The ROC outsider

In our next installment, our fearless adventurers, Ice Cream Girl and her sidekick Exhausto Boy, relentlessly pursue great ice cream in Rochester.

First they make not one, but two, stops at Abbott's to fully indulge in the ice cream menu. What sacrifice in the name of yummy, frozen treats.

After making a split-second decision and pulling in the exit lane at the Abbott's on Mt. Hope Ave. (not listed on their Web site or the phone number would be here), Ice Cream Girl enjoyed a new item on the menu -- coffee custard -- while Super Nanny (her mom) sampled a more traditional fare -- chocolate custard with almonds. Both were enjoyed overlooking the Conservatory at Highland Park while hoping that Exhausto Boy would sleep in the back of the car.

"Mmmmmm....coffee ice cream is the best and this is really yummy!" the refreshed and re-perkied heroine exclaimed. "Let me try yours and compare!"

Abbott's was again the ice cream of choice (or the only one available) during a trip to Charlotte Beach (865-7400). After a belly-filling lunch at Cheeburger Cheeburger in the nearly deserted ferry terminal and a long walk up and down the pier and along the boardwalk, Supper Nanny again feasted on chocolate custard with almonds.

"I know a good thing when I taste it," she explained. "Why not stick with it?"

Ice Cream Girl, ever up for an gastro-experiement, opted for a delight whose name she cannot currently recall -- two chocolate wafers filled with vanilla ice cream, dipped in dark chocolate and rolled in nuts. A nutty dip, or something like it. "Mmmmmmm," she was heard to sigh.

Several days later, the trio strode back to Corky's Craving Parlour (461-4159), traversing the 3 steep steps in several small steps as Super Nanny lent some muscle into lifting the stroller.

After something of an impatient wait -- and a sampling of Creme Brulee ice cream which did not meet with much enthusiasm -- a "small" serving of Bananas Foster was brought forth, split into two cups with cones on top (for ease in keeping ice cream safe while carrying stroller back down steps).

It received 2 out of 3 enthusiastic thumbs up as many tastebuds were pleased, delighted and left quite satisfied. While cold banana ice cream may have brought him displeasure, Exhausto Boy quite enjoyed nibbling on some cone.

Here's something I never thought I'd say: My neighborhood association rocks.

They have to be one of the most spirited, organized and dedicated groups of people I've encountered. If I wasn't already committed-up-to-my-ears in other things, I'd sign up too.

Tonight was Swillburg's National Night Out celebration in our little Otto Henderberg Park. It was totally packed with more neighbors and kids than I knew the streets of Swillburg held. Actually, I hear they're not all from the neighborhood, that word has gotten out and kids and their folks flock from miles around.

It's good stuff -- bouncy castle things to jump on, a plateful of food, clowns making balloon animals, a fire truck, policemen on horses, and street signs for silent auction (no need to sneak around in the middle of the night to get one). Here's a pic from my camera phone. I'm not sure if the blurriness is from the phone or if some sticky fingers got on the lens.

I suppose the whole National Night Out Against Crime concept is so that you get to know your neighbors. Which in turn helps prevent crime by making the neighborhood a better place to live. Or something like that. But it always occurs to me as I walk down the street to the park that it seems like the perfect night to rob the neighborhood -- since we're all hanging out in the park.

Thank God for my iPod.

I bought it as a reward for sticking to Weight Watcher for 2 months and losing 16 pounds this spring, thinking I would use it on my walks. But it seems rude to listen to music that D-man can't hear -- although talking to my mom on my cell phone is apparently fine -- and I need better headphones as the ear buds suck while making me deaf without being able to hear the music well.

Instead, I use it in the car with one of those cassette-tape adapter thingies. Just plug it in and go. Yes, our awesome previously-enjoyed Mom mobile that we bought on e-bay doesn't have a working CD player. It has an add-on multidisk unit hiding beneath the passenger seat, but we can't figure out how to make it work. (Please don't break into my car now.)

On days when I'm driving the other car that has a CD player (but none of my CDs in it), or I forgot to charge my iPod, I'm forced to listen to Rochester radio (or the sound of traffic) and it's a sad thing. Why is radio generally just so bad? By bad I mean - repetetive, lame, uninspired. And it's not unique to Rochester, so don't think I'm ragging on the city I profess to love.

