Rah Does Not Live By Words Alone

Usually when Ruby Hazelnut goes out of town, I tell all my friends to pretend I am also out of town—or that I have been abducted by aliens. I have, in fact, never been abducted by aliens and have no interest in being abducted by aliens (though for the record, if I was abducted by aliens I would totally ask them what's up with this whole dark matter nonsense, because I'm pretty sure physicists are just making that up because they are totally stumped). The point is: When one is abducted by aliens, one is unavailable for coffee or lunch or general socializing. And that is how I like everyone to behave when Ruby Hazelnut is out of town, so I can write all day long, every day.

Last week, I did break tradition for one day, to go on a 30-mile bike ride with the Poet-Accountant. I did this for two reasons:

1. It is generally considered a good idea to hang out with one's spouse occasionally. More so on one's 18th anniversary. This is how one has another anniversary.
2. Rah loves to ride. Especially long distances. It airs out the brain. And Cranky Rah's brain definitely needs to be aired out. Frequently.

We rode on the C&O Canal Towpath, which is my favorite place to ride, ever. It goes up past the falls of the Potomac River, which is one of the Beautiful Places of the world.

See, here's proof I occasionally leave my cave:

That thing I'm looking at is a river. Crazy, right? (Actually, I seem kind of unimpressed in the picture, but that's just me getting into a good brood.) You think of the Potomac River as that wide placid water making its lazy way past George Washington's digs, but before it gets there, it is this wild foaming thing.

You don't have to bike to enjoy this amazing place; you can just park at Great Falls and walk over. But you should totally bike it if you're ever in the area. The towpath was made for mules to tow barges up the canal, it's really flat and a super easy ride. 

Our next ride? Probably a two-day on the almost-finally-finished Capital Trail, which will run from Richmond to Williamsburg. 

Words Rah Loves: In-laws

Cranky Rah is not a fan of articles or essays that begin with sentences like Webster New World College Dictionary defines cliché as...  Likewise, she doesn't think it's hugely creative to begin a blog post by sharing the outcome of a Google search—and yet here we are:

I just Googled the word in-laws, and in addition to the usual Wikipedia hits, here are some of the things that came up:

• Dr. Phil's advice on managing in-laws
• I HATE MY IN-LAWS!!!: In-laws stories
• Ten Basic Rules for Dealing with In-Laws
• Curse of the mummyji (from the Economist, about in-laws in India)
• The weird science of in-laws (from the Boston Globe)

Ouch.

It doesn't get much better when you go to the Online Etymology Dictionary (one of my favorite places online because I am such a word geek). It says the earliest record of brother-in-law is from the thirteenth century, but that by 1894 it had been shortened to in law, meaning "anyone of a relationship not natural." And it shares this quote from Blackwood's Magazine in 1894:

The ultimate in-law.

The position of the 'in-laws' (a happy phrase which is attributed...to her Majesty, than whom no one can be better acquainted with the article) is often not very apt to promote happiness.

Double ancient ouch.

It's not that I don't get it. I do. I know people (and, no, I will not be naming names) who have in-laws who, shall we say, are not natural. And maybe this is like proclaiming you like Brussels sprouts (guilty) or Barry Manilow (double guilty). But I love my in-laws.

I'll be honest: I can be prickly. (This is the nice word for it. Remember, this is a family blog.) And unconventional. My poor in-laws have had to put up with a lot from me. Homeschooling. A disdain for Disney World (I know, I know) and all things commercial. There are a lot of things we don't see eye-to-eye on, philosophically and otherwise. And I'm pretty much impossible to shop for.

But they ask questions, and they talk to the Poet-Accountant and me openly about our parenting and lifestyle decisions, and though I'm sure there have been times they've been doubtful—maybe even worried—they have never been anything but supportive. And I like to think they think that Ruby Hazelnut's turned out all right—so far at least.

So even if that was all I had to say about my in-laws, that would be enough. I adore them, I appreciate their openness and love more than I can say, and I am eternally grateful to them for their son, who is the most awesome husband and father ever. Period.

But, unbelievably, that's not all.

Twice a year, my glorious, fabulous in-laws whisk Ruby Hazelnut away to Grandparent Camp in Atlanta. For one week in the spring and two weeks in the summer, they go to the American Girl Doll store and the Georgia Aquarium; they visit cousins and take trips to the library; they visit Indian mounds and see plays. It's a grandchild's dream, and I know because I had grandparents like that.

And what does Cranky Rah do, you might ask? She writes. She tells all her friends to pretend like she is dead (or, less violently, out of town), and she writes. All day long. Every day. Every day.

It's a writing retreat I don't have to pay for or leave home for. And though I love and adore Ruby Hazelnut and want her, at some point, to come home, these are awesome, awesome days. They make me a little more human. A little.

Cranky Rah's spring retreat starts Monday. Thank you, Rosa and Eddie.

Where Rah will be in her head next week:
following Wren and Ink up into a sycamore tree and their story.