Our Garden Part I

Two years ago, Michael and I planted our first garden. For beginners, we had astounding success. We had no problems with pests wanting to eat the fruits of our labor and everything grew beautifully with only a little organic food here and there, and of course, adequate watering. Last summer we never got around to planting a garden (being the jetsetters we were from April to June, we were not home much) and I sorely missed having veggies fresh from the garden. I especially missed my tomatoes; there is no comparison I have found to tomatoes warm from a day in the sun. Tomatoes I bring home from the grocery store (even store-bought organic tomatoes) lack a certain something--a juicy freshness--that I crave.

So this summer, I started talking early about a garden in order to get Michael prepared for the work he would need to contribute to help bring those tomatoes to our table. :) I started in February or March with some seeds given to us by Kathleen and Matthew when they headed down south last year. There were all kinds of organic, high-quality seeds, but they were intended for planting in 2008 so I wasn't sure if they would grow into strong plants or not two years after their "best by" date.

I got some seedlings started and fussed over them for the next few months, while I waited 1) for the weather to become somewhat spring-like so they would survive in the ground and 2) for them to grow big enough to make it on their own outside.

In May Michael spent a few hours assembling some planter boxes out of some old boards from our deck (we are currently in the middle of a do-it-yourself deck remodel) and when I came back from the retreat, I spent a few more hours lining the boxes with plastic so as to avoid any contamination from old paint or stain left on the wood. The finished products turned out pretty well . . .

Catching Up!

It's been quite some time since my last post . . . lots of exciting things have happened in my life in the past few months, and I decided it's high time I sit down and catch you all up. :)

One of my biggest adventures took place in late May when my mom and I spent a few busy days in North Carolina, Tennessee, and even a short stint in South Carolina. We were there mainly so I could attend a retreat, but my mom hadn't had a "real" vacation (by that I mean other than camping or spending a week at the beach) since I could remember and she was long overdue one. The bonus to our trip was that we got to see some very special people whom we hadn't seen in quite some time. :)

This trip was huge for my mom, because it had been 35+ years since she had last flown--the last time was when she was 18 and flew to Texas to marry my father. Crazy! So she was understandably a bit nervous about getting on an airplane. I had joked with her beforehand that we would get her a bloody mary or two before boarding and the rest would be a piece of cake. We ended up skipping the cocktails since we left Portland at 8:30am, but my mom did a great job anyway--she only dug her nails into my arm or leg a few times over the course of the day. :)


We spent all day Thursday, May 20, in the air or catching connecting flights. The soft-spoken United Airways ticket agent in Portland was nice enough to arrange our seats so we could sit together on all three flights, which I know eased my mom's fears about flying. Aside from having to conduct a mad dash from one side of the airport to the other in Charlotte, N.C., it was a smooth day of travel and we had a nice time relaxing and catching up with each other.

We landed in Asheville, N.C. around 9:30p.m. and my friend Matthew met us there and then drove us to nearby Greeneville, TN where he lives with his wife, Kathleen and their little boy, Jackson. I was Kathleen's doula for Jackson's homebirth two years ago, and she and Matthew are the friends who flew Michael and I around the country with them last summer, to GA, NC, NY and for me, FL. It had been nearly a year since we had seen them, but right away, it felt like we had never been apart. It's like that with good friends, I have found. :)

We were able to chat with them a bit over tea before we headed for bed. They showed us around the 100 year-old farmhouse they are renovating for some friends back in Oregon, and introduced us to their brand-new baby chicks! The little peepers were temporarily housed in a cooler with a heat lamp, food and water and lots of straw while they grow big enough to make the move to the great outdoors. Jackson was asleep for the night, but I heard him the next morning as he greeted the chicks in their cooler with a hearty "Baby Chickens!" It was so neat to see him a year older and so much changed from the baby he was last year . . . I loved hearing him talk and the way he said "okay!" at the end of each sentence: "Ride in the red truck, okay!" It was always a declaration, never a question. Jackson took to my mom right away and kept taking her index finger in his whole hand and pulling as his way of asking her to come see something.

Friday morning I awoke to a beautiful, sunny day--so different from the rain and gray skies we'd been having in Oregon for weeks. We all gathered on the back porch of the farmhouse and I glided back and forth on the porch swing while I sipped my morning herbal tea. There are no visible neighbors from the front, back or sides of the farmhouse and I reveled in the peaceful seclusion. My mom picked a huge bowl of strawberries from a patch near the house while Kathleen and I planted an army of tomato plants. Jackson ran back and forth between us and Matthew who was using the weed whacker--he'd only have it running for a few minutes, then would shut it off as Jackson came running over to see it.







