This is the story of how I ended up viewing the total eclipse of the moon in the middle of the night.
Did you see the eclipse? There was a total eclipse of the moon between 2:52 am and 4:20 am. We first heard about it while listening to the radio in the car while running our errands during the day. OC liked the idea of the moon being blood red instead of white so after I explained to her what an eclipse was, she decided she wanted to see it. I laughed, gave her a quick idea of when 3 am actually occurs, and told her we'd watch it on the tee vee.
Then, in the middle of the night I woke up after I heard something that sounded a lot like my bedroom door being closed. I got up and went up to her room and sure enough, OC was awake. She told me how she had been about to wake me up, but remembered that we told her she'd get into trouble for doing that if she wasn't sick (long story) so thought better of it and went back to bed.
As long as we were both awake, I thought, we might as well step outside and see the eclipse. So, we did. It was freezing outside, and kind of freaky to see the moon that color. It wasn't quite blood red but a dark, spooky shade of orange.
Our night sky viewing lasted all of two minutes.
This morning I asked OC what an eclipse was, and she described perfectly what happened last night to the moon, that it passed into the earth's shadow. She learned something at 3 am, and I'm glad because she'll remember standing outside in the cold and the dark, seeing at the moon that weird orange color.
All I learned was that I really don't like being up at 3 am.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Mommy's Day Off
OH has been busy lately. Every night this week he's worked late at the office because the other principal owner/office manager was let go earlier this month. Now, OH is the only principal engineer in that office and he has four people to train and keep busy. The guy that was let go (aka Sir Talksalot, Captain Doesnowork, I Blame the Employees For My Slack and Crap Work) because he was a big waste of a paycheck. Not only did he while away the hours when he should have been working by reading the paper and gabbing, he lied to clients, blamed employees for his own bad work, and did not know anything about anything about development in this area. It's a great load off my husband's shoulders in the annoyance department, but added a huge workload in return.
OH also decided to be a football official this fall. Officiating doesn't require as large a time commitment as coaching did, and he likes being active in high school football, figuring it is a good way to meet people and have contacts so that one day he can be part of a coaching team again.
All of this means he often comes home at 8 pm. Now, I know this is not as bad has having a husband who is a pilot or deployed in the military and therefore gone overnight or even months at a time, but nevertheless I have done a fair amount of parenting on my own lately.
When I hinted that Sunday might be a good day to do lots of things with OC, he said "yeah," then when it sunk in he said, "Oh! Like be gone from the house doing things, just the two of us so you can get a break, right?" Yes. Exactly.
They hiked to the top of Black Butte this morning, came home with lunch from the local hamburger place, then off they went again to the library and the store to round out what we needed for groceries in order to make dinner.
In that time, I: ground coffee beans and made coffee; ate breakfast; did laundry; scooped the cat box; showered; generally picked things up and put things away; read and finished Heartburn by Nora Ephron; wrote a letter to a friend; decorated a ponytail holder with beads; cleaned out the catch-all drawer where we keep our keys and, apparently, every receipt we've ever gotten.
Heartburn was a title recommended in the last book I read, So Many Books, So Little Time by Sara Nelson. I'd heard of Nora Ephron, whose most recent title is something about hating her neck, but who I'd known as the writer of the screenplay for "When Harry Met Sally", among others, which was my favorite movie for years and years and still ranks in the top five, if I bothered to figure out my top five favorite movies. She's funny, and her book was a great read.
It's a fictional story about a woman whose second husband cheats on her and she finds out during her seventh month of pregnancy with their second son. This situation has the potential to be overwhelmingly sad and pitiful, but it's not. I don't know how she did it, but Nora Ephron managed to find humor and irony and write the story with plenty of both. It's sad, yes; but it's also very funny and full of witty observances about love and relationships, the failings of people as well as the things we keep going back to relationships for. I think it is a highly enjoyable take on relationships and love in general, even those where the partners aren't cheating.
From page 65:
' "It's not as simple as that, Vera (her therapist)," I said. "You want everything to be simple. You think I'm just standing there, and this army of men is walking by, shouting, 'Choose me, choose me,' and I always pick the turkey. Life's not like that. I can't even find a man who lives in the same city I do." '
From page 70:
"You picked the one person on earth you shouldn't be involved with. There's nothing brilliant about that - that's life....Robert Browning's shrink probably said it to him. "So, Robert, it's very interesting, no? Of all the women in London, you pick this hopeless invalid who has a crush on her father." Let's face it: everyone is the one person on earth you shouldn't get involved with.
And what is all this about picking, anyway? Who's picking?.....
You fall in love with someone, and part of what you love about him are the differences between you; and then you get married and the differences start to drive you crazy. You fall in love with someone and you say to yourself, oh, well, I never really cared about politics, bridge, French, and tennis; and then you get married and it starts to drive you crazy that you're married to someone who doesn't even know who's running for President. This is the moment when any therapist will tell you that your problem is fear of intimacy; that you're connecting with your mother, or holding on to your father. But it seems to me that what's happening is far more basic; it seems to me that it's just impossible to live with someone else.
And finally, from page 121:
"That's the catch about betrayal, of course: that it feels good, that there's something immensely pleasurable about moving from a complicated relationship which involves minor atrocities on both sides to a nice, neat, simple one where one person has done something so horrible and unforgivable that the other person is immediately absolved of all the low-grade sins of sloth, envy, gluttony, and I forget the other three."
I have another book that was recommended in So Many Books... that I'll start tonight called Slammerkin. The title is taken from Old English, a noun of unknown origin which means both a loose gown and a loose woman. Obviously.
OH also decided to be a football official this fall. Officiating doesn't require as large a time commitment as coaching did, and he likes being active in high school football, figuring it is a good way to meet people and have contacts so that one day he can be part of a coaching team again.
All of this means he often comes home at 8 pm. Now, I know this is not as bad has having a husband who is a pilot or deployed in the military and therefore gone overnight or even months at a time, but nevertheless I have done a fair amount of parenting on my own lately.
When I hinted that Sunday might be a good day to do lots of things with OC, he said "yeah," then when it sunk in he said, "Oh! Like be gone from the house doing things, just the two of us so you can get a break, right?" Yes. Exactly.
They hiked to the top of Black Butte this morning, came home with lunch from the local hamburger place, then off they went again to the library and the store to round out what we needed for groceries in order to make dinner.
In that time, I: ground coffee beans and made coffee; ate breakfast; did laundry; scooped the cat box; showered; generally picked things up and put things away; read and finished Heartburn by Nora Ephron; wrote a letter to a friend; decorated a ponytail holder with beads; cleaned out the catch-all drawer where we keep our keys and, apparently, every receipt we've ever gotten.
Heartburn was a title recommended in the last book I read, So Many Books, So Little Time by Sara Nelson. I'd heard of Nora Ephron, whose most recent title is something about hating her neck, but who I'd known as the writer of the screenplay for "When Harry Met Sally", among others, which was my favorite movie for years and years and still ranks in the top five, if I bothered to figure out my top five favorite movies. She's funny, and her book was a great read.
It's a fictional story about a woman whose second husband cheats on her and she finds out during her seventh month of pregnancy with their second son. This situation has the potential to be overwhelmingly sad and pitiful, but it's not. I don't know how she did it, but Nora Ephron managed to find humor and irony and write the story with plenty of both. It's sad, yes; but it's also very funny and full of witty observances about love and relationships, the failings of people as well as the things we keep going back to relationships for. I think it is a highly enjoyable take on relationships and love in general, even those where the partners aren't cheating.
From page 65:
' "It's not as simple as that, Vera (her therapist)," I said. "You want everything to be simple. You think I'm just standing there, and this army of men is walking by, shouting, 'Choose me, choose me,' and I always pick the turkey. Life's not like that. I can't even find a man who lives in the same city I do." '
From page 70:
"You picked the one person on earth you shouldn't be involved with. There's nothing brilliant about that - that's life....Robert Browning's shrink probably said it to him. "So, Robert, it's very interesting, no? Of all the women in London, you pick this hopeless invalid who has a crush on her father." Let's face it: everyone is the one person on earth you shouldn't get involved with.
And what is all this about picking, anyway? Who's picking?.....
You fall in love with someone, and part of what you love about him are the differences between you; and then you get married and the differences start to drive you crazy. You fall in love with someone and you say to yourself, oh, well, I never really cared about politics, bridge, French, and tennis; and then you get married and it starts to drive you crazy that you're married to someone who doesn't even know who's running for President. This is the moment when any therapist will tell you that your problem is fear of intimacy; that you're connecting with your mother, or holding on to your father. But it seems to me that what's happening is far more basic; it seems to me that it's just impossible to live with someone else.
And finally, from page 121:
"That's the catch about betrayal, of course: that it feels good, that there's something immensely pleasurable about moving from a complicated relationship which involves minor atrocities on both sides to a nice, neat, simple one where one person has done something so horrible and unforgivable that the other person is immediately absolved of all the low-grade sins of sloth, envy, gluttony, and I forget the other three."
I have another book that was recommended in So Many Books... that I'll start tonight called Slammerkin. The title is taken from Old English, a noun of unknown origin which means both a loose gown and a loose woman. Obviously.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Friends
My friend has a new blog, Lost Melons. Once she quits her job (next Thursday) she will have all the time in the world to post. HA!
We've been friends for 20 years, ever since she showed up at our school wearing an Esprit sweatshirt and Guess? jeans. Well, we weren't friends right away because first all us girls had to hate her for her designer clothes, but after we got over it we became friends. She's a member of the Girl's Weekend group.
She's turning 33 tomorrow. Happy Birthday, Running BB!
We've been friends for 20 years, ever since she showed up at our school wearing an Esprit sweatshirt and Guess? jeans. Well, we weren't friends right away because first all us girls had to hate her for her designer clothes, but after we got over it we became friends. She's a member of the Girl's Weekend group.
She's turning 33 tomorrow. Happy Birthday, Running BB!
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Shiny New Mommy
The bathroom is sparkling and smelling like the fresh scents of lavender and lemon.* I wish it were that easy to make the job of parenting have a sparkly, fresh-smelling outcome every day.
This summer has been busy, requiring the packing of gear and the going to places, and there've also been plenty of days spent at home. These last two weeks of August on the calendar, for instance, are blessedly, heartwarmingly completely blank.
I remember last summer, my first summer as a stay at home mommy. What a shock! Talk about jumping into the pool only to realize the water's cold and full of algae that you didn't notice before and what's more, your swimsuit just went up your crack and -whoops! - you forgot that last week your arms were amputated so there's no way to pull the suit out or really even to swim to the side of the pool and climb out. The thought of your fate enters your mind suddenly and you realize: I am going to die now and this is how it will happen. Huh.
A friend - who has four children - and I were recently talking and she questioned me about what it must be like to have one child. I believe her words were, "it must be fairly low-key, right?" I said that yes, it was, relatively, but that it was still kinda hard. Raising a child is never easy, no matter how many (or few) you have. I have to admit that I felt foolish saying this to a woman who has four separate clothing sizes to keep track of (not counting her own or her husband's), as well as four different grade levels of homework, four sports practices and games, and then dinner for six every night. I felt silly, boob-like, is what I'm saying. I felt like a big loser crybaby because I was like "Waaa, one kid is hard!" when clearly I have it pretty darn easy most of the time.
But, one kid is what I'm used to. My friend's children came one at a time, and so she adjusted to each one by one. Me thinking of one kid and then suddenly thinking of having four children....well, that's not relatable. Unless one has triplets, it happens one at a time so there can be an adjustment period, also known as the "time to get one's meds upped". Ha ha.
But....here's the thing: we are trying to make a baby. And all of this sort of freaks me out because, how am I going to handle two kids? I remember those toddler years, and I worked. How am I going to stay home and deal with a toddler? How??? HOW????
One thing at a time. We may not be able to have a child. Who knows?
What time is it? 6:43 am. I've been awake since 1:55 am because that is when my daughter decided to join us in bed because, for all we can tell, she doesn't like sleeping alone. No nightmares, just doesn't want to be alone. I don't know why the forty kazillion dolls and stuffed animals don't count, but they don't. This doesn't work for me. I can barely sleep with my husband (actual sleeping, I'm not trying to subtlely hint at sexual dysfunction.) If it were up to me? I'd sleep in a grand bedroom in a bed all by myself. Not because I don't love my family, I do. It's just, I need space, and I need QUIET, that's all.
The lesson is given to me over and over again: when I don't have a schedule, life at home with a child falls apart much like a cupcake in the rain: slowly, crumb-by-crumb, irretrievably gone forever.
I noted that this all happened two weeks ago. Since then I posted a chore list on the fridge, and the nighttime schedule next to that. We discussed bedtime and how bedtime is bedtime and not whine-time, cry-time, or stay-with-me-longer-time. I talked about consequences (the worst one to OC being scooping the litterbox) and implement them, and I told her all that I appreciate and I have rewarded her several times since then.
Amazingly....it has worked! Bedtime is now bedtime. There have been no tears. We all sigh with relief. OC is happy, too, by the way.
Thank goodness soon it will be fall. School will take up most of the day and I will schedule the hell out of the rest of it, just to be safe.
