We live in a 1908 Craftsman in Oakland.  It has clearly been remodeled a few times. Luckily we like most of the changes.  Our home has a more open floor plan than many.  The one feature that we miss is that many Craftsman homes of this era have built in cabinetry, which was likely removed from ours at some point.

Fireplace Before

The beautiful paneled walls, bricked fireplace and mantel and box beam ceiling of our dining room had been painted over a stark white at some point. While this choice was slightly redeemed by a lovely clay color chosen for the space above the paneling, The primer-like white was never going to feel cozy or warm.

After several years of home-ownership and with many other more dire improvement projects under my belt, I decided it was time to tackle this. I scoured the internet for suggestions specific to the paneling and fireplace, but found very little. Much of what is posted are photos of display homes of famous architects of the era.  Luckily, I was able to visit a few homes to get some ideas.

Fireplace after

I went down to Eco Home Improvement and looked at the Yolo color palettes.  The palette that I was considering was most like their Canyon palette, but it was a bit on the red side and the dark brown was a bit too dark.  I did choose Canyon 5 for the bricks, which matched our curtains perfectly and is reminiscent of, well…unfinished brick…  For the light trim pieces, I decided to go with Stone 1, which was clearly a contrast with the rich dark colors in the rest of the room, but much warmer, richer and darker than the white that we were moving away from.

The brown was not a Yolo color, but a custom color called “Raisin”.  It was the color that I was and am the least sure of.  It brings a business to the room that I am not thrilled with, but I really liked the idea of  paying tribute to the beautiful dark wood underneath the paint.

And no, I don’t expect that white trim around the door frame to last. Actually, I hope that eliminating that will be the final touch that gives the room the cohesiveness that it needs. And then on to the box beam ceiling, which I am excited about asthetically, but dreading because of the difficulty on the neck and shuolders that I imagine with painting detail on a ceiling.  How did Michael Angelo do it?

I just added Wordpress Stats to my toolbag on this blog. I needed to upgrade my site and I had been putting it off . I was running up against technical blocks that I just couldn’t bring myself to face.  Finally, I did it in one fell swoop, staying up until 2am (which for me is really late) and finishing up the next morning.

I never had the site down, but things did break along the way. Thanks goodness for google, apparently everyone else had run into the same bug and being persistent in searching for the problem finally paid off when I found someone’s posted solution. It turned out that one of the plugins was not compatible with the new version of wordpress, which screwed up the whole dashboard plugin interface.

But what turned out to be far more interesting than these technical details is the affect that adding a stat program to my blog has had on how I perceive the blog, itself.

To back up a little, I had alreadywalked into a blogging identity crisis.  My blogging has really been fueled and buoyed by these really remarkable experiences that I have had in foster parenting. I mean, here are stories worth telling and it is not hard to make them readable and interesting.  Now that I am taking a break from that life, the content and the tone and form of my writing and interest is rapidly changing.

So, how does this relate to adding the stat counter… It related because I am very surprised at where my search engine hits are coming from and this can’t help but influence me in thinking about the direction of my blog. I get multiple hits every single day for an old post that discusses a postural analysis class that I took and “rotoscoliosis”, which I suffer from (a very mild case).  Somehow, it got towards the top of google web and image hits.  Looking at the post in retrospect, if I had known how many people would see it, I would have written it differently and made to be much more useful to people.  I also see that it is also my only single post in my “massage” category (which was a surprising fact, in itself).

Probably many of my regular readers don’t even know that I am a massage therapist!  I have been using my facebook massage page to post regularly about massage and health related topics, although most of what I post is not actually my own writing, but links to useful resources that I find.

So in the end, this question of identity becomes a question of scope.  I have, after all, created all of these categories that I expected to represent the scope of my blog, which in turn represents the scope of my life. (Yes, sometimes I do consider the scope of my life to be a bit broad!) A blog is a  more personal form of writing than many other forms (although there can be exceptions), and this is something that draws me to it. As my life meanders, so will my blog.  It looks like the side of my river has filled up with sediment and the opposite bank is beginning to move.

J- and I have been differentiating “moving on” and “moving forward”. When we think about moving on, we think of recovery and coming back to ourselves.  We think of just taking emotional space to recover from a really hard period of life.  Not only are we resting and being still, but we are also taking on new projects that are unrelated to our life as foster parents that we find satisfying and exciting.

