The Clock is Ticking

Child is asleep. Wife is in the tub. In 25 minutes, or less, it will be 2008.

I'm thinking about my "10 Best Movies of 2007" list, which would have to include all 8 movies I saw in the year 2007, and the movie that sticks in my mind most clearly is "Conversations with Other WOMEN" (which is probably the funniest joke to ever appear in this blog, if you happened to be at our New Year's Eve party). Towards the end of the movie, one of the characters says, "It's so hard to be happy."

My response: really?

As we draw closer and closer to the new year, as your lists of wishes and lists of regrets grow, as your resolutions come closer and closer to being broken, here's the simple secret to being happy: it's okay to want what you want. If you want another donut, that's fine. If you want to take a nap, that's fine too. My own personal struggles with happiness - and I am happy to say those struggles are few and far between - are always between what I feel I want to do and what I feel I ought to do.

For the sake of everyone, let "want to do" reign supreme. It'll save you the trouble of writing, directing, and starring in your own indie movie, which must be a tremendous pain in the kiester.

Happy 2008 (really, it's not that hard)! Come back soon for Christie's nearly famous reading list.

Rebel, Rebel

Correct me if I'm wrong, but my daughter is six, right? S-i-x? You'll forgive me if I seem a bit confused because she's been acting like she's 16 lately. Case in point:

Wrig and I were headed out for a walk in a bloody downpour the other day. In general, the rain in Portland doesn't actually get you wet. It just sort of mists you, kind of like the spray bottles they use at the barbershop. Damp? Yes. Dripping? No. Well, this was real rain, not Portland rain, and I insisted Wrig strap on the rain pants, which are, of course, the worst thing ever invented. She has a mild-to-major hissy-fit but, with Mom's assistance, we make it out the door. On the way out, Mom pulls Wrig's hood onto her head for her. We aren't two steps out the door when Wrig, with a defiant flourish, throws the hood back. I look down at her, smirking a bit, and say, "I bet that felt pretty good, huh?" She didn't say much, but I'm pretty sure she agreed.

Less than two blocks later, she puts the hood on. It takes every ounce of my minimal will power not to snark, "I told you so."

Or how 'bout this:

Wrig is making strawberry milk at breakfast by pouring some juice from some frozen strawberries into her, duh, milk. She then spends the next fifteen minutes stirring it, banging her spoon against her glass, creating the most jarring, clanging, annoying sound you can imagine. Since the adults haven't been sleeping well at our house lately, clanging, jarring, annoying noises are not so welcome at the breakfast table. We politely ask her to stop - well, as politely as cranky parents can manage - and, because the child in our house hasn't been sleeping well lately either, she throws a mild-to-major hissy-fit. We lay out her options and she prefers option 3: take your milk into the bathroom, shut the door, and stir to your heart's content.

Our darling angel stomps to the bathroom, muttering something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like "those frickin' parents" (though she might have said "flippin"). She spent the next five minutes in the bathroom, stirring away, muttering quite loudly to herself about the injustice of it all.

I can't wait until she has her own blog, so she won't have to complain about us in private.

Your Holiday Decorating Questions Answered Here!

Wrig is at that age, and the age comes for everybody, when she's begun to wonder about all that Christ in Christmas business. Wandering around town one afternoon, she saw a nativity scene and asked Mom to explain the story about that baby. Mom managed to get through it, but Wrig was not satisfied.

Later that same day, Wrig and I were listening to a lovely, very traditional (read: religious) Pete Seeger Christmas album. Wrig asked me to tell the story about that baby and I told her what I knew: the mom, the dad who wasn't the dad, the no room at the inn bit. Then I told her about the sheep and the shepherds and the, "let's see, I think there was a star - yeah, there was a star, that's why there are all those songs about the star of Bethlehem. And then the three wise men show up and give gold, frankincense, and myrrh ... you know what gold is, right? And frankincense ... um, frankincense smells nice ... and, well, I don't know what myrrh is. But that's why we give all these gifts on Christmas. And there were angels there. Singing. Yup. Singing angels." And in response to a question Wrigley asked a few weeks ago as we gently placed our reindeer at the top of our tree, I added, "That's why lots of people put angels on the top of their Christmas trees ... and stars, too. 'Cause of the star of Bethlehem."