* This was two weeks ago. Before the wisdom teeth surgery. This week my bathroom is growing things.
This summer has been busy, requiring the packing of gear and the going to places, and there've also been plenty of days spent at home. These last two weeks of August on the calendar, for instance, are blessedly, heartwarmingly completely blank.
I remember last summer, my first summer as a stay at home mommy. What a shock! Talk about jumping into the pool only to realize the water's cold and full of algae that you didn't notice before and what's more, your swimsuit just went up your crack and -whoops! - you forgot that last week your arms were amputated so there's no way to pull the suit out or really even to swim to the side of the pool and climb out. The thought of your fate enters your mind suddenly and you realize: I am going to die now and this is how it will happen. Huh.
A friend - who has four children - and I were recently talking and she questioned me about what it must be like to have one child. I believe her words were, "it must be fairly low-key, right?" I said that yes, it was, relatively, but that it was still kinda hard. Raising a child is never easy, no matter how many (or few) you have. I have to admit that I felt foolish saying this to a woman who has four separate clothing sizes to keep track of (not counting her own or her husband's), as well as four different grade levels of homework, four sports practices and games, and then dinner for six every night. I felt silly, boob-like, is what I'm saying. I felt like a big loser crybaby because I was like "Waaa, one kid is hard!" when clearly I have it pretty darn easy most of the time.
But, one kid is what I'm used to. My friend's children came one at a time, and so she adjusted to each one by one. Me thinking of one kid and then suddenly thinking of having four children....well, that's not relatable. Unless one has triplets, it happens one at a time so there can be an adjustment period, also known as the "time to get one's meds upped". Ha ha.
But....here's the thing: we are trying to make a baby. And all of this sort of freaks me out because, how am I going to handle two kids? I remember those toddler years, and I worked. How am I going to stay home and deal with a toddler? How??? HOW????
One thing at a time. We may not be able to have a child. Who knows?
What time is it? 6:43 am. I've been awake since 1:55 am because that is when my daughter decided to join us in bed because, for all we can tell, she doesn't like sleeping alone. No nightmares, just doesn't want to be alone. I don't know why the forty kazillion dolls and stuffed animals don't count, but they don't. This doesn't work for me. I can barely sleep with my husband (actual sleeping, I'm not trying to subtlely hint at sexual dysfunction.) If it were up to me? I'd sleep in a grand bedroom in a bed all by myself. Not because I don't love my family, I do. It's just, I need space, and I need QUIET, that's all.
The lesson is given to me over and over again: when I don't have a schedule, life at home with a child falls apart much like a cupcake in the rain: slowly, crumb-by-crumb, irretrievably gone forever.
I noted that this all happened two weeks ago. Since then I posted a chore list on the fridge, and the nighttime schedule next to that. We discussed bedtime and how bedtime is bedtime and not whine-time, cry-time, or stay-with-me-longer-time. I talked about consequences (the worst one to OC being scooping the litterbox) and implement them, and I told her all that I appreciate and I have rewarded her several times since then.
Amazingly....it has worked! Bedtime is now bedtime. There have been no tears. We all sigh with relief. OC is happy, too, by the way.
Thank goodness soon it will be fall. School will take up most of the day and I will schedule the hell out of the rest of it, just to be safe.
* This was two weeks ago. Before the wisdom teeth surgery. This week my bathroom is growing things.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
The Best Ever Ebay Product Description
This woman clearly needs a blog, if she doesn't have one already.
(Found via Apollo's Acadamy)
Edited to add: Uhhhh, clearly she does have a blog, as anyone who scrolled down and found. Quite easily, I might add.
(Found via Apollo's Acadamy)
Edited to add: Uhhhh, clearly she does have a blog, as anyone who scrolled down and found. Quite easily, I might add.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Problems Solved
Monday, 3 am: took the last prescription pain pill. Six hours later, took Advil which did almost nothing.
9:40 am: Called oral surgeon's office, spoke to whoever it was they pulled in off the street at that moment to answer phones. Told her I was out of meds, took Advil, still ouch, how many Advil can one take in a day? Her response, "What?"
HATE.
10:00 am: Callede oral surgeon's office, spoke to friendly and knowledgeable person who said I should come in just to have things checked out, and that I could do it today, and that post-op visits were free.
Six Advil later...
3:50 pm: Saw oral surgeon who said everything looked good. Gave me a prescription for more pain meds. Was happy, but still had to drive to pharmacy and wait for refill.
I know I keep going on and on about it, but the pain in my mouth is what life is about right now. It's better now, but then I didn't get much sleep last night due to an annoying discussion with husband last night which didn't get resolved. Sometimes, you (he) just need to let things go and not bring them up.
Today is sunny and bright and I am feeling no pain! So maybe I should go take a shower. In a minute. First, I have to take care of this stupid bedrail problem. I don't know if I have written about it before, but my daughter has her mattress and box spring on the floor because the bedrails we ordered were not the right kind. The store gave us the wrong model number. In the twelve weeks it took for the wrong bedrails to get into the store, we moved three hours away from the store and any store that carries that company's products. Husband made a special trip to the store to get them. That was last winter. Once we discovered the problem, I had plenty of other things to worry about at the time so I did the mature, adult thing and ignored the problem.
Last week, I called the company, and they don't want to pay to pick them up. I need to call the store today, which I am SO NOT in the mood to do.
I hate being ignored. I paid for the wrong damn bedrails and now I don't know how to get the company to pay attention to me. They don't care, the store doesn't care, so here I am.
When my mom was here she made some phone calls to find out if there is a place - a shelter, or something similar - that could use a crib or toddler bed. The bed is one of those convertible cribs, and I have all the pieces to make it a crib or toddler bed, just not the bedrails for the fullsize kid's bed. So, after I make a useless call to the store today (which I feel I have to do just to give them a piece of my mind, which is basically "you suck") I will gather all the pieces together and take them to a place where the crib and/or toddler bed will be useful to someone.
All of that negative energy and months after month of inaction will be turned into something good: a nice, comfortable place for a child to sleep.
That also means...shopping for a new bed and nightstand for OC. Finally, a resolution for both of us. For her, a room that will be put together and comfy. She deserves that. For me, one less problem hanging overhead like a dark raincloud.
9:40 am: Called oral surgeon's office, spoke to whoever it was they pulled in off the street at that moment to answer phones. Told her I was out of meds, took Advil, still ouch, how many Advil can one take in a day? Her response, "What?"
HATE.
10:00 am: Callede oral surgeon's office, spoke to friendly and knowledgeable person who said I should come in just to have things checked out, and that I could do it today, and that post-op visits were free.
Six Advil later...
3:50 pm: Saw oral surgeon who said everything looked good. Gave me a prescription for more pain meds. Was happy, but still had to drive to pharmacy and wait for refill.
I know I keep going on and on about it, but the pain in my mouth is what life is about right now. It's better now, but then I didn't get much sleep last night due to an annoying discussion with husband last night which didn't get resolved. Sometimes, you (he) just need to let things go and not bring them up.
Today is sunny and bright and I am feeling no pain! So maybe I should go take a shower. In a minute. First, I have to take care of this stupid bedrail problem. I don't know if I have written about it before, but my daughter has her mattress and box spring on the floor because the bedrails we ordered were not the right kind. The store gave us the wrong model number. In the twelve weeks it took for the wrong bedrails to get into the store, we moved three hours away from the store and any store that carries that company's products. Husband made a special trip to the store to get them. That was last winter. Once we discovered the problem, I had plenty of other things to worry about at the time so I did the mature, adult thing and ignored the problem.
Last week, I called the company, and they don't want to pay to pick them up. I need to call the store today, which I am SO NOT in the mood to do.
I hate being ignored. I paid for the wrong damn bedrails and now I don't know how to get the company to pay attention to me. They don't care, the store doesn't care, so here I am.
When my mom was here she made some phone calls to find out if there is a place - a shelter, or something similar - that could use a crib or toddler bed. The bed is one of those convertible cribs, and I have all the pieces to make it a crib or toddler bed, just not the bedrails for the fullsize kid's bed. So, after I make a useless call to the store today (which I feel I have to do just to give them a piece of my mind, which is basically "you suck") I will gather all the pieces together and take them to a place where the crib and/or toddler bed will be useful to someone.
All of that negative energy and months after month of inaction will be turned into something good: a nice, comfortable place for a child to sleep.
That also means...shopping for a new bed and nightstand for OC. Finally, a resolution for both of us. For her, a room that will be put together and comfy. She deserves that. For me, one less problem hanging overhead like a dark raincloud.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Full Time Mommy
Today is Saturday and my mom is leaving tomorrow. I'm already panicking. I have to be full-time mommy again...yikes! I'm still taking Vicodin so I can't drink, and I can't drive. My mouth is healing but I can't eat much whole food yet. I am enjoying coffee and fruit smoothies my mom brings me.
Last night I recommended a book to my mom (Are You Somebody? Nuala O'Faolain) and she couldn't stop reading it! I love it when I hook up books with people like that. She's got a list of titles to check out when she gets home, too, because I'm bossy like that. I asked her for some recommendations, too, because there's nothing worse than having nothing good to read.
Last night I recommended a book to my mom (Are You Somebody? Nuala O'Faolain) and she couldn't stop reading it! I love it when I hook up books with people like that. She's got a list of titles to check out when she gets home, too, because I'm bossy like that. I asked her for some recommendations, too, because there's nothing worse than having nothing good to read.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Ouch
The wisdom teeth are out! Although I do have some shrapnel in the form of the roots of one tooth that had to be left because it was so close to the nerve, the risk of cutting the nerve was too great if they had gone ahead and pulled it. So, they cut it off and left the roots. Cool.
Mom ordered pizza the other night and it smelled sooo goooood. So far I'm only able to eat completely smooth things like yogurt, juice, milkshakes, and sorbet. I hope I lose 20 lbs. Then I can market it as the Wisdom Tooth Diet. Somehow I don't think that I'll lose 20 lbs, probably due to the milkshakes. The healing powers of chocolate milkshakes are beyond measure so I'm sticking with them. I'm no quitter.
Mom ordered pizza the other night and it smelled sooo goooood. So far I'm only able to eat completely smooth things like yogurt, juice, milkshakes, and sorbet. I hope I lose 20 lbs. Then I can market it as the Wisdom Tooth Diet. Somehow I don't think that I'll lose 20 lbs, probably due to the milkshakes. The healing powers of chocolate milkshakes are beyond measure so I'm sticking with them. I'm no quitter.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
The Surgery That's Long Overdue
Today at 11, I am going to have my wisdom teeth removed. My lower teeth have become crooked due to the force from the wisdom teeth pushing forward and which still haven't erupted. I waited so long to have them out that three are impacted. Every once in a while I'll get a headache and my whole jaw will ache.
The oral surgeon seems good, but I have no idea. His office sure is keen on making sure I bring the money (check, cash, or credit cards accepted) with me.
My mom is here from Boise so there is someone to drive me home. She doesn't know her way around Bend so I have a map with our route home highlighted. I hope she can read the street names, because I will be out of it and of no use. I am so glad she's here! No matter how old you get you never outgrow needing your mommy.
OC is thrilled. Mommy will be drugged up, let's go shopping!!! I can see her thinking. Oh, my....
I doubt there will be pictures of my chubby, bruised cheeks, so please enjoy this picture of OC in her swimming mask taken at High Lake in Eastern Oregon:
Yes, that is a much better picture than of me post-surgery.
The oral surgeon seems good, but I have no idea. His office sure is keen on making sure I bring the money (check, cash, or credit cards accepted) with me.
My mom is here from Boise so there is someone to drive me home. She doesn't know her way around Bend so I have a map with our route home highlighted. I hope she can read the street names, because I will be out of it and of no use. I am so glad she's here! No matter how old you get you never outgrow needing your mommy.
OC is thrilled. Mommy will be drugged up, let's go shopping!!! I can see her thinking. Oh, my....
I doubt there will be pictures of my chubby, bruised cheeks, so please enjoy this picture of OC in her swimming mask taken at High Lake in Eastern Oregon:
Yes, that is a much better picture than of me post-surgery.
Monday, August 13, 2007
About Last Weekend, Finally
This post has taken a long time to write. Last week was a little busy, and so it left little time to assemble my various thoughts into something cohesive, much less interesting. Also, I noticed I would switch from 1st to 2nd person all the time, or from past tense to future tense, and this drove me nuts! It made me realize I must not know very much about grammar and instead I write like I talk. It seems as though I talk bad. Badly! So, I would be writing and all of a sudden language just seemed so weird and I thought I was thinking about it too hard and so I stopped thinking about it and, nothing happened. What follows is my last, best effort.
I spent last weekend with the girlfriends I have known since grade school. These are the girls who I was with in Brownies and Girl Scouts, elementary school sports, middle school drama, and that weird microcosm that is High School in a Small Town. In other words, these are my homegirls. We go aaaaall the way back. They have known me for so long that anything I say to them is already in context. I don't have to explain anything, they just get it. There is so much history between us.