That afternoon, Kathleen, Jackson and my mom piled into their car and headed to Asheville, N.C. where my mom and I spent the next few days while I attended my retreat. We stayed at a lovely old inn called the Grove Park Inn. What I noticed right away upon arriving at the inn is that its website definitely does not do justice to the beauty of the place. I loved the red roof in contrast with the dark stone walls and the lovely old pieces of pottery, china, quilt samples, and antique furniture displayed throughout its halls. I am a sucker for places with history and this inn is certainly one of them. There is even a plaque mounted on the door of the suite where Barack Obama stayed (I believe) the night before his speech at the democratic convention. :)


There's my mom looking very small in comparison to one of the enormous fireplaces situated at either end of the Great Hall at the entrance to the inn. And a stunning view of the mountains taken from the dining area where we had breakfast each morning.

My retreat ended on Monday and my mom and I hopped in our rental car and drove to Anderson, S.C. to meet up with my half-sister, Christi and her daughter, Elsa. It was only the second time we had all seen each other in person (living across the country from each other makes visits infrequent), and it was good to sit down to a nice lunch and talk a bit. When Michael and I were in Georgia last summer, we ate at a Cracker Barrel restaurant (down-home southern cooking) and since there was one in Anderson, we decided to take my mom there so she could experience it. She loved the rocking chairs gracing the "front porch" of the restaurant and wished we could somehow bring one home with us. It was very warm and sunny after we finished eating and we went outside so Elsa could run around. She had a blast exploring the landscaped area in front of the restaurant and especially loved smelling all the flowers.



Elsa was so sad when it was time to go . . . she cried and kept signing "more, more" in ASL. It was precious.

It was almost immediately after Christi and Elsa drove off that the heavens opened and the rain started pouring down. My mom and I took refuge in the restaurant gift shop until the worst seemed to be over. We headed back to Kathleen and Matthew's house in Tennessee where we would spend our last night before leaving Tuesday afternoon to fly home.

It was clear skies as far as you could see the next day (I'm telling you, I got SO spoiled for good weather on that trip that it's making me rethink life as an Oregonian) and we had some time to kick back and relax together before leaving for the airport. Matthew took Kathleen, Jackson and me on a ride in their Scout (which Michael helped him fix last summer when they stayed with us). I was loving every minute of it (yes, even the pollen from something out there that was making me sneeze), and trying to soak up every second in the sunshine.

The baby chickens even got to come out and peck around in the grass for awhile, which Jackson loved.



Then Matthew took my mom, me and Jackson for a ride up the hill near the back of their house. It's like a meadow rising nearly straight up in the air and the three of us held on tight to the Scout to keep from sliding out the back as we ascended. The view from the top was just gorgeous and I did my best to capture it with my little camera, knowing as I did so that I was coming up short.


Much, much much too soon, it was time for us to head for Asheville and the beginning of our trip home. We promised each other to not wait so long for another visit--can't wait to see y'all again!

The Kindness of Strangers

I was driving home this evening after a fun afternoon with Lindsey and had just gone through the tunnel heading westbound on Hwy 26 when I noticed quite a bit of smoke drifting through the air. My first thought was that someone's car was on fire, but when I didn't see anything parked in the emergency lane, I figured it had to be coming from someone's tailpipe. When the drifting white smoke turned into a billowing cloud of black smoke, I decided that no, this was someone's car on fire. Then I saw what looked like sparks, then flames coming from underneath a car in the fast lane. The car changed lanes until it was in front of me and slowed way down. I put on my hazard lights to signal the cars behind me to slow down, but I wasn't sure what to do after that. Should I pull over? Did the driver know there were flames coming from the car? I decided to at least make sure the driver had a cell phone and wouldn't be totally stranded, so I pulled over behind the smoking car. I noticed another car had pulled over in front of the disabled car and we sandwiched it between us, our hazard lights blinking, the smoking car without its hazards on.

A lady who looked to be in her fifties or early sixties had her window down and was talking to the driver of the other car who had pulled over. He was dressed in nice slacks, dress shirt, tie and overcoat and had obviously just come from work or a meeting. The lady was surprised to hear that we had seen smoke and then flames under her car. She had only noticed a loss of power, but when she saw the two of us put our hazards on and move with her over to the side of the freeway, she figured something obvious to us was wrong with her car. She just didn't know what.