I listen to a variety of music. Our FM radio presets are: WXXI 91.5 (for Duncan, classical calms down a fuss in an instant), WARM 101.3, WBER, WITR, WBEE (Country music is my secret guily pleasure, just like romance novels are for some people), and 100.5 The Drive. One of the cars has WCMF programmed, but that's for Kevin to listen to Wease in the morning.

My most recent disappointment in radio is Mix 100.5's switch to 100.5 The Drive. The press release they sent about the new format (which I got from a former radio guy friend, but which I can't find online anywhere to link to) says that they'll feature "an extensive music playlist from modern artists such as U2, Dave Matthews Band, Barenaked Ladies, Sheryl Crow, REM, and Matchbox Twenty, among others."

I've heard U2 on there, and REM and DMB and every other male acoustic-modern-guitar-rock-type band, but in the month since they launched I've literally heard one female artist -- and that was Melissa Etheridge. And they are all songs I've heard before, over and over again. Maybe that's the state of radio in general these days, but it's so sad.

I guess I just need to buy an iPod car charger. Maybe if I stop listening to radio altogether for a few months, when I turn it back on something "new" will catch my ear.

The last time I went to Seneca Park Zoo was for my bachelorette party. After prancing around with a veil and crown of flowers on my head, dancing to whatever band was playing at the Zoo Brew, we were off to Johnny's Irish Pub for some table dancing and a dare that led me to borrow John Aker's guitar and perform a song on the tiny stage.

How life has changed.

Yesterday, my zoo trip was a birthday bash for Duncan and 3 other Summer 2005 babies in my informal Mom's group. We were the stroller brigade, amidst a sea of summer camp field trips.

First we went to watch the sea lion feeding. Well, my friends watched it while I power walked around the zoo, trying to get Duncan to nap. (We're having trouble with this thing called teething. It involves lots of whining, fussing, Tylenol and missed naps.) The nap was a no-go, at least until after lunch. The sea lion underwater area -- which was in a very welcome airconditioned room -- was a hit. I could have stayed in there all day. I suppose that would have defeated the purpose of going to a zoo with lots of animals.

And there are a lot of animals. I was impressed. Tigers, monkeys (of various kinds whose species I don't remember well enough to list), a rhino hiding in the corner, elephants taking dirt showers, sea lions, polar bears (and kids shaking bottles of Coke at them -- because we all know that Polar Bears drink Coke), a butterfly garden, hyenas, and dozens of other critters.

The birthday boy slept through a lot of it, but it was a fun trip for each of the 3 generations (my mom came with us, too). It was exhausting, all that walking around in the heat. Did I mention the air-conditioned room in the Rocky Coasts exhibit? Why didn't I stay in there all day?

And after eating a generous slice of birthday cake with whipped cream frosting and raspberry filling, I didn't even have room for any ice cream.

The Search for the Perfect Scoop update:

We walked to Corky's Craving Parlor on the corner of Monroe and Culver last week sometime (585-461-4159 ). I looked in the windows. Duncan slept. The three front steps defeated me (I realized I could get up them with the stroller, but not back down with the stroller and my ice cream). We turned around and walked home. That's said, I know, but I'll try again some other time when I have either help or an awake baby.

Over the weekend, I went to Eastview Mall in search of trendy clothes and desparately in need of a way to get the baby to nap. After an hour walk around (and around, and around) the mall, he finally fell asleep and I zoned in on Maggie Moos (585-425-2150) and a well-deserved ice cream treat.

I realize there may be something wrong with my willingness to shell out $5.75 for an ice cream sundae, but not for a glass of organic, freshly pressed juice.

The sundae, however, restored me in ways that perhaps juice could not.

It was caramel ice cream with pieces of crushed Heath bar candy folded in by hand by some dude in high school who was obviously a new hire. Then covered in hot chocolate fudge and squirted with whipped cream.

I sat down and devoured it, spoon by spoon. I got a small, I should have gone for the kiddie size as I couldn't eat it all before it melted -- or before Duncan woke up and we had to resume walking. But I did score a pair of $78 pants from J. Crew for $19.99.

Summer is festival season in Rochester. Is every northern town the same? The winters are bleak and bleary, so every glorious ray of summer is celebrated for all its worth?

There's at least one festival every weekend, often there are several competing for attention. Just this past weekend in the general region was the Monroe County Fair, Yates County Fair, East End Fest, Festa Italiana, Hill Cumorah Pageant, Oatka Festival, and an arts festivals in Conesus and Canandaigua. That's a lot of fests.

