New Places

Iain loves Aunt Miriam's house. There are stairs to climb (check out that diaper butt), rugs to examine, a dangerous kitty to antagonize, and a Roomba to activate and then hide from.

Miriam's house is a wonderland of gardening pleasures, too. Check out the tiny, tiny, tiny pinecones on this tree:


And, inside, this sweet African Violet has been blooming for weeks.

Iain's not the only one having adventures, of course. Just yesterday, Miriam, Charles, Will and I played "Where's Fiona's Handbag?"

Miriam and I left the house around 8:30 to walk down to the DMV in Georgetown. Miriam wants to start her married life ASAP (!!) by getting her name-change documents in order. So we walked to the DMV, where she learned that she must visit the Social Security people first. Fine. Two croissants and an OJ later (we needed a snack), we started walking back. Uphill.

Halfway up (this is a 45 minute walk, one way. So we're talking about 45 minutes uphill, which is bupkus for Jen Yu, who climbs mountains before breakfast, but fairly strenuous for me, especially with the sun shining and the mercury rising to 90F), I said to Miriam "Where's my handbag?"

Uh, oh. Not on stroller. Not in stroller. Not on arm, not anywhere. My cell phone was in my pocket, but everything else was...gone.

Miriam hustled Iain back up the hill to the house, while I flew down the hill to the mall, hoping to see my sad little purse laying on the pavement somewhere. In my heart, though, I thought it had been stolen, and that at that very moment it was warming the cockles of some thieving (but fashionable) little jerk. I was also trying to remember the contents of my bag, with mixed success. Was my Ann Taylor card in there? Do I still have an Ann Taylor card?

The croissant lady hadn't seen it. The concierge hadn't seen it. NO one had seen it. I called the house so Miriam and Will could come rescue me from further sunburn and sweat.

As we pulled into their street, though, the phone rang. It was Charles. He'd had a call from John B., of Lexington, who is in Connecticut. Someone found my bag, and she called John because his cell is in my wallet (carpool emergency info). John called Charles, etc. etc.

We turned right 'round and drove back down to Georgetown Electrolysis, where the lovely lady handed over my perfectly intact handbag (she found it in the street where I apparently DROPPED IT) and I handed her the bottle of wine Will grabbed from the house. I was so relieved. We hugged it out.

Back at the house, two minutes before noon, I clutched my bag (no more going to Georgetown for you!) and - naturally - asked about lunch. Some things never change.