This is deep stuff, this Christmas story. Heady stuff. The kind of stuff wars are fought over and tv specials are written about. So Wrig ponders. And ponders. And ponders. And finally she asks the question that has been plaguing preachers, philosophers, scholars, and home decorators for centuries:

"So why don't people put crying babies on the top of their trees?"

The Ghost of Breakfast Past

Today for breakfast, Christie took me to the 1950s. I don't mean she took me to some tacky mall style restaurant with a cheesy jukebox and waiters in paper hats. This place was authentically stuck in the past - we could still smell the cigarette smoke from back when the "no smoking section" was out in the parking lot. The restaurant came stocked with regulars - "You'll be having the usual, right, Harry?" - and a waitress whose name, I'm sure, was Vera or Flo. The coffee was weak but my cup was always full.

We had to go to the 1950s for breakfast because I've been craving chicken fried steak ever since Christie read me the report about menu labeling that appeared in the Oregonian. You see, quoth the venerable Oregonian, with the benefits of menu labeling, you would know that you could have an order of chicken fried steak AND a ham and cheese omelet and consume less fat and calories than if you ate a single order of french toast. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, chicken fried steak is now the healthy alternative to french toast! Thank you, medical science! And since it appeared in the Oregonian, you know it must be true.

So, as the new year approaches and we all make half-hearted promises regarding our health and well being, remember that eating right is all a state of time.

Memory

I don't have a very good memory. I suspect most of my memories of childhood are associated with pictures my folks took. I *do* remember (they don't have pictures of this to prove it) that I would spend hours examining our photo albums. Often when I am enjoying day to day life, Ed prompts me to, "get a picture of this," but sometimes the mood to record isn't there. I tell him that we'll just have to rely on our memories. I wish mine were more capable.

Things You Might Have Forgotten About California After You Became a Native Oregonian

1. Cars, when left in the sun, get hot.
2. Sand, when left in the sun, gets hot.
3. Sidewalks, when left in the sun … you get the point.
4. Fruit can transform from being so green it’s inedible to being so rotten it’s inedible during the course of a meal.
5. People over the age of eight wear two-piece swimsuits.
6. Tropical plants and flowers are beautiful in, you know, tropical climates. Hibiscus flowers are my new favorite people.
7. California and Oregon look exactly the same if you just imagine concrete and tall buildings everywhere you see a forest path and tall trees.
8. People still believe they can find their SLMT4LF is they put the right combination of letters on their license plate.
9. Sometimes it’s warm even after the sun goes down.
10. Some people have brown skin. They might speak languages other than English, or they’ll speak English with an accent. Strangely enough, these people are qualified to do work other than wash dishes or cook fast food. I really miss living in a place where some people have brown skin.

Two Days, One Night, One Anniversary, Three Adventures

1. Rocks and Rolls

For our anniversary, my folks spent two days with Wrig while Christie and I ran away to Hood River. We decided it would be fun to take a kayak lesson and, as always, we were right.

The first thing we learned is the skill known as a “wet exit.” Kayaks are notoriously flippable, and a wet exit is how you get out of your kayak when you happen to find yourself upside down in a river. Our kayak instructor, a very kind, patient man named Kani, took us to a calm little lake to practice this skill. In the parking area, he unloaded the kayaks from his trailer, and like a magician drawing scarves from his sleeves, he kept offering us piece of equipment after piece of equipment in a never ending stream. Helmets and lifevests and noseplugs, oh my!

When Kani had finally fully loaded us up with equipment, we had to squeeze ourselves into our kayaks. I can think of no other analogy to describe this act than the image of a supermodel cramming herself into size –2.5 jeans. A tight fit, to say the least.

