San Fran--Day 1 (Road Trip!!)

Michael and I were on the road by 7:30am on Thursday, June 30th, as we set off on our grand birthday / Fourth of July adventure to San Francisco.  The weather leaving Portland was gray with some light rain / mist, but by the time we stopped for lunch in Grants Pass, the sun was out in force.  Ahhhh, the sun.  It was heaven to be headed down I-5, with my bare feet on the dash, talking with Michael as he drove.  How I love road trips!  It had been quite awhile since I'd been much further south than Albany, so I enjoyed watching the countryside change along the way and taking note of each new little town we passed through. 

Since it was such a beautiful day, we had an amazing view of Mt. Shasta (seemed so close you could almost reach out and touch her).  There was still some snow on her sides, but definitely not as much as we'd seen on her northern neighbor, Mt. St. Helens, just the week before. 

After we passed Mt. Shasta, we went through a really windy section of highway and saw deer at two different places along the side of the road.  It was a bit heart-stopping as both times the deer were walking toward the freeway, like they wanted to try to cross, then bounded away at the last minute back to the safety of the forest.  The last two deer we saw were a mama and fawn.  The baby was so little it still had the light-colored spots on its back--so sweet.

We changed places and I took over driving for a couple of hours once we hit the straight, flat section of freeway that seemed to emerge almost as soon as we crossed the border into the sunshine state.  Michael kept track of our progress using the Garmin and was able to get the picture I'd been trying to get while he drove: a sign showing how many miles left to San Fran.  It seemed like every 10 miles or so there were signs announcing how many miles left to get to Sacramento and how many to San Fran.  We would announce them to each other as we saw them, "258 miles to San Fran!"  The Garmin also kept track of our estimated arrival time, and for most of the trip it was around 6:00pm.  Once we came into San Francisco, however, we hit rush hour traffic and our ETA kept getting later and later. 

I was so thankful that Michael was driving when we got to San Francisco because suddenly there were six lanes of traffic and many people seemed to be driving aggressively, suddenly changing lanes without signaling.  I think the motorcyclists scared us the most as they rode between lanes of traffic, zipping between cars in order to get where they were going as fast as possible.

We got a great view of the bay as we came into San Francisco and crossed the Bay Bridge ($6 toll!) and daydreamed about what it would be like to live in a place where so many days of the year yielded bright, sunny skies. 

When we made our online hotel reservations for the trip at the Holiday Inn Express by the San Fran airport, we weren't sure if we would be able to make it all the way in one day, so they weren't expecting us until Friday.  We figured that if we got tired, we could stay somewhere a couple hours from San Fran and finish the trip the next morning.  But since we got there with no problems in about 10 1/2 hours of driving, we thought we'd see if we could check in at our hotel early.  Unfortunately, they were booked, but we were able to get a room at a Holiday Inn just down the street.

We didn't end up eating dinner until pretty late that night, but luckily there was a restaurant / bar attached to the hotel so we didn't have to go far.  Initially we had talked about eating at the Cheesecake Factory at the top of the Macy's building in downtown S.F. (recommended by a friend), but after driving so long and battling rush-hour traffic, neither of us felt like trying to navigate the downtown area and find parking.  The food at the hotel bar was pretty good and we split two kinds of dessert for my birthday: a "Snickers" type of ice cream dessert and banana cream pie.  After that it was off to bed as we had plans to get up at the crack of dawn (for the second day in a row) to go wait in line for Alcatraz tickets.  I'd been unable to find any available tickets online (websites all said they were sold out until after our stay) and when I had tried calling the number for the ticket office, all I got was a busy signal.  But I had read online that it was possible to get standby tickets if you were willing to wait in line, and so we decided that Alcatraz would be our first order of sightseeing business in San Francisco on Friday.

Weekend Fun: A Wedding Reception And A Shed Raising

The weekend of June 4th and 5th was quite busy for us, as we had both a wedding reception to attend (on Saturday), and a shed to build from scratch in our backyard.

Michael's parents, Ted & Donna, very graciously spent their weekend with us, beginning on Friday afternoon and lasting until nearly 10p.m. on Sunday.  Ted and Michael were hard at work buying materials, measuring, nailing, lifting (and even a little bleeding) to get the shed built.  Donna and I tried to keep them hydrated and fed at regular intervals. 

Our friend John helped out on Saturday and Sunday, lending an extra pair of hands and getting to experience an authentic "shed raising," which I like to think is not too unlike the barn raisings of the past, when neighbors would all pitch in to get a barn built in a day or two.  And now, if he feels a hankering for a shed of his own, he knows exactly what to do to get it!

The guys were up early on Saturday (like 6a.m early), as they wanted to get as much done as possible before leaving for the wedding reception later that day.  I had a couple of appointments in the morning, so I ended up meeting Michael and his parents downtown at the venue where the reception was being held.  The weather couldn't have been nicer.  And to tell the truth, it was the first really nice day we've had this summer.  It felt so good to walk outside without my coat, to feel the sun warm my head and shoulders, and to see other Portlanders out enjoying the sun in tank tops, sundresses and shorts.  It was like everything, including us, was reborn, and it was heaven to put on our sandals, get outside and remember what the sun feels like.

The reception was held down by the waterfront at a cute little wine bistro called "Thirst."  When I entered the restaurant, I was serenaded by the sounds of keyboard and saxophone by two musicians stationed near one of the entrances.  I soon found Donna and her cousin Jan who is one of the mothers of the two brides, Bobbi and Kelsey.  Bobbi had been to our wedding back in 2004, and we'd seen her at various family gatherings over the last 10 years since Michael and I have been together, but neither of us had yet met her now-wife.  We were only able to chat a bit, as seems to be the case at most wedding receptions I've attended, but she seems like a sweet girl, and the two of them look very, very happy together. 

We were served a very lovely luncheon of salmon or steak, a excellent rice pilaf dish, potatoes, caesar salad and whatever the bar had that we wanted to drink--I was delighted with my glass of sparkling water (Perrier), and in fact downed a couple of bottles of it during our time there. 

After lunch there was a heartfelt toast given by Kelsey's cousin, wishing the two brides happiness in their new life together, and then we were invited to sample one or many of the cupcakes provided by a local "cupcakery", St. Cupcake.  They were bite-size bits of heaven, truly heaven, and I could have eaten a whole lot of them.  My favorite was the red velvet cake, although the vanilla cupcake was also divine.  And how could they go wrong with cheesecake frosting?  Mmmm, the best.

It was after the cupcakes that the guys excused themselves to head back home where the beginnings of the shed were patiently waiting to be assembled.  Donna and I lounged at a sidewalk table outside the restaurant for at least another hour, enjoying the sun and the slight breeze coming off the river.

