We have a wonderful wool rug in our living room. We bought it in May about three hours before our renters signed a year contract on our home in McKinney, and I somehow believe that it was because of the rug. Being inviting and cozy, it softened our concrete floors and probably made an otherwise cold and cloudy Spring day a little warmer.

There were 3 designs we were deciding among when Damon sold me on the one now own. He told me that it looked like a kelp forest, and with those two words I was sold. He literally had me at “kelp forest.” And every time I catch myself staring at the rug, I get warm fuzzies thinking about happy creatures like sea lions sea otters and encrusting bryozoans. And sometimes ice cream and bubble gum. Because they’re made with carageenan. Which is made of kelp. You know.

Anyway, this rug is very special to me and I decided it’s time to make a napping quilt in it honor, for the cooler month or two ahead. I’ve been on the fence about joining the Modern Quilt-Along but I figured I could do a me-version of the Redwork pattern in turquoise and dark olive. Maybe take a little creative license and use variegated and hand-painted solids with hand-painted floss? Maybe a little trapunto?

We explored another nursery in town today: The Natural Gardener. It blew me away, I think it is an attraction on many levels. The prices are fair, they have a tremendous variety, endorse organic gardening, have an abundant and helpful staff, numerous display gardens and a few barn animals. I could and will take the kids there on a weekday and kill an hour easily. And maybe a coupla twenties. Easily.

For the kids garden I selected:
Lamb’s Ear
Texas Rock Rose
Pineapple Sage
Texas Fall Aster
Purple Oxalis
some feathery-purple-flowered perennial that attracts throngs of Viceroy butterflies that I can’t remember the name of and I’m too tired to go outside and look on the plant tag to find out what it’s called
Round-leaf eucalyptus
and Damon’s pick:
Squid Agave.
(They were out of Pony Foot and I dutifully denied myself the Smoke Plant, but I’ll be back for both soon enough)

We had terrible cupcake cravings today and I didn’t fight the urge to bake two dozen vanilla cupcakes with vanilla buttercream frosting. Magnolia Bakery recipe. The frosting became a pale pink and Damon insisted I forego the sprinkles (which I will never forgive him for; he believes that sprinkles ruin cupcakes but I will fight this argument to the grave–who WOULDN’T?!). The icing called for one entire bag of confectioner’s sugar. That’s right. Ultimately, they tasted like Krispy Kreme donuts with the same pleasurable guilt. One can only eat perhaps, well, one. So I boxed them up immediately and marked them “BARBEQUE” for tomorrow’s potluck at Damon’s colleague’s home. Why bother taking a photograph when you can imagine what they look like, without the sprinkles.

My brother John told me that, if I were shopping for succulents (which I am), that I should drive over to Big Red Sun in East Austin, because they have the best selection in town (which they do). Above is a wall hanging in an assortment of unique pieces termed “retro botanicals,” variations on (what is probably their signature) Midcentury Modern bonzai-kitsch.

While it wasn’t wise to bring the children (the place reminds me of someone’s home–someone single–the way totems and art mingle in sterile grace with the contrived botanicals) it was wise to bring the camera. What I couldn’t spend five seconds examining was more easily photographed so that I might instead watch the heathens, who were climbing all over everything.

With all the company we’ve had the past week or so, it has been easy for me to forget what it’s like being around Ford, when he is not competing for attention between one or more babies. His enthusiasm, when he is engaged, is really unbridled. Unbridled engagement. That sounds weird.

Today we rediscovered the Austin Nature Center. In May I took the boys there, but we didn’t make it past the first tier of exploration; today, we stepped throught the back door and into the rest of the museum. It’s such a gem! They have a collection of native animals in the form of a miniature zoo, so the kids can see a coyote or a ringtail or coati or raccoon walk feet in front of them. No annoying cotton candy vendors along the way. It’s small, shaded, and in the middle of town. There were several trails adjacent to the animal enclosures that we earmarked for later. Today’s focus was the outdoor dinosaur dig.

Ford asked a ton of questions about the Pleisosaur fossil model. “What bone is this, mommy?”
“It’s a phalange, but look how many there are on his pointer finger!”
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine,”
I ask “How many are on your pointer finger?” I help him identify them:
“One, two, three..”
“Three! That’s not quite as many as the Pleisosaur, huh?”

“Mommy, what’s this bone?” Points at some kind of wrist bone.
“That looks like a wrist bone, maybe a metacarpal?”
“Where is my metacarpal?”
I take his hand and poke around towards his wrist, nearly in the same area. “Right in here are several metacarpals. But in your hand, the wrist bones that you feel are actually part of your arm bones!”
“What are your arm bones called?”
“The radius (I point to the bony prominence on the distal radial head) and the ulna (yada yada).”
He lays his hand down upon the “fossil” remains.

Chas kept crawling in and out of the Pleisosaur mouth. He does that a lot. I mean, he’s not particular to Pleisosaur fossils, but if there is a cozy nook then he must rearrange the contents so that he can wedge his round bottom into it. He will systematically throw Hot Wheels out of the toybox until none remain in the small box, then squirrel around inside the box like a restless dog until he’s comfortable. And then he’ll sigh, sometimes clap. And then claps some more. And grunt, smiling. It’s very cute.

As we drove back tonight from Freeport (Texas), through a cloud of small insects that stretched sixty miles in the moonlight and caked my windshield, I realized that this may be the last time I ever willingly drive down past Chlorine Boulevard and the oil refineries on my way to this particular section of the Texas coastline. But we had to do it today, because Chas has never seen the saltwater and I was anxious to beachcomb and show Ford a few ctenophores and nudibranchs among the mile-high piles of sargassum. And I was sure that the longshore current would have brought, along with hurricane Emily, plenty of flotsam to collect at the neck of the jetty.

When we opened our doors on arrival, a warm effluvia (my God how pretentious of me) of rotting seaweed and crustaceans rolled through the car. Nickel-sized mosquitoes swarmed and fire ants began to gnaw on Ford’s feet as he stepped down onto the pavement. The sand, if you can call it sand, was a fine, sooty brown, not quite anything like sand but more like the fine sediment atop the ground after a flood. Particles of rock left to churn and churn and churn until there is hardly a surface to grind any further, sand grains the size of atoms remain. It is an irritating, virtually impossible sand to rinse off the body, and it carries with it the unmistakable stench of Freeport if you forget to clean you car out afterwards (just so you know, honey, I did). And the piles of sargassum, the miles and miles of mile-high piles of sargassum, were unprecedented. Even the flies gave up on the bacchus; I think they must have all lost their minds because I didn’t see a single fly on the beach. There were only the rounded remains of shell bits, and virtually no sea life besides the rotting seaweed and a few entangled shrimp.

Of course, it is difficult to comb the beach for wildlife when your baby is busy crawling into the Gulf like Kate Chopin’s Edna (in the final chapter of The Awakening). He was in love and wonder, on a blind mission like a sea turtle hatchling, flapping his huge broad hands onto the slick sand and beeline-ing it to the Eastern Australian Current or EAC as Crush calls it because that’s what sea turtles do, according the Disney/Pixar, and there was NO STOPPING HIM until the waves began to roll over his head and, unlike the baby sea turtles, he stood up, squinting and licking, unsure what to do next.

And just like those cute little sea turtles you see on Nova, I got Chas’ first sea legs on film, too. I can post it when we return to Austin this weekend.