why today doesn't suck

I was trying to pack, do laundry, and get the guest room ready for a visitor who will be here while I'm gone to New Joy Sea. And I was antsy. The sun was shining and there wasn't even a hint of a breeze. And that boat was sitting all by its lonesome down at the beach.

I finally gave in to temptation, packed the gear in the car and drove down. It. Was. Perfect. I called hobbitt to let him know I was going paddling, and for how long. I had the entire waterfront to myself, which was a good thing, in case I made an ass of myself trying to launch the kayak alone for the first time.

The tide was high, and the beach drops off abruptly, so I had no problem launching. The scupper stoppers worked like a charm, and I was sitting high and dry. I paddled under the dock and out toward the point. And then around the point to the mouth of the lagoon. And then way beyond that, where I've never gone before, even on foot. The bay was very calm, with long, shallow swells from time to time, and the water was crystal clear.

On the way back I noticed I had an audience. One of the eagles was perched on her listening post, watching. I hope I amused her. After rounding the point on my way back, I swung way off shore (I'm still having trouble keeping the kayak on track), and as I was about to correct, I noticed a small pod of Dall's porpoises about 200 yards away from me.

I had my phone in the front pocket of the pfd. So I called hobbitt, and then the pandammys. I just couldn't wait. The porpoises moved around and about, diving for long periods and surfacing farther and farther away. I don't think they were just passing through. There must have been some good fishing.

Finally, I paddled fast directly at the beach and only had to get one shoe substantially wet in exiting the kayak. It was a snap to drag her up to the rack, remove the plugs and seat, put her on the rack, and turn her over.

She's a dream. She's my blue dream. I was flying in a Blue Dream. I guess she's got a name now.

hobbitt makes pizza

sketch by Danny Shaw

running with the big dogs

I guess that should read, swimming with the big seals.

That's me. With a harbor seal. I'm the one in the boat. My boat. Under thirty layers of warm clothing, and a major personal flotation device. (No, not my ass.)

The pandammys drove out to Port Angeles in their 1952 pick-up, to collect my boat today. Are they the best, or what? Of course I had to launch her. hobbitt forgot to bring the scupper stoppers down to the beach, so I was sitting in about an inch of brisk Pete Townsend Bay water in spite of the three-inch thick padded kayak seat. I won't forget the scupper stoppers again.

The pandammys just got a new pup, a rescue Cocker Spaniel. A match, in fact, for their lovely little Molly Bialy. His name is Teddy. He passed his kayak test today. I think they're going to keep him.



















So. I'm thinking on a name for my lovely blue Drifter. Suggestions?

the thanks

Thank the heavens that the eating is over.

hobbitt's neice (the younger hippie chick) and her husband drove up from Mariposa to spend the holiday with us. It was bittersweet, as hobbitt's brother-in-law was supposed to join us too, but cut off all communication with us about a week after we'd purchased his airline ticket. (Poor timing, what?) It was our first chance to really get to know the hippie chick's husband, and by golly he is a first rate solid gold fellow.

They arrived late Monday night. We had a "simple" beef stew. It was awesome.

Tuesday night we had pizza. I had started working on the harvest vegetable pie and completely forgot about dinner. Thank you, Pizza Factory!



















Wednesday night I assembled the harvest vegetable pie and spent the afternoon making a fabulous French onion soup. The pandammys came for dinner, too. It was good. Ask me to make that for you when you visit.

Thursday we did the regular thing. Pammy pandammy made two different cranberry dishes, scrumptious sweet potatoes with pecans, mushroom gravy, marionberry pie, apple cake, and the most amazing pumpkin flan on the planet. I did the usual turkey, mashed potatoes, roasted green beans and stuffing with chicken/apple sausage and mushrooms. I also made some mashed turnips but forgot to serve them. We found them in the microwave hours later. Oh well.

The family reunion was also "bittersweet" because they share the hobbitt's family "chocoholic gene." That was a quick $80 at the Elevated Ice Cream candy store. t.y.h.c. personally chose each of the candies for the two boxes we bought on Tuesday, and also for the 2 boxes we bought on Friday. And then the three of them stood around and ate the entire contents. I kid you not. And okay, I did help on Friday, but just a bit.