Finally we said our goodbyes and headed back to the house where it seemed to be much, much warmer.  The men were parched and Michael was already sunburned.  I slathered his neck, face and forearms with sunscreen, and sent him back out where he was happy as a clam working alongside his dad and John.  I'm sure it was a nice change of pace for him to use his hands for something other than clicking a mouse and using a keyboard as he does for 50+ hours a week at work. 

The shed progressed quite rapidly . . . Donna and I tried to remember to run to the backyard every so often to take pictures of the latest stage of development.  I was most nervous when it came time for the roofing, as I was worried someone would slip and fall.  I was right to be wary of an accident, but I did not guess that it would be the nail gun to fall off of the ladder, instead of one of the men.

Ted was the unlucky one who was in the path of the falling nail gun, or rather, his right thumb was--it got him good, tearing a chunk of flesh loose and cracking part of the thumbnail.  Michael, John and I were standing nearby when it happened, and what scared us most was that we knew something had happened since we heard the nail gun fall, but we didn't know what.  That and Ted's response to our questions about him being okay--a quiet "no."  One of the man's heroes is John Wayne, and he is just as tough, so hearing him say that he was not okay made us all very worried.  Luckily, it was "just" his thumb (and not his head, as Michael feared, or his leg / foot, as I feared), so in that respect, things turned out well.

He let me put one Band-Aid on his thumb, then asked Michael to bring him some painter's tape so he could tape the rest of it up and keep working.  I pointed out that one corner of the wound was still visible in the middle of the bandage, and told him we should put something over it so he didn't get dirt in there.  He smiled and replied, "Dirt will just stop the bleeding."  Tough as nails, that man.

The guys were outside until after nightfall, and finished up everything but part of the roofing and the door.  Michael said he could do those last bits on his own later in the week.  They came inside for a dinner of homemade chicken soup, courtesy of Donna, and then both of his parents headed off back home to The Dalles.  We tried to get them to stay with us one more night, but they were planning to leave for a week's stay in Welches, and wanted to get home so they could finish getting ready and leave early the following day. 

Michael and I were both so grateful for their help; it was a job that Michael couldn't have completed half as well without his dad there to guide and oversee the operations.  And his mom kept me company and even weeded a good deal of our yard for us.  We are lucky to have them.

Memorial Day Weekend

In this continuation of catching up on blogging is the story of what we did over Memorial Day.  It was a busy one spent with our families, which was good and probably overdue.

Saturday Michael and I drove to Vancouver to help get my grandparents settled in at their new assisted living facility.  It is only about 5 miles from my mom and dad's house, and having them so close is something that Mom has wanted for a long time.  When they were in Dallas, it was just too far from all of their children for anyone to be able to visit them every day or every other day.  It was more like once every 2 to 4 weeks.  Now my mom can go over for an hour or two and take off when they need to rest or when she has something else she needs to do, and she can do it every day if she wants to.

Michael was asked to help unload the moving truck with the help of Uncle Martin, Uncle Brent and my dad.  My job was to keep my grandparents company while their new home was being unpacked.  We sat in the "library" at the facility--a lovely room with books lining one wall, a gas fireplace and comfy couches and chairs.  My grandma loved sitting in front of the fireplace, even though it was one of the few days we have had when the sun has been shining.  She's always on the cold side, so she happily sat there for about 3 hours, chatting with me and having an ice cream cone (the best vanilla I think I have ever had), while Grandpa tried to nap on one of the couches.  It turned out to be too short for him to really stretch out and get comfortable, but he was able to close his eyes and rest that way for a bit.

When their room was ready, we all went up and met my mom and two aunts who had been unpacking Grandma and Grandpa's few dishes and knickknacks.  Their furniture had been arranged to resemble as closely as possible the arrangement at their apartment in Dallas, mostly for my grandma's benefit.  She gets confused easily, and everyone was hoping that if the new place looked like the old place, she might think she was still there, which would reduce the stress of being in a new environment.  Sadly, this was not the case.

When it was time for everyone to leave, Grandma got pretty distressed.  She almost looked ready to cry, at being left in a place she didn't recognize, with people she didn't know.  She had thought that she and Grandpa were "just visiting," and would be returning to Dallas.  My parents and Michael and I stayed to have dinner with them in the dining area, to try and help Grandma feel more comfortable.  I could understand her distress, as the other residents stared curiously at them as we filed to a table.  It was not unlike the feeling of being the new kid at school.  Luckily, our group was too big to easily fit a table in the main dining area, so we were invited to eat in a private room just off the main one.  It felt like we were in a real restaurant as our orders were taken by an extremely polite boy who looked to be just out of high school (maybe college), and reminded me very much of the boyfriend in the movie Juno--gangly and sweet and soft-spoken.

By the time we'd had our meals (and dessert, of course!), Grandma seemed to be calmer.  She didn't fuss when Mom and Grandpa suggested she go upstairs and get her jammies on, and seemed to think it a good idea.

After some initial confusion about medications and Grandpa's oxygen tanks, they both seem to be doing pretty well at their new home.  I'm looking forward to being able to see them more frequently too.

The next day, Michael and I went to a birthday celebration for our niece and nephew, Ryan (12) and Jessica (9).  Their birthdays are both in May, so usually a day is chosen when schedules are free and that is the day that the extended family celebrates with them.  We got to visit with Michael's sister Christy, her husband Dean, his father Kirk, and Michael's parents.  It was a full house!

The kids wanted to play Monopoly with us on their WII gaming system and we naively took the bait, only to be trounced by a 12 year-old.  This kid could match real estate wits with Donald Trump!  Michael joked that we should get the game for our Xbox and practice on our own, then play with Ryan again and beat him.  :)  Competitive much?

Something I thought was pretty cool was that we ate dessert first!  We all had bowls of ice cream with optional berries, almonds, and chocolate topping.  Yum.  Later we had cheeseburgers or salmon burgers, chips and salsa and potato salad.  Even though it was definitely not ideal barbecue weather, the food still tasted good and it was great to catch up with everyone.

On the actual holiday itself, Michael and I started a mini spring cleaning of our home--kind of like the show Clean Sweep.  We made lists and designated items to sell or donate, and moved the computer from our upstairs "office" to the downstairs dining area.  It felt good to make space in our lives for new things . . . who knows what might happen?  ;)

Our Day With Mt. St. Helens

Hard to believe it's been almost 2 months since my last post.  We have mostly been busy working and slogging through a seemingly endless spring rainy season, but there has been some time for fun and a few days of glorious sunshine thrown in as well.

