Rob turned 30 on Sunday, while we were spending a 3-day weekend out of state visiting his sister who had delivered her second daughter one week earlier. Rob's parents were there, too, and it was nice to celebrate Rob's birthday, and that of his newest niece, with his whole family.

We arrived home late on Monday to find our deck decked out in black balloons and a Happy Birthday banner. Courtesy of JLD & HFD. Inside the door, they'd left a basket of items he will most certainly need in his newfound old age: Centrum Silver, Ensure, a book of large print word searches, dried prunes, FiberOne, baby aspirin. (There's more, but I feel bad rattling these off, knowing the list surely matches the contents of Nilbo's nightstand.) It was brilliant. When the occasion calls for rubbing salt in the wound, they are totally the friends who will come through. (Love you guys!)

So now he's 30 and I'm hoping the depressing John Mayer singalongs will stop. At least until it's my turn to turn 30...which, as I'm only 28, is SO FAR AWAY. Just saying.

A few weeks ago I was teasing Rob about a bump on the back of his head, asking him what he thought a phrenologist would say about him. And he responded, without hesitation and in all seriousness, "Probably that I'm smart and easy to get along with." I laughed out loud, and said something about the phrenologist also surely noting a lack of humility.

But the thing is, it's an accurate self-assessment. And now for the serious/sappy part of this birthday tribute. Spending time with a newborn makes me consider how amazingly far a person comes in 30 years. Even when we're just 1 week old, our parents have big dreams and high hopes for us. And I just want to say to you, Rob, that you make people proud. Your family, your friends, your co-workers - people are proud to know you. You are a way better person than I am, frankly. You're one of those people whose talents and character stand out to others. This is why I fell in love with you. Because, indeed, you are smart and easy to get along with. Because you're honorable and hilarious. Because you're the person I most respect. You make me better, and make my life so much better. Happy birthday, darling.

Larry David: Waiting for Nov. 4th

There's a preschool next to where I work, and as I was walking out to the parking lot one day last week, I could hear the squeak of a swingset and the happy yelling laughter of children. It immediately took me back to my days of elementary school. It also made me think about how saturated the world is in sound and how I don't even notice most of the time.

So as I'm trying to tune out politics right now, I'm also making an effort to notice noise. Some sounds I'm finding particularly satisfying:

• the crunch of leaves, especially in the woods where there's a thick layer
• rain pattering on our metal roof
• D-Fiddy's shutter opening and closing
• a deck of cards being fanned and shuffled
• the crackling of a fire
• the solid click of a metal deadbolt
• the crunching-paper sound my computer makes when I empty the trash
• purring

It's been difficult for me to write here lately because everything I might say seems so inconsequential, given the state of things. While all is well in my personal life, I am increasingly heavy-hearted as I watch the world fall apart around me.

There is plenty I could say about the presidential campaign, but I won't opine publicly. I am near nausea from all the political commentary spewing from columnists and commentators and bloggers, not to mention the crap coming from the campaigns themselves, and I refuse to contribute to the jibber-jabber.

Is it possible to take it all too seriously? I bounce between wondering if we are already so fucked that this election actually doesn't matter a whit, to believing that all that is good and right in the world hangs in the balance of this decision. I guess some might say the truth lies somewhere in between, but I fear that's just denial talking.

Now that the final debate is over, I am officially tuning out. Nothing helpful is going to be thrown about in the next couple weeks anyway, and I'm confident in the choice I've made. I crave silence now. This fray is fraying my nerves.

We're taking a 3-day escape. No television, no internet, no radio. We are driving in the mountains and hiking to waterfalls and admiring the vibrant colors of autumn. And in those changing leaves is a reminder that time ticks on. For better or worse. The leaves will soon wither and plummet, and the landscape will look dreary and devoid of hope. But there's still life in the trees, still potential that lies deep within. And with the right conditions, bright hopeful buds may eventually emerge again. Time will tell.

K: Oh my god, you're playing the John Mayer song about getting old again.
R: Yup.
K: Dude, seriously.
R: What? He understands what it's like.
K: He's, like, 26.
R: Actually, he's 31. So he's been there. He gets it.
K: Um, okay. But you do realize he's fucked Jennifer Aniston, and so he's already accomplished everything a man might want out of life.
R: [sighs]

been reading: Forever by Pete Hamill

I guess I would categorize this novel as historical fiction, which is not a genre I've ever been interested in. But I thoroughly enjoyed this book, perhaps because it is much more than historical fiction. It is a swashbuckling tale, an epic adventure, a love story. Oddly enough, those sorts of storylines don't usually interest me either. But ah, at the heart of this novel lies something I can't resist: New York City.

Cormac, the main character, has been gifted with immortality provided he does not leave the boundaries of Manhattan. This premise is clearly an excuse for Pete Hamill to relate the history of Manhattan, his favorite subject, in a way that is approachable and engaging. He does this with a tale that is both rousing and reverent, and one that perhaps no one but Pete Hamill could pull off.

