write about. Hot guys at my house all the time, money pouring through the mail slot, interviews with Vogue and The New Yorker. That's how this stuff works right? Right?