She tried calling her insurance company to see about getting a tow truck, but they wouldn't send one until they were sure the car was safe. Their recommendation was to call the police and /or the fire department. The three of us stood around for what seemed like a very long time, huddled against the concrete barrier at the side of the freeway while cars and trucks whooshed past us at what appeared to me to be an incredibly fast speed. I was struck by how one's perspective on things like speed changes drastically when one is outside a vehicle rather than inside it.

None of us were sure if we should call 911 as it didn't seem like a true emergency since her car was not currently on fire as far as any of us could tell, although it had leaked some fluid from the engine area and wisps of smoke were still visible around the car's front--whether it was coming from under the hood or lower under the car, I couldn't tell for sure.

In the end we called 911 and within 2 or 3 minutes a fire truck appeared, lights flashing brightly in the darkness. A moment or two later, an ODOT Incident Response truck pulled over and a man began placing flares around the perimeter of our cars. The man in the business suit grinned sheepishly and confided that he didn't even have flares in his car. I told him that I didn't either and made a mental note to buy some emergency supplies to stash in the trunk in case of future incidents.

Three firefighters complete with oxygen tanks strapped to their backs inspected the car inside and out and pronounced it safe. Now the three of us felt foolish for calling them. "Better safe than sorry," one of the firefighters said. Besides that, the poor woman's insurance wouldn't send a tow truck without their approval.

The man in the business suit and I decided we could now safely leave the lady in the care of the authorities. The lady gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and thanked me for being one of her "rescuers." I told her I was just glad she was okay and nothing worse happened than some smoke and a few flames.

I was ready to head for home, but was a little nervous about how I was going to get up to speed on the freeway without getting rear-ended from an oncoming car. It was dark and starting to rain and I didn't have much room to accelerate as the woman's car was in front of me and the ODOT truck was behind me.

It turned out that I didn't have to worry about that because when I turned the key in the ignition, the car didn't start. The dashboard lights flickered a bit, but that was all. Oh well, I thought, at least there are people here to help me! I hopped out and walked over to the ODOT man's truck. Now I was feeling very foolish indeed. The "rescuer" had suddenly become the person in need of rescue. I told the man that my battery must have drained from leaving my lights on. I guessed we had been out there longer than I'd thought. He very kindly offered to give my battery a jump, and help me on my way. He hooked the cables up and the engine started when I turned the key in the ignition. Success! I got out to thank him while he unhooked everything, but when I got back in the car, the engine had died again. I tried turning the key but got nothing but the flickering dashboard lights again. Hmmm. Now I was worried that I would be stranded! The ODOT man very kindly hooked the cables up again between my car and his truck and this time when the engine started, I was quick to get the car going as soon as he removed the cables and shut the hood for me. I waved a quick thank-you and he gave me a thumbs-up to indicate that the lane was clear for me to head back onto the freeway. I drove the rest of the way home worrying that the car would stall at any red lights I came across, but it didn't and I made it the rest of the way home without incident.

The whole thing made me think about people and about how lately I have been seeing more of the "wrong" or "bad" things that people do--perhaps a result of the daily stresses of my job, perhaps from reading too many depressing news articles. But what happened tonight brought home to me the fact that there are many kind people in the world--strangers who will pull over to make sure another stranger is okay when there seems to be a problem; firefighters who are "just doing their jobs" yes, but who don't make the rest of us feel dumb for calling them out to investigate a car that was briefly on fire but is now just "smoldering" (as the man in the business suit put it) on the side of the road; ODOT men who give a girl's car battery a jump and express concern that she stay away from the side of the car next to the lane of rushing traffic. These are all small kindnesses, but they make me happy and give me hope that there is more good in the world than perhaps I am used to seeing. If I make it a conscious habit to notice these small kindnesses more, I wonder if I will feel better about the world I live in and the people I share it with.

My guess is I will.

Easter Sunday

Michael and I had a very full day last Sunday. We had plans to have lunch with friends in Albany, then head to Dallas to visit my grandparents in their new apartment, then hopefully meet up with my parents somewhere in between. We decided to leave Flynn at home seeing as he has trouble getting in and out of our little backseat, and we figured he wouldn't much like being left by himself in the car while we were visiting everyone on our list. That meant we had to be gone a maximum of 8 hours because I just didn't think Flynn's bladder (albeit gargantuan in both size and strength) could hold out much longer than that and frankly, I didn't want to put it to the test.

Michael and I made a pit stop at the Freddy's near the entrance to I-5 so I could buy a little Easter something for Miss Morgan. Then we hit the road and made such good time to Albany that we were there by 12:30pm.