This is nice for several reasons. There is no pretense, because while everyone remembers that in 4th grade I had that really bad haircut, they love me anyway. We all have one of those in our closet - either the bad haircut or its crisis-level-relevant-to-adolescent-crises equivalent. We've had sleepovers at one another's houses, we've gotten into trouble together (some more than others...me more than others...Hey! I used to be a lot of fun.) We've survived boyfriends, breakups, and petty fights; teased to the ceiling bangs and neon-colored accessories. Yikes, the 80's were full of trends I'd like to forget.
I admire these women. They are all mothers, and all excellent at the endeavor. They are strong and disciplined and creative; they are funny, sweet, and genuine. Any one of them I would consider an honor to raise my child if something were to happen to my husband and myself, God forbid.
(Meanwhile K, who has four kids, is frantically pointing to the friend on her left. "Pick her! I've already got four!")
This year's trip was different in a number of disconcerting ways. First, not all of us were there. "Us" consists of the four friends - J, J, K, M - and myself. One of the J's had to go to the county fair to help their kids show and sell their chickens, and of course that took all weekend. It couldn't be helped and we don't blame her, it just stunk. For all of us.
Friday started off with that disappointment, so on Saturday we consoled ourselves with a pedicure:
My foot wasn't in this, the close-up shot.
After that we took photos because! Did you see the tiny flowers?!?
It's Lincoln City, so of course we went to the outlet mall to shop for our kids, mostly. Such deals to be had in August at the outlet mall. Deals must not be passed up.
The second thing that was different was the number of us that went out Saturday night. Friday night is usually our night to talk nonstop and catch up with each other's lives since we don't all talk throughout the year, and all have kids and jobs and things that keep us busy and unable to talk on the phone when we please, unlike the high school days when we had each other's phone numbers memorized. M and I wanted to go out so we went first to the casino, then to the karaoke bar. Still, it was fun but not as fun as it could have been because our friend K can sing. I mean, really sing, and I always love to hear her sing. It makes me cry. I like to cry when I hear her sing, it's just my thing. I was sad to be deprived of this emotional experience, if that doesn't sound too crazy.
She can do justice to Martina McBride people, not many American Idols can say that.
We had a kind of argument, no, debate, about the bathroom lights. It was to do with the wording of a label. The downstairs bathroom had a lightswitch labeled "can lights". I thought, "haha! They labeled the lights in the bathroom - otherwise known as the can - as can lights! HA HA HA"
This delighted me to no end, and so my friend J decided that it was a weird thing to deduce. She looked at the lights recessed into the ceiling and noticed they were canister style lights. (BTW, who besides construction workers know there are things called canister lights??? Nobody, that's who.) I was then the dumb, non-canister-style-light-knowing-about person. No one referred to me as such out loud, but it was implied.
Next unusual thing was that J had to leave early. Evidence to the fact:
I think it is a near miracle that five women can get away for an entire weekend in the summer and leave behind various family members and eschew other plans in order to spend time with their friends from way back. We've been doing this for, I think, six years now. AMAZING! I also know that things will not always be this way.
In time, for one reason or another, life will come up and our schedules will not allow for this kind of togetherness.
Change, the only constant there is.
I felt that I really needed this weekend this year. I needed to be with people who knew me. I needed to let loose and have fun and talktalktalk to people who wouldn't try to fix things or judge me, but would provide that all-important sounding board. Through the action of talking I would feel better. Knowing the information would not be used against me, I could relax and let it out.
We'll always have the past six years. And who knows, if we're lucky, we might even have next year, too.
I spent last weekend with the girlfriends I have known since grade school. These are the girls who I was with in Brownies and Girl Scouts, elementary school sports, middle school drama, and that weird microcosm that is High School in a Small Town. In other words, these are my homegirls. We go aaaaall the way back. They have known me for so long that anything I say to them is already in context. I don't have to explain anything, they just get it. There is so much history between us.
This is nice for several reasons. There is no pretense, because while everyone remembers that in 4th grade I had that really bad haircut, they love me anyway. We all have one of those in our closet - either the bad haircut or its crisis-level-relevant-to-adolescent-crises equivalent. We've had sleepovers at one another's houses, we've gotten into trouble together (some more than others...me more than others...Hey! I used to be a lot of fun.) We've survived boyfriends, breakups, and petty fights; teased to the ceiling bangs and neon-colored accessories. Yikes, the 80's were full of trends I'd like to forget.
I admire these women. They are all mothers, and all excellent at the endeavor. They are strong and disciplined and creative; they are funny, sweet, and genuine. Any one of them I would consider an honor to raise my child if something were to happen to my husband and myself, God forbid.
(Meanwhile K, who has four kids, is frantically pointing to the friend on her left. "Pick her! I've already got four!")
This year's trip was different in a number of disconcerting ways. First, not all of us were there. "Us" consists of the four friends - J, J, K, M - and myself. One of the J's had to go to the county fair to help their kids show and sell their chickens, and of course that took all weekend. It couldn't be helped and we don't blame her, it just stunk. For all of us.
Friday started off with that disappointment, so on Saturday we consoled ourselves with a pedicure:
My foot wasn't in this, the close-up shot.
After that we took photos because! Did you see the tiny flowers?!?
It's Lincoln City, so of course we went to the outlet mall to shop for our kids, mostly. Such deals to be had in August at the outlet mall. Deals must not be passed up.
The second thing that was different was the number of us that went out Saturday night. Friday night is usually our night to talk nonstop and catch up with each other's lives since we don't all talk throughout the year, and all have kids and jobs and things that keep us busy and unable to talk on the phone when we please, unlike the high school days when we had each other's phone numbers memorized. M and I wanted to go out so we went first to the casino, then to the karaoke bar. Still, it was fun but not as fun as it could have been because our friend K can sing. I mean, really sing, and I always love to hear her sing. It makes me cry. I like to cry when I hear her sing, it's just my thing. I was sad to be deprived of this emotional experience, if that doesn't sound too crazy.
She can do justice to Martina McBride people, not many American Idols can say that.
We had a kind of argument, no, debate, about the bathroom lights. It was to do with the wording of a label. The downstairs bathroom had a lightswitch labeled "can lights". I thought, "haha! They labeled the lights in the bathroom - otherwise known as the can - as can lights! HA HA HA"
This delighted me to no end, and so my friend J decided that it was a weird thing to deduce. She looked at the lights recessed into the ceiling and noticed they were canister style lights. (BTW, who besides construction workers know there are things called canister lights??? Nobody, that's who.) I was then the dumb, non-canister-style-light-knowing-about person. No one referred to me as such out loud, but it was implied.
Next unusual thing was that J had to leave early. Evidence to the fact:
I think it is a near miracle that five women can get away for an entire weekend in the summer and leave behind various family members and eschew other plans in order to spend time with their friends from way back. We've been doing this for, I think, six years now. AMAZING! I also know that things will not always be this way.
In time, for one reason or another, life will come up and our schedules will not allow for this kind of togetherness.
Change, the only constant there is.
I felt that I really needed this weekend this year. I needed to be with people who knew me. I needed to let loose and have fun and talktalktalk to people who wouldn't try to fix things or judge me, but would provide that all-important sounding board. Through the action of talking I would feel better. Knowing the information would not be used against me, I could relax and let it out.
We'll always have the past six years. And who knows, if we're lucky, we might even have next year, too.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Back on the Treadmill
I'm back from the beach. Sixty degrees and cloudy, my left buttock. It was sunny and warm (with the everpresent fresh seabreeze). If I expected to get a break from the incessant sunshine, I was out of luck. It was lovely, if sunny.
This week, OC is in Ye Olde Theatre Camp, and that is going very well despite some difficult behavior situation which I dealt with beautifully if I do say so myself.
In short: I don't have anything of substance to post right this second due to time constraints. Furthermore, I don't have time to compose anything tonight. Finally, tomorrow morning looks bad, too.
In conclusion, these few paragraphs are offered as a pittance while I go off to be with strange women who have eat and drink before they incidentally throw dice around to play something called bunco. (I thought it would be a good place to meet new people, make friends.) I have to go figure out what to wear. I need to find something that says "I want to be your friend desperately!" but leaves out the "desperately" part.
This week, OC is in Ye Olde Theatre Camp, and that is going very well despite some difficult behavior situation which I dealt with beautifully if I do say so myself.
In short: I don't have anything of substance to post right this second due to time constraints. Furthermore, I don't have time to compose anything tonight. Finally, tomorrow morning looks bad, too.
In conclusion, these few paragraphs are offered as a pittance while I go off to be with strange women who have eat and drink before they incidentally throw dice around to play something called bunco. (I thought it would be a good place to meet new people, make friends.) I have to go figure out what to wear. I need to find something that says "I want to be your friend desperately!" but leaves out the "desperately" part.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Another Fabulous Weekend Escape
Newsflash: I'm travelling. Again. It seems like this summer has been a whirlwind of tourism for the Occidental Tourist. I don't know why I switched to using the third person, but, okay here's the thing: The Occidental Tourist doesn't like using the third person. Switching back now.
The reason for yet another travel adventure is because it is that time of year again: girl's weekend. Myself and four girlfriends from high school (we're not going to talk about how long we've been out of high school...but if you must know, 15 years) get together once a year to party and pick up new husbands. Ha! No, the new husband thing was only me, and just that one time. What is it about karaoke bars and classic cars?? That sounds worse than it was.
You might remember my pictures from last year. No? Well, I have both parts one and two here and right here in case you missed it. It was fun.
In my absence my mother in law will be here to visit. The three of them plan to go fishing in the Cascades, and bike ride. My daughter rode her bike for the first time without training wheels earlier this week. We were so excited. She needs more practice but that's what summer is for.
I will miss them and you SO MUCH! Nevermind. I will take consolation in shopping at the outlet mall, walking on the Oregon coast, spending time talking non-stop with very good friends, and really good food.
The other thing I'm excited about is this: high temperatures are expected to be 60. Sixty! The reason this excites me is that I've been in 90+ degree temperatures for weeks now. Break out the long sleeves and eschew sunscreen. I may have that silkscreened onto a t-shirt. Here is that foolproof forecast:
As I write this, I hear the news going over and over the story of the bridge collapse in Minnesota. It's horrifying to imagine, people trapped in the water or killed while driving over a bridge in America. I hope the death toll doesn't rise, but it probably will. I'm sorry for those families affected, for it's truly sad. I really don't know what to say except that spending money on boring stuff like infrastructure upkeep is not exciting, but it is necessary. I hope something good comes out of it.
Surprisingly, Charlie Gibson from ABC mentioned the book The Bridge of San Luis Rey, by Thornton Wilder, which is exactly what I thought of when this happened. The book tells the story of a bridge collapse and the story of the five random persons who were killed. It goes to the question of what is the purpose of life? Is it really random? Or is there a plan, even to include horrible events like this? How can a plan include bad things? Why? It's good reading, and good food for thought. Check it out and tell me what you think.
The reason for yet another travel adventure is because it is that time of year again: girl's weekend. Myself and four girlfriends from high school (we're not going to talk about how long we've been out of high school...but if you must know, 15 years) get together once a year to party and pick up new husbands. Ha! No, the new husband thing was only me, and just that one time. What is it about karaoke bars and classic cars?? That sounds worse than it was.
You might remember my pictures from last year. No? Well, I have both parts one and two here and right here in case you missed it. It was fun.
In my absence my mother in law will be here to visit. The three of them plan to go fishing in the Cascades, and bike ride. My daughter rode her bike for the first time without training wheels earlier this week. We were so excited. She needs more practice but that's what summer is for.
I will miss them and you SO MUCH! Nevermind. I will take consolation in shopping at the outlet mall, walking on the Oregon coast, spending time talking non-stop with very good friends, and really good food.
The other thing I'm excited about is this: high temperatures are expected to be 60. Sixty! The reason this excites me is that I've been in 90+ degree temperatures for weeks now. Break out the long sleeves and eschew sunscreen. I may have that silkscreened onto a t-shirt. Here is that foolproof forecast:
As I write this, I hear the news going over and over the story of the bridge collapse in Minnesota. It's horrifying to imagine, people trapped in the water or killed while driving over a bridge in America. I hope the death toll doesn't rise, but it probably will. I'm sorry for those families affected, for it's truly sad. I really don't know what to say except that spending money on boring stuff like infrastructure upkeep is not exciting, but it is necessary. I hope something good comes out of it.
Surprisingly, Charlie Gibson from ABC mentioned the book The Bridge of San Luis Rey, by Thornton Wilder, which is exactly what I thought of when this happened. The book tells the story of a bridge collapse and the story of the five random persons who were killed. It goes to the question of what is the purpose of life? Is it really random? Or is there a plan, even to include horrible events like this? How can a plan include bad things? Why? It's good reading, and good food for thought. Check it out and tell me what you think.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
County Fair
Yesterday we went to opening day at the Deschutes County Fair. This fair is a big deal here. It's huge and it seems that everyone within a 100-mile radius is in attendance. At 10:15 am, the parking lot already had a hundred cars in it, maybe more.
I was there with my new friend, K. She has a seven-year old daughter so OC had a friend. K knew approximately every fifth person she saw. Maybe that's a slight underestimate. I, of course, knew no one except K and her daughter.