My thought process, as it happened (I swear this is exactly what went through my mind):

1) Oh. My. God. It’s impossible to get into this thing.
2) There’s NO WAY I can get out of this thing if it flips.
3) Trapped. Underwater. I’m going to inhale water through my nose.
4) Oh. My. God. I’m less than 15 minutes away from drowning. There’s no way I can do this. I. Am. Going. To. Die.
5) Wait! He didn’t ask us to sign a waiver. This can’t be that dangerous at all. I’ll be just fine.

As it turns out, I was. It happens to be much easier to get OUT of a kayak than into one. Neither Christie nor I had trouble slipping out of the canoe or when we actually flipped in moving water.

Here’s my thought process when my kayak flipped in the middle of the river (I swear this is exactly what went through my mind):

1) OH SHIT!!!!!!!
2) Wait. Kani said curl and pull.

So I curled and pulled. Piece of cake.

The rest of the day was a breeze. Kayaking is not easy, not by a long shot, but it’s not as difficult as you might imagine. Paddling upstream was a wee bit of a challenge and the next day I discovered aches in places I had long forgotten, but I highly recommend a day on the river if the opportunity comes up.

By the way, as we were packing up at the end of our trip, Kani says, "Oh! I forgot to have you sign your waivers." Maybe I'm going to drown after all.

2. I Quibble With Your Definition, Sir.

On our way home from Hood River, Christie and I decided to take a hike. We have a new book that we were eager to explore. As we were planning our trip, we knew we would be a little sore from kayaking, so we immediately excluded all the “difficult” hikes. All the difficult hikes were long, anyways, and we would have eliminated them based on time alone. So we settled on a nice, moderate hike: 4 miles, a loop, with a fairly decent 1500 foot elevation gain.

Wednesday night, as the muscles were beginning to tighten up from an afternoon of death defying paddling, we looked for an easy hike: 2.5 miles, a loop, and a mere 600 foot elevation gain. The best part about it was the name of the hike: Starvation Creek Trail. Who could pass up the opportunity to enjoy a picnic at Starvation Creek?

The walk got off to an unimpressive start: the first .8 of a mile of the 2.5 mile trip was pretty much right on the shoulder of I-84. Granted, the view to the left was lovely and pastoral, but the view to the right (and the accompanying roar) was pure rush hour. Soon, though, the path diverged from the highway and into the woods proper, and we sat by a waterfall to eat.

After lunch, we continued on our way and quickly encountered a somewhat steep climb. According to our book, we gained 200 feet in elevation in a little over 1,000 feet of path. It felt good. We haven’t been on a real hike in, oh, about five years, give or take. We got the blood pumping, the heart pounding. We felt mighty proud of ourselves.

And then the hike got serious. Switchbacks. Lots of ‘em. Narrow paths. Lots of ‘em. Steep inclines. Forty mile per hour headwinds. And this was the easy hike? According to Christie, an “easy” hike is a hike you could take your grandmother on (no offense to any grandmothers who might be reading this and could probably hike circles around us).

The only thing worse than climbing up a steep hill is, of course, scrambling down a steep hill, particularly a hill covered with loose dirt and gravel. The task was doubly complicated by omnipresent poison oak, which inhibited our ability to rely on the cliff wall for support. Christie perfected the “squat method,” which involved squatting and sliding down on her heels. The advantage here is that when she fell, her bottom was just a few inches above ground. I preferred my method: close your eyes and hold on for dear life.

So, a 2.5 mile hike with 600 foot elevation gain should be easy, but let's do a little math. A full mile of the hike was dead flat. That leaves 1.5 miles for 600 feet. But half of that distance is up and half is down, so that is a 600 foot incline in .75 miles, and a 600 foot drop in a similar distance. You call that easy? I quibble with your definition of easy, sir.

3. Where the Furniture is Flat

We finally made it to the brand spanking new Portland Ikea. Here’s a money saving tip: visit Ikea when you are completely physically exhausted, perhaps after an easy hike in the Columbia Gorge.