We met my high school friend Terry (he lived across the street from us in The Dalles) and his son Jaden for lunch at Jaden's favorite place to eat--Izzy's. The place was packed with families dressed to the nines for the holiday with little girls in frilly dresses and little boys in slacks and sweaters running between the tables and chairs and babies crying at the tables. We caught up with Terry and Jaden in between frequent trips to the buffet and salad bar, and when we were done, we saw them off on Terry's very fancy (and fast!) new motorcycle.

Then we swung over to Albany General where Lindsey just happened to be on her lunch break. :) We spent some time talking to her, then drove the few blocks to her house to see if Morgan and her dad were home. We were puzzled when we got there, because the lights and television were on, and the car was in the driveway, but no one answered my knock at the door. I was writing a note to leave with the Easter surprises when they walked up the drive, and suddenly there was Morgan in her new Easter dress launching herself into my arms for a hug.

We only had time for a quick hello (and several more hugs!) before we were on the road again to Dallas. My parents had spent the week there with my mom's two brothers and sister, helping my grandparents move into an assisted living facility and sorting through the accumulated flotsam and jetsam of nearly 60 years of married life.

We found Grandma and Grandpa sitting in their cozy new living room with my mom and dad, chatting while they waited for us to arrive. I was pleased to see that most of their furniture fit in the two large rooms of their apartment. My grandma was particularly concerned that her buffet and her sewing machine would make the move with her; even though she isn't able to use it anymore, I was hoping the sewing machine would fit because I knew it would help her adjust to her new living situation and make her feel more at ease.

We took a tour of their apartment and then headed down the hallway to the dining room where coffee, tea and juice are available at any time of the day or night. As we sat sipping our drinks, an elderly lady came by to say hello to my grandparents and introduce herself to the rest of us. My grandma's eyes lit up and she clasped the lady's hand in hers as they talked. Grandma was clearly enjoying the social interaction that comes with moving to an assisted living facility. After the lady left, I joked with Grandma that it seemed a lot like living in a dorm--one had friends around to talk to whenever the mood struck, free drinks, and lots of activities going on all the time. All of the fun of dorm life and none of the homework. ;)

We only stayed a half hour or so, as Grandma and Grandpa wanted to rest before dinner. This is the first year that they have not wanted to gather with family for Easter dinner, choosing instead to spend some time alone after a hectic and unsettling week of change.

My parents and I drove to a nearby restaurant and had a quick dinner before heading to our own homes in Vancouver and Aloha. Before they left, they gave us a peek at their new-to-them motor home. It came in handy this past week, since they were able to sleep in it outside my grandparents' house, leaving room inside for other visiting family members.

Even though it was a brief visit all around, it was good to see everyone. I left Dallas feeling happy knowing that my grandparents are now being watched over and (hopefully!) they'll be able to relax and not worry about such things as meals, laundry and housework. Whenever I think of the assisted living facility that way, I am almost ready to move in myself!

We made it home uneventfully (exactly 8 hours after we left!) and Flynn made it through the whole day with no accidents.

Life is good.

Don't Judge a Box of Hot Chocolate . . .

. . . by the picture on its cover. And don't give it to your parents because your dad likes hot chocolate and you don't drink it anymore--even though you used to buy the biggest Swiss Miss box available and in college especially, it was almost a ritual to have 1 or maybe 2 mugs of hot chocolate late in the evening (or early in the morning) while lounging with friends, or reading a book, or working on a term paper. You still have the dark blue mug you always used whenever you visited your friend Lindsey at her little studio apartment (this was before you were roommates). It's the one she wrote your name on in swirly letters with a metallic gold pen.

Don't smile bemusedly and wonder why this same friend would give you a box of hot chocolate when she knows you have made the painful (but much lower calorie) switch to herbal tea. Don't count on the fact that she thinks you might drink it because it is "diet" hot chocolate. Oh no. Not this friend.

When you do give the box with the picture of a mug of hot chocolate on it to your parents, don't be surprised when you talk to them a few days later and your mom tells you to hold on, your dad wants to tell you something. He'll come on the phone and thank you for the hot chocolate, but tell you that "it doesn't fit."

Huh? You will be confused. He'll say Mom will explain. She'll come back on the phone and tell you how Dad got a hankering to try that fancy diet hot chocolate you were so nice to give him. She'll say how they boiled some water and got a mug from the cupboard. She'll tell you how she thought it odd when she opened the box and saw the gold tissue. "Strange how they packaged this diet hot chocolate."

She'll start laughing when she tells you she unwrapped the "hot chocolate" and out came a rolled-up t-shirt--and not just any t-shirt, mind you, but a hippy-dippy, sunshine-emblazoned, good times slogan-plastered, flowery, peace-lovin' shirt.