Anyway, it was hot and sunny and soon we were all grumpy. The fair facility is relatively new and so the few "trees" there are all twee. That's right, they were twee trees. Tiny! One tree produced enough shade for 3.2 persons in which to sit. In the entire fair grounds, I saw three twee trees. Maybe I saw one or two more than that - and that's being generous - but three twee trees is fun to say.
In conclusion, OC opted to ride the canoe ride, where every other kid who did was still in diapers.
She is smart for heading for the water on a such a hot day, and truth be told there was one other big-ish kid on that ride. It was definitely a little kids' ride. I'm glad she did what she wanted instead of worrying about what looked good. I hope that confidence of hers lasts forever.
I was there with my new friend, K. She has a seven-year old daughter so OC had a friend. K knew approximately every fifth person she saw. Maybe that's a slight underestimate. I, of course, knew no one except K and her daughter.
Anyway, it was hot and sunny and soon we were all grumpy. The fair facility is relatively new and so the few "trees" there are all twee. That's right, they were twee trees. Tiny! One tree produced enough shade for 3.2 persons in which to sit. In the entire fair grounds, I saw three twee trees. Maybe I saw one or two more than that - and that's being generous - but three twee trees is fun to say.
In conclusion, OC opted to ride the canoe ride, where every other kid who did was still in diapers.
She is smart for heading for the water on a such a hot day, and truth be told there was one other big-ish kid on that ride. It was definitely a little kids' ride. I'm glad she did what she wanted instead of worrying about what looked good. I hope that confidence of hers lasts forever.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
What Kind of Mother Are You?
I am the kind who told my daughter, "You're not going to throw up." 20 seconds later, she threw up.
That was yesterday morning, 6:45 am. By noon or so, she was feeling a lot better and hasn't thrown up since. No fever. (I'm putting all this in for my mom, who will want to know.)
By the way, I know how to get vomited tomato out of the carpet.
That was yesterday morning, 6:45 am. By noon or so, she was feeling a lot better and hasn't thrown up since. No fever. (I'm putting all this in for my mom, who will want to know.)
By the way, I know how to get vomited tomato out of the carpet.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
You Don't See This Everyday
I received this notice the other day:
It took me by surprise. I had to read it again because, lowering the price? Without me calling to complain or anything? That just doesn't happen. But somewhere somebody got a whif of pixie dust and crafted this lovely price-lowering policy. And I love them.
It took me by surprise. I had to read it again because, lowering the price? Without me calling to complain or anything? That just doesn't happen. But somewhere somebody got a whif of pixie dust and crafted this lovely price-lowering policy. And I love them.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Overtaxed and An Organ Down
It's Friday night.......already? What a week. Here's what it looked like:
It's supposed to be blurry, with smudged contrasts of blurriness. That about sums it up. The reason for my vague references of smooshed time is that we had another week of day camp. I think I mentioned that in my previous post, but I'll tell you more about it now.
It was a themed week - soccer - and half of the day. (Although the above picture is from spring soccer, because it's way too hot to wear long-sleeves or sweatpants this time of year. Just FYI.) Camp was in the mornings, this time. The week started off well and good, but as it progressed OC became very tired and worn out as one is wont to do after running around for two to three hours in the sun and kicking a ball, then spending the afternoon by running around in the sun while variously climbing in and out of a wading pool in your back yard. It's not a bad life, but does takes its toll on the energy reserves of youngsters. And older persons, for that matter. So it was for OC.
There were several days she said she felt sick, like she was going to throw up which I attributed to the heat and all that exercise. I gave her cups of ice water and free time so she could rest. I don't think she slept as well at night for some reason.
Today was, again, water fun day but alas, we were only signed up for morning camp. Water fun is reserved for the afternoons when the sun is at its highest scorching capability to burn your child - if extra sunscreen is not applied. I can't say I'm fond of the woman who I always meet there who constantly talks about her grown sons. Maybe it's just me, but I'd like her to pay attention to what is going on with the kids she is currently with, and what might need to be done with them because she always seems a little distracted. Perhaps tucking away the familial anecdotes would help to that end.
I came to pick her up at lunch time and there was a meltdown. She was horrified that she would have to leave before water fun day could commence. Before she could tell me this, I was met with the none too heartwarming reaction, "Oh no, my mom!" Imagine an equally disappointed tone of voice and you have it exactly.
The afternoon was saved when I offered that her friend from her old school was at a nearby resort and had invited us over for lunch and a swim. She stopped crying, but wasn't quite convinced it would be better than the three-feet high blow-up slide and a massive sunburn that was sure to be the result of water fun day if history repeats itself. (Okay, there was that one day where they DID remember to reapply sunscreen, if not a little spottily, but it's the sunburn that made her cry that I remember best.) Or, perhaps she was thinking of staying with friends she was already with and it was a transitions thing. Anyway, we got to the car in short order, cooperation was bribed with the promise of an ice cream bar of the cooperee's choice, and we were off.
Keep in mind that for all of these activities (soccer and swimming) it requires special gear not normally found in my car. So I had to anticipate and pack for the whole day. Plus, I found out earlier in the week that her biological father was planning to pick her up again for his weekend and so that extra bit required (laundry, mainly) yet another bag albeit this time with no special equipment. I did manage to forget her regular tennis shoes. I am redeemed in that I remembered teddy and pink blankie.
Tonight, I am without my child. She is three hours and the other side of a mountain range away. The feelings I experience when she is away like this I can find no better way to describe than to liken it to the way it must feel to be without an important organ. One's stomach, for instance. Imagine being told you must survive a weekend without your stomach because it needs to go visit someone in another town. It seems impossible, so Machiavellian and just wrong.
I miss her so much. The smell of her freshly washed hair, or quite frankly, the smell of her dirty hair, are both equally wonderful to me. Luckily, it is only for the weekend and not an entire week that she will be away. Although, her incredibly short-sided father did ask me at the time of drop off tonight if we had plans for the week. I'm sorry, even if I didn't? I would not be willing to make plans on a Friday night at drop off for more days than I planned for and packed for. Even if I did forget her tennis shoes.
It's not fair, but it's my fault; but things are better this way, but they are terrible in some. And so the cycle goes.
I won't feel right again, won't feel myself, until Sunday night on top of the mountain when I am rejoined with my missing piece of sweet little girlness, and the inevitable trouble she will have at the readjustment of coming home with me. Her reaction at this time is generally not in the vein of, "Oh no, it's mom!" At least not for another decade.
It's supposed to be blurry, with smudged contrasts of blurriness. That about sums it up. The reason for my vague references of smooshed time is that we had another week of day camp. I think I mentioned that in my previous post, but I'll tell you more about it now.
It was a themed week - soccer - and half of the day. (Although the above picture is from spring soccer, because it's way too hot to wear long-sleeves or sweatpants this time of year. Just FYI.) Camp was in the mornings, this time. The week started off well and good, but as it progressed OC became very tired and worn out as one is wont to do after running around for two to three hours in the sun and kicking a ball, then spending the afternoon by running around in the sun while variously climbing in and out of a wading pool in your back yard. It's not a bad life, but does takes its toll on the energy reserves of youngsters. And older persons, for that matter. So it was for OC.
There were several days she said she felt sick, like she was going to throw up which I attributed to the heat and all that exercise. I gave her cups of ice water and free time so she could rest. I don't think she slept as well at night for some reason.
Today was, again, water fun day but alas, we were only signed up for morning camp. Water fun is reserved for the afternoons when the sun is at its highest scorching capability to burn your child - if extra sunscreen is not applied. I can't say I'm fond of the woman who I always meet there who constantly talks about her grown sons. Maybe it's just me, but I'd like her to pay attention to what is going on with the kids she is currently with, and what might need to be done with them because she always seems a little distracted. Perhaps tucking away the familial anecdotes would help to that end.
I came to pick her up at lunch time and there was a meltdown. She was horrified that she would have to leave before water fun day could commence. Before she could tell me this, I was met with the none too heartwarming reaction, "Oh no, my mom!" Imagine an equally disappointed tone of voice and you have it exactly.
The afternoon was saved when I offered that her friend from her old school was at a nearby resort and had invited us over for lunch and a swim. She stopped crying, but wasn't quite convinced it would be better than the three-feet high blow-up slide and a massive sunburn that was sure to be the result of water fun day if history repeats itself. (Okay, there was that one day where they DID remember to reapply sunscreen, if not a little spottily, but it's the sunburn that made her cry that I remember best.) Or, perhaps she was thinking of staying with friends she was already with and it was a transitions thing. Anyway, we got to the car in short order, cooperation was bribed with the promise of an ice cream bar of the cooperee's choice, and we were off.
Keep in mind that for all of these activities (soccer and swimming) it requires special gear not normally found in my car. So I had to anticipate and pack for the whole day. Plus, I found out earlier in the week that her biological father was planning to pick her up again for his weekend and so that extra bit required (laundry, mainly) yet another bag albeit this time with no special equipment. I did manage to forget her regular tennis shoes. I am redeemed in that I remembered teddy and pink blankie.
Tonight, I am without my child. She is three hours and the other side of a mountain range away. The feelings I experience when she is away like this I can find no better way to describe than to liken it to the way it must feel to be without an important organ. One's stomach, for instance. Imagine being told you must survive a weekend without your stomach because it needs to go visit someone in another town. It seems impossible, so Machiavellian and just wrong.
I miss her so much. The smell of her freshly washed hair, or quite frankly, the smell of her dirty hair, are both equally wonderful to me. Luckily, it is only for the weekend and not an entire week that she will be away. Although, her incredibly short-sided father did ask me at the time of drop off tonight if we had plans for the week. I'm sorry, even if I didn't? I would not be willing to make plans on a Friday night at drop off for more days than I planned for and packed for. Even if I did forget her tennis shoes.
It's not fair, but it's my fault; but things are better this way, but they are terrible in some. And so the cycle goes.
I won't feel right again, won't feel myself, until Sunday night on top of the mountain when I am rejoined with my missing piece of sweet little girlness, and the inevitable trouble she will have at the readjustment of coming home with me. Her reaction at this time is generally not in the vein of, "Oh no, it's mom!" At least not for another decade.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
I Was Away...
We are back from camping. Did I mention we were going camping? We returned Sunday, but OC has day camp this week and I'm up way past my eyeballs in laundry and putting everything away - much less the normal day to day cleaning - and so it's taking me awhile to get it together to post.
We stayed at a fire lookout in Eastern Oregon. It was great, and also kind of scary climbing the rickety stairs the first time. But then, the beauty of the place took away any thoughts of the possibility of plunging to one's death. Nature is cool that way.
The lookout had an American flag inside! OC has had a thing for American flags since she was a toddler. I have no idea why, nor do I remember how it got started but to this day she is fascinated and enamored with the stars and stripes.
One fine evening on top of Fall Mountain with wildfire smoke in the distance, happily digesting our s'mores.
We stayed at a fire lookout in Eastern Oregon. It was great, and also kind of scary climbing the rickety stairs the first time. But then, the beauty of the place took away any thoughts of the possibility of plunging to one's death. Nature is cool that way.
The lookout had an American flag inside! OC has had a thing for American flags since she was a toddler. I have no idea why, nor do I remember how it got started but to this day she is fascinated and enamored with the stars and stripes.
One fine evening on top of Fall Mountain with wildfire smoke in the distance, happily digesting our s'mores.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Blah Blah Land
I have good intentions and some ideas for posts, but I'm sick. It makes sense, doesn't it? It's the summer: hence there are cold germs. (???)
Anyway. The lolcat comic I have planned will have to wait, as will the rest of the photos from the gallivanting we did in June.
I'm going to go lie down now and rest up for the afternoon grocery shopping extravaganza, because maybe later I'll feel like eating.
Anyway. The lolcat comic I have planned will have to wait, as will the rest of the photos from the gallivanting we did in June.
I'm going to go lie down now and rest up for the afternoon grocery shopping extravaganza, because maybe later I'll feel like eating.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
Sistah
OC in the pool at her grandma's house in Boise last month:
OC is at day camp this week, half days. It's yoga and tai chi week, with Friday being water fun day. Otherwise known as "Maybe We Will But Then Again Maybe We Won't Get Sunscreen on Your Kid" day.
The last water fun day, OC came home with a bad sunburn. Not blistery, but bad enough to hurt. There was crying, and a mother's heart broke into pieces and she felt murderous. It's horrible to see your child suffer from ANYTHING, much less something which is preventable and at the hands of people paid to supervise and protect them during what is supposed to be a safe, fun week at camp.
Today, as I slathered her with sunscreen in the yard of the camp - while she watched the other kids play - I talked to her camp counselor, who was telling me how careful they were about using lots of sunscreen. I wondered if she knew it would only work if it was applied to the actual children and not to, say, a nearby plant? Not because I think she is stupid, but because if they are using so much sunscreen I wondered where it went if not on the children. At least, it didn't seem to get on my child.
"Really?" I said. "Last time OC was here she got a sunburn. I have sunscreen here that needs to be reapplied since she'll be in the water. I would really appreciate it if you would make sure that she got an second application."
I wanted to call her names and yell and scream, because who can stand it when inept people are in charge of your children? But, we are nice here in the Northwest and yelling and screaming is something we only do anonymously and in the safety of our cars at other drivers who have no idea we're doing it. After all, they could shoot us or something.