On the other hand, we are still keeping our lives open to parenting again.  None of the decisions that we are making limit our availability for this.  Moving forward for us has been the steps that we take to move toward having children again.  We expect both of these to remain a balancing act that continues until we are parents again. Right now, much more of our energy is going towards moving on, but we expect that to gradually shift toward moving forward.

J- and I spend more time together than the average couple.  We both work from home much of the time and also spend time taking our dogs out together.  We can go days without being apart for more than a few hours.  We manage to entertain each other pretty well and considering all of this time, we still have a surprising amount to say.

For a while, we were barely able to process what went wrong, although we both had some sense of the answers.  Internally, we were already defining for ourselves how to move forward, but knew it was too soon to talk about it.  What we did talk about was the loss; we noticed the moments that we missed them and we felt the emptiness and leisure of our weekends.  We had spent 8 months talking only about adoption and kids and now there was overwhelming silence.

We supported some friends in their matching process and saw how much more critically we viewed everything that the social workers said than we had 6 months ago. We spoke with a friend that was finalizing her adoption who had learned (when all of her daughter’s CPS records were turned over to her) that she had only a tiny fraction of reality disclosed to her when her daughter initially moved in.  With all of this, we were wondering if we could ever have a successful match.  It is hard to imagine not being trigger shy based on any negative information that we received.

Eventually, we started just throwing out random thoughts about moving forward amongst ourselves and our friends. This eventually began evolving into a plan.

We immediately agreed that we would not be able to take two children at once again.  If we were to have two children, it would happen one at a time.  We also ruled out leaving A- County. The driving was so awful for us, we knew that we would not be willing to do it again.  Lastly, we agreed that we would likely not go into a situation promising kids that we would be their forever family.  We realize now that this is not a guaranteed thing and we cannot support the “leap of faith” that our agency asked us to take.  If this means only being foster parents and not being fost-adopt, then that is how it will be.

Previews for this movie had me very excited about the premise. A baby is bred to be a donor for her sister, who is dying of cancer. When she becomes a teenager, she is tired of it and sues her parents to gain the rights to her own body. The book caught my eye when I was in a used bookstore looking at this author, who was on some friends’ “like” lists on Goodreads, so I grabbed it.

Cloning is actually one of my favorite topics. My experience with it is in a futuristic, science-fiction way. Never Let me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro is one of my favorite books and handles a similar topic. In the case of Never Let me Go, a whole class of clones are being raised to be a source of organs for their sponsors. The book beautifully handles the character’s (who are clones) coming of age and the evolution of their understanding of themselves. Movies that handle the topic nicely are The Island (the first half is a remarkable depiction of an imagined cloning industry, the second an entertaining action flick) and Blade Runner (I can’t believe that I haven’t seen the recommended Final Cut that has been out for several years).

So, that is all just background to say that I hoped this novel and movie would be worthy companions of these other works that I have enjoyed. The setting wasn’t so futuristic, it was actually grounded in reality in a way that made it potentially more interesting, but also may have made it harder to pull off. In the end, I had very mixed feelings about the book. Since I have not seen the movie, I will not touch on it except to say that from what I have read the plot and devices are substantially different from the novel.

I did like the book more than not. Honestly, it was partly because it was easy entertaining reading. Although it never really challenged me or even excited me much, I never considered putting the book down because it was interesting enough to keep me going and occasionally, the language struck me as incisive.

Picoult was successful in grasping the complicated emotional sides of the conflict from a place of respect and sensitivity. She created tangible and multi-dimensional characters that were articulate. Although the Mother, Sara is not always a very likable character, she is defensible and realistic.

“I know I jump at every sliver of possibility that might cure Kate, but it’s all I know how to do. And even if you don’t agree with me, even if Kate doesn’t agree with me, I want to be the one who says I told you so… I have a sister, so I know – that relationship , it’s all about fairness… But being a mother is completely different. You want your child to have more than you ever did. You want to build a fire underneath her and watch her soar. It’s bigger than words.” I touch my chest. “And it still all manages to fit very neatly inside here.”

Although the scope of morality and ethics within the issue was not as broad as I would have liked, Picoult does handle the humanitarian questions around autonomy and exploitation within the context of the story. As the father, Brian articulates, the only potentially correct answer is that there is no easy or right answer.