The Sunday before Memorial Day, Michael and I got our hiking boots out, packed a lunch and headed out to Mt. St. Helens to meet Gary and Roni.  We hadn't seen them since our snowshoeing trip last January, so it was good to catch up and get some fresh woodsy air into our lungs.

Roni researched online and found a trail for us to explore at Coldwater Lake, which, if I am remembering correctly, is about 5 miles from Mt. St. Helens.  We met at the boat launch area at 10:30a.m. and weren't really surprised that we were practically the only ones there.  The forecast was for clouds with a 30% chance of rain, so I don't think any of us were expecting sunshine.  I for one, was glad that I had decided to wear long johns under my cargo pants, as well as several layers of shirts and sweatshirts--and jacket!  The temperature was definitely on the cool side when we arrived, but we quickly warmed up once we set out on the trail around the lake.

We watched as one lone fisherman launched a boat that looked like it was part raft and did not seem as if it would provide any protection against the elements.  Besides him and the family of three cyclists we saw upon our arrival, it seemed like we were alone in the misty morning air with the lake and the creatures who call the area home. 

Close to where I think the base of Mt. St. Helens is . . .

It didn't take long for one of the guys to spot a herd of elk meandering along the hillside to our left.  Immediately we all wished we had brought binoculars, as the elk looked mostly like tiny cream-colored shapes that moved every so often.  We did see a lot of their droppings as we continued along the trail and one very large hoof print.  Next time we will have to bring the binoculars for sure.

Every so often we came to a place where water was rushing down from the hillside, and made me cognizant of just how much snow was still up there.  We came to two or three such places and there was always a plank of wood over the water, or the tops of rocks in just the right places to form a little bridge that we walked across to get to where the trail continued.  It was a little precarious, but we all managed to cross without mishap.  We could tell when we were getting close to one of these crossings because we'd hear the rushing water as we approached, and it was exciting to see what we would find on the other end.

After about two miles of hiking, we heard quite a lot of water off in the distance, and when the trail brought us to the place where the water came down, I got nervous.  This seemed like wider, faster water than we'd experienced at the other crossings, with a steep drop studded with rocks to the lake below.  Most importantly, there was no bridge.  There were a few rocks sticking up here and there, but none in a clear path to the other side, and there weren't any low-hanging tree branches to hang on to for balance as there had been at one of the other places we'd crossed.  It looked like it would be very easy to slip on a rock and fall in.  We stood around and discussed whether or not we should try crossing, and the consensus was that we would turn around and head back the way we'd come rather than risk it to continue around the lake.  I breathed an inward sigh of relief at the decision because I'm not that coordinated when it comes to that type of thing--I think the guys would have risked it, but Roni and I saw the potential for an unhappy end to our hiking adventure, and were very glad to turn back.  We all agreed it would be good to hike the trail again later in the year when there wouldn't be so much water coming off the hillsides. 



Roni & Gary at Coldwater Lake

On our way back, I really noticed the many downed trees all along the hillside where we were hiking.  Some of them were just gigantic and we tried to figure out if it was the 1980 eruption that had knocked them over like toothpicks, or if it was some other reason.  Since it was so fogged in around the lake, and none of us had been there before on a clear day, we couldn't tell where Mt. St. Helens was supposed to be in relation to us.  It wasn't until we got back to the trailhead and looked at a map of the area posted there that we realized the mountain was in the opposite direction from where I had thought it was, and suddenly all those trees lying in the same direction made sense.  They had most certainly been knocked down in 1980.

It was lunchtime by the time we returned to the trailhead, so we headed over to some picnic tables and tucked in.  It was then that I noticed more people and cars in the parking lot, which was surprising because it was still very cool out and had been raining off and on for the last few hours.  I guess I was surprised there were so many people who were not afraid of a little bad weather when it came to exploring the outdoors on a Sunday afternoon.

I was even more surprised after lunch when we decided to drive the six or so miles up to the Johnston Observatory, and we were met with February-like conditions: snow that had clearly been around for awhile, wind and so much fog that standing outside the observatory building in the wide open circular expanse that is the viewing area gave only a view of white.  It was a bit eerie to look out where you knew there was a looming mountain, and valleys, trees, etc., and see nothing but the fog that looked thick enough to cut.  The most I could see was a smidgen of the steep drop as I peered over the viewing area fence--it was enough to remind me that we were very high up--4,314 feet above sea level.

Looking down the hillside at the observatory

Michael and the volcano

We were all able to get inside the observatory for free, thanks to Gary and Roni's National Forest Park annual pass, which allowed them to bring up to three people with them as guests--awesome.  It was neat to walk around looking at the exhibits which gave information on the May 1980 eruption, and realize that where we were standing was directly inside the "blast zone."  Had we been there that day in 1980, we would surely all have died, just as David Johnston, the volcanologist with the United States Geological Survey, who lived and worked at the outpost where the observatory that bears his name now stands, died that day.  Johnston was the first to sound the alarm about the eruption, transmitting "Vancouver, Vancouver, this is it!"  Then he was hit by the sideways blast that occurred as part of the north side of the mountain collapsed.

I learned some interesting things at the observatory about volcanoes: Coldwater Lake, where we had hiked was formed as a result of the May 1980 eruption, and granite, basalt and obsidian all come from the same beginning--lava.  Their differences come from how fast or how slow the lava cools and whether the lava is inside or outside the volcano at the time.  But what touched me most were the stories like Johnston's, of the people who were there that day--those who made it and lived to tell their tales, and those who did not.  It reminded me of just how powerful and indiscriminating nature is, and of how strong, beautiful and ephemeral life can be.

Once we were finished touring the observatory, we headed back to our cars just as the skies opened up and the intermittent showers we'd been experiencing for most of the day morphed into a heavy, drenching downpour.  Even though we ended up soggy, our spirits were high as we headed back toward Oregon and home.  It was a day of camaraderie, exercise, and reflection, and I can't wait to go back--hopefully on a clear day when Mt. St. Helens can show me her beautiful face.

We Are All Pampered Chefs!

Today I hosted a Pampered Chef party at my house to support my best friend, Lindsey, who has recently become a consultant.  You can check out her website at http://www.pamperedchef.biz/lindseyfandrem.  And if there is anything you would like to order, just let me know . . . my party will close in a couple of days to allow for outside orders.  ;)

I really love having friends and family over for food and company, and today was no exception--with the added bonus of getting to try out really fun kitchen gadgets, dishes and cookware.  I especially liked the garlic press which allows you to put in a whole, unpeeled clove of garlic, and out comes minced garlic right into whatever you are making.  Then you just open it up and take out the garlic skin.  As someone who has spent her share of time trying her best to peel garlic, this gadget is nothing short of a miracle.