Eh. Whatever. I won't have to endure much of leftover hell. I'm leaving for NJ on Wednesday, for about 2 weeks.

Anyway, the visit with the niece was...well, I don't have words for it. Suffice it to say it made me very, very happy.

uncle!

Did you know that we live here ultimately because of a semi-obscure folk-ish trio by the name of Uncle Bonsai?

hobbitt hears this song (on Chicago radio in the early 90's) titled "Boys Want Sex in the Morning." He likes it. He buys the album.

Fast forward to 1998, as he and I were still living in bliss in Downers Grove, Illinois. He finds out that Uncle Bonsai is having a reunion concert in Seattle. Tickets are $15. Shall we go? Sure. Airfare is a smidge more than that, but we make a nice long weekend out of it, and even stay at an awesome B&B called the Soundview in Burien, WA. Highly recommended. We attend the Uncle Bonsai concerts on both nights.

And we do it again, a year later. Again, we attend the shows on both nights. Same B&B, but this time we also spend some time in the Yett Beach House, a beach cottage operated by the Boreas B&B out on Long Beach, and hike around Leadbetter State Park. That is heaven.

And we do it again, in 2000. This time, however, we attend not only both nights of the concerts but also a recording session. And our regular B&B is booked, so we stay at the Three Tree Point B&B, also very nice, though not quite as private. Afterwards, we rent a cottage on Vancouver Island in Sooke, with a hot tub and a view of the harbor. And we hike all over the place, including Botanical Beach near Port Renfrew. And we take the ferry back to the mainland through the San Juans.

Now, I've already professed my affection for this part of the world. But the trip through the San Juan Islands completely does me in. "These are my people!" I shout to hobbitt from the deck of the ferry, my arms sweeping in all the islands and water and mountains and views. I am just a bit heartsick to be leaving. I tell hobbitt I won't come back without engaging the services of a realtor.

And so we do that, although we have to move to NJ for a while in between. Most precisely, it is on the advice of someone we haven't met (up to that point, at least) that we look for a home up here in Pete.

Anyway, we just finished our sometimes-annual Uncle Bonsai debauchery. Wednesday night we attended a house concert (at Andrew Ratshin's house), with an all-request set list. The trip involved a ferry ride and worry about making it back over the Hood Canal Bridge before midnight, as it was closing for 4 hours. (We made it in time.)

Friday we took the pandammys, UB virgins, to a show on Bainbridge Island, at a funky little community theatre out in the boonies. Uncle Bonsai seemed a little rushed, as they had to catch the last ferry back to Seattle or be stranded. (They made it in time.)

Last night we attended the final show in Kirkland. This involved a ferry ride and some pea-soup-fog driving. We've essentially been fogged in for three days here. The show ended at 11 and we were hoping to make the 11:45 ferry from Edmonds back to Kingston. (We made it in time.)

I'll admit I was a bit cranky about all that Uncle Bonsai. The house show was fantastic and we had some good Indian food, too, and heaven knows it's been a while since we had that. And ferries are cool, and I like being out on the water. The show on Bainbridge seemed rushed, and from my experience it wasn't their best show (though the pandammys liked it and we got to have some good Vietnamese food, which I'd never had before). But I knew the Saturday night show would be the same, and it was, and the crowd was somewhat tepid as a startling majority of the audience hadn't ever seen a UB show. Eh.

Anyway, I finally figured out what's bugging me about all of this. Before, our UB outings were vacations. In fact, the UB outing in 2000 was our last vacation. That's five years ago.

Dammit.

got it

This past summer I had the opportunity to look at the stuff I was made of, and for the most part, I was well pleased. I am impressed at what I achieved, and yet I can still see where I need lots more work.

Right now I'm faced with some of that work. This time I get to chose between:

A) embracing a terrible stew of outrage, sadness and frustration, and possibly doubt about the worth of my achievements this summer, or

B) allowing my deepest self to step back from it all, understand where the crazy really lies, open my heart with compassion and get on with my life.

I'm going with B. What the heck? Never tried that one before.






Did you want more butter on your popcorn, Alexandra?

saturday night's all right for...

...onion rings.

I ask you: what's wrong with reading Scientific American and Discover magazines attentively, obsessively, cover-to-cover, and then having onion rings as a midnight snack?

