Delivering a baby quilt

We drove over to the coast on Sunday. It’s one of those things my friends and I did often when we first arrived out here and now rarely bumps it’s way up the weekend to-do list any more; delivering a baby quilt (pictured below) is what got us going this time.

My brother and his wife have two girls, Ava is 15 months old and Nina is 3 weeks old. Mrs. Ombud has finished Nina’s quilt (Nina arriving a tad earlier than predicted caught the quilter off guard) and we agreed to meet at a restaurant not too far up the coast from their place in Santa Cruz.

It was the weekend, when our pack runs together, so first I took the dogs out, which means walking them both but also getting some wind sprints in for Edie girl. Ernie runs too, but his left hind knee still bothers him, so their days of playing tag and chasing each other are over. After letting Edie get her tongue-dangling ya-ya’s out, we walked to a corner store to get a Sundaypaper, and even then Ernie lagged a bit. He’s gone from exuberant youth to middle-aged guy in under half a year’s time. (If I could just get him interested in baseball, we could kick back in the living room, crack open a couple beers and holler at the Giants’ game together — if he drank beer, watched TV, or could talk. As it is, we’re settling for hanging out together in the living room.)

It’s surprising what a production a weekend drive can become — and it isn’t like we’re doing it with two babies, either. Once we get across the San Mateo bridge and past the peninsula towns, there is a stretch of woods crossing the ridge where the smells must get real interesting. Both dogs stick their noses out the windows, snort at the wind, then can’t resist doing it again. Whining to get out and at some varmint they scent. I had hopes of taking them out along a beach, but every state park we checked out had prominent “no dogs” signs. I eventually asked, and was told there was a place farther up the coast that will allow dogs on the beach.

I’m all for bureaucracy and regulation, until they get in my way. (Marianne, if you’re reading this, that was for you. *smile.*)

Our brunch was very nice. We got to Duarte’s before it got real crowded, and had a table by the swinging door to the bar. The swinging door was among the fascinations for 15-month-old Ava. (We can check that out in 20 years, dearheart. Legally, anyway, in 20 years.) The new parents are holding up all right, although an extra three hours sleep at night is high on their wish list.

I don’t understand it, myself, as little Nina was a perfect angel. She only fussed a few times, and after brunch as I held her crooked in my right arm she slept the deep, untroubled sleep of the new born; eyes shut tight in oblivion. It’s hard to imagine such a sweet child giving anyone trouble.

Here are my nieces on the baby quilts my wife made for them:

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