Frankly, we weren’t too tempted to spend a ton of money. A few things caught our eye, but nothing really met our furniture needs. They do have nice dishes pretty cheap, and we did buy (and promptly return) some shelving.

The absolute highlight of the store are the two “small living spaces” showrooms. These rooms featured living, sleeping, dining, cooking, and bathroom facilities, all crammed into 273 feet and 375 feet respectively. I don’t think our family of 3 could live comfortably in such tight quarters, but the displays did speak volumes about the potential of dorm rooms.

Free Time

We always say that Portland is a really easy town to raise a kid. Case in point:

A few Saturdays ago, we took advantage of our wonderful Portland Art Museum to take a FREE art class with Wrigley. The instructor was excellent. She was able to connect with kids without talking down to them. It was clear she truly loved art and was excited to share the museum with kids. She had great ideas for looking at art and talking about art and creating art. It was a pretty exhilarating experience.

But wait! That’s not all!

After we left the museum, Christie remembered that the library was holding a celebration in honor of the tenth anniversary of the renovation of the downtown branch. More FREE art – a cool thumbprint activity and clay. They offered face painting and balloon animals and free junk food. To top it all off, one of our favorite kids' bands, Cap’n Bogg and Salty, was playing a free concert at two pm!

Since it was only one, we toddled off to Pioneer Square where we stumbled upon a FREE “chalk it up for literacy” event. More face painting! A ball toss! and probably fifty artists in action, creating simply beautiful chalk drawings with themes related to reading and literacy. There was live music here too, but not! Cap’n Bogg and Salty.

So back to the library we go. Though I love their music, I’ve never seen Cap’n Bogg play live. They are fantastic showmen. They’re funny, good storytellers, and they really know how to work a crowd. Much like the instructor at the museum, they are able to speak to kids and adults without insulting either. Plus, they rock.

So. For the price of a cheap lunch and a bus fare, the fair city of Portland treated us to nearly five hours of art and music. It must be true that there’s no such thing as a FREE lunch – otherwise we surely would have found it.

We Regret to Inform You

We will not be updating the blog for a few days. We won't be answering the phone or responding to e-mail, either. Other activities that may be ignored over the next few days include eating, sleeping, child care, and perhaps breathing.

Why?

Harry Potter is in the house, and he demands to be read.

Wrigley's Review

W: You know, Canada is a lot like downtown Portland.

Accentuate the Positive

Here's the score from our recent trip to Canada:

Number of oot's: 3
Number of eh's: 2
Number of bus drivers flipping off jaywalking pedestrians: 1

Three Failures

1. I did not write this post a couple of weeks ago, back when we were in Seattle, seeing as it is about our trip to Seattle. Ideally, the post about the vacation before the camping trip should be posted before the post about the camping trip. No matter what scoring guide you're using, my organization is a failure.

2. The Seattle Public Library, Central Branch. Don't get me wrong - it's a beautiful building. It's a rare building that offers panoramic views of other areas inside the same building, and the SPL offers several. The kids' section is well stocked and easy to manage, though Christie points out that it is noisy, sterile, and garishly painted. Christie thought the "spiral" design of the upper floors was intriguing and I thought the escalators were striking. I could watch the humongous computer display that tracks circulation for weeks on end. Look, here's a picture of how cool the escalators are:



But - forgive me if I sound old fashioned here - but libraries should be about books and, frankly, I didn't see too many books. This library is sleek and shiny, all glass and polished floors, and books are so ... well, paper and ink. The building gave me the impression that the SPL is incredibly proud of their hip, cutting edge architecture and a wee bit embarrassed by those musty dust collectors called books.

Here's what a library should look like: stack after stack of books piled to the stars, with maybe a ladder or two to help you reach them.

3. Me. Moi. Your faithful narrator and fearless blogger. The story goes like this:

Several years ago, Seattle was one of many cities that hosted a charity event where 30 or so artists decorated 30 or so giant pig sculptures, which were displayed at various locales around the city for 30 or so days. The pigs were then auctioned off to raise money for some noble goal and many (if not all) of the pigs are still displayed in various locales.