“Can you tell me what the right answer is here?” Brian asks, his voice raw. “Because I don’t know where to look for it. I know what’s right. I know what’s fair. But neither of those apply here. I can sit, and I can think about it, and I can tell you what should be and what ought to be. I can even tell you there’s got to be a better solution. But it’s been thirteen years, Mr. Alexander, and I still haven’t found it.”

Unfortunately, the book fell short on many counts. There were plot twists and subplots that didn’t add to book and, moreso served to distract from the overarching conflicts of the book. Similarly, the format of the book was based on switching points of view between 7 characters (see a recent review by martinesque questioning this technique), which was overboard, especially considering that some of the characters should have been relatively minor. Much of what was attempted by this could have been adequately conveyed through either a 3rd person perspective or through the astute observations of the character that I perceived to be the main character, Anna. These shortcomings limited the scope in which these ethical questions could be considered and led to the novel ultimately feeling too fluffy and contrived.

In conclusion, I liked most of what I read, but I often wished that it were in a different book. I see that I am disappointed that Picoult did not take the opportunity to tackle more of the controversies surrounding the issue of genetic engineering by bringing it out of the relatively safe and controlled family situation presented. While I appreciated the richness that she brought to some of her characters, all of her characters were compromised by the narrative strategies that she chose.

During the first few days after the girls had moved out, I felt as if I were recovering from a car accident.  I was in a sort of shock, where I knew what had happened was absolutely horrible and sad, but there was also an insane humor about it.  Like, can you believe that we actually made it through to the other side of this? Do you remember how crazy that was?!

After that, the house began to feel hauntingly empty.  We have a large 3 bedroom house.  2 of the bedrooms and one of the common rooms were being used for the girls in the end.  Jeff went into the rooms about once per week to water the plants, but other than that we didn’t really go in.  We had emptied most of the contents out to either send with the girls or put out of the way so that the girls would not miss it when they moved out.  All that remained was some large furniture.

I felt as hollow as the house.  Every day, I was barely finding ways to pass my time and I often thought “Wow, this would have been a really busy day if…” or “Oh, it would have been therapy day”.  Although I missed T-4, I did not often cry.  The times that I did was when we visited their schools, which I can’t completely understand or explain.  My work had dropped from nearly 10 sessions per week down to 2 or 3.  J- finished his semester and we spent a week going for walks and watching movies.  Then we went on vacation, as I described here.

After that, I began to just forget the empty rooms and began adding things back to my life that I had missed before. Within a few weeks,  my life looked eerily like it had before the girls moved in.  I focused on rebuilding my massage practice, I started playing old-time music weekly, I started writing again, and I began pilates.  J- and I went for walks and visited restaurants that we had missed.  We ate Thai food!  I find it amazing how much has fallen back into place.  The hardest six months of my life just passed and things around me have not changed that much.

That is the short story. The long story would involve telling you about my back going out (in a really, really painful way!) and that being the wake-up call that I couldn’t mope for any longer.  Don’t get me wrong, we are still healing.  We are constantly reflecting on what happened and how things will be different.  Although we have had ideas and thoughts about our future, not a single day goes by that we don’t appreciate the freedom and independence that we have now.

I just wanted to drop a note to encourage you to check out a new group book review blog.  It has no particular focus that I can tell, although probably most of us are serious about our reading and writing and fall somewhere between progressive and anarchists on the political spectrum.  In the long run, I hope that site will have more active reviewers and active comment discussions, as well.

You will find me under the handle gardensofresistance and I will continue posting all of my reviews to this blog, as well.  I will continue to keep a focus on adoption and child-development themed books, but I have also been loving getting back to some fiction reading and thinking critically and constructively about it.

I have also been actively using Goodreads lately.  It is a great spot to look at book ratings and reviews.  My favorite thing about it, though, are that I can see what my friends are reading and have read and how they like it.  I was turned onto one book that 10 of my friends had read and I had never even heard of it.  Users can also create “bookshelves” under different topics (parenting, bodywork, food, etc.) or categories (top 10 favorite books, best non-fiction, etc.)  Now, when I go to the used bookstore, I print my “to-read” list am armed with a list of authors and titles to look for.

The Mistress’s daughter is the riveting memoir of A.M. Homes and her relationship with her birth parents. The story begins when, at age 31, she goes home for Christmas and her mother tells her that someone is looking for her.