Pampered Chef has changed quite a bit since the last time I had a party (which may very well have been right after I graduated from college and was living in Salem back in 1998), and I was impressed to see how much they have expanded.  They now have stoneware baking ware (for pizzas as well as for cookies, muffins / cupcakes and bread), and really beautiful white serving dishes and platters.  They even have their own line of knives, complete with butcher block!

Lindsey brought all the fixings to make veggie pizza, carrot cake cupcake bites and turtle brownie bites.  So of course, I had to go off the diet!  :)  And it was fabulous. 

My dad came along (somewhat reticently at first), but I think he surprised himself by how much he enjoyed learning about and having the chance to use the products as we put together the food.  I had told him beforehand that I was pretty sure he would have a great time, since he is quite the cook in our family.  He ended up ordering over $100 worth of merchandise, so I guess I was right.  :)  I even teased him about becoming a Pampered Chef consultant himself, as having his own cooking-related business would both keep him busy and entertained.  Besides that, he just loves talking to anyone and everyone about something he is passionate about.  And he is quite the salesman . . . I'm sure the ladies who generally host parties would just eat him up.  He hasn't signed up yet, but I'll keep working on him. 

My mom doesn't have many contacts in the area, but my aunt does, so we asked her if she would like to co-host a party.  My mom and I will help her with it and in exchange for having it at her house, she can use the credits to order free Pampered Chef products.  And Lindsey has already booked her first show off of a show.  Not too bad.  :)

Morgan and Josie came along to help Lindsey.  Of course my mom had a great time holding Josie (babies just gravitate toward her) and Morgan and I spent a lot of time blowing and chasing bubbles in our front yard.

Lindsey and my dad prepare the pizza

I really love the Pampered Chef glass measuring cups.  They are so durable!

The carrot cake and turtle brownie bites.  Mmmm.

Dad making his list and checking it twice.

My mom and Josie

Lindsey and Morgan frost the carrot cake bites.

The finished pizza.

It was a great Sunday, spent with people I love, relaxing and eating.  What could be better than that?

Today's Poem . . .

Jean


A woman's face
on the cover of a magazine,
puffy, shining moon.
It took my breath away,
pushed tears to my eyes:
she looked so much like you
that last time we met.


The sign outside the door of your room
was made by one of your sons.
It warned all in the house to be quiet,
that a massage was in session.

A grim smile crossed my lips. 


How would I dare give you a "regular" massage,
you with your so-white skin, delicate as a child's,
you with more prescription bottles than I have ever seen
for one person at one time
cluttering the bathroom counter,
your name on the labels.


I placed my hands on you, gently, gently.
I watched the rise and fall of your chest as you slept.
The afternoon sun bathed us both in its golden light
but you were halfway gone,
halfway on to that other place
we all find alone.


Jean, you were not afraid
in that moment.
You accepted. You slept.

Inside, I know you were dancing.

--Amy Hoffman

Poem

This Day

Today hell has finally frozen over.
Mephistopheles glides by, double-runnered, huffing,
a spark in his eye,
Today God is getting new frames,
has lost count, momentarily, of the angels and pins.
A sparrow falls, dusts himself off, spits, gets back up again.

Today is my lucky day.  Heybobareebob.
I am plumb loco with luck, He Who Walks Backwards,
the one left alone on the wagon-train ambush,
tetched in the head, maize boy, too much in the sun,
the one who holds on to the overturned lifeboat,
who crawls like a worm from within the mass grave.

I am high man on the totem pole.
I walk from the plane wreck, stand up in the fusillade.
There is no bullet that bears my name.
I will never be taken alive.

Today it is for other men to be broken into boys,
for others to saw at their legs to survive.
I am Jack be nimble.  The world can shut its trap.
My friends, my brothers are the heavy hearts.
The mark is on them.
They are scathed, fall chickens, good joes petered out.

No blood is daubed like unction on their chambered doors.
The man going through their rubbish outside
has brought them his sorrow, some vagrant plague.
They are the flies someone actually hurts.

Today the moon makes eyes at me.
Today I know the exact intensity that a woman brings
to the brushing to the left of the rivers of her hair.
When I hold her, the woman, the moon, I see in her eyes
the reflection, the waving arms of the dying and the drowned.
I make love to her anyway, lucky stiff, lucky bastard,
lucky as all get-out and hell.

--John Hodgen

A Poem for Today

 This was my favorite poem when I was in high school.

 
The Song of Wandering Aengus

 I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire aflame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And some one called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

--William Butler Yeats

Emily Dickinson's "Hope"

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

--Emily Dickinson

William Stafford "Afterwards"

Afterwards

Mostly you look back and say, "Well, OK. Things might have
been different, sure, and it's too bad, but look--
things happen like that, and you did what you could."
You go back and pick up the pieces. There's tomorrow.
There's that long bend in the river on the way
home. Fluffy bursts of milkweed are floating
through shafts of sunlight or disappearing where
trees reach out from their deep dark roots.

Maybe people have to go in and out of shadows
till they learn that floating, that immensity
waiting to receive whatever arrives with trust.
Maybe somebody has to explore what happens
when one of us wanders over near the edge
and falls for awhile. Maybe it was your turn.

--William Stafford

Marie Howe's "Hurry"

Hurry

We stop at the dry cleaners and the grocery store
and the gas station and the green market and
Hurry up honey, I say, hurry hurry,
as she runs along two or three steps behind me
her blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down.

Where do I want her to hurry to? To her grave?
To mine? Where one day she might stand all grown?

Today, when all the errands are finally done, I say to her,
Honey I'm sorry I keep saying Hurry--
you walk ahead of me. You be the mother.

And Hurry up, she says, over her shoulder, looking
back at me, laughing. Hurry up now darling, she says,
hurry, hurry, taking the house keys from my hands.

--Marie Howe

Poetry Time!

The Wren from Carolina

Just now the wren from Carolina buzzed
through the neighbor's hedge
a line of grace notes I couldn't even write down
much less sing.

Now he lifts his chestnut colored throat
and delivers such a cantering praise---
for what?
For the early morning, the taste of the spider,

for his small cup of life
that he drinks from every day, knowing it will refill.
All things are inventions of holiness,
Some more rascally than others.

I'm on that list too,
though I don't know exactly where.
But every morning, there's my own cup of gladness,
and there's the wren in the hedge, above me, with his

blazing song.