As we were walking towards the aforementioned library, we passed a pig named Pigmallion, which inspired me to tell Wrigley a somewhat inaccurate version of the myth of "Pygmalion and Galatea," an ancient myth that the Greeks told with the intention of inspiring the musical My Fair Lady. During my mistelling of the story, I (correctly) pointed out that the Greek gods and goddess often liked to visit mortals dressed as poor people and beggars to test their kindness, generosity, and basic goodness.

Less than a block later, we encountered a panhandler with very bad teeth and a pretty good line: My wife and I have HIV ... Social Security cut me off because I worked too much ... We just need $17 ... just to make it to the end of the month ... We've been to all the services ... just $17. He talked to us for the length of a block and gave up when we crossed the street.

Now, I have no (well, few) doubts about my kindness, generosity, and my basic goodness, but what if? Seriously, what if that just happened to be Apollo I rejected, or Athena? Maybe it was some plain old generic angel sent to the great metropolis of Seattle in search of a single act of human decency? Seriously, what if I was tested?

Well, the answer to that question is obvious.

Four Posts in One!

About our recent camping adventures at Nehalem Falls:

1. She IS My Daughter, After All

W: Dad, do you know what a woodpecker sounds like?
D: What?
W: A fart! (She cackles hysterically.)

You know, neither her mother nor I could really disagree.

2. A Portrait of the Artist as a Camper

Those of you who know Christie (and really, who else is reading this?) know that she's not a big fan of desserts. Yes, she'll eat them, but she doesn't live and die for whipped cream the way some people I know do. Give her a pickle and she's totally content. Weird, I know, but true.

Even so, you cannot imagine the care and craftsmanship this woman dedicates to the humble S'more. It is a thing of beauty to behold. First, she places two squares of chocolate (need I mention this is deep, deep, deep dark chocolate, not a stale chunk off a Hershey bar?) on a graham cracker and rests them on the grate near the fire. Not directly above it - oh, no! - just near it. And then she waits. And waits. She adjusts a little. A nudge here. A nudge there. The chocolate starts to sweat. The chocolate starts to soften. Finally, it begins to melt. By the time Christie is ready to eat it, the chocolate is positively glistening.

After waiting with divine patience for at least ten minutes - husband is busily toasting marshmallow two and daughter is already munching on number three - Christie begins the delicate process of toasting her marshmallow. Again, it's art. Careful as a hunter, graceful as a dancer, she slowly circles the fire, bending low, stretching out, leaning this way and that, all in search of the perfect spot to suspend her marshmallow. She tries out three or four complex yoga positions - Marshmallow Warrior I and II, The Flame Salute - before settling down to work. Not too close, no, not too close. Flick the wrist a little. Gently adjust. Juuuuust right.

Was it worth the wait? Heckifino. She wouldn't let me near the thing. Honestly, would you? All I can say is it sure looked good.



3. Almost There

I am sitting on a bench 100 yards above the Nehalem River, spiral notebook in lap, pen in hand. Clouds skim above the wall of trees on the opposite shore more quickly than the lazy current carries reluctant twigs downstream.

In this stillness, suspended between the whisper of the river and the lilting of birds, I almost understand the allure of fishing. The water is seductive - serene and soothing. I've been watching her for three days now - her dips and eddies, her deeps and shallows, the spots where fish strike and salamanders slink. And if there is one thing I've learned about rivers in the last three days it is that I know nothing about rivers. Reading a river is like reading a Russian translation of Finnegan's Wake.

But I think I understand fishermen a little bit better. I understand the desire to lose yourself in a river like losing yourself in a book. I understand the desire to sit in still water as the sun crests a mountain, serenaded by birds and current and stones.

The one thing I can't figure out is why would you want to ruin it all by catching a fish?