* * * * * * * *
One day last week we went for a hike on the South Sister. The trail we took actually ended at the top of the mountain.
South Sister = 10,358 ft. elevation
The hike up the South Sister was pretty, but kinda steep. We did not go all the way to the top, stopping 2.5 miles from it. That would've meant an extra five miles on the already pretty long hike. (Look at me! Doing math and everything.) On the way back I felt like a horse on its way back to the feed trough...all sprightly and ready to go! We had talked about stopping at Cascade Lakes brewpub for a late lunch and a beer and I am all about stopping for lunches and beers.
Back on the mountain we met this woman who was running with her dog up the mountain. Yep, she was running. I called her a nut when she was out of earshot, because I'm polite like that. The dog was sooo energetic, too. We ran into her again on the way down as she was passing us because she was still running, and the dog was flipping out and excited both times. You would think his energy would have gotten used up by the time we saw them coming down, but no, no. Maybe he knew he was going to the equivalent of lunch and a beer, in which case, I can relate.
I still don't see how you can run up a mountain. Not only is it a mountain, but it is slippery. I got a minor - but it bled - scratch from tripping over a rock the size of a golf ball (there should be warning signs for that danger!) so I don't know how she managed not to fall. There was snow, too which felt like a blast of air conditioning when the breeze blew off the snow and onto our hot bodies. You'd think it would be cooler up there but it was pretty hot.
Speaking of hot, it is fire season and I live in the high desert. Granted, I live in town, but it is still a town in the high desert with wind and fire. I am not used to it. But, they had to "defend the town of Burns" recently from nearby wildfires. That doesn't do much for my feeling of security. I guess I feel vulnerable even though I know it would take a lot for a fire to get to and burn my house. The smoke nearby would be scary. One highway over the mountain pass has a sign that says Fire Interpretive Area. A wildfire blazed through the area a few years ago, and now there is an area you can go to read about what happened. I have never stopped, but I wonder, just what is on that sign? Fire burn hot lots trees dead. The end.) I mean, what? I should stop sometime just to find out.
OC is at day camp this week, half days. It's yoga and tai chi week, with Friday being water fun day. Otherwise known as "Maybe We Will But Then Again Maybe We Won't Get Sunscreen on Your Kid" day.
The last water fun day, OC came home with a bad sunburn. Not blistery, but bad enough to hurt. There was crying, and a mother's heart broke into pieces and she felt murderous. It's horrible to see your child suffer from ANYTHING, much less something which is preventable and at the hands of people paid to supervise and protect them during what is supposed to be a safe, fun week at camp.
Today, as I slathered her with sunscreen in the yard of the camp - while she watched the other kids play - I talked to her camp counselor, who was telling me how careful they were about using lots of sunscreen. I wondered if she knew it would only work if it was applied to the actual children and not to, say, a nearby plant? Not because I think she is stupid, but because if they are using so much sunscreen I wondered where it went if not on the children. At least, it didn't seem to get on my child.
"Really?" I said. "Last time OC was here she got a sunburn. I have sunscreen here that needs to be reapplied since she'll be in the water. I would really appreciate it if you would make sure that she got an second application."
I wanted to call her names and yell and scream, because who can stand it when inept people are in charge of your children? But, we are nice here in the Northwest and yelling and screaming is something we only do anonymously and in the safety of our cars at other drivers who have no idea we're doing it. After all, they could shoot us or something.
* * * * * * * *
One day last week we went for a hike on the South Sister. The trail we took actually ended at the top of the mountain.
South Sister = 10,358 ft. elevationThe hike up the South Sister was pretty, but kinda steep. We did not go all the way to the top, stopping 2.5 miles from it. That would've meant an extra five miles on the already pretty long hike. (Look at me! Doing math and everything.) On the way back I felt like a horse on its way back to the feed trough...all sprightly and ready to go! We had talked about stopping at Cascade Lakes brewpub for a late lunch and a beer and I am all about stopping for lunches and beers.
Back on the mountain we met this woman who was running with her dog up the mountain. Yep, she was running. I called her a nut when she was out of earshot, because I'm polite like that. The dog was sooo energetic, too. We ran into her again on the way down as she was passing us because she was still running, and the dog was flipping out and excited both times. You would think his energy would have gotten used up by the time we saw them coming down, but no, no. Maybe he knew he was going to the equivalent of lunch and a beer, in which case, I can relate.
I still don't see how you can run up a mountain. Not only is it a mountain, but it is slippery. I got a minor - but it bled - scratch from tripping over a rock the size of a golf ball (there should be warning signs for that danger!) so I don't know how she managed not to fall. There was snow, too which felt like a blast of air conditioning when the breeze blew off the snow and onto our hot bodies. You'd think it would be cooler up there but it was pretty hot.
Speaking of hot, it is fire season and I live in the high desert. Granted, I live in town, but it is still a town in the high desert with wind and fire. I am not used to it. But, they had to "defend the town of Burns" recently from nearby wildfires. That doesn't do much for my feeling of security. I guess I feel vulnerable even though I know it would take a lot for a fire to get to and burn my house. The smoke nearby would be scary. One highway over the mountain pass has a sign that says Fire Interpretive Area. A wildfire blazed through the area a few years ago, and now there is an area you can go to read about what happened. I have never stopped, but I wonder, just what is on that sign? Fire burn hot lots trees dead. The end.) I mean, what? I should stop sometime just to find out.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Welcome to the World, Baby Girl
Yesterday was like this:
7:40 am: Jump out of bed. The babysitter will be here in 20 minutes, so that I can go running! There's no time to eat. I should've been up hours ago.
8:22 am: Finally go running. It's supposed to be a long one today. Ugh. It's already hot.
9:41 am: End run early. Good thing park is nearby, must use bathroom!
9:55 am: Return home.
10:02 am: Take shower. Feel much better.
10:21 am: Eat breakfast. Toast and coffee, yogurt with granola, and water. Run dishwasher. Do laundry. Open greenhouse. Do Aquadots with OC.
11:45 am: Eat lunch (pb &j). OC takes a bath.
12:30 pm: Drive OC to day camp, which this week is Yoga & Tai Chi. She should come home relaaaaaaxed. Feel kinda crappy, take big icewater with me in car.
1:25 pm: Shop at Fred Meyer. Not feeling well, probably dehydrated or overheated, although Fred Meyer is air conditioned and so is the car. Wonder about this for awhile.
2:27 pm: Return home with items. Migraine coming on. Feel extra super crappy. Take two Advil.
3:33 pm: Lie on couch. Wish for quick death. Fear death. Wish death to headache. Take two more Advil.
4:44 pm: Cry, because it's time to leave to pick up OC and feel woozy and nauseous. Wonder if driving a car is safe? Go pee, which is light yellow. Nope, not dehydrated. Electrolytes? Still wonder what is wrong. Take banana even though still nauseous.
5:45 pm: Successfully return home. Banana has worked wonders and feel better, except for the migraine.
I don't know, the rest of the evening is a blur. I got OC her dinner, then lie on the couch. I got up to get my dinner, then after I ate, I went back to the couch. At some point, OC read me some books (!!!) and then I went to sleep.
What I do know is that today is a new day, Scarlett! And also, migraines suck. They run in the family: my grandmother would get migraines, and my mom gets them. Or, used to. That was the second-worst migraine I've ever had. If four Advil can't kick it's butt in two hours? I think it might have been food allergy related for it to have been so bad. Wheat in the toast, corn in the cornstarch that was in the stir-fried tacos.
It's as though getting older isn't bad enough, what with the wrinkles and the cellulite, but food allergies are the great practical joke. You can't eat whatever you want anymore. Love popcorn? Ha!! It's a corn allergy for you, missy! I remember being 18 years old and eating all kinds of crap, none of which showed up on my youthful body. Now? I have to be careful lest the food I eat attack my brain and lay me out flat for a few hours and interfere with my ability to drive a car.
7:40 am: Jump out of bed. The babysitter will be here in 20 minutes, so that I can go running! There's no time to eat. I should've been up hours ago.
8:22 am: Finally go running. It's supposed to be a long one today. Ugh. It's already hot.
9:41 am: End run early. Good thing park is nearby, must use bathroom!
9:55 am: Return home.
10:02 am: Take shower. Feel much better.
10:21 am: Eat breakfast. Toast and coffee, yogurt with granola, and water. Run dishwasher. Do laundry. Open greenhouse. Do Aquadots with OC.
11:45 am: Eat lunch (pb &j). OC takes a bath.
12:30 pm: Drive OC to day camp, which this week is Yoga & Tai Chi. She should come home relaaaaaaxed. Feel kinda crappy, take big icewater with me in car.
1:25 pm: Shop at Fred Meyer. Not feeling well, probably dehydrated or overheated, although Fred Meyer is air conditioned and so is the car. Wonder about this for awhile.
2:27 pm: Return home with items. Migraine coming on. Feel extra super crappy. Take two Advil.
3:33 pm: Lie on couch. Wish for quick death. Fear death. Wish death to headache. Take two more Advil.
4:44 pm: Cry, because it's time to leave to pick up OC and feel woozy and nauseous. Wonder if driving a car is safe? Go pee, which is light yellow. Nope, not dehydrated. Electrolytes? Still wonder what is wrong. Take banana even though still nauseous.
5:45 pm: Successfully return home. Banana has worked wonders and feel better, except for the migraine.
I don't know, the rest of the evening is a blur. I got OC her dinner, then lie on the couch. I got up to get my dinner, then after I ate, I went back to the couch. At some point, OC read me some books (!!!) and then I went to sleep.
What I do know is that today is a new day, Scarlett! And also, migraines suck. They run in the family: my grandmother would get migraines, and my mom gets them. Or, used to. That was the second-worst migraine I've ever had. If four Advil can't kick it's butt in two hours? I think it might have been food allergy related for it to have been so bad. Wheat in the toast, corn in the cornstarch that was in the stir-fried tacos.
It's as though getting older isn't bad enough, what with the wrinkles and the cellulite, but food allergies are the great practical joke. You can't eat whatever you want anymore. Love popcorn? Ha!! It's a corn allergy for you, missy! I remember being 18 years old and eating all kinds of crap, none of which showed up on my youthful body. Now? I have to be careful lest the food I eat attack my brain and lay me out flat for a few hours and interfere with my ability to drive a car.
Monday, July 09, 2007
If I Were a Painter, I Would Not Inhale
Our house was built in 1945 and came with the original wooden windows. They're beautiful, but mostly they do not open or if they do, some are prone to mysteriously slamming shut of their own accord. It has freaked all of us out to be sitting on the couch or something and having a window SLAM! shut for no reason. There are two possible explanations:
1) the air temperature has cooled causing the paint to contract and removing the friction that was holding it open (not all of them have their old counterbalances; you can hear them if they are there) thus allowing the window to slam shut.
2) We have a ghost. Or ghosts.
When I think of the danger posed if the glass panes were to break upon slamming shut...that is why they were replaced with a more modern version that open when you want them to, plus the energy efficiency whosits. It's the coolest thing.
That process took awhile because when the windows arrived, it was discovered that five of them had something different about their tracks or sills or what-the-heck-ever technical windowspeak, and so the windows that had been ordered for those were too small.
Reorders were made, time passed. A holiday came and went. The grass may have grown under our feet.
Last Friday, the remaining five windows were installed. A shout went out and the homeowners were happy!
Enter: today. The windows are all done! Still happy! The painter is here to slap on a coat of paint that will soon dry and so we can hang blinds up again and give up our exhibitionist ways. Except, no. It couldn't be that easy, could it?
When we first looked at this house last fall, one of the reasons we liked it so much was the unique and beautiful colors there were throughout the house. When we moved into our house in January, we found some paint cans inside. I never looked too closely at them except to identify them as some or all of the colors used in the house, which there are many lovely and beautiful complementary colors used.
The painter looked closely at those cans this morning, only finding one trim color. There are three on the inside alone. He grumpily told me they only called him on Friday for this job (it's Monday) and that when they did they also assured him that the paint cans were here. He sighed and said he had to go to Bend to get the colors, but this was only after he checked dozens of paint chips against the front door frame. He stood there in this door frame and held up chips and then threw them on the floor. The door frame was painted the same color as the window trim, but it was not to be repainted and had the problem of reflecting not only the red color that the nearby door was painted, but also the red color of the painter's own t-shirt as he stood there, grumpily tossing paint chips because they didn't match the mysterious paint color his own shirt color was interfering with.
Even though I am a painting amateur I boldly suggested it was flawed logic to stand there with the red reflection affecting the look of the paint and chip colors. I further spoke plainly that I thought using an actual window trim piece where actual paint will be applied MIGHT JUST POSSIBLY BE SMARTER.
"But, this is where I can see the color best," painter-guy said. Yes, but if it's the wrong color.......
Um. What? How many times have you painted anything? By the looks of your shirt, many times, and while wearing that same shirt. But judging from the sense of the words coming out of your mouth are making when you consider the entire circumstance, I would guess this to be your very first time.