---Mary Oliver

poem by e.e. cummings

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old
   
may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young
   
and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

--e.e. cummings

Today's Poem: "So Much Happiness"

So Much Happiness

It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness.
With sadness there is something to rub against,
a wound to tend with lotion and cloth.
When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up,
something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change.

But happiness floats.
It doesn't need you to hold it down.
It doesn't need anything.
Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing,
and disappears when it wants to.
You are happy either way.
Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house
and now live over a quarry of dust and noise
cannot make you unhappy.
Everything has a life of its own,
it too could wake up filled with possibilities
of coffee cake and ripe peaches,
and love even the floor which needs to be swept,
the soiled linens and scratched records...

Since there is no place large enough
to contain so much happiness,
you shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you
into everything you touch. You are not responsible.
You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit
for the moon, but continues to hold it, and share it,
and in that way, be known.

--Naomi Shihab Nye

In Honor of National Poetry Month

April is National Poetry Month (!) and I am going to try to post one poem each day in honor of it. That way I can share more of my favorites with you, and it will spur me to discover poetry as yet untasted. Maybe I will even share one of my own. :)

Here is today's offering:

This Is Just to Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast.

Forgive me
they were
delicious
so sweet
and so cold.


--William Carlos Williams

A Full Weekend

This weekend has been full and fabulous. :)

Saturday I met my friend Eileen for a pedicure at the southeast Dosha location on Hawthorne Boulevard. We got to catch up as our feet were soaked, then massaged, our callouses were scrubbed at least a little smoother, and nail polish was applied to our newly trimmed toenails (coincidentally, we chose the same color, a shimmery shade of apricot--oh la la).

Then it was off to find a place for lunch. Luckily we didn't have far to go to find a great little place. Eileen's sister lives in the area and had recommended a French creperie called "Chez Machin." I was pleased to see that they use fresh, local ingredients, cage-free eggs and also that they offer a gluten-free version of their crepes. It reminded me why I love the east side of Portland so much!

I chose their special savory crepe of the day: chevre (goat cheese), spinach, kalamata olives, and garlic with creme fraiche drizzled over the top and a fried egg on top of that. It was oh-so-good. Vraiment tres bon!

They also offer crepes "sucres" for dessert and while Eileen and I decided to pass, I took a menu home with visions of future lazy Sunday trips to the southeast side dancing in my head. I must take Michael there to help prepare him for our someday trip to France. :)

When I got home, our friend John was there, working with Michael in the garage. John and his wife, Amy, invited us over for dinner and we had a good time catching up with them and enjoying the very tasty lentil soup and garlic bread that Amy had made.

I started out this morning thinking I would spend the day cleaning and would make tacos for dinner. Then I thought of inviting my parents over to have dinner with us, since it had been far too long since we'd seen them. I really wasn't expecting them to say yes, since my mom works on Sundays and she always goes to bed fairly early in the evenings when she has to work the next day. But no, she said they would love to come and what could they bring?

We ended up as 4 cooks in the kitchen with my dad cooking the ground turkey, my mom chopping lettuce, avocado and olives, Michael pouring us wine and me running around finding dishes to put things in, the oil for Dad, spices for the turkey, etc. It was a little hectic but also kind of cozy and nice.

Finally we all sat down and stuffed ourselves full of tacos with black beans, salsa, cilantro, onion, pickle (yes, pickle), olives, lettuce, avocado and cheese. There was more wine for all and beer too for Mom and Dad.

Afterward, we had dessert of a lemon pudding cake which Michael selected from Fred Meyer, topped with a scoop of coconut milk ice cream (my choice). It was all really, really good.

All too soon it was time for them to go, but before they left for home, my mom and I modeled the new scarf (her) and new hat (me) that my sister, Christi, made for us. She is quite the talented knitter, that one. :)

Even though it wasn't long enough together, it was fun to see my mom and dad and fill them in on the details of our lives since we'd last seen them. I'm looking forward to doing it again soon!

Michael's New Adventure

Yesterday we drove to Seaside to pick up Michael's "project" car. He's been wanting one for quite some time now, and all that dutiful surfing of the Internet finally paid off last week when he saw a car he really wanted at a price that wouldn't break the bank.

It's a 1972 Datsun 510 that Michael says will look amazing once she is fixed up. He's got big plans for this car, and I'm glad because it will a) keep Michael from getting bored and from playing too many hours of video games and b) it will get this car the love that she needs. The car is older than both of us and looks it--but I think under Michael's tender care, she will blossom into the little racecar of her master's dreams.

We rented a car dolly from U-haul and I'm happy to report that we had no trouble with either the equipment or the company; we weren't so lucky when we moved into our house 6 years ago and U-haul charged us for about 50 extra miles than we actually drove. It was a big headache getting that one straightened out and we didn't get our money back until after I wrote a letter to the Better Business Bureau. Thankfully, everything went smoothly yesterday and we arrived in Seaside 2 1/2 hours before the agreed-upon time of 1pm.

Michael and I splurged and had lunch at the local Dairy Queen, then watched the seagulls and the waves on the beach until it was time to pick up the Datsun. The only unfortunate part of the day was the gray drizzle that kept Michael and the car's previous owner company as they inspected the car and got it loaded onto our dolly. We also got various extra parts for the car, including 2 doors that fit nicely in the truck bed.

Our '98 Toyota did just fine pulling the car and dolly over the coastal range, and we had no trouble keeping it at 55mph. There was still some snow up there at the highest part of the range . . . believe me I was glad we were getting this car now and not 1 or 2 months ago. It could have made for a treacherous trip home.

The little Datsun spent her first night outside next to our Honda, but Michael has been diligently clearing space in the garage so that she will soon be under cover.

I'm excited for him and the plans he has for the car. We'll keep you posted on the process of her ongoing makeover.

Goodbye, Sweet Boy

To live in this world

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go.

--From "In Blackwater Woods" by Mary Oliver

Last Friday, Michael and I said goodbye to our sweet boy, Flynn. It was the hardest decision I have ever made.

Flynn began slowing down during the summer months, lagging behind on walks and having more difficulty with his back legs. Michael and I chalked it up to his age. When he suddenly stopped wolfing down food and actually began leaving it in his dish, I knew something was wrong. I took him to the vet in early December and was told that it was probably "doggie dementia," that a switch in his brain had flipped, causing him to lose his previously ravenous appetite and become more of a picky eater.

By January he had lost more weight and his ribs began to stick out. We began hiding treats in his food dish to entice him to eat. Meanwhile, he was having more and more trouble getting up from a lying down position and when he stood, sometimes his back feet would curl under so he was standing on the top part of his feet.