This is what happens when hobbitt's away. I might not get to bed until 3 or so. Not that it matters. I read the magazines because my mind was jumping all around and I didn't want to just sit here stressing the processors of this super-Dell 9300 Imax with a game of Spider Solitaire. Which I capitalized for a reason.

A random sampling of those jumping-around thoughts:

• A hot tub would be nice.
• I should finish folding the towels.
• Gotta take that plant over to the pandammys.
• I think Natasha is hot. Plus she makes good martinis.
• No worries. I'm monogamous, people!
  
• Omigod. I'm blogging in my head!
  
• The dog doesn't seem as itchy as she has been.
• That was a nice note from my cousins.
• Damn. I have to start writing those condolence letters.
• Hmmm. Two 15% off coupons from Land's End.
• Beef burgundy tomorrow? That would make a nice aroma for when hobbitt gets home.
• Ah, the wind and the moon tonight, gotta remember to blog that.
• Why does my neck hurt?
• Should I have a glass of wine?

Okay, so after about three minutes of that, I decided to read and maybe have onion rings. So I read for three hours and I just turned the onion rings over and in about 5 minutes, I'll have a happy plate full of incendiary vegetables. What could be better than that?

Don't answer that.

eleven eleven

e.e. cummings served as an ambulance driver in World War I, and spent time in a French prison camp for his outspoken anti-war convictions. I suppose it's no coincidence that I'm reading him today, and finding what I need.

Today is a holiday because of war. I know how to hold the bravery, honor and sacrifice of the troops apart from the dubious rhetoric of the conflict, whatever conflict that might be in whatever time. I grieve for those making such sacrifices today, and I can usually focus my prayers, but right now, not so much.

Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both

parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard

Humanity i love you because
when you're hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you're flush pride keeps

you from the pawn shops and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it's there and sitting down

on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you

Today would have been Lisa's 48th birthday. My age. That too, is too close and too fresh for me. To truly honor her would be to work on my own health, live fully, and get on with it. I try to do that, but right now, not so much.

dying is fine)but Death

?o
baby
i

wouldn't like

Death if Death
were
good:for

when(instead of stopping to think)you

begin to feel of it,dying
's miraculous
why?be

cause dying is

perfectly natural;perfectly
putting
it mildly lively(but

Death

is strictly
scientific
& artificial &

evil & legal)

we thank thee
god
almighty for dying
(forgive us,o life!the sin of Death

hobbitt just left for a long weekend retreat near Portland. I'm usually okay alone, but right now, not so much.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

I can't read the news anymore, the news that's full of violence against children, pointless and acrimonious ideological divisions, the rape of the planet, natural disasters, suffering suffering suffering. I know that life on earth is more than that. I usually believe it, but right now, not so much.

pity this busy monster,manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim(death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness
-electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange;lenses extend

unwish through curving wherewhen until unwish
returns on its unself.
A world of made
is not a world of born-pity poor flesh

and trees,poor stars and stones,but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence. We doctors know

a hopeless case if-listen:there's a hell
of a good universe next door;let's go

So, to reframe it all:

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

oops. I forgot to show you the hats

Click here to see some pix of a wonderful night out on the town at Ajax. In Pete Hadlock. South of Pete Townsend.

Pay no attention to the number of chins your beloved heron carries. See if you can figure out who the pandammys are and exactly which one of the revelers is the practicing Mormon. And know ye that the young male hottie is my nephew, who was 13 at the time, ya perv!

to them that's signed into the frappr

1) I like Edieraye's cheeks. No worries, girl. I'm monogamous.

2) No kid is cuter than Mel's. Don't get me wrong, Mel is cute. But see #1.

3) I don't know Susan from Tulsa, but I'd like to. We'd cook. I'm sure of it. She appears to be thin. Maybe she could teach me a thing or two.

4) Jason is just plain old sweet red-haired impish - no worries with him. Just shine a light on him to fend him off - he'll fry.

5) And what's up with the boxelder bugs, Beanie?

yummy indeed

This stuff would have been fantastic even without the tarragon (from my garden) and parsley. And it would have saved me a trip out into the yard in the dark, in the night, and in the pouring rain. The sauce was unbelievable, and the flames from the brandy were impressive.