Did I go to any of these fine festivals? Nope. I seem to have developed an aversion to crowds of people and limited parking.

I also didn't make it out to see my old bandmate Roger play in his new band, The Nomads at Boulder Coffe Co. on Alexander Street on Saturday. I had the best of intentions. And then I went to bed.

I used to go out to the Corn Hill Festival, East End fests, Park Ave Festival... I even brought my mum to an East End Festival once when she came up for a visit. We left after I couldn't take having my body rubbed up against 30,000 strangers anymore. It was so incredibly packed that I had a momentary vision of the stampede that would result in the event of mass panic.

Did I mention I'm not into crowds?

But, if you are - or you have friends that make being in a crowd feel like a fun activity - check out one of these events coming up this weekend:

Genesee County Agricultural Fair - July 18-22
Hemlock Little World's Fair - July 18-22
Chil-E Fest - July 21-22
10 Ugly Men Festival - July 22 (somewhere I have pics of me and my friend Karen duking it out in swimsuits on the inflatible battle thing at 10 Ugly Men)

And if that's not enough for you, here's a list of more events throughout the summer and the City of Rochester's 2006 lineup of events.

I'm a woman of many phases. Everything interests me vastly. For a while.

My mom has the sweetest way of putting it. She says that I become deeply interested in and excited about something and get really involved in it, needing the right equipment so I can pursue and enjoy it properly. Then I do that for a while. Then lose complete and total interest. At least it sounds sweet when she says it.

The thing I loved about journalism (I wrote for a newspaper in North Carolina) is that I'd meet all these interesting people, find out everything about what they did, see it in action, researched it, wrote about it and then moved onto something else. And got paid for it.

Apparently in real life, when I become interested in something -- like juicing -- and I get the equipment to do it myself (especially when it's a Christmas present from my mom), I should not only enjoy that activity constantly for the first few months, I should continue it every day even when I don't have time or ingredients (like in the winter when I'm too chicken to face the bitter cold at the Public Market).

So my juicer sits in the cupboard after being briefly, yet thoroughly, enjoyed. I do want to get back into juicing. I do. I love fresh juice - it's full of vitamins and vitality. It also takes 20 minutes to make. Time I don't exactly have just laying around unused right now.

I've been wishing for somewhere to get fresh juice -- and I'm talking apple-carrot-beet straight from the extractor juice, not freshly squeeze orange juice. Somewhere that I actually go. Somewhere it's affordable. (Not the Breathe Yoga and Juice Bar in Schoen Place, for instance. $5 for a small juice?!)

I found it! Java Joe's at the Public Market. (Yes, we all know how much I love the Public Market already.) $3 for a yummy, chilled, healthy juice.

Who knew juice would make me so happy. Maybe it'll inspire me to get out the old juice again, after all.

One of the nicer things about living in one place for some time is that the routine of life becomes easy. You know where to go to shop, to eat, or to get your teeth cleaned.

When I moved to Rochester, it was the third state I lived in that year - the others being North Carolina and Florida. I'm not sure that my health insurance even still covered me through those moves, but I kept it anyway, even though I had no doctor.

When I started my former job at RIT, I asked around and took a poll of my coworkers on everything from doctors and dentists to OB/GYNS and chiropractors. That's always a great conversation starter at the coffee machine: "So, who does your PAP smear?"

Other than my chiropractor who I found in the yellow pages one weekend while in severe back pain, the rest of my healthcare providers are from referrals. It's a much better way of finding doctors than just picking blind -- although I do love my chiro at Irondequoit Chiropractic (467-7070), so I lucked out there.

Fortunately, I was referred to a great dentist. I love my dentist. I trust her enough that I let her do a filling without using novocaine while I was pregnant, knowing that if there was any whiff of pain she'd immediately stop and shoot me up, but feeling confident there'd be no need. There wasn't. I didn't feel a thing.

Today was a dentist visit day, one of those routine teeth cleaning where I watch The Price is Right and Christy scrapes plaque off my nice English teeth. And then Dr. Cocola (who unfortunately wasn't there today) comes in and tells me everything looks good and encourages me to floss more rather than haranguing me and uttering dire predictions if I fail to take heed. I've got a good set of knashers, apparently. (I know, you're very very proud.)