4. Roughly

The number of times this weekend the we, my wife and I, either deliberately or accidentally, thoughtfully or carelessly, intentionally or recklessly, endangered the life of our child in or around the Nehalem River and the accompanying rocks, boulders, and forests: roughly 65,000. I'm not saying this is a good thing or a bad thing, I'm just sayin'. 65,000, give or take.

Wild, Wild Life

A couple of nights ago, Christie and I were downstairs watching a movie after Wrig had gone to bed. Marble, who is feeling strangely cuddly lately, was keeping us company. We head a noise upstairs. Correction, we heard noises upstairs. Even Marble, fierce defender of the homestead, heard noises.

We finally go up to investigate. While still on the stairs, I hear a rattling, which sounds a bit like our dishwasher (which hasn't been feeling well). But no, Christie did not start the dishwasher. I continue up and into the living room, figuring that the fan is shuffling a few stray papers. Christie, who thought the rattling sounded like chomping, turned to the right, where we keep the back door and the cat food.

Quothe the noble Chrsitie: "Oh, eek. A possum."

Christie really did say "eek." She didn't screech "EEEEK!" like a fifties housewife, she simply said the word "eek."

The critter had, apparently, snuck into our house by squeezing under our screen door. While Christie was searching for a mop to defend herself with, the possum snuck right back out. Possums, by the way, are really ugly creatures.

On the other hand, this morning as I headed out to the back yard to do a little yard work, I was greeted by a hawk. We observed it closely until it decided to (quite majestically) glide away. Then we dashed inside to look at our bird book and figure out who our guest was.

Christie voted for the Cooper's Hawk:


Wrig voted for the Sharp-Shinned Hawk:


I think it was probably a Cooper's Hawk, but it's much more fun to say it was a Sharp-Shinned Hawk because Sharp-Shinned is such a cool name. I was hoping that the hawk was planning to defend our homestead from marauding possums, but it turns out both breeds of (closely related) hawk like to hang out by bird feeders and prey on songbirds.

Might I suggest, Mr. Hawk, that that blue jay over there looks quite tasty?

Good SAM

I'm not sure I can quite capture how much fun we had at the Seattle Art Museum's sculpture garden at Olympic Park. The space itself is amazing. The landscaping is a work of art in itself. I don't just mean that the grass is green and the End of Spring wildflowers are charming (though they are). I mean that the pathways and the railings are designed to move you among the sculptures in a way that enhances both your visit and the artwork. Even something as simple as a concrete wall has just the right angles to create a graceful lines. You can almost feel the artist's hand sketching them - and you - into place.

Several of the large installations - particularly "Seattle Cloud Cover" and "Wake" - make the viewer part of the art. As you walk through "Seattle Cloud Cover," light is refracted through colored glass, creating patterns on the gravel and on your body. The whole sculpture is about 200 feet long and becomes a different work with every step. "Wake" is a massive collection of iron ... thingies. They rise up out of the sand like ships' hulls or shark fins. The installation has wildly different looks as you enter, exit, and move among the monoliths. As you speak, your voice becomes part of the art. As the sun climbs and falls, the shadows change the character of the work. It's odd to describe art as thrilling, but "Wake" really got my blood flowing. And don't forget "Capula XVI" and "Capula XVII" - two swinging structures like wicker birdcages, large enough to fit wife and child, perhaps, or four rambunctious children.

AND! To top it off, we happened to visit on a day when volunteers from Rare Care, an organization dedicated to identifying rare plants, had set up half a dozen or so tables with very interesting and well crafted activities. Wrigley donned butterfly wings and pollinated plants, drew a picture of a plant by sense of touch alone, pressed a dozen flowers, examined twenty types of moss with a magnifying glass, and peeked at plants through a microscope. We simply didn't have the energy to participate in all the fun stuff.