“After a lifetime spent in a virtual witness-protection program, I’ve been exposed. I get up knowing one thing about myself: I am the mistress’s daughter. My birth mother was young and unmarried, my father older and married, with a family of his own.  When I was born, in December of 1961, a lawyer called my adoptive parents and said, ‘Your package has arrived and it’s wrapped in pink ribbons.’”

It is her birth mother that is trying to reach her.  As she hears the day of her birth described, she plays it like a movie in her head and her birth mother, Ellen Ballman, she imagines to be like Audrey Hepburn.

“In my dreams, my birth mother is a goddess, the queen of queens, the CEO, the DFO and the COO.  Movie-star beautiful, incredibly competent, she can take care of anyone and anything.  She has made a  fabulous life for herself as ruler of the world, except for one missing link-me.”

Homes demands several letters before she has direct contact with her, and immediately a picture very different than her fantasy begins to unfold.  She gets a sense of her Ellen’s history and family, health and also finds out the name of her birth father.  She sees Ellen’s poor grammar and hears her raspy voice. She describes their phone conversations,

“They are seductive, addictive, punishing…Each time I tell her something, she takes the information and holds it too close, reinventing it and delivering it back to me in a manner that leaves me wanting to tell her less, wanting her to know nothing.”

When I first began pursing adoption, a friend described a “primal loss” that all adopted people have.  With my own foster children, I had to watch them experience this in a very confusing context each time they left a visit from their birth parents. This story alone could carry my interest in this book, since I am always interested to hear the story of adopted adults. What I appreciate about this particular story is the way that this primal loss is experienced, articulated and held.

Of course, the reality for adopted children that are reuniting with their birth parents can vary widely. And now, the types of adoptions vary widely with open adoption being much more common, where it was previously almost unheard of.  A very typical story is one that contradicts the fairy tales and the birth parent just can never show up in the ways that anyone would hope.

From this story, I got the sense that Homes experienced this loss and came to realize that it was something that could never be filled for her because she could never have a fantasy mom.  On the other hand, it also seemed that the power of the loss and the fantasy were nearly eradicated by developing a relationship with her birth parents.

The plot thickens when the author meets her birth father, Norman. It is weird, but not as scary as her relationship with her mother, which would drown her if she let it.  He plans to meet her in hotels, talks badly about her birth mother (who he still seems to have a flame for)  and says oddly inappropriate things.  He asks for a DNA test although she looks just like him.

For a while, Homes continues to develop her relationships with them, but her birth parents only manage to overwhelm her in opposite fashions.  Ellen tries to smother her with immaturity, neediness and demands.  Meanwhile Norman proves that he is still the man that he was when he left Ellen, young and pregnant with false hopes and a shattered life.  He rejects Homes and blocks her out, only interested in keeping his life status quo.

After Homes’ initial interactions with her parents, she begins a quest to learn more about her genealogy by researching her birth and adoptive family histories.  One chapter lost me when it got into the details of this and in my opinion, should have been excluded from the book.  But, it is because of her research that some crucial and shocking elements of the story unfold.

While this does not go down as one of my favorite memoirs, I am glad that I read it and would recommend it.  It manages to be disastrous and brave, tragic and caustic.

When we disrupted our adoption with the girls, we set it as a goal to support other parents and hang out with kids as much as possible.  We understand how valuable it is to give parents a break from their kids and we seek to better understand child development and “normal” child behavior at different ages.

Conveniently, we have memberships to the Oakland Zoo and the Lawrence Hall of Science until the end of the year and we want to continue using them. So far, we have made a trip to the Lawrence Hall of Science and ice cream with our neighbor, L-4 and a trip to the Oakland Zoo and lunch with our friend’s kids, T-8 and C-11. We also have plans pending with a number of other kid-friends, with and without adults.

Both were really positive experiences.  It is a real relief to have it be easy to be around kids. I do realize that they are always better behaved when not with their parents.  Still, it has restored my faith that all children should not star in the controversial “Orphan”.

There were moments where I expected the worst.  I know L-4 pretty well and had actually been to the Hall of Science with her before.  Still, out of habit, when it was time to move from one exhibit to another, I cringed…I was waiting for an argument or to have to run after L-4. By the end of the day, we simply enjoyed ourselves.  Although quirky, L-4 is super bright and expressive and pretty fun to be around.  Somehow, she managed to get ice cream on her face, her belly, her butt and every appendage.