Did you know you could scrape paint and take it in to be analyzed and matched? And that, paint stores give out small amounts of paint as a sample that you can take with you and paint a small area as a test? And, probably other suggestions, but right now I just thought of two - TWO! - whole ideas and I am a non-painter. I can think of two things in about, oh, 10 or 15 seconds of thoughtful consideration. Painter-guy took another half hour to flip through paint chips - although he finally did move to the window trim away from the weird red light - and finally announced, but not without a think slathering of resignation, "I have to go to Bend to test this paint."
*sigh*sigh*sigh
I think I had five aneurysms already, buddy. Glad you arrived at what I figured out as soon as I knew there weren't actual paint colors available in the cans I had!!!! ARGH!!!!!
If they were looking for a spokesperson, I think low-VOC paint manufacturers have a live one in this guy, because duuuuuuuude.
1) the air temperature has cooled causing the paint to contract and removing the friction that was holding it open (not all of them have their old counterbalances; you can hear them if they are there) thus allowing the window to slam shut.
2) We have a ghost. Or ghosts.
When I think of the danger posed if the glass panes were to break upon slamming shut...that is why they were replaced with a more modern version that open when you want them to, plus the energy efficiency whosits. It's the coolest thing.
That process took awhile because when the windows arrived, it was discovered that five of them had something different about their tracks or sills or what-the-heck-ever technical windowspeak, and so the windows that had been ordered for those were too small.
Reorders were made, time passed. A holiday came and went. The grass may have grown under our feet.
Last Friday, the remaining five windows were installed. A shout went out and the homeowners were happy!
Enter: today. The windows are all done! Still happy! The painter is here to slap on a coat of paint that will soon dry and so we can hang blinds up again and give up our exhibitionist ways. Except, no. It couldn't be that easy, could it?
When we first looked at this house last fall, one of the reasons we liked it so much was the unique and beautiful colors there were throughout the house. When we moved into our house in January, we found some paint cans inside. I never looked too closely at them except to identify them as some or all of the colors used in the house, which there are many lovely and beautiful complementary colors used.
The painter looked closely at those cans this morning, only finding one trim color. There are three on the inside alone. He grumpily told me they only called him on Friday for this job (it's Monday) and that when they did they also assured him that the paint cans were here. He sighed and said he had to go to Bend to get the colors, but this was only after he checked dozens of paint chips against the front door frame. He stood there in this door frame and held up chips and then threw them on the floor. The door frame was painted the same color as the window trim, but it was not to be repainted and had the problem of reflecting not only the red color that the nearby door was painted, but also the red color of the painter's own t-shirt as he stood there, grumpily tossing paint chips because they didn't match the mysterious paint color his own shirt color was interfering with.
Even though I am a painting amateur I boldly suggested it was flawed logic to stand there with the red reflection affecting the look of the paint and chip colors. I further spoke plainly that I thought using an actual window trim piece where actual paint will be applied MIGHT JUST POSSIBLY BE SMARTER.
"But, this is where I can see the color best," painter-guy said. Yes, but if it's the wrong color.......
Um. What? How many times have you painted anything? By the looks of your shirt, many times, and while wearing that same shirt. But judging from the sense of the words coming out of your mouth are making when you consider the entire circumstance, I would guess this to be your very first time.
Did you know you could scrape paint and take it in to be analyzed and matched? And that, paint stores give out small amounts of paint as a sample that you can take with you and paint a small area as a test? And, probably other suggestions, but right now I just thought of two - TWO! - whole ideas and I am a non-painter. I can think of two things in about, oh, 10 or 15 seconds of thoughtful consideration. Painter-guy took another half hour to flip through paint chips - although he finally did move to the window trim away from the weird red light - and finally announced, but not without a think slathering of resignation, "I have to go to Bend to test this paint."
*sigh*sigh*sigh
I think I had five aneurysms already, buddy. Glad you arrived at what I figured out as soon as I knew there weren't actual paint colors available in the cans I had!!!! ARGH!!!!!
If they were looking for a spokesperson, I think low-VOC paint manufacturers have a live one in this guy, because duuuuuuuude.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Butte to Butte
It's 8:10 pm. The kitties and the husband are sprawled on the couch. The temperature outside is 83 degrees. Oh, but it's a DRY heat. Argh. Yes, okay, there IS something to the humidity vs. dry thing (just having been to DC, I can say that yes humidity carries more heat) but I really don't care. When you're hot, you're hot. Hot is hot is hot!
OH and I keep reminding one another "we ran a 10k...we actually RAN a 10k..." because dude, we totally ran a 10k! Yesterday. The continual reminders might be from the heat, but I don't think so. It's more like disbelief that we didn't die from running a 10k for the first time. You might remember that we participated in this lovely 5k last month? It was quite challenging. Since that time, we've continued to train, but even then I wasn't sure I was ready for the 6.2 miles and what's more, that long-ass hill.
It was this crazy one where the first mile consists of one big old hill. Then, it's downhill and flat for the long, long finish. I have never run that far or done hills before, so I was a'skeered. I was so scared that I neglected to sign up in advance. I guess I wasn't sure if we were actually going to do it. Because I was ready to back out, I really was. Instead, we did it this way so we got to stress out over getting there early to register, then wait in the looooooong line for the bathroom, which we just managed to use before the start of the race.
I keep switching pronouns. I'll just say "I" from now on unless it makes sense to say "we".
The good news is that I learned there is another person on the planet more neurotic than I. It's true! (I had no idea.) She was immediately behind me in line for the bathrooms. As it got closer to 8 am - the start time of the race - she kept thinking she heard the "Star-Spangled Banner" music being played which would signal the start - and told us so and then asked if we heard it to, did we? did we? - while actively considering not going pee before in order to get in the pack for the start. I mean, what a nut. I was resolved that I was definitely going to pee before the race even if that meant running across the school's lawn to join up with the race in-progress, if need be. I consoled myself by saying that, "This is America. It's not like we'll get shot if we're not at the start by 8 am." Freedom rules!
There cannot be a new experience which involves myself that does not include some form of comical mistake or other. The Butte to Butte was no exception. The only thing new was that it happened at the end.
We'd completed this race, were all proud of ourselves and enjoying our whole not-dying achievement while milling around with the thousands of other people in the park after the race, drinking our free sports drinks. We thought we should look for the shuttle to take us back to the beginning. After a while we realized that, sadly, there was no shuttle at the end. There was a shuttle but that was only for the smart people who parked their cars at the END OF THE RACE, like the website said quite plainly. Oops.
All was not lost, however; we were near people who said they were going to catch a bus back to their car. I quickly deduced that these were smart people, since they knew the bus schedule, where to go to catch the bus and, oh yes, had brought actual shiny money to pay for the bus. Wow, it's so cool when you meet members of Mensa. So, we did the only thing left we could do: we followed them. Our chances were 50/50 that the busdriver would let us on since we only carried our car keys and a cell phone. I figured the cell phone was useful for calling a cab if need be, since the money was in the car at the end, and you pay taxi drivers at the end. The third, inexplicable option to turn our anticipated 10k into a 20k? Was NOT GOING TO FREAKING HAPPEN.
Long story short: the busdriver let us ride for free and so, we relaxed into a sweaty haze of gratitude.
OH and I keep reminding one another "we ran a 10k...we actually RAN a 10k..." because dude, we totally ran a 10k! Yesterday. The continual reminders might be from the heat, but I don't think so. It's more like disbelief that we didn't die from running a 10k for the first time. You might remember that we participated in this lovely 5k last month? It was quite challenging. Since that time, we've continued to train, but even then I wasn't sure I was ready for the 6.2 miles and what's more, that long-ass hill.
It was this crazy one where the first mile consists of one big old hill. Then, it's downhill and flat for the long, long finish. I have never run that far or done hills before, so I was a'skeered. I was so scared that I neglected to sign up in advance. I guess I wasn't sure if we were actually going to do it. Because I was ready to back out, I really was. Instead, we did it this way so we got to stress out over getting there early to register, then wait in the looooooong line for the bathroom, which we just managed to use before the start of the race.
I keep switching pronouns. I'll just say "I" from now on unless it makes sense to say "we".
The good news is that I learned there is another person on the planet more neurotic than I. It's true! (I had no idea.) She was immediately behind me in line for the bathrooms. As it got closer to 8 am - the start time of the race - she kept thinking she heard the "Star-Spangled Banner" music being played which would signal the start - and told us so and then asked if we heard it to, did we? did we? - while actively considering not going pee before in order to get in the pack for the start. I mean, what a nut. I was resolved that I was definitely going to pee before the race even if that meant running across the school's lawn to join up with the race in-progress, if need be. I consoled myself by saying that, "This is America. It's not like we'll get shot if we're not at the start by 8 am." Freedom rules!
There cannot be a new experience which involves myself that does not include some form of comical mistake or other. The Butte to Butte was no exception. The only thing new was that it happened at the end.
We'd completed this race, were all proud of ourselves and enjoying our whole not-dying achievement while milling around with the thousands of other people in the park after the race, drinking our free sports drinks. We thought we should look for the shuttle to take us back to the beginning. After a while we realized that, sadly, there was no shuttle at the end. There was a shuttle but that was only for the smart people who parked their cars at the END OF THE RACE, like the website said quite plainly. Oops.
All was not lost, however; we were near people who said they were going to catch a bus back to their car. I quickly deduced that these were smart people, since they knew the bus schedule, where to go to catch the bus and, oh yes, had brought actual shiny money to pay for the bus. Wow, it's so cool when you meet members of Mensa. So, we did the only thing left we could do: we followed them. Our chances were 50/50 that the busdriver would let us on since we only carried our car keys and a cell phone. I figured the cell phone was useful for calling a cab if need be, since the money was in the car at the end, and you pay taxi drivers at the end. The third, inexplicable option to turn our anticipated 10k into a 20k? Was NOT GOING TO FREAKING HAPPEN.
Long story short: the busdriver let us ride for free and so, we relaxed into a sweaty haze of gratitude.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Happy Birthday To You
At this age she is anxious to help, even when it's washing the car, God bless her.
Washing the Mustang which would ferry me to the airport.
My trip to DC started off with a lovely sendoff from my family. We ate burgers and drank beer at the airport restaurant, then I went through security and OC and OH went to their magical daddy/daughter weekend. Once I got to Portland, US Airways had wisely decided to cancel the overnight flight due to thunderstorms on the east coast. Because in the time it takes to fly across the country, those thunderstorms would likely still be there.
The next day I spent flying when I should have already been there. Great! With only three days to spend being reduced to two, I was not happy. Especially after being sent to the "suspicious" line, or whatever it is at the airport where they separate you from the herd and search you special. Whatever. Security is awesome. Besides, it must have had something to do with women traveling alone, because that is all that were in line behind me. No big deal, I was rolling with it. Besides, once I got there we went to the movies! Late at night! With subtitles! Parlez-vous Francais? No, merci!
Orchids at the botanic gardens.
First things first. We needed tickets to ride the elevator to the top of the Washington Monument. Tickets are free, but they are handed out in the morning and you have to get there early. We stood in line, a line which extended down the street and around a corner. It was sunny, and beginning to get warm. We drank our coffee and ate our muffins, which we couldn't do on the Metro because they kick you off for that kind of behavior, missy! (Really, they do.)
Once we reached the ticket counter - which was really more of a booth - the list of times available were all crossed off but for one: 3:30 pm. We asked for two tickets. "That's it, tickets are all gone!" the woman in the Parks Service uniform announced. We had snagged the last two tickets to the Washington Monument...ahead of grandparents who were there with their nine-year old grandson. Try next time, suckas! I did feel a little bad, but, there were only two tickets left so they would've had to fight over who got to go and who really wants to see grandparents fight in front of their grandson? That's just sad.
Speaking of the Washington Monument, the views are not bad from the top of the District's tallest structure:
The light-colored paths down there? That's gravel. The grassy areas they use for festivals and functions and gatherings. It's a long walk from the Washington Monument to the Capitol building.
View from the top of the Washington Monument of the world's largest crop circle. Also, the White House.
The Lincoln Memorial looks small, but when you get to it it's H-U-G-E. You can read the Gettysburg Address as well as his second inaugural speech. Both are carved onto the walls. That's the WWII memorial in foreground.
We walked all over the city, including on this path that you see on the lower edge of that body of water that takes you to the Jefferson Memorial, then we continued to the right in a loop to the FDR memorial after passing about eight or nine million Future Leaders of America in their little suits and skirts who seemed to feel that leaders should have the whole sidewalk and not move for others.
When I was in the Jefferson Memorial, I noticed the various people who were in DC. The multitude of skin tones and languages milling about, all reading and taking pictures made me think about what all of these people were doing here; these monuments mean something, represent important ideals not just to Americans but to the world.
Of course we walked to the Capitol.
After seeing the Library of Congress, we walked outside to find the Supreme Court building is right next door. And yes, those stairs are quite impressive.
FDR quote.
One can't help being both awed while contemplating the second inaugural address, and giggly while remembering "The Simpson's" episode where Lisa wrote the speech but then changed it to excoriate the cesspool that is corrupt officials supposedly representing democracy. Both are true. This is a place of high ideals and backroom deals. It's human nature.