On our way out, we passed a collection of photos by Glenn Rudolph. He composed a photo essay about Olympic Park back in '86. The museum invited him to create another collection to chronicle the transformation of the park from a "feral" land to a sculpture garden. The most moving piece was a photograph of a young man who had been living in the park on the day they put up the chain link fence to begin renovation. It's a moving portrait of a homeless man being evicted from his un-home, lovingly crafted by the artist, and bravely published by the institution responsible for his eviction.

Quite a remarkable place; quite a remarkable day.

One More Thing ...

29. Oh, yeah. I should probably tell her to go visit the blog.

Still More Things

22. Outside my window I can see exactly 18 brand new garbage trucks. I believe number 19 is just out of my view.
23. My favorite garbage truck is the one with the American Flag painted on its side. Where’s a constitutional amendment when you need one?
24. Outside my window, I can see seven brand new dumpsters. No dumpsters, to my knowledge, lurk just out of sight.
25. What are the odds that a conference on trash collection and recycling would coincide with a conference on AP? Feel free to draw any analogies you’d like. I’m too tired to draw analogies.
26. I got wined and dined tonight by a textbook publishing company. They bought me a little fruit, some sliced bell peppers, half a dozen (or more) skewers of chicken sate, a dozen coconut fried shrimp, a handful (pretty much literally) of egg rolls, four cocktails, and two cups of coffee. All that, and I won’t even mention their name on our blog. Man, I’m a cheapskate.
27. In class today, while reading a paper that scored quite well, a student accidentally changed reckless into wreckless. I think wreckless is my new favorite word, replacing the current champion, “crotchital region.”
28. I miss my wife very much. I should probably tell her that.

10 More Things I Ought to Tell Christie

12. I can’t forget to mention how much I love train travel. I spent a little more than three and a half hours reading a book and being rocked like a baby. When I retire, I’m gonna get a rail pass and spend the rest of my life taking the train from the middle of nowhere to the middle of nowhere.
13. ESPN Classic is showing reruns of American Gladiator. Oh, pitter patter. My heart flutters with the giddy early days of our romance.
14. I can’t wait Reality TV Classic starts showing reruns of Blind Date so I can relive the giddy early days of Wrig’s infancy.
15. TV, um, sucks pretty hard, by the way.
16. I am madly in love with the shower in my hotel room. I’m pretty sure I could use it to pressure wash the back deck. Do you think they would notice if I tried to sneak out with it?
17. I rode to and from my conference in a school bus today. I arrived sans spitwads in my hair. Good deal.
18. ESPN Classic is showing reruns of American Gladiator. Constantly. Much less pitter patter as we move into hour 13 of the American Gladiator marathon.
19. Safeco Field is a beautiful place to see a baseball game.
20. I can’t think of a better way to start a baseball game than a bases loaded walk. Oh, wait! Two bases loaded walks.
21. The ninth inning was pretty amazing. I hear JJ Putz struck out the side, including pinch hitter Manny Ramirez; I wouldn’t know for sure, though, I had my eyes closed the whole time. M’s win! M’s win!

10 Things I Need to Remember to Tell Christie About My Conference in Bellevue

1. While standing in line to get my boarding pass, the woman in front of me turns to me and says, “I know this is really dumb, but …” I hear this all the time because, apparently, I have a very common face. This conversation usually ends with me telling the (true) story of a girl I knew in college who had a picture of me at her family reunion in Tennessee; of course, it really isn’t a picture of me, just one of my many doppelgangers. However, the woman at the train station followed “I know this is really dumb …” with “…but do you teach high school in Oregon City?” It turns out that her daughter was one of my students in my first year at OC. Her family was headed to Chicago to see her (my former student, mind you) perform at scene from a play she wrote at the Steppenwolf Theatre, which is a damn fine theatre company.
2. After I settled into my seat on the train, the people across the aisle from me look at me and say, “I know this sounds really dumb, but …” It turns out that they are the parents of a student I’ve had for the last four years at OC. He just graduated a couple of weeks ago. It’s a funny little world, isn’t it?
3. Mt. Ranier is nice, but Mt. Hood could totally kick its ass in a fight.
4. I am staying in a hotel with no free breakfast and no free wifi.
5. I am staying in a hotel where I can’t find the Cubs or the Mariners on TV.
6. I am staying in a hotel that doesn’t have Comedy Central.
7. I am staying in a hotel where I can plug my iPod into the clock radio (very cool!) but I cannot get the M’s on the local radio station (very uncool!)
8. Recap: I am staying in a hotel with fewer amenities than my house. Does anybody know the score of the M’s game?
9. Free wifi at Tully’s costs $4 (I gotta get the coffee of the day tomorrow; a week of iced mochas is going to bankrupt me).
10. A double decker taco costs $1.29 PLUS (brace yourselves, fragile Oregon readers …) $.12 in tax. I spent $2.82 on a couple of $.99 tacos. I’m totally homesick.
11. I just noticed that the keyboard of my laptop does not have a key for the cent sign. Check yours. Do you have one? What happened to the cent sign? Are you suggested that modern computer keyboards have no cents?

