Yesterday afternoon I got an email from my brother alerting me to an impromptu concert at the local university that evening. Peter Yarrow, of Peter, Paul, and Mary fame, was on the board of an organization that happened to be meeting at the university and would be giving a free concert that evening.

I grew up listening to Peter, Paul, and Mary records. I’ve Got a Hammer, The Great Mandala, Light One Candle, Blowin’ in the Wind, Lemon Tree, Day Is Done, and of course, Puff The Magic Dragon—these were the songs of my childhood. Plus, one of our records, Peter, Paul, and Mary In Concert, had PaulTalk. Our old-fashioned version of books-on-tape, I listened to that record over and over. 

And then last night, an elfin Peter, his shiny bald head ringed with white, walked up to the mic and started singing This Little Light of Mine. For the next hour (or was it two?) he sang new songs and old, interspersed with winding stories about his work, bringing together Democrats and Republicans. It’s a fabricated divide, he said, and so he travels around the country, getting people from opposite sides to talk, and sing, together. When we sing, he said, our masks come down and our emotions rise to the surface, and that is what keeps him going.

When it was time for Puff, The Magic Dragon, Peter invited anyone, but especially children, who wanted to sing with him to come to the front. And my younger son went.

Partway through the song, Peter had us sing the chorus on repeat while he took turns holding the mic in front of different people. The mic thrust in front of his face, my boy sang his little heart out.

And that’s how it came to be that my son had his very first solo with Peter, of Peter, Paul, and Mary, imagine that.

Afterwards, Peter signed my son’s cast—Peter Yarrow, Peace and Love (I guess we’ll have to ask the cast-removal technician to cut out that little square, for posterity’s sake)—and kissed and hugged all of us in turn.

‘Twas a puff of magic, that evening.

PS. As you can tell from all the photo credits, I left my camera at home that evening, GAH. Thankfully, a bunch of friends came to our rescue, sending me even more photos than I could use here.

This same time, years previous: language study, a dare, when I sat down, naps and mowers, old-fashioned vanilla ice cream.

Every now and then I get emails asking me to review stuff. Usually I ignore them, but sometimes, if I get a follow-up email, I respond with a polite (curt?) no thanks. A creative outlet is my only blog agenda. I have no desire to muddy the waters with commercial clutter.* Besides, who needs more stuff anyway? (Once a company sent me a collection of coconut oil body products—lotions and lip balm and such—basically just coconut oil with extracts added. I never even bothered to open the jars.)

But once in a while, the vendor’s query is a little more personal, like the one I got a number of weeks ago from an Amish basket company.

My response was candid. “You may send me baskets, if you wish, but I very rarely promote anything on my blog.”

The rep wrote back right away. “I’d love to do that! What is the best mailing address to send the baskets to?”

So I gave her my address, and then added, “And just to be clear: I make no promises about sharing on the blog…”

A few weeks later, a large box arrived. My expectations were low. Baskets are a dime a dozen, and my husband doesn’t approve of my basket-collecting propensities. Probably, this one would go straight to the thrift store.

I opened the box, peered in, and froze: A pie basket? I’ve always wanted a pie basket!

Pie transport is such a headache. I’ve seen the plastic carriers, but … plastic, meh. I usually end up sticking the pie in a too-big basket and then tucking towels around it to prevent it from slipping. How did these people know exactly what I wanted??

Cackling with glee, I yanked the basket from the box and examined it from all angles. A solid bottom! Thickly-woven sides! A wooden lid! Removeable (washable!) cloth lining! Leather handles! And inside, the best part: a pie stand on legs!

One pie goes in the bottom of the basket, then the wooden stand, and then another pie.

This was a two-pie carrier.  I was completely over the moon.

Later, I jumped on the website to look at their selection. The baskets are nice, and clearly well-made, but none of them struck my fancy…except for that pie basket (they even have a triple-decker pie basket!). Either someone knew enough about me to think the pie basket would be a good fit, or they just got lucky (because look at me writing about a product!).

Speaking of getting lucky, I know I sure did.

*I am an Amazon affiliate, so I get a little money (about 20-30 dollars each month, on average) if/when I link to their products.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (6.16.14), street food, a glimpse, sourdough waffles, freezing strawberries, quirky.

When the children’s choir decided they’d be going to Peru for their trip this summer, my older son was bummed they’d only be staying two weeks. And then I said, “You know, you could just stay longer yourself, if you want.”

His mouth dropped. “Are you serious? You’d let me do that?”

“Sure,” I said. “If you’re going to spend all that money, you might as well make it count for something.”

Plans were made, money earned, a return ticket—five weeks after the rest of the choir returns home—purchased, and, as of this morning, our son is in Peru! He’ll spend the first couple weeks in Cusco with the choir (Machu Picchu is on the agenda, lucky kids), but after that, his plans are sketchy. There will be a couple weeks deep in the jungle building a farm (or something) with a North American family who has been living there for years. After that he’ll head to Lake Titicaca, then Nazca where he hopes to snow(sand)board on the dunes, and then back to Cusco where he’ll probably do a homestay with a local family.

Of course, all of this is subject to change, dependent on mood, weather, opportunity, connections, and finances.

“Just check in with us before you set out for a new location and then again when you arrive,” I told him. Peru is huge and the bus rides long—a general sense of his whereabouts would be nice.

Some people think we’re crazy for letting our 17-year-old loose in a foreign land all on his own, and it does feel a little bit like casting your child into the wilderness to see if he can survive. Like one of those go-kill-a-bear-and-prove-you’re-a-man tests. But I’m not really worried about him. (Okay, so I am a little worried….) Mostly, though, I’m just (outrageously) excited to hear his stories.

For a few days there, I was filled to the brim with sadness. It felt like if I made any sudden movement, the tears would slosh out of my eyes. For nearly two decades we’ve been building a family and now begins the leaving.

 NOT TO BE DRAMATIC OR ANYTHING.

I wouldn’t want this any differently, of course. Children are meant to leave. I want them to leave.
But why is it that, just at the moment they turn into interesting, useful, witty, enjoyable people, they just up and go? I haven’t even fully recovered from the exhaustion of the early years, and bam, it’s over. How cruel.

Oh, and guess what. All those cliches—you blink and it’s over, time flies—are true. How annoying is that? (They are also complete bull because those were some excruciatingly slow years, but still…)

At the send off, I got to talking with one of the other parents. “I just hope he doesn’t do anything stupid,” I said, swiping at my eyes under my sunglasses.

“He has a good head on his shoulders,” the dad said. “He’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know. He can be pretty stupid sometimes.”

“Aren’t we all?” He laughed, and then added. “I bet if he does something stupid, he’ll make the appropriate adjustments pretty quick.”

Here’s to hoping!

Our son Skyped us from the airport last night. “The wi-fi here is super fast so I had to use it,” he explained.

My husband and I sat side-by-side, hungry for news and stories (of which there were disappointingly few—just a bunch of goofy, up-close faces and blurry shots of kids milling around).

Then this morning, an email: “Hey! Just arrived in Lima. Got to sit in the very last seat that didn’t lean back. It was great.”

And he’s off!

This same time, years previous: spinach dip, the business of belonging, Greek cucumber and tomato salad, sheet shortcake, saucy cilantro, brown butter noodles with ham.