One night I got a call from Michael, who had gotten home from work before me. Flynn had slipped on the linoleum floor in the kitchen and wasn't able to get back up. Michael had found him sprawled on the floor, shaking, sitting in poop. Who knows how long he had been there. After that we made a little "pen" for him in our living room, since he kept his footing better on carpet than on slippery linoleum. We moved his food and water into his little area along with his bed and he spent most of his time napping or nosing through his food dish looking for treats.

In early February, I took him to the kennel for a bath (since we didn't dare try getting him up and down our stairs and in and out of the bathtub), and Flynn did not do well. I got him in the car by lifting him in (front legs first, then back legs), but when we got to the kennel, he would not jump out of the backseat. I ended up having to drag him out. The kennel called me when Flynn was done being bathed and when I went to pick him up, I knew that something was very wrong. He could no longer support himself all the way on his back legs, but was instead waddling along. It was heartbreaking. The kennel staff said he must have been tired out from being bathed, and they are probably right since I'm sure he struggled. Still, when I finally got him in the house and on his bed, and he didn't move for most of the rest of the night, the warning bells clanged in my head. Perhaps it was time for someone to have a look at him.

Michael and I didn't want him to deteriorate to the point where he could no longer stand or walk, and it seemed that point might be fast approaching. However, Flynn recovered from his ordeal at the kennel and was able to walk around fairly normally within a day or so. But a couple of weeks later, he began to get "stuck" when in a sitting position. His spindly legs (once so strong), simply no longer had the strength to lift his back end off the floor. We would help him out by lifting his hips and then he was able to walk once he got his feet underneath him. At this point, I decided it was time to seek the advice of a vet. After the traumatic trip to and from the kennel, I didn't want to subject either of us to a trip to his regular vet (whom I never much cared for anyway), and especially if it ended up being a situation in which he would need to be put to sleep, I didn't want it to be at the vet's office because he always hated going there, shaking and whining and getting very upset. If we had to put him down, I wanted him to be as relaxed and peaceful as possible going into it.

A few months ago, I had come across an article in the Oregonian about a local woman vet whose entire practice consisted of home euthanasia. She talked about how much easier it was on both pets and owners to go through the process in a comfortable, private environment than in a busy, often loud, public veterinary office. It made perfect sense to me and I clipped the article to keep for future use (thinking of Flynn), but when I tried to find it when I needed it, it was nowhere to be found. I tried searching for her on the Internet but couldn't find her. Instead I found another lady vet, Dr. Louise Mesher, who also makes housecalls. She provides routine veterinary care as well as home euthanasia when the time comes. I decided to give her a call and see if she would evaluate Flynn and give us some guidance as to what would be best for him.

I called last Wednesday and left a message as their recording said they were closed Wednesdays and Sundays. On Thursday, Jennifer, the doctor's assistant called me back and left such a sweet, sincere message expressing her sadness that we were at this point with Flynn, that I knew I wanted them to help us. When I called back, Dr. Mesher herself answered, and we talked briefly about Flynn and his difficulties. I told her that I was concerned about how thin he was getting because he had become much thinner since December/January when his ribs began to stick out. Now I could clearly see the bones of his pelvis and his cheekbones, and all of his vertebrae. He looked like a skeleton but I attributed it to old age and to his greatly decreased appetite. The doctor said she could see us the next evening as she would be out in our area at another appointment. My heart caught (I'm not ready for this!), but I gave her our address and she said she'd call between 6 & 7pm.

I stayed up late that night, sitting by Flynn's bed, petting him and chatting with my best friend on Facebook. I hoped I was ready for what Dr. Mesher's visit would bring.

The next morning, I got ready for work and the thought occurred to me that I could call in sick and stay home with Flynn, just in case it ended up being his last day. I brushed it aside, feeling sure that the doctor would say he still had at least a month or two left before it would be time to let him go. Again, in my car on the way to work, I got a gut feeling that I should turn around and call my boss to explain the situation. I could spend the day with Flynn, petting him and talking to him. Maybe we could even go for a short walk to the mailbox across the street, which was all the further we dared go with him, since his legs were so unsteady. But again, I brushed the feeling away and continued on my way to work. Later I would wish I had listened to my intuition.

That night Michael and I waited with Flynn for Dr. Mesher to arrive. As we did I watched Flynn lying quiet and peaceful on his bed and felt so glad that I had arranged for this visit instead of hauling him in to his regular vet's office which only would have upset him (and me).

Dr. Mesher and her assistant arrived and bustled into the house with the briefest of introductions. They went directly to Flynn and in a moment the doctor was on her knees examining him. It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes before she said that something was very, very wrong with him. She said that the massive muscle wasting we were seeing was probably due to cancer. She asked me to have him get up so she could see him walk. I gestured to Flynn with the big, swooping, "Come on, boy" wave of my arm that we had been using for a long time since his eyesight was so bad. He dutifully pulled himself up, slowly, slowly and began tottering forward, following me into the kitchen--such a good boy. Dr. Mesher watched him and then told me that she was pretty sure he had either a liver or spleen tumor. She pointed out how the left side of his ribcage stuck out more than the right side and said that it was most likely caused by the growth of one or more tumors pushing from the inside. She couldn't palpate them since they would be underneath his ribs, but she was pretty positive that was what was going on. Besides that, his arthritis was so bad that she said it would be a matter of weeks before he wouldn't be able to get up on his own at all. It was up to us what we wanted to do.

She told me how strange it was seeing Flynn because his condition was so similar to what her own dog's had been. She'd had a sixteen year-old labrador and had had to put her down a couple of months ago once it got to the point where the dog couldn't get up anymore to go to the bathroom.

Dr. Mesher said that if we wanted to keep Flynn around for a few more weeks, we would need to get him on some arthritis medication. I asked her if he would still be uncomfortable from the tumor pressing on his ribs and she said that he most likely would be.

So I decided it was time. I didn't want this dear, sweet, dog--the calmest and gentlest dog I have ever known--to suffer for one more day. He didn't deserve that, and to keep him around because I couldn't let him go would have just been selfish. I kept thinking of that part of Mary Oliver's poem, and as much as it hurt and as much as I wanted to do anything else, I knew I had to let him go.

We gave Flynn all the doggie treats we had in the house, including one entire unopened bag of his favorite Cesar "Softies," that are shaped like little paw prints. Needless to say, he was one happy boy. :) While he gorged himself, we took pictures and hugged and petted him.