Go By Train

Christie has become a major sushi addict. I won't go near the raw fish, but I can always find a thing or two to fill my belly at most sushi places. Our favorite place by far is Sushi Takahashi because a) it's cheap, and b) the food is delivered by a little train that circles the restaurant. It's fun to see what's comin' round the mountain, as it were.

Last night, the Sushi Train came with an added bonus. One of the other customers was passing notes on the train. Some notes gave commands ("Clap your hands" or "Say Buttery Scotch Hands Out Loud" for example). Other notes asked questions. I couldn't help myself, so I contributed a note or two, too. Part of the fun was trying to figure out who was starting the notes. It was a great source of mystery and amusement.

On our way out the door, I dropped a "Thank You" note on the train. Who knew that dinner and a train could be even better than dinner and a movie?

Mugshot

Busted for public nose picking, pick pocketing of precious teacher appreciation week pen, defying the laws of gravity in door jambs and trees, public nudity, and being smarter than her dad.

Just What I Wanted for Father's Day...

... competition in the poetry biz!

Wrig recited this poem for me at dinner tonight:

"The Poem of the Peas"
by Wrigley Kline

In a bunch of peas
there is a poem.
It wants to be written
but no one can figure it out.

Debut

Ed forgot to mention that he was there to witness his own daughter's acting debut. Wrigley and Ed studied her lines every night for a week and a half for Wrigley's witch role in Alice in Idaho. You'd better believe she knew each and every one of them! Wrigley was thrilled to be acting on a real stage. The whole thing was very fun and funny.

Next Circle, Please

One of my favorite things about fatherhood has been the random glimpses into the wide variety of possibilites that eternal damnation might hold. For example, I once thought hell would hold nothing but an infinity of teething infants. And for a while there, I was certain hell would be a small room packed with three year-olds.

Ah, but today! Today I was invited to a two-hour performance of theater by children younger than 11. Two. Hours. Children. Oh, lordy.

The children were adorable. The director was a saint. But when they decided to take an EXTRA five minute intermission to get the smoke machine up and running, I felt fairly certain I had stumbled into a lost chapter of Dante's Inferno.

Fatherhood? Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Hello Blogosphere, Remember Me? (This post goes to eleven)

10 things that made me happy this week:

1) Seeing the first clematis blossom of the summer.
2) Watching Wrig make aphid soup (yes, that said aphid soup. She liked boiled aphids so much she made her own soup with cardamom, garam masala, and cumin. Oh yeah, and aphids. Smelled great, but she couldn't get me to taste it).
3) Freewriting with my creative writing class (down to eight kids now that the seniors are gone!).
4) It's ice coffee season! Well, it was earlier in the week anyways.
5) Freeing butterflies with W&C in the backyard.
6) Freeing butterflies with students and colleagues at the OCHS Memorial Garden Opening Ceremony.
7) Listening to my class discuss Arthur Kopit's play Indians. They sure sound smart. They must have a great teacher (see #9, below).
8) Seeing an original scene written by a graduