Gracey’s Mansion has moved to a new, more secure location. Please email John or Jenny for instructions!

Hello family and friends,

We are doing some technical work on our blog. Please do not post any more comments as new comments entered during this transition will be lost. Once we’re done, comments will resume as usual and all existing comments will be available. Thanks!

It’s adorable that our families have adopted our madeup name “Aubergine” and started using it for our little girl-to-be. But, alas, they grow up so fast! At 33 weeks, she’s no longer an eggplant but is pineapple-sized.

At our appointment this week, the doctor said Pineapple’s size is still right on track for her age. Her heartbeat was strong, and there was more good news: The proteinuria test showed Jenny has continued to avoid developing preeclampsia so far. Moreover, Jenny’s blood pressure has responded incredibly well to the bed rest these past two weeks, falling all the way back to normal range! (For you nurses and lay experts among our readers, the diastolic dropped 8 points and the systolic plummeted by 20.)

We’re not out of the woods, and the doc isn’t taking Jenny off bed rest — as she said before, if bed rest works we should continue it. But she is pleased enough with Jenny’s progress that she’s allowing some mini-reprieves: Jenny can get up briefly once or twice a day for a short errand, a light chore, or an occasional important outing, like attending childbirth classes.

Doc wants Jenny to stay lying down most of the time, but these little “up breaks” will help keep her from getting stiff and sore and will surely help our sanity as well. We have been realizing lately how much distance Jenny’s bedrest has put between us: We’re normally very affectionate and spend a lot of time doing things together. These days, with Jenny down and John doing all of the chores, we’re often in different parts of the house and see each other less. And we don’t get to steal as many hugs and kisses as we’re used to.

Here’s to more hugs and kisses!

Plans change. Things happen. When Jenny’s doctor ordered bedrest, one of the first things we had to do was cancel our plans for hosting a family dinner with John’s cousins on Boxing Day. This is supposed to be a tradition-in-the-making, and 2007 would have been our second year, but with Jenny decommissioned we decided the sanest thing to do was to cancel.

Cancel Christmas dinner? Horrors! We still felt we should do something for the two of us — and that it needed to be something really easy.

Fortunately, our neighborhood grocery store was there to help. With barely 48 hours remaining, we called them to order a complete Christmas dinner including a prime rib roast, mashed potatoes, broccoli casserole, gravy, rolls, and a pumpkin pie. It was all cooked and ready to heat up and serve.

So it was that on Christmas Eve, John hopped in the car and drove to the QFC where, in a manger the deli, our food was ready to go. The next day he choreographed the heating project, made a jus from the roast’s drippings for later sandwich-dipping, and served it all up at the table using our wedding china, crystal, and silver. Jenny got up long enough to come dig in, and then it was back to the couch.

As with all good holiday dinners, there was a plethora of leftovers. We have been eating prime-rib sandwiches au jus all week, with a tangy schmear of horseradish sauce, and we can’t get enough of them. Of course, pumpkin pie is always welcome in our home, in the same way that the witch in the gingerbread house welcomed Hansel and Gretel: to wit, to eat.

While our Christmas dinner was driven by expediency, John is still doing actual cooking. He made a big breakfast on Christmas morning with hash browns, eggs, and sausage, and recently he’s made choucroute garnie and other delicious dinners to serve up to his glamorously disheveled bedridden wife. While we’re still adjusting to this new situation here at Gracey’s Mansion, we still really like to eat.

When Jenny was speaking and John began talking over her:

• “Sorry I overrupted you.”

A temporary position until your real temporary position comes in:

• Interimship

The delight in being frightened by, say, a creepy movie:

• Scariment

John, age 4 1/2

Jenny, age 2 1/2

Things were going so well.

The pregnancy has so far seemed blessed: We thought getting pregnant in the first place might be difficult, due to Jenny’s age, yet we succeeded in very short order. There was a greater risk of miscarriage in the first trimester, again due to maternal age, yet the fetus survived unscathed. Birth defects are much more common with advanced maternal age too, and we fretted about that, but the genetic testing we did early on confirmed a complete set of healthy chromosomes and ruled out all but the rarest of disorders.

We beamed when the doctor and nurses and genetic counselor and medical techs used words like “great” and “perfect” and “textbook” at our appointments, in reference to just about everything. In fact, until yesterday, our complaints were relatively minor. Sure, Jenny suffered the nausea of the first few months and has battled heartburn, edema, insomnia, fatigue, and an assortment of aches and discomforts since then. But, really, in the big scheme of things, these are nothing.

Then yesterday, out of the blue, everything changed. We went to see the obstetrician for our scheduled appointment, and Jenny was put on 24/7 bed rest, perhaps for the duration of her pregnancy. Just like that.

Jenny’s blood pressure, which is usually normal, has been creeping up over our last few visits to the doctor and has now reached the “high” range. Apparently, lots of women get pregnancy-induced hypertension, and it goes away within a few weeks after the birth, which is why it’s sometimes also called “transient hypertension.”

However, hypertension can also be a precursor to a more serious disorder, preeclampsia. Preeclampsia threatens the mother’s health but can be completely cured, without fail, by delivering the baby. That is, in fact, the only known cure. The problem is that while it’s easy to cure mama, if it’s too early in the pregnancy, then delivering the baby puts it at risk. We’re in kind of a gray zone: All babies born at this point (31 weeks) need intensive care but most survive and do fine, though many will have lifelong health problems or retardation. With every week that goes by without us having to induce labor, our baby’s odds get much better.

At the doctor’s yesterday, Jenny was tested in a variety of ways, to see if she had any other symptoms of preeclampsia, and the baby was given a nonstress test to confirm that she’s doing fine as well. The baby is still “perfect,” and with the exception of Jenny’s edema, which has gotten worse recently, the labwork confirms she has no preeclampsia symptoms, which is great! But since there’s no way to know whether her hypertension will become preeclampsia and it’s a little earlier than optimal to deliver the baby, our doctor isn’t taking any chances. She wants Jenny off her feet as a preemptive measure.

All of this is perfectly reasonable, and we are in fact very glad that our doctor is taking a conservative approach. But it doesn’t make the prospect of what could be nearly two months of constant bed rest any more appealing. Jenny was in bed for a few months following a car accident many years ago, and she remembers that as one of the unhappiest times of her Life. For John’s part, he is already working a lot of late nights and experiencing no small degree of stress about the impending launch of his game. Having to take care of an incapacitated loved one and shoulder most of the household chores will add to his load.

We spent much of yesterday feeling sorry for ourselves and each other.

Our heads are still reeling with the news, and because John had an after-work obligation last night we haven’t had a chance to sort through some of the implications and logistics (rethinking RSVPs to all those holiday parties, redistributing chores and errands and baby preparations, canceling hair and pregnancy-massage appointments, making work-from-home arrangements, etc.). For starters, we are going to have to cancel our beloved Boxing Day dinner with John’s cousins.

While this has been an unhappy surprise and a major change in our daily Life, there are things we feel good about. Our baby is completely healthy and fine. Jenny is in good health in all respects other than high blood pressure. Our regular doctor visits have uncovered this situation at the earliest possible point so there is plenty of time to deal with it. And tonight when John brought home a shiny new automatic blood pressure measuring device, we learned that Jenny is back below the threshold of true hypertension and is instead in borderline territory again. Of course, as the doctor said, “If your blood pressure responds to bedrest, that just means we need to continue bedrest.” We aren’t expecting a panacea at this point, and our focus is simply on keeping Jenny rested in hopes that she can bring the pregnancy to term and little eggplant can have her full forty weeks. Here’s hoping she’s a very patient and relaxed little girl!

We are just a few months shy of our second wedding anniversary. This is almost impossible to believe. Was it really that long ago? The memory is evergreen, as vibrant as last week, if not more so.

It’s taken us this long to make use of very wonderful wedding gift from our friend Jim. He presented us with a gift certificate providing dinner for two at the Herbfarm. We initially hoped to enjoy dinner there on our first anniversary but tarried too long and found they were booked. Now, with a baby on the way, our opportunities to spend a long, languid evening at one of the best restaurants in the country were running out. We made reservations for no particular occasion and headed to Woodinville.

The Herbfarm is a marvel, glowingly reviewed and bestowed with awards. The menu is fixed-price, and there is one seating a night. There are multiple courses, and the entire meal takes several hours. The menu changes regularly with the seasons, and the food is always from local sources. It is marvelous.

We chose a date during the Hunter’s Table menu theme.

This is the cover to the menu, a beautifully printed little treasure.

The title page illustration reminds John of his grandfather.

Here is the heart of the matter. Click to read the menu. No, really. We’ll be right here waiting for you.

Please note that the menu does not show a list of choices. The meal consists of everything listed, one course at a time. Wine is included with every course. At the end, the heavens part and a choir of angels sings you home. It’s that good.

If you didn’t read the menu closely, you might have missed this portentous phrase under the “Hunter’s Bag” course: 24-hour Braised Roosevelt Elk Shank, Shoulder, and Tongue. We have enjoyed many exotic dining experiences and are not hesitant about embracing novelty, and we are happy to report that while the above line gave us pause, we devoured the slices of braised elk tongue with gusto. They were incredibly tender, mildly flavored, and delicious. More tongue, please! Equally exotic yet exquisite was the sweetbread sausage.

Setting aside the menu for a moment, it’s worth setting the scene a bit. The Herbfarm looks like a beautiful, rustic cottage across the road from fields of herbs and vegetables used by the kitchen. Inside, the many-roomed restaurant is decorated with antiques and prints, and it feels very much like a well-to-do French family’s country home. Upstairs is a library of books about food, while down one wing of the ground floor is the wine cellar, which contains more than 25,000 bottles.

Of course, no restaurant is an island. And so the boatswain who brings many of the restaurant’s most unusual treats to its shores is a staff member named Jeremy Faber, who bears the remarkable title of Staff Wild Food & Mushroom Forager. We’re not sure how many restaurants employ a full-time forager, but it must be a glorious list. We learned at one point in the evening that the recent floods in our region had almost kept Mr. Faber from reaching the restaurant in time with his truffles from Oregon, but nothing could keep the forager from executing his duties, and he delivered them to the Herbfarm about thirty minutes before our meal began.

When we arrived, we and the other guests were greeted by staffers bearing hot apple cider made inhouse, and we took a look at the wine cellar. Then we were rounded up by cofounder Carrie Van Dyk, who told us the restaurant’s history and purpose. Normally she then leads guests into the fields to sample some of the herbs, but on this thoroughly awful winter night she instead passed fresh herbs around the room for us to inhale as she discussed each one and how it would be used in our dinner. We then took our seats in a large, elegant-yet-somehow-homey dining hall, which was decorated to the nines in Christmas lights and greenery, and the meal began.

We have already waxed rhapsodic about the food. Early in the meal, red velvet curtains were drawn across the kitchen, normally wholly visible from the dining room, and, one by one, each of the staff were introduced and their backgrounds summarized. Uniformly, they were graduates of culinary schools around the world and veterans of the finest restaurants in the land. The head chef and the sommelier described each course, including the localist pedigree of its ingredients, and its accompanying wine selection, and the other cofounder, Ron Zimmerman, provided the color commentary.

Jenny, being pregnant, had certain dietary restrictions to go with her longstanding allergy to hazelnuts. The staff knew all this in advance and served a series of handmade, nonalcoholic beverages as an alternative to the wines. Most of these were “herbal infusions,” something like very strong herbal teas, served chilled, and were remarkably good. The staff anticipated her every possible question about specific ingredients, reassuring her even as the plate was being set upon the table that all was as it should be. It was an amazing display of conscientious service.

When the meal was over, we bundled up in our finery and began the long drive back to the city. We are so grateful to enjoy this last wedding gift, to make this journey into the country and experience such a wondrous meal. It’s likely to be years before we return to the Herbfarm, but the intervening time will be borne lightly upon the merry reflections of a glad evening.