Lindsey got you again.

Thanks, Man.

Choosing Joy

A baby girl named Ava will be born to my cousin Ryan and his wife Onica in about a month. My mom and I went to her (and her mommy and daddy's) shower on Friday.

The next day, my mom and I toured the assisted care facility that my grandparents will be moving into at the end of the month.

These two events have brought up many thoughts and feelings over the past couple of days: how family means so much, how I don't see mine as much as I would like and why that is, how families have secrets (parents from children, children from parents, siblings from siblings), and what could happen if everyone laid bare their hearts at the same time.

I have been thinking about the bittersweet juxtaposition of life--while two lives are winding down, another life is just beginning and how that brings joy and sadness at the same time. And for me, how I accept that sadness as a necessary part of the cycle of life, with its disappointments and its unfairness and its grief. What I know in my brain but my heart is struggling to comprehend is that life is just that--a constant flux of hurt and happiness, turmoil and calm. It is beginnings and endings, over and over again. It is nothing static. It is everything always in a state of motion, a state of change.

The question then, for me, is how do I deal with that constant flux? How do I keep from being overwhelmed by life's hard corners?

What I have decided is that I must choose joy. I must take happy memories of the people I love and tuck them carefully away in my heart so that when it is time for life's sadness, I can lean on those past joys and they will bring me strength. And so, some joy from the time I spent with my family . . .

Sisters embarking on new paths in life--one is to be a mother and the other a bride.
Two of my very photogenic cousins, Bri and Crystal at the baby shower. Bri helped me more than she knew with her easy demeanor and her cheerful remarks on the shower and everyone there. My mom and me. I think we continue to be surprised at how deep our strength really runs.

One of the last joys my grandma has left to her--taking the aptly-named Kitty for a walk. Mom and Grandma sharing a footstool and a a quiet moment.

Proof that spring has finally sprung.

Flynn & The Cone of Shame

Poor Flynn. We took him to get his anal glands expressed last week (funny how I never knew much about dogs and their anal glands even though I grew up with 2 dogs of my own), and I guess it caused some lasting irritation because he has been doing his best to lick the area to death ever since. I didn't pay much attention to the licking at first, but before Michael left for work Wednesday morning, he woke me up to tell me that Flynn had been licking himself about every 20 minutes for the past few days and that there was now a nice bald spot under his tail right at the base.

I called the vet, expecting they would want us to bring him right in, but the cheery girl on the other end of the line simply asked if we had an "E-collar." At first I thought she was talking about some kind of shock collar, but she explained that it was the cone dogs wear around their necks that keeps them from biting or licking wounds. She said that as long as the bald spot wasn't open, we didn't need to bring Flynn in. It looked red, but wasn't bleeding, so I told her I'd come in for a cone.

After work that night, I went to Flynn's veterinary office and watched as one of the staff members assembled an absolutely huge cone made of clear, flexible plastic. She threaded a gauze strip around the outer edges of the small end of the cone and suggested we loop the gauze under his front legs and tie it up on his back near his neck so he wouldn't be able to get the cone off by pawing at it. I had a mental image of Flynn struggling mightily against the application of this device, and crossed my fingers that we would be successful in getting it on him. I knew that without the cone, Flynn would most certainly lick himself raw--and then we risked the sore getting infected. Not good.

Imagine our surprise, however, when Flynn stood quietly while Michael fitted the cone over his head and secured it under his legs and tied it near the back of his neck. We both thought it looked much too big and wondered how Flynn would be able to eat and drink with his plastic hood in the way. Fortunately, he does a pretty good job. I've ended up just putting his food on a towel for him to eat from, as the cone often knocks his bowl right over. The water dish is heavier and sturdier and so far there have been no problems with it and the cone.

When I first saw Flynn wearing the cone, I immediately thought of the movie "Amelie" (which I LOVE) and of the portrait Amelie has in her apartment of a small dog wearing a white cone around his neck. Then I thought of the movie "Up" in which Dug has to wear the "cone of shame" as it is termed by the pack of dogs. I found a clip on YouTube of Dug saying, "I do not like the cone of shame," with downcast eyes. Flynn doesn't seem quite as bummed out about it as Dug, however, and bumps around our house (and our legs) as if there is nothing there at all.

We take the cone off when we're around and can watch to make sure he doesn't lick, and when it's time for it to go back on, Flynn submits without protest. What a good, good boy he is, and I hope he will only have to wear his cone for a few more days.