With T-8 and C-11, I didn’t fully relax. T-8 is a really chatty kid and it was a lot of work to listen and also figure out how to keep it interesting and engaging for myself.  When we went on the skyride at the zoo I, again, expected the worst.  I was afraid T-8 was going to freak out and get scared and J- was going to be stuck with him, terrified, 100 feet above ground. Of course, nothing like this happened. They were both completely capable of understanding their own limits and we had a great time.

I could see each of the kids drinking up the individual adult attention.  Although it was a bit awkward since we were getting to know them all in a new way (we hadn’t ever spent time alone with them), there was a sweet openness and curiousity that doesn’t happen easily with other adults.  The intense one-on-one  connection made me aware of how hard it is was to be fully present with my own kids because of daily demands and the crisis that we were going through.  But, what special time it is for them!

When I looked at my own expectations for our family. I honestly thought that I didn’t really have them.  I thought that I could take what came and roll with it.  Our agency and therapist didn’t really push us to do the work to paint any picture that we did have.  In the end, I realize that I did have expectations.  I also simply didn’t expect so many things about being a parent of these girls that my lack of negative expectations may have been a more important consideration.  For example, we didn’t expect to not be able to leave one parent with two kids, we didn’t expect to have to have T-7 argue with us when we called something blue and we did not expect a child that was developmentally struggling in every single aspect of her life.

Clearly, my expectations were unrealistic and this happened for a number of reasons.  Firstly, I think it is just a rare person in my generation that doesn’t go through some kind of shock or trauma when becoming a parent.  Most of my friends have had some form of post-partum depression and it has taken them a year to adjust to becoming a mom.  They struggle with at least some anxiety, loss, loneliness, anger, failure or resentment.

And, there is a particular loss experienced by many adoptive parents. The most extreme often being around the inability to birth a child.  I actually thought I was immune to these feelings because we were so excited to have a kid. We had worked so hard towards becoming parents and we were choosing, so strongly, to adopt.

What I didn’t see coming is that the disclosure meeting was so very far from actually disclosing the reality of living with T-7.  And living with a child that had behavioral issues is what triggered all of these aforementioned feelings. I am still not quite sure what to think about that meeting.  Now, I have heard so many stories from others, who also didn’t get adequate information or got outright lies at their meetings. I think that some of the children’s behaviors are just par for the course and not really considered that seriously by the social workers. They know that the first 2 months of living with these children is going to be filled with hellish surprises and most of the time, the parents get through it.

When we were in matching and matching quickly, I became obsessed with creating the perfect kids space and bedroom.  As soon as I found out that these cool theme beds existed, I decided that I had to have one. I searched craigslist for months and had one near miss and finally found another.  It was a lot of work to pick up, a lot of work to paint and put back together. I thought many times that I was crazy for adding this huge project in the middle of all else that we had going on…we were already painting 1/3 of our house, getting furniture and generally scrambling.

But the bed had become a symbol to me.  Actually, it was the symbol of my unnamed expectations. It was a piece of fantasy for me.  When I thought of the bed, I often thought of a time when I was about T-7’s age when I got to go to Sears with my family and pick out my own bed, which was also pink had had a canopy on it.  The bed was about me wanting to give a fantasy that I had when I was a kid, but also about creating my own fantasy family. The bed was a symbol of my love and desire and the warmest most exciting greeting that I could imagine offering.

I had read about RAD and how meeting RAD kids with lots of fanfare and excitement is not recommended, but I was so sure that I was not getting a RAD kid and the bed would be a bed that any kid (that loves pink) would be psyched to move into.  And when we disrupted, I couldn’t believe that the bed had mattered to me.  Yah, the girls loved the bed, but it was something to talk about more than it actually mattered in their lives.  Now the bed was a symbol to me of all of the wasted effort that I had put into things that ultimately made no difference in T-7, in our relationship and obviously not our outcome.

I looked back at how naive I had been and I felt some shame about that. And this stupid princess bed was proof that my fantasy was simply that…a fantasy.  So, my first reaction was to sell it.  I began posting it on craigslist and told some freinds.  Now, push is coming to shove because we have a housemate moving in September 1st.