Korean War Memorial tribute.
Washington DC may be a cesspool that breeds corruption in some, but it's also a beautiful place that represents a proud nation of caring, passionate, flawed, forthright, and free people who have the opportunity to remove the corrupt and try again. Checks and balances, baby, checks and balances. And the right to vote. You gotta love it.
Washing the Mustang which would ferry me to the airport.
My trip to DC started off with a lovely sendoff from my family. We ate burgers and drank beer at the airport restaurant, then I went through security and OC and OH went to their magical daddy/daughter weekend. Once I got to Portland, US Airways had wisely decided to cancel the overnight flight due to thunderstorms on the east coast. Because in the time it takes to fly across the country, those thunderstorms would likely still be there.
The next day I spent flying when I should have already been there. Great! With only three days to spend being reduced to two, I was not happy. Especially after being sent to the "suspicious" line, or whatever it is at the airport where they separate you from the herd and search you special. Whatever. Security is awesome. Besides, it must have had something to do with women traveling alone, because that is all that were in line behind me. No big deal, I was rolling with it. Besides, once I got there we went to the movies! Late at night! With subtitles! Parlez-vous Francais? No, merci!
Orchids at the botanic gardens.
First things first. We needed tickets to ride the elevator to the top of the Washington Monument. Tickets are free, but they are handed out in the morning and you have to get there early. We stood in line, a line which extended down the street and around a corner. It was sunny, and beginning to get warm. We drank our coffee and ate our muffins, which we couldn't do on the Metro because they kick you off for that kind of behavior, missy! (Really, they do.)
Once we reached the ticket counter - which was really more of a booth - the list of times available were all crossed off but for one: 3:30 pm. We asked for two tickets. "That's it, tickets are all gone!" the woman in the Parks Service uniform announced. We had snagged the last two tickets to the Washington Monument...ahead of grandparents who were there with their nine-year old grandson. Try next time, suckas! I did feel a little bad, but, there were only two tickets left so they would've had to fight over who got to go and who really wants to see grandparents fight in front of their grandson? That's just sad.
Speaking of the Washington Monument, the views are not bad from the top of the District's tallest structure:
The light-colored paths down there? That's gravel. The grassy areas they use for festivals and functions and gatherings. It's a long walk from the Washington Monument to the Capitol building.
View from the top of the Washington Monument of the world's largest crop circle. Also, the White House.
The Lincoln Memorial looks small, but when you get to it it's H-U-G-E. You can read the Gettysburg Address as well as his second inaugural speech. Both are carved onto the walls. That's the WWII memorial in foreground.
We walked all over the city, including on this path that you see on the lower edge of that body of water that takes you to the Jefferson Memorial, then we continued to the right in a loop to the FDR memorial after passing about eight or nine million Future Leaders of America in their little suits and skirts who seemed to feel that leaders should have the whole sidewalk and not move for others.
When I was in the Jefferson Memorial, I noticed the various people who were in DC. The multitude of skin tones and languages milling about, all reading and taking pictures made me think about what all of these people were doing here; these monuments mean something, represent important ideals not just to Americans but to the world.
Of course we walked to the Capitol.
After seeing the Library of Congress, we walked outside to find the Supreme Court building is right next door. And yes, those stairs are quite impressive.
FDR quote.
One can't help being both awed while contemplating the second inaugural address, and giggly while remembering "The Simpson's" episode where Lisa wrote the speech but then changed it to excoriate the cesspool that is corrupt officials supposedly representing democracy. Both are true. This is a place of high ideals and backroom deals. It's human nature.
Korean War Memorial tribute.
Washington DC may be a cesspool that breeds corruption in some, but it's also a beautiful place that represents a proud nation of caring, passionate, flawed, forthright, and free people who have the opportunity to remove the corrupt and try again. Checks and balances, baby, checks and balances. And the right to vote. You gotta love it.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Touristing
The First Annual Mother/Daughter Extravaganza took place last weekend.
These are friends I have had since 1981, when I moved to our small town and took up a desk beside them in the 2nd grade.
Now, we each have a daughter.
The mini us-es.
One mom thought it'd be a good idea to expand our girls' weekend idea and have a weekend where we brought our daughters. This way, they'd know each other pretty well and be good friends. It's all very Ya-Ya Sisterhood without the divine secrets.
I know what your mothers did in high school...
You can't get girls together without there being some dancing and/or jumping.
Not a given, but, pretty close. Especially after sports.
I'm only home for a day, then we jump back in the car for a trip to Boise, Idaho to visit grandma for a few days. OC wants to show off her recently-lost teeth.
The beach was a four hour drive, Boise will be a five hour drive. Luckily, I have made use of the library's audio books section. While I have to be particular when it comes to titles because I have OC with me and can't listen to say, Fear of Flying, I have found plenty to bring along. We listened to The Light Princess on the way to the beach; Ballet Shoes on the way home; Bridge to Terabithia will get us to Boise. For the drive home? Who knows. Maybe something about the concise history of Rome....
Bon voyage!
These are friends I have had since 1981, when I moved to our small town and took up a desk beside them in the 2nd grade.
Now, we each have a daughter.
The mini us-es.
One mom thought it'd be a good idea to expand our girls' weekend idea and have a weekend where we brought our daughters. This way, they'd know each other pretty well and be good friends. It's all very Ya-Ya Sisterhood without the divine secrets.
I know what your mothers did in high school...
You can't get girls together without there being some dancing and/or jumping.
Not a given, but, pretty close. Especially after sports.
I'm only home for a day, then we jump back in the car for a trip to Boise, Idaho to visit grandma for a few days. OC wants to show off her recently-lost teeth.
The beach was a four hour drive, Boise will be a five hour drive. Luckily, I have made use of the library's audio books section. While I have to be particular when it comes to titles because I have OC with me and can't listen to say, Fear of Flying, I have found plenty to bring along. We listened to The Light Princess on the way to the beach; Ballet Shoes on the way home; Bridge to Terabithia will get us to Boise. For the drive home? Who knows. Maybe something about the concise history of Rome....
Bon voyage!
Friday, June 22, 2007
It Just Wasn't My Day, And P.S. My Neighbor's a Freak
You know how some days just aren't yours? Yesterday was like that for me.
First, I decided to go swimming. This was a stupid idea for a number of reasons. Several weeks ago I had purchased a booklet of tickets for entry to the parks and rec swimming pool, and that coupled with something I read about "active recovery-or-other" and "doing another activity to give your regular running muscles a break-a-ding-ding" led me to think I should give swimming a shot. So I did.
Except, I can't really swim.
If by swim, you mean: "get from one side of the pool to the other without drowning"? Then yes, I can swim. But if your definition is the more traditional sense of crossing the length of the pool with a form akin to one that is widely recognized....then no, I can't really swim. You know the stroke where you propeller your arms around and at some point, breathe from the side? Yeah. I can't do that one. I can do it for three or four strokes, then I ingest water or it goes in my nose and I get all sputtery and have to stop. Instead, I do that stroke with my head out of the water, which is not graceful, nor is it very quick. The only thing it really does is to relieve my anxiety about taking in all that pool water when I do it the other way. Sure, I look like a novice and a fool, but what the heck. That horrendous form was hard to keep up, so for a break I would do the butterfly stroke-whosit. I do the old lady version, veeeeery sloooooowly. Oh well. I got through it.
After swimming I decided to go get a healthy lunch. There's a homestyle Mexican food place with a drive through, so I went there. Except I had placed my car in what I thought was the drive through and it turned out not to be the drive through, but rather, the parking lot for employees wherein they all park in a single file row. Nice! I was on the phone getting directions to the oral surgeon's office where I had an appointment that afternoon, so in my defense I wasn't really paying attention. I was sitting in what I thought was a long drive through line, so I thought I'd get on the phone and take care of the directions before I got driving again. See? Very responsible!
After I got off the phone a nice lady and her young daughter walked over to my car to tell me I was in the parking lot, not the drive through. She was very sweet, but no doubt inwardly thinking, "That is singlehandedly the most idiotic woman I have seen yet today!" I don't blame her.
At least I can give this town something to laugh about.
The day was not a total loss. I took an online quiz and learned this about myself:
I'm Lisa, who are you? by NoHomers.net
Yay! I'm not like Homer! And online quizzes are such wonderful stores to set your self-esteem by. At least, they are when they work in your favor.
Oh, I forgot to talk about my neighbor. To set it up, this is the second conversation we've had about this same, apparently important and fascinating-to-him topic. Our neighbor is a guy who lives two doors down from us with his mom. He's 20-ish, has dreadlocks, and is nice enough but there's just something about him that makes me feel like something is not quite right. Not dangerous or scary, just not right. Like Bobby Hill if Bobby Hill grew up to smoke dope, wear tie-dyed t-shirts, had dreads, and lived with his mom.
Last night, he knocked on our front door when we were all inside and asked where the cherries were on our cherry tree, did they drop off, he wondered? I replied that yes, a lot of them had but there were some on the tree if you looked closely.
He asked, not without a bit of paranoia, "Do you have a lot of birds? That's so weird that I haven't seen the cherries this year!" And on and on about the cherries and where were they and why is the tree not full of cherries?
Did I mention, this is the second conversation we've had about this? The first was months ago when he told me what a killer cherry tree we had, and that he couldn't wait for them to ripen. Which.....whatever. I guess the previous owners let him have some? I don't know. He also mentioned in this first conversation how he couldn't believe how much my husband had hacked on the apple tree right next to the cherry tree, and how I'd pruned the lavender back so much. I don't think he really understands the concept of pruning, and I am by far not an expert, so I just said simply that it helps the tree or plant grow better. I don't think it sunk in.
He had a few more incredulous comments to say as I listened and looked at him to see if his pupils were dilated, then he mumbled something else and left. Hey, maybe this was his "munchie" tree and he was freaking out about it.
It wasn't a terrible day, just, you know, kind of weird. I may even go swimming again, but I don't think I'm going to develop a swimming obsession just yet.
First, I decided to go swimming. This was a stupid idea for a number of reasons. Several weeks ago I had purchased a booklet of tickets for entry to the parks and rec swimming pool, and that coupled with something I read about "active recovery-or-other" and "doing another activity to give your regular running muscles a break-a-ding-ding" led me to think I should give swimming a shot. So I did.
Except, I can't really swim.
If by swim, you mean: "get from one side of the pool to the other without drowning"? Then yes, I can swim. But if your definition is the more traditional sense of crossing the length of the pool with a form akin to one that is widely recognized....then no, I can't really swim. You know the stroke where you propeller your arms around and at some point, breathe from the side? Yeah. I can't do that one. I can do it for three or four strokes, then I ingest water or it goes in my nose and I get all sputtery and have to stop. Instead, I do that stroke with my head out of the water, which is not graceful, nor is it very quick. The only thing it really does is to relieve my anxiety about taking in all that pool water when I do it the other way. Sure, I look like a novice and a fool, but what the heck. That horrendous form was hard to keep up, so for a break I would do the butterfly stroke-whosit. I do the old lady version, veeeeery sloooooowly. Oh well. I got through it.
After swimming I decided to go get a healthy lunch. There's a homestyle Mexican food place with a drive through, so I went there. Except I had placed my car in what I thought was the drive through and it turned out not to be the drive through, but rather, the parking lot for employees wherein they all park in a single file row. Nice! I was on the phone getting directions to the oral surgeon's office where I had an appointment that afternoon, so in my defense I wasn't really paying attention. I was sitting in what I thought was a long drive through line, so I thought I'd get on the phone and take care of the directions before I got driving again. See? Very responsible!
After I got off the phone a nice lady and her young daughter walked over to my car to tell me I was in the parking lot, not the drive through. She was very sweet, but no doubt inwardly thinking, "That is singlehandedly the most idiotic woman I have seen yet today!" I don't blame her.
At least I can give this town something to laugh about.
The day was not a total loss. I took an online quiz and learned this about myself:
I'm Lisa, who are you? by NoHomers.net
Yay! I'm not like Homer! And online quizzes are such wonderful stores to set your self-esteem by. At least, they are when they work in your favor.
Oh, I forgot to talk about my neighbor. To set it up, this is the second conversation we've had about this same, apparently important and fascinating-to-him topic. Our neighbor is a guy who lives two doors down from us with his mom. He's 20-ish, has dreadlocks, and is nice enough but there's just something about him that makes me feel like something is not quite right. Not dangerous or scary, just not right. Like Bobby Hill if Bobby Hill grew up to smoke dope, wear tie-dyed t-shirts, had dreads, and lived with his mom.
Last night, he knocked on our front door when we were all inside and asked where the cherries were on our cherry tree, did they drop off, he wondered? I replied that yes, a lot of them had but there were some on the tree if you looked closely.
He asked, not without a bit of paranoia, "Do you have a lot of birds? That's so weird that I haven't seen the cherries this year!" And on and on about the cherries and where were they and why is the tree not full of cherries?