I am a pyromaniac, after all.

hobbitt bought me a new 12-inch cast iron skillet today. And he's taken away my shoes. Lucky for me, he doesn't want kids.

Ahem. Lame attempt at humor. Look, I'm not a great cook. But I'm adventurous and I can follow recipe directions. And I've never had to do it, day in and day out, three times a day, for a family. So it's play for me.

Too bad this particular play always ends up on my NJ ass.

where are you?

Look over to the right. No, dyslexics, the other right! See that little box that says, "where are we?" Click on it. Stick a pin in the map if you care to tell me who and where you are. I forget where I found this - probably following a link from a commenter I didn't know.

And I am not bored! It's called curious.

oh. my. god.

I made a daube Provençal last night. The recipe seemed complicated, and normally I wouldn't go there - after all, anchovies and orange zest in a beef stew? (Then again, an entire bottle of Cabernet does indeed spark my interest.) But let's face it - my previous attempts at beef stew have resulted in fairly flavor-free meals.

So I bit the bullet. I accomplished mise en place, which isn't one of my strong suites. I even touched the little freaky fish. And it really wasn't a complicated recipe, despite an ingredients list that was a half-column long.

The entire house smelled like heaven while this was cooking. My houseguest, who doesn't eat beef at all, even enjoyed the aroma. hobbitt had to drag me away from the pot because I was about to take a straw to the sauce.

I'll never be thin again. It's hopeless.

The recipe is from Cook's Illustrated's November/December issue, and is also posted in the member's section of their website. I highly recommend this magazine and site. (Forgive me, but I don't care to violate copyright laws today. Maybe tomorrow. And maybe I'll email the recipe to anyone who begs for it. I do have a fair measure of pity.) I've never prepared anything from this magazine that didn't almost give me whiplash from the pleasure. Go quick and get the chicken chasseur recipe, which is free at the moment. I'm going to make that tonight.

then sometimes I wonder

I wonder why I didn't finish that course in counseling. Or more truthfully, why I didn't start it. My excuse was that graduate school would have been the straw that broke the camel's back. And it was indeed how I felt at the time: tired. Needing more structure. Needing more security.

Okay, so I did that. And now I find myself more and more called to referee, called to listen, called to advise, and soon, called to hear confidences and confessions and to console someone in his unimaginable grief.

And I sure wish I had more skills.

What I have come to realize is that I have almost, but not quite, surrendered to whatever this is that life is putting before me. I'm stepping up and accepting it, but still shirking the responsibility part. There's still that little girl recalcitrance.

Dammit. I hate this adulthood thing.

makes ya wonder

I just heard that my father's oldest sister, my Aunt Kay, passed away yesterday morning. She was 92. Evidently she'd been in hospice care for a few months, and was in the late stages of Alzheimers.

The interesting thing is that yesterday would have been her 70th wedding anniversary. She and Uncle Frank celebrated 66 happy years together. He died quite unexpectedly on Thanksgiving night 2001, at the age of 90.

Her daughters thought she'd hold on until that big day. Uncle Frank was waiting for her, I suppose. And maybe even her father. My Pop-Pop died on November 1, 1962.

eleven years ago today

Ah, by now you know the drill. "It's a good thing we did the biopsy, we found a little cancer there." Three days of unspeakable paralysis followed by renewed hope and a clear plan of action. Followed by eleven years of good health, good times, adventure, struggle and the whole enchilada we call Life.

It's a gift, folks, this business of living, no matter how hard it might be at times.

I don't celebrate this day so much for the bad news it brought. I celebrate it for the sheer luck of being able to look back. I'll admit to more than a little survivor's guilt, too. I don't know how I got to be so lucky, but I'll take it and run with it.

ten years ago

Ah. Sydney. Off that freaking plane, out of the middle seats of the middle section of a 747, able to actually move my elbows and not eat like a monkey. Trying to get a nap while waiting for our next flight. I used to have short hair. I believe I still have that shirt. And the cleavage.

Any of you who have ever been sleep-deprived while traveling and far from your destination know what that look on my face means: *gtfoomfoikywys.

*That would be get the fuck out of my face or I'll kill you where you stand.