Life's routines can get on my nerves sometimes, making me want to run off to some new adventure. I'll have been in Rochester 5 years this fall, which is the longest I've been anywhere since I left England. But it's comforting to have familiarity and to know that, in 6 months when I go back for my next cleaning, I'll still be here, living my life -- even if the only thing different is driving in the monsoon rain.

Ice cream is an important part of the summer diet. It's right up there with food cooked on the barbecue.

Finding good ice cream within walking distance of my house is becoming one of my summer projects. (Finishing the attic is another, but finding ice cream just seems so much less overwhelming.) So yesterday evening, my adventuresome friend (a.k.a. my almost-1-year-old son, Duncan) and I took off for a walk in search of a yummy cone in the general Southwedge area.

First we stopped by a mailbox to return a couple of Netflix DVDs. Tibet: The Cry of the Snow Lion had been sitting on top of the TV for a good month now and Kevin and I made it thorugh Must Love Dogs on Saturday night. Barely. That is to say, Kevin fell asleep before the end in his typical fashion and I was pinned to the couch so was forced to watch it all the way through. That, and I have a compulsion to watch the end of movies, even when I know what's going to happen.

Next we stopped by a friend's house who's moving to pick up almost a dozen champagne bottles they found in their basement. (Kevin will use them to bottle some homebrew.) Those fit in the stroller basket nicely.

My plan was to walk to Patrik's Culinary Kreations (271-0830) on Benton and Goodman. I was already on Benton, so we headed down that way -- and made it as far as Two Paisan's Pizza (271-3340) on Benton and S. Clinton. It was the end of an 86-degree day. We stopped.

I hauled my 26-lb Dining Companion and his accompanying stroller full of champagne bottles up the two steps into the shop and we set about choosing what flavor to get. I confess, if they don't have coffee-flavored ice cream, I'm a vanilla ice cream girl. Good vanilla ice cream is delicious. So while the guy behind the counter graciously and patiently put up with my deliberations, I "talked to Duncan," asking him what he fancied today. I finally decided to be adventurous and try raspberry.

Turns out that it's raspberry sorbet, not ice cream. It was still good and it was a decent amount for my $2.04 in a nice crunchy cone. My Dining Companion made a face that appeared to mean This Is The Most Disgusting Thing I've Ever Tasted when I offered him a lick, but then seemed quite happy to suck fingertipfuls of it from my finger. I guess it grew on him.

I'm a little disappointed I didn't get actual ice cream, but sorbet does have less calories and it was yummy and sweet. So the search continues. I'm told there's a place on Monroe near Culver that'll serve up a portion larger than I need.

It should be easy for plants. Sex, that is. There's no dating, no slathering on makeup and going out to bars, no bad pick up lines or fear of rejection. Put out a couple of flowers and let the birds and the bees do the rest, right?

Not for my zucchinis, apparently.

I keep an insect friendly garden (well, except for those pill bugs, but they were eating my strawberries). We plant bee-friendly flowers. But every year my squash plants go unpollinated, the female ovary fruit shriveling up like an impotent man, the male blossoms falling off unspent. It's very sad.

So I have to get out there every morning and do a little artificial pollinating, wiping male pollen off the bright yellow stamens and smushing it onto the girl flower's bits. And the zucchinis grow large and succulent.

This problem isn't unique to me. Apparently the decimation of the country's honey bees due to mites has caused an increase in the need to help plants have sex. You'd think the flowers would have figured it out a bit better by now, but maybe they enjoy the help.

Part of being a member of the blogosphere is getting to know your fellow bloggers. Otherwise it's like going to a party and talking to yourself. I might talk to myself in Wegmans, but when there are other people to strike up a conversation with, I'm amenable to a good chat.

Since this is a Rochester-focused blog, it's only right to get to know the other Rochester bloggers out there. And since I don't have editing power to change the template to add a blogroll (although maybe if I asked nicely? :), I figure I'll just randomly talk about other people's blogs and why I like them.

The insider did a piece on Rochester bloggers a few weeks ago, interviewing 5 local bloggers. But they didn't include the first person I think of when I think "Rochester blogger" -- ljcfyi.

I've been reading Little Jenny C's blog (no, I don't actually know her name) on and off for a few years. I'm always impressed by the amount she posts (every single day), the photos she posts (I'd like to do more of that), all the amazing home improvement and craft projects she manages to get up to (I'd like her to come over to my house), and the number of people that comment on her blog.

While she's not from Rochester - her bio says she's originally from south central Pennsylvania - her love of Wegmans alone makes her Rochester all the way. (Is it only people who didn't grow up with Wegmans that truly appreciate it? Do native Rochesterians realize what they've got?) Add that to her comments about interesting sights and finds around town and you've got a great, quirky local resource.

It's a blog worth reading, and commenting on. That said, I'm too chicken to actually e-mail LJC and tell her of my admiration. Or to even comment on her blog very much. But you should. :) (And say hi to me on this blog while you're at it.)

This year is the first time I'm celebrating the Fourth of July as an American citizen.

Not only am I (or was I) a Rochester outsider, I was an alien to this country -- even had a card that said so (Silandara Bartlett: Resident Alien). But after becomming outnumbered in my own house, with a husband and a son who are both American citizens, I decided to join in on the fun and it all became final in April. After some fingerprinting, an FBI background check and an interview in Buffalo. Apparently the government approves of me.

I feel like I should be singing the national anthem all day long or something, but I'm finding that more people wished me a happy mother's day than they are wishing me a happy independence day or July 4th or whatever you call it, exactly. As a new American, am I being more "American" than the natives?

To celebrate, I've just been celebrating as much as I can. Back in my single days I got to know a lot of people in Rochester by pretty much accepting every invitation to anywhere that anyone offered. Sure, I was stuck talking to some accountants at parties serving only vegan food, but most of my adventures were good ones. So this holiday weekend, I've gone to visit whoever will have me, driving all over the place to Naples, Conseus Lake and Lima.

You know how people who live outside of Rochester get weird about driving somewhere downtown? I'm a bit like that about going somewhere else in the Finger Lakes. All those numbered county roads are confusing for a slighty-dyslexic person. It's easy to get Rte 12 and 21 mixed up. I tend to stay within the city and its suburbs (usually on the east side, too).

But the lure of grilled meats and good company is strong. So I've driven up one lake and down another, mingled with old friends, visited some family, and eaten plenty of barbecued cow. A little bit of adventure and a lot of grilled beef -- how's that for American?

The long-sought-after, deeply desired, perfect clematis vine is finally in my garden. I made it to the public market yesterday before they closed (a feat unto itself), found the clematis plant guy and got the vine. Kevin went last weekend, but he didn't have the particular one I've been looking for. He said he'd bring it this weekend, so I kinda had to get my butt down there. What variety was so important that I just had to have it? Here's a photo. Unfortunately, I can't tell you what its name is as Kevin likes to immediately dispose of any plant tags and I can't remember (or find it online). It's Bright Star or something like that. Perhaps we can just call it Edna.

Kev and I make a great gardening team. I have the pleasure of buying the plants, choosing colors and varieties, wandering up and down lanes of options. I bring them home and Kevin plants them, mulches the beds, waters and weeds. I do enjoy getting my hands dirty in the vegetable garden and growing things we can eat, but he pretty much has dominion over the rest. Given the limited amount of space we have to work with, we've got a lot of variety -- a perennial bed down the driveway, a little fern grotto by the side of the porch, a neglected rose bush (neither of us know how to deal with roses), some rock wall raised beds in the front full of lavender, calendula, a butterfly bush, a clematis vine (finally), sweet william and a bunch of annuals. Our back garden is really shady -- except for the veggie garden as I claimed the prime growing real estate immediately -- so it's home to lots of coleus and other shade-loving plants. And a summer-time turtle tank.

I'm bummed that Harris Gardens on Jefferson Road is closed. They were our main supplier of all things garden. Now I drive a little further and go to Gro-Moore Farms (359-3310) down 15A. They're good, and they have a cooler full of yummy ice cream sandwiches, but there's something about Harris I miss. They did help out this week with an infestation of heebie-jeebie causing that are overrunning my strawberries and enjoying a Gold Rush squash plant (I get to leave the plant tags in the veggie garden, it's my domain). I couldn't even unwrap the jar containing the sample they creeped me out so much. Turns out they're just pill bugs (or sow bugs) -- which are apparently not that bad unless in large numbers, which we have -- and the lady that identified them for me obviously thought I was a sissy idiot, but I couldn't help myself. In any case, they're now dying an organically-derived death and I can go back to picking strawberries in a day or two.