Did I mention, this is the second conversation we've had about this? The first was months ago when he told me what a killer cherry tree we had, and that he couldn't wait for them to ripen. Which.....whatever. I guess the previous owners let him have some? I don't know. He also mentioned in this first conversation how he couldn't believe how much my husband had hacked on the apple tree right next to the cherry tree, and how I'd pruned the lavender back so much. I don't think he really understands the concept of pruning, and I am by far not an expert, so I just said simply that it helps the tree or plant grow better. I don't think it sunk in.
He had a few more incredulous comments to say as I listened and looked at him to see if his pupils were dilated, then he mumbled something else and left. Hey, maybe this was his "munchie" tree and he was freaking out about it.
It wasn't a terrible day, just, you know, kind of weird. I may even go swimming again, but I don't think I'm going to develop a swimming obsession just yet.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Running With Librarians
This morning I drove OC to day camp, then took a detour to a neighborhood in the southwest part of town to check out the running conditions on the roads and the hills. When I got home, I opened up Google Earth to check the mileage of this route. I won't bore you with details of what I have learned about cadence and speedwork, and so let me just say that I think I may be a little obsessed with the running thing. Runners World magazine mentioned this might happen. (How did they know???)
I went for a run with my friend - the marathon runner - while in DC. I was grateful to her for going slooooowly for me, the barely-can-do-a-5k-er. The air! in DC! is thick! I felt like there was much moisture in the air I could have practically drank it. Run along, breathe, open mouth, drink!
That would have been convenient, actually.
How do people cope with the humidity? I am an admitted fan of wet weather, but not HOT wet weather.
Speaking of DC: I cannot help but think that it stands to reason that if someone had put a pamphlet for the Library of Congress in my hand as a high school senior, I would have had a very different life. Instead of the glamorous mommy blogger that I am today, I might have been an analyst for the Congressional Research Service and spend my days analyzing public policy and writing reports. Sound boring? Well, maybe some subjects would be, but think of the topics you would uncover without knowing you ever wanted to in the first place? It's like traveling with the goal to see all 50 state capitals. There may be no other reason I'd go to, randomly, Connecticut or Alabama - but doing something like that would open up a whole new world of exploration. Not to mention boring slide shows. (Here's the capitol building from yet another angle, each slightly less interesting than the previous. Woot!)
The Library of Congress has an amazing collection of original works: James Polk's handwritten diaries, music scores by Gershwin with his pencil marks on them, one of three existing copies in the world of the Gutenberg Bible. All that and more, here:
I did not see the whole place. No way. It's too big. If you go to DC, you need two weeks, or more, and even at that you will be exhausted at all the sites. It will only take you several minutes to be annoyed at all the tourists, forgetting that you yourself are one.
Someone figured out how to do a mosaic on a ceiling:
I think the decor is called "non-understated irrestrainedness".
I went for a run with my friend - the marathon runner - while in DC. I was grateful to her for going slooooowly for me, the barely-can-do-a-5k-er. The air! in DC! is thick! I felt like there was much moisture in the air I could have practically drank it. Run along, breathe, open mouth, drink!
That would have been convenient, actually.
How do people cope with the humidity? I am an admitted fan of wet weather, but not HOT wet weather.
Speaking of DC: I cannot help but think that it stands to reason that if someone had put a pamphlet for the Library of Congress in my hand as a high school senior, I would have had a very different life. Instead of the glamorous mommy blogger that I am today, I might have been an analyst for the Congressional Research Service and spend my days analyzing public policy and writing reports. Sound boring? Well, maybe some subjects would be, but think of the topics you would uncover without knowing you ever wanted to in the first place? It's like traveling with the goal to see all 50 state capitals. There may be no other reason I'd go to, randomly, Connecticut or Alabama - but doing something like that would open up a whole new world of exploration. Not to mention boring slide shows. (Here's the capitol building from yet another angle, each slightly less interesting than the previous. Woot!)
The Library of Congress has an amazing collection of original works: James Polk's handwritten diaries, music scores by Gershwin with his pencil marks on them, one of three existing copies in the world of the Gutenberg Bible. All that and more, here:
I did not see the whole place. No way. It's too big. If you go to DC, you need two weeks, or more, and even at that you will be exhausted at all the sites. It will only take you several minutes to be annoyed at all the tourists, forgetting that you yourself are one.
Someone figured out how to do a mosaic on a ceiling:
I think the decor is called "non-understated irrestrainedness".
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Growing Up
I had to look at the timestamp to find out today's date. Oh! It's June nineteenth. Already? Wow. So, today I came home to a tumbleweed in my driveway. I live in town.
This is the first week of summer camp. I had trepidation about leaving OC the first day, yesterday, because I called last week for directions and no one called me back. Hello? What is that?? When I got there yesterday morning the woman apologized and said someone should have really called back, she doesn't know how it happened, blah blah blah. All I could think was, I'm leaving my child in your care, please tell me this isn't a sign of neglect. Tell me it was that last week, the counselors were so busy watching every kid like a hawk that you couldn't answer the message-only line where I left my message, and that the live line you were tending to like it was Bambi after his mother was shot. Still, I went to see OC at lunchtime - just to be sure she was feeling okay - and she was fine. No, she was not fine, she was great! She was having a blast with her new friends and then she had to deal with her mother horning in on her camp time. *draws square in air with fingers
When I picked her up that evening she was a dirty, happy kid. And hungry. I had brought an apple with me because I knew she'd be hungry but also because I knew it would work on loosening her second loose tooth even more. It worked like a charm, because that tooth came out when we got home. It's a good thing, too, since both the adult teeth had already shot through the gums and were ready to replace them. The roots are still down there from both her lost teeth, and the dentist said they'd come out in pieces. Yick.
She was SO EXCITED about it that she told her dad about it IN CAPITAL LETTERS. She was a little ooged out by the tiny amount of blood, but got over it quickly at the thought of the tooth fairy's impending, dough-laden visit.
How is it possible to want to see your kid grow up and then, when they do, you just want to cry and make them stop?
It turns out the tooth fairy gives generously for the first tooth, then scales back for the second.
This is the first week of summer camp. I had trepidation about leaving OC the first day, yesterday, because I called last week for directions and no one called me back. Hello? What is that?? When I got there yesterday morning the woman apologized and said someone should have really called back, she doesn't know how it happened, blah blah blah. All I could think was, I'm leaving my child in your care, please tell me this isn't a sign of neglect. Tell me it was that last week, the counselors were so busy watching every kid like a hawk that you couldn't answer the message-only line where I left my message, and that the live line you were tending to like it was Bambi after his mother was shot. Still, I went to see OC at lunchtime - just to be sure she was feeling okay - and she was fine. No, she was not fine, she was great! She was having a blast with her new friends and then she had to deal with her mother horning in on her camp time. *draws square in air with fingers
When I picked her up that evening she was a dirty, happy kid. And hungry. I had brought an apple with me because I knew she'd be hungry but also because I knew it would work on loosening her second loose tooth even more. It worked like a charm, because that tooth came out when we got home. It's a good thing, too, since both the adult teeth had already shot through the gums and were ready to replace them. The roots are still down there from both her lost teeth, and the dentist said they'd come out in pieces. Yick.
She was SO EXCITED about it that she told her dad about it IN CAPITAL LETTERS. She was a little ooged out by the tiny amount of blood, but got over it quickly at the thought of the tooth fairy's impending, dough-laden visit.
How is it possible to want to see your kid grow up and then, when they do, you just want to cry and make them stop?
It turns out the tooth fairy gives generously for the first tooth, then scales back for the second.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Hello! I'm drunk. I love you!
Where to begin?
It's been ten days since my last post. Bless me father, for I have...not posted often enough.
My husband is going to hate this post, what with all the "f*cks" and "motherf*ckers". I just can't help myself, it's who I am. At least, it is when I'm drunk.
I'm back from DC. It was quick, an airline miles kind of thing. In other words it was a time for the airlines to tell me, "f*ck you, Occidental Girl, we're going to stick you on flights that are cancelled both ways and also, just for fun, you are going to be selected to go through super security because the flavor of the month is Single White Female. Don't mess with the U.S.A."
Yeah.
I made it to Portland before my overnight US Airways flight was cancelled due to thunderstorms. Over Pennsylvania. Did I mention I was flying out of Portland, Oregon? I know thunderstorms are serious, but like, the ones that the airlines were so fervently avoiding were on the east coast and maybe were, I don't know, likely to clear out during the five hour flight across the country? But what the f*ck do I know.
DC was great. Once I finally got there. My friend took me to brunch, the National Cathedral, dinner, a movie; standing in line to grab the very last tickets to ride the elevator at the Washington monument ahead of a boy and his grandparents (to whom I said, " I'm sorry!"), the botanical gardens, meeting blogger Mommy Needs a Cocktail and her beautiful son, Nathan over glorious mojitos, monuments, Library of Congress, monuments, monuments, monuments. My Target sandals held out for 7 hours, but the last two hours my feet were killing me. We walked all over the city, it was fabulous. I knew the Lincoln Memorial wound be cool, but holy shit! It was huge and very f*cking cool.
The humidity is something I don't enjoy, although what I did enjoy was not having scaly, I-live-in-the-high-desert lizard skin. For a few days, anyway.
Back to Central Oregon desert f*cking mother f*cker. Sorry, I'm a bit drunk tonight. Red wine is good!
Oh, books? I'm reading Nick Hornby's High Fidelity. I missed it when it came out a few years ago, but I saw the movie. Movies? I saw some offbeat flicks in DC. Loved "The Valet". It was very French, but very modern. It didn't pigeonhole the mistress, for once in my f*cking life. My friend and I rented "Julia" and "Old Joy". "Julia" was f*cking nuts; discombobulated plotline and whatthef*ckever. Jane Fonda needs to pull the corn cob out of her ass, is what I have to say. Her acting style is so stiff. "Old Joy" was filmed in Portland, but why they have people driving to Bagby Hot Springs via Highway 30, I'll never know. That drove me nuts. It was good in a "this isn't going anywhere" kind of way. Then, in the spirit of cinema verite, we saw "Killer of Sheep". You can't see it, like, anywhere, but we saw it, like, motherf*cker. My friend called it a great slice of life. It was, if you like your slices of life coming at you very slowly, very undramatically. I'm glad I saw it since it was shot in black and white and a UCLA film school project thingy and there is nothing like that around here.
Somebody told me I needed to post more pictures. Okay, fine. Tomorrow, when this hangover clears I'll post some pictures. Motherf*cker.
It's been ten days since my last post. Bless me father, for I have...not posted often enough.
My husband is going to hate this post, what with all the "f*cks" and "motherf*ckers". I just can't help myself, it's who I am. At least, it is when I'm drunk.
I'm back from DC. It was quick, an airline miles kind of thing. In other words it was a time for the airlines to tell me, "f*ck you, Occidental Girl, we're going to stick you on flights that are cancelled both ways and also, just for fun, you are going to be selected to go through super security because the flavor of the month is Single White Female. Don't mess with the U.S.A."
Yeah.
I made it to Portland before my overnight US Airways flight was cancelled due to thunderstorms. Over Pennsylvania. Did I mention I was flying out of Portland, Oregon? I know thunderstorms are serious, but like, the ones that the airlines were so fervently avoiding were on the east coast and maybe were, I don't know, likely to clear out during the five hour flight across the country? But what the f*ck do I know.
DC was great. Once I finally got there. My friend took me to brunch, the National Cathedral, dinner, a movie; standing in line to grab the very last tickets to ride the elevator at the Washington monument ahead of a boy and his grandparents (to whom I said, " I'm sorry!"), the botanical gardens, meeting blogger Mommy Needs a Cocktail and her beautiful son, Nathan over glorious mojitos, monuments, Library of Congress, monuments, monuments, monuments. My Target sandals held out for 7 hours, but the last two hours my feet were killing me. We walked all over the city, it was fabulous. I knew the Lincoln Memorial wound be cool, but holy shit! It was huge and very f*cking cool.
The humidity is something I don't enjoy, although what I did enjoy was not having scaly, I-live-in-the-high-desert lizard skin. For a few days, anyway.
Back to Central Oregon desert f*cking mother f*cker. Sorry, I'm a bit drunk tonight. Red wine is good!
Oh, books? I'm reading Nick Hornby's High Fidelity. I missed it when it came out a few years ago, but I saw the movie. Movies? I saw some offbeat flicks in DC. Loved "The Valet". It was very French, but very modern. It didn't pigeonhole the mistress, for once in my f*cking life. My friend and I rented "Julia" and "Old Joy". "Julia" was f*cking nuts; discombobulated plotline and whatthef*ckever. Jane Fonda needs to pull the corn cob out of her ass, is what I have to say. Her acting style is so stiff. "Old Joy" was filmed in Portland, but why they have people driving to Bagby Hot Springs via Highway 30, I'll never know. That drove me nuts. It was good in a "this isn't going anywhere" kind of way. Then, in the spirit of cinema verite, we saw "Killer of Sheep". You can't see it, like, anywhere, but we saw it, like, motherf*cker. My friend called it a great slice of life. It was, if you like your slices of life coming at you very slowly, very undramatically. I'm glad I saw it since it was shot in black and white and a UCLA film school project thingy and there is nothing like that around here.
Somebody told me I needed to post more pictures. Okay, fine. Tomorrow, when this hangover clears I'll post some pictures. Motherf*cker.
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