And now, I am not sure if I want to sell the bed.  I am beginning to reframe how we can try again. How we may live with a child and I am rebuilding a picture of a girl in a castle bed.

At the end of May, I put out a call to my friends asking about cheap vacation rentals. M-, who we had met through our agencies trainings hooked us up with two people that were willing to loan us their vacation houses(!). So last week, we spent up in Groveland with the dogs on retreat. Here is a play by play..

Day 1: We left town in the late morning, stopping by Peets for some Fair Trade ground coffee. At a roadside produce stand in Manteca, we bought Doradita’s potato chips from El Monte, CA, locally grown nuts, blueberries and cherries along with some other treats.

We arrived at the house, which we expected to be a tract townhome, since we looked at a map and saw that it a huge complex. When we arrived, we were pleasantly surprised. Even though the place is a gated community (and huge) there were obvious differences between the places and a huge amount of space between each one. Plus, there are many vacant lots, which adds to the effect of open space. About 20 minutes after we arrived, we noticed a baby deer about 5 feet away from the garage.

We decided to go to dinner and the grocery store that night. Dinner was at the Iron Door Saloon, the oldest bar in California. I discovered before the trip that it was actually owned by the family of a friend, who happened to be working the night that we went.

But first, we arrived around 4pm and dinner wasn’t to start until 5. We had already spent a few minutes looking around the tiny town. Not being shoppers, there wasn’t much to entice us. It was time for some geocaching! I had thought that I had seen a cache in town when I was researching, but maybe it had been archived. We headed East, toward Yosemite and started grabbing one by one, as long as they were close to Hwy 120. We visited a Hanging Tree, which apparently had killed many folks back in the gold rush days. We grabbed a couple of others when I saw that we were near one called Spelunkelite, with a terrain difficulty of 4. Well, I was wearing a dress and clogs to go out to dinner and have been having back problems, so I knew it was a sketchy proposition, but still couldn’t resist a cave. There were many warnings in the cache description about having 2 flashlights and having to crouch and being very careful. It also had a nudge in the cache description to the area that the cache was. Unfortunately, it also suggested the number of steps required to get the cache. When we arrived at the described area, we hadn’t really had to crouch, didn’t really need a light and had taken less than half of the steps that the cache page recommended. So, we thought we had to keep going in order to find it. J- started to, but decided he was not up for doing it alone. This part DID involve crouching and one light per person (when we only had one). I went instead. When I got to the recommended number of steps, I started looking to no avail, so I went about 20 steps further, found nothing and looked all the way back. I was still looking when I arrived at Jeff and found it about 10 feet from where he had been sitting. I had made the mistake of carrying my purse over my shoulder and my hat in my hand. I had dropped my hat at some point and my purse (which wasn’t in great shape before) was a little wet and covered in cave dust. My hands were VERY dirty.

So, back at the restaurant at 6 we washed up and the menu looked great. We kept it simple with fish and chips, salad and water. The fish and chips were well done with a light beer-type batter. We had been disappointed recently when going to a new shi-shi southern restaurant in Oakland with the breading, so we were relieved to like this.

The next day, we invented a new term: “Bourdain-worthy”. We have read several of Anthony Bourdain books and also enjoyed several of his TV shows. His taste are not necessarily hoity-toity, although one of the things he enjoys is when a chef devotes particular attention the his dishes that makes them perfect. We were in Sonora and stopped at the Blackthorn Grill, which focuses on local and sustainably grown food. One of the dishes that we ordered was the special: Grilled Citrus and Cilantro half game hen salad. Definitely Bourdain-worthy. This piece of meat was cooked so absolutely perfectly. The skin was crispy, salty and a little sour. It was served on a bed of arugula and we couldn’t imagine that piece of meat being seasoned, cooked or serve any better.

Later in the trip, we went to Rainbow Pools. A client had told me about this place and it is such a find. It is a day use area maintained by the National Forest Service and is mostly a place for locals, there is no sign or anything. It is a wonderful spot off the Tuolumne that has a swimming hole and cliff jumping. When we were there, a summer camp was there and it was people-watching at its finest.

On our last day, we went to visit the spectacular Yosemite Valley. We ate at The Grill in Yosemite Village. The meal was not great, but it could have been worse. The did offer a veggie burger (although I can’t recommend it) and they served sweet potato fries instead of french fries, which was a nice touch.

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