At the invitation of our friends Laurie and Bill, we attended a charity auction recently for their daughter’s school, which is based on Waldorf educational philosophies. We’ve been thinking more about children’s education these days, for obvious reasons, and what we’ve read about Waldorf really appeals to us. Laurie and Bill are strong supporters (though happily not in the least fanatical or evangelical) and spent a whole dinner with us a few months back patiently answering all our questions.

The auction was great fun, and we got a chance to chat briefly with other Waldorf parents. In the silent auction, there were endless tables of goodies (we’ve never seen so many), many of them handcrafted by the parents or class projects made by the kids. Waldorf emphasizes creativity and the arts, and the beautiful knitted baby sweaters, handmade dolls, metalwork trunk, stained-glass window, puppet theater, doll treehouse, and so on attest to a high level of innate talent in the school community, or cultivated discipline, or both.

We won a gorgeous handmade holiday wreath and a “new baby kit,” that included a tiny handknitted hat, a cloth-book version of the classic Are You My Mother?, and a little board book called Goodnight, Gorilla that we are both now entirely smitten with.

The live auction was entertaining as well. Jerry Toner, the experienced auctioneer, has been doing this auction for so many years that he knows many of the parents involved, poking fun at them sometimes for everyone’s amusement. Whenever the bidding got above five hundred dollars, Jerry would flip a switch and dollar signs embroidered into his tuxedo lapels would begin flashing, Las Vegas style, while he cried out, “It’s time to activate the economic indicators!” He was a blast. We enjoyed a buffet dinner while the live auction proceeded. With perfect timing, not long after the plates were cleared and the coffee served, came the dessert portion of the auction. A dozen or so spectacular desserts, homemade by parents or donated by local bakeries, were auctioned off one by one, bid on collectively by tables at the auction. Our table won a “stout cake,” which was not unlike the chocolate Guinness cake Nikchick baked for Jenny’s birthday this year. Though naturally not as good as Nik’s cake, it was delicious!

Later in the evening, people started swapping desserts between tables, giving us a chance to try several of the delectable prizes. We ended up for a while in possession of a symphonic, lighter-than-air triple mousse made by none other than Rick, one of the co-owners of Flying Lab, who is a supporter of the school. He’s well known as an expert dessert maker (FLS staff occasionally get to enjoy the bounty of his kitchen), and his desserts fetched some of the highest bids at the auction.

We went home fuller, merrier, and with an armful of goodies.

Jenny writing here.

Last week, my “step-grandma” Doris passed away. She had never quite recovered her health after falling a few months ago and had been back and forth between the hopsital and a rehabilitation home several times.

I talked to her on the phone a couple of times during that period, and although she was frustrated she seemed fully coherent and not in much pain. She was also in surprisingly good spirits, given the circumstances. It was so typical of this sweet-natured lady to try not to burden others.

In the end, she died in the most merciful way I can imagine. Dad and Dawn brought her home for Thanksgiving weekend, where she got to sleep in her own bed and spend the holidays with her daughter, son-in-law, grandson, great-grandkids, et al. The following Friday she was moved into a hospice home, where she spent the weekend and could have visitors. On Monday, Dawn came to see her, and after she left, Doris took a nap and just never woke up.

If only we could all be so lucky: alert till the end of a long Life, able to see our closest loved ones one last time, and dying peacefully in our sleep. If I could have one selfish wish it might be that.

But no one deserves a peaceful ending more than Doris. She was one of the kindest, gentlest souls I ever knew. Everybody who knew her loved her. And the world is a sweeter place for her having lived in it.

I have wonderful memories of her from a trip to Germany, where she, my dad, and Dawn were living for a while.

I am so happy that she came to our wedding and that John got to meet her.

And some of my fondest memories of her are from a Christmas break I spent a few years ago at my dad and Dawn’s home in Boston, where Doris lived for many years. While they were at work, we’d watch the snow and talk all day, playing checkers and drinking martinis. Oh, she could make a mean martini. Oh, my heart is full of her smile.

Goodnight, Doris. I’ll miss you.