Through Cormac's eyes, we see Manhattan grow from a forest-covered island to a world metropolis. He fights in the Revolutionary War, and then 200 years later watches the Twin Towers fall. Everywhere he walks, he remembers things as they were before, and as they were before that. He knows the history behind every building, every neighborhood, every community. He has outlived lifetimes of friends and lovers; his only constant companion is the city itself.

Before reading this novel, I had not viewed places as living entities, and yet in many ways they are. Everywhere we go, there are histories we don't know, stories we can't see piled high all around us. Sure, accounts get written down (however accurately or inaccurately), but people forget to pass them down, which is something else entirely. And so with each generation, more of the past gets buried until it is forgotten completely by the collective consciousness. The stone steps of the courthouse or the trees in the park become our only witnesses to the past, and they aren't talking. A place has more permanence than the people passing through it, and in that sense it is alive.

Also, this novel reminded me of the importance of perspective. Throughout the history of New York, Cormac witnesses (and sometimes suffers from) many a scandal and scourge, crises that at the time seem impossible to recover from. And yet, society always manages to sustain itself, and eventually even to succeed. With all that is happening right now - national and global events I don't want or need to enumerate - it is encouraging to realize that throughout a history, and even just a lifetime, terrifying times become mere memories. Sometimes we overcome challenges and sometimes we are overcome by them and forced to adapt. But always there is a steady march forward - of time, yes, but also of progress.

This novel requires a suspension of disbelief similar to The Time Traveler's Wife. What's interesting to me about novels like this is the great reward that comes from not being restrained by reality. As a reader, I tend to prefer fictional situations that seem real and thus relatable; and yet, in both novels, the authors are able to explore things they couldn't if they played by the rules of reality. And that means I'm exposed to thoughts and ideas I wouldn't be otherwise, in real life or realistic fiction.

In many ways Forever is a study of what it means to truly live. Cormac is directed to spend his immortality living, not just living. He discovers that, for him, truly living means continually learning and coming to know and fully understand a subject. He becomes absorbed in painting, then delves into the intricacies of playing piano. He reads every book by an author so that he can become part of the writer's world. He believes that intimately knowing another person is also a way of truly living. And, he says, "Knowing a place [is] another." Observing and memorizing Manhattan is Cormac's greatest joy and, perhaps, Pete Hamill's as well. I can't help but wonder if Cormac's eternal life is wish fulfillment for Hamill, if he would wander Manhattan forever if he could. But then, Hamill's immortality will come not from living forever in Manhattan, but from forever bringing Manhattan to life for others.

This weekend was one big bliss bit. No one thing we did was exceptional, but put all together it made for a great, relaxing weekend.

Saturday

Breakfast buffet. Aw, how I love a good breakfast buffet. Biscuits and gravy! Eggs made to order! Belgian waffles! BACON. And we had a coupon, which somehow makes it taste that much better.

Post-host tidying. We had some folks over Thursday night for a debate-watching party, and it was Saturday until we could complete the clean-up. There's something satisfying about putting the house back together after hosting. Washing dishes, storing away extra glasses, carrying spare chairs upstairs. When we removed the extra leaf from the table, we found the now-smaller (but really just regular-sized) table to be the most hilarious thing we'd ever seen. Surely it wasn't always this small! There's so much space in this room you could dance a jig! Did we really adjust to the bigger table in just a day? No, our table was never THIS small. This is like a mini table. Just look how ridiculously small it is!!

Errands. Not too many to bog down the day, just enough to make us feel productive and justify totally loafing around the rest of the day.

Reading. For hours. I nestled into the sofa, with Bridget on my lap, and read until I finished the book. To me, there's little else so luxurious.

Bluegrass concert. Break out a fiddle and a mandolin, and I'm in heaven. This surprises even me. I didn't grow up on this music, but for some reason it stirs something in my heart. And this was a benefit concert, which makes it sound that much better.

Sunday

Hike. Took a 6-mile morning hike to a great overlook. The leaves are just starting to change and the temperature is perfect for a walk in the woods. On the rocks at the top, I napped in a sunny spot while Rob took photos of the view.

Football. Now that I'm into football, watching it on TV is actually fun. Although I'll admit it's not the game itself I enjoy as much as the excuse to spend several hours on the sofa with beer and snacks.

Orgasm. I couldn't think of a cocktail that begins with an O for my tagline, so I did some research and came across the Orgasm. Which then, of course, I just had to make. I brought it to Rob in the living room and said, "Would you like an Orgasm?" He looked up from his computer with an expression that quickly turned to disappointment when he saw the drink in my hand. Not as glorious as its namesake, but it's a damn good drink, now among my favorites. And I can't wait until the next time we have people over, so I can ask someone if they've ever had an Orgasm. And, if not, if they'd like me to give them one.