Dr. Mesher gave him a sedative while he was eating and he didn't even notice, so intent was he on getting every single treat in the dish. It only took about a minute before he started feeling the effects of the sedative. His back end plopped down, but he kept eating. When his front end sagged to the carpet, I took the remaining treats from his dish and fed him from my hand. He just kept licking them until they were gone. Then Michael and Jennifer lifted him onto his bed so he could be more comfortable. We petted him and talked to him while waiting for the sedative to take full effect. The doctor explained that the drug that would stop his heart was just an overdose of anesthetic, and that it would go to his brain first, so he would feel no distress over his heart slowing down.

When she said that Flynn was ready for the lethal dose of medicine, I watched her inject it into his leg, and knew that there was no going back.

She was right--he slipped very peacefully away while Michael and I petted him and told him what a good boy he was and how happy we were that we got to have him with us, even though it was only for a short while. Well, that last bit I said mostly in my heart because I was crying so hard that all I could get out was "I love you," and "I'm sorry."

Dr. Mesher and her assistant gave us as much time as we wanted with Flynn after he was gone, and then they very carefully and very gently placed him on a fabric stretcher and took him away.

Dignified Pet Services in Tualatin is cremating Flynn and we'll pick his ashes up in a day or two. They will also have a clay paw print for us to help remember him by.

This has been much more difficult for me than I guess I had thought it would be. A few things have been comforting: looking through pictures we took during the 13 months he was with us, and compiling my favorites, finding poetry that expresses how I am feeling, writing in my journal.

When she was at our house, Dr. Mesher pointed out something that I hadn't thought of, but which was absolutely true. When we agreed to foster Flynn back in January of 2010, we thought we were doing someone else a favor. It turns out we are the ones who were lucky. We are the ones who benefited from having this extraordinary dog in our lives. We are the ones who are forever changed.

I already knew that he was a special dog, but the doctor told us that Flynn was truly an exceptional dalmatian, since many of the breed are aggressive and hard to control. She said that she had never seen a dalmatian like him, so calm and so willing to please.

This poem by Dalia Shevin makes me think of Flynn (and of the dogs I grew up with: Sienna and Winston). It's called "In My Good Death."

I will find myself waist deep in high summer grass. The humming

shock of golden light. And I will hear them before I see

them and know right away who is bounding across the field to meet

me. All my good dogs will come then, their wet noses

bumping against my palms, their hot panting, their rough faithful

tongues. Their eyes young and shiny again. The wiry scruff of

their fur, the unspeakable softness of their bellies, their velvet ears

against my cheeks. I will bend to them, my face covered with

their kisses, my hands full of them. In the grass I will let them knock

me down.

I miss you, good, sweet, BEST boy ever.

Christmas / Valentine's Lunch

Last Saturday I met Lindsey, Morgan and Josie at Bridgeport Village in Wilsonville. We still hadn't had "our" Christmas and Valentine's was only a couple of days away. Besides that, it had been something like four months since I'd last seen them, and Lindsey and I were only half-joking that we'd better find a time to meet soon before Josie starts walking!

The first thing after Morgan did after giving me a hug was present me with an envelope with my name written on it in her little handwriting. It was my valentine and it's the first card I have received where she has written so much! What a big girl--you can be sure I will be keeping this for always.

It was an overcast day to begin with, and by the end of our visit had turned downright stormy with cold temperatures, high winds and rain. In short, it was a lovely Oregon day. No matter--Morgan was still thrilled to climb on and run around the very popular play structure which is centrally located there. Lindsey and I braved the cold and tried to keep Josie's little feet and hands warm with blankets. Good thing there was a Gymboree close by that was even having a sale! Josie got some little monkey socks and a green and white striped hat. :)

We had a really good lunch at Pastini and Morgan kept me on my toes by playing a game of "I Spy" while we waited for our food. She came up with some very imaginative objects for me to try and guess . . . twice it was "something green" which turned out to be the same flag outside the restaurant and once it was "something blue" which was in fact the sky! Every time I see her she surprises me by how much she has grown and learned. She held the door many times for Lindsey pushing Josie's stroller (without being asked), and was quite a good listener when she was asked to settle down . . . I was impressed!

After lunch we headed over to the play structure again, but soon had to seek warmer temperatures inside. It didn't really make sense to have gelato on such a cold day, but I had been looking forward to some and Lindsey and Morgan didn't object. Josie got her first (I think) taste of banana gelato and seemed to really like it.

Then it was on to the Sweet Factory where I picked up some Valentine's candy for Michael, and after that Morgan and I walked to my car to start opening her Christmas gifts while we waited for Lindsey to calm Josie whose patience had run out and was making her needs known as only a five-month-old can. :)

Morgan and I had a grand time in my car, with the heater cranked up and the "Mama Mia" soundtrack blasting. She is definitely not a shy girl and sang along with me with much intensity. I tried hard not to laugh as we sang the chorus of "S.O.S." and Morgan substituted her own lyrics. "Yes, oh yes," she belted, her face upturned. In my mind's eye, I saw her in only a few more years onstage at a grade school / high school talent show and I thought to myself how much fun it will be to watch her. She's got spunk, that one!

We exchanged our gifts and I was happy that Morgan liked the Ariel dolls that Michael and I gave her. Josie got a baby doll all her own that Lindsey told me later she went crazy over once they got home. So sweet.

Michael and I got some garden gnome (reminiscent of the Travelocity Roaming Gnome) solar lights for our yard which I loved, and I got a very special gift from Lindsey that she spent over a year putting together.

She bought me a Susan Branch-designed recipe binder to encourage the fledgling cook in me, and emailed many of you reading this with an invitation to send your favorite recipes for her to include in it. Thank you so much, to those of you who responded--I love it!! Now I have recipes from both of my grandmothers, in their own handwriting, and quite a variety of recipes to choose from whenever I am stumped about what to make for dinner or a party. And if you meant to send something but never got around to it, I would still love to get your recipe(s). Feel free to email me or send them through Facebook, or, if you are still among those of us who love to get "real" mail and still actually buy stamps, you can mail them. I'll give you my address if you need it. :)

All in all, it was a really wonderful day spent with "my girls," and I can't wait to do it again soon! I know a certain young lady who is about to turn six and has a party coming up . . .

Snowshoeing Adventure!

Three years ago, Michael and I bought ourselves snowshoes for Christmas . . . yesterday they made it out of the garage and onto the snow for the first time as we met my cousin Roni and her husband Gary at Trillium Lake, which is very close to Mt. Hood. By the end of our three-hour trek, our snowshoes were pretty thoroughly broken-in and we could finally call ourselves snowshoers.

We got up early, packed up the truck with everything we thought we might need (extra clothes, food, water, Garmin) and headed up to the mountain. I hadn't been that way in years, and I loved passing through the little towns / hamlets that I saw all the time when I was growing up. My stepdad worked for the State of Oregon Highway Dept and from 3rd through middle of 8th grade, our family lived 17 miles from Government Camp on a state workers "comp0und." There were five families living there at a time, and lucky for me, usually two or three of them had kids near my age. That area (Mt. Hood / Government Camp) brings back a lot of good childhood memories.

We saw Wemme and Zigzag and must have passed through Rhododendron, although I don't remember seeing the sign for it. I saw a church my family went to one time, and a restaurant we ate at, and I was happy to see that the person who carves huge sculptures from wood (bears and Bigfoot) still displays them by the side of Highway 26 for all to see.

We followed the signs for Trillium Lake and when we pulled into the parking lot, there were three or four other cars in the very good-sized parking lot. Roni had suggested we get there early, since she'd read online that it was a popular place to play in the snow. I don't even think we'd been there a minute before Roni and Gary pulled in next to us. We'd planned to meet between 9:00a.m. and 9:30a.m. and it was 9:00a.m. on the nose--excellent timing. Just as a side note, if any of you reading this plan to head up to Trillium Lake, there aren't any bathrooms in the parking lot, but if you drive directly across the highway to the "Snowbunny" area, you will find the cleanest outhouses I have ever used . . . Michael said they were "minty fresh" which is a very nice change from how outhouses usually smell.

It only took us a few minutes of adjusting to figure out how our boots attached to our snowshoes, and then only a few stops for minor strap and pole adjustments during our hike. Either Roni or Gary mentioned they'd heard it said that "if you can walk, you can snowshoe," and it's true. Snowshoes are very user-friendly. Once you get used to the fact that your feet have now become much longer than you are used to them being, and also the fact that you can't back up as fast as you can without snowshoes, you are golden.

It was just the four of us, the trees and the snow when we first started out. Our snowshoes made quite a bit of noise as we trekked along, and of course we were all talking too, but I could feel the silence of the forest around us, and I loved that we were for the most part, alone in it. After about two miles of walking, we finally found the lake itself, and again, I was delighted that we were alone with it . . . the lake was shrouded in white and was frozen, at least near the shore. I ventured out onto the ice, and tried to convince myself that the green-tinted ice under my feet was lake I was walking on. It was a bit surreal and I wanted to walk out farther, gingerly testing each step before putting my full weight down, but Michael was worried that I would fall in and he'd have to try to "fish me out" and get me somewhere warm before I froze to death. He's a reasonable man, so I listened to him, but my heart was urging me to stay and dance with the lake a little longer--maybe next time.

After we rested and played at the lake, we got back on the trail and found ourselves in the forest again. We snowshoed along on the left side of the trail, as signs everywhere declared that the right side was reserved for cross-country skiiers, while the left was for everybody else. And we did come across quite a few skiiers, gliding along with a wonderful quiet whooshing sound. It was very different from the "clunk-clunk" our snowshoes made as we tromped along. I think by that time, we all envied the skiiers their chance to rest on the downhill portions of the trail and let their momentum carry them along. I told myself that just meant that we were getting more of a workout, and I felt a little less jealous.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, we came upon an A-frame house in the woods, and marveled at its presence there. I took some pictures, thinking it was such a strange sight to see in the middle of the forest, and then felt a little foolish when we found more of the houses a little way further down the trail. They ended up being little vacation homes that people rent for winter camping. I have to admit that camping during the winter is not something I've ever really considered, but seeing the cozy little structures with snowshoes and sleds piled just outside the front doors has made me reconsider. It would be so much fun to get a group of friends and head off to the forest for a few days to experience a completely different type of camping than I am used to. I just may have to put it on my list of things to do.

The misty rain that had been our companion for the first hour or two of our trek, began to let up as we neared the end of the loop. Right before we found the first A-frame house, Roni had noticed a patch of blue sky directly overhead where there were no trees to block our view. Somewhere toward the middle of our hike, we realized that we were completing the loop in the opposite direction that most people do it: no one was overtaking us on our side of the trail, but we were being passed by big groups of people going the other direction. Once we began the final mile or so of trail, it seemed like there were people (and dogs) everywhere. There were snowshoers but also lots of kids with sleds. Our hike ended with what was by far the most challenging part of the trail for me--a tremendous hill that seemed to climb forever. As I struggled along, wishing I was not so out-of-shape, the sun came out in full force. It turned the end of our hike (and our eventual summit of the massive hill) into a kind of celebration and left me with that delicious sense of accomplishment I always get after some good, hard exercise.

Once we got to the top of the hill, we could see that we were smart to arrive early as the entire parking lot was crammed with vehicles--even a yellow school bus! It was quite a change from the near-empty lot we'd left just a few hours earlier.

Roni suggested heading to Government Camp for some gluten-free pizza, which sounded amazingly good at that point as I think we had all worked up a big appetite on the trail. The Ice Axe restaurant was very, very good and I would highly recommend it to anyone going to or through Government Camp. Our pizzas were loaded with toppings, the service was good and the prices were reasonable for what we got. I was happy to see the note on their menu that they use locally-grown, organic ingredients whenever possible. Michael and I will be back the next time we're up that way, you can be sure.

After lunch, Roni and Gary headed for home, and Michael and I decided to stick around a little longer since the weather was by that time excellent and our friend John was going to check on Flynn. I wanted to see if I could find the compound where I'd lived as a child and see if people were still living there. I had a strange kind of deja vu, driving toward my old home. Every widely curving corner and tree-topped view was familiar to me, although I hadn't been back in years.

We found the compound with no problem, but it looked desolate and sad. There were no cars out front or bikes leaning against the walls as there had been when I was growing up. One of the two duplexes that had been there was completely gone while the one my family had lived in when we'd first moved there was beyond run-down. It looked like it hadn't been painted since we'd lived there, and it was odd how small it looked in comparison with how I remembered it. The other house we'd lived in was no longer there. I remembered my mom saying it had burned down and been rebuilt, and the house there now fit with what she'd said. It was obviously newer than the duplex but looked just as deserted. We took some pictures and I stared hard at the yard where I'd spent many happy hours playing with the neighbor kids. It was difficult to reconcile what I saw now with what I remembered.

After we left the compound, we decided to drive up to Timberline to see if we could get some good pictures of Mt. Hood since it had become such a clear, sunny day. We were not disappointed. The mountain was as snow-covered as I think I have ever seen it, and it loomed large and friendly. There was no shortage of skiiers and snowboarders making good use of such mild weather, and the sun stayed with us as we finally made our way back down Highway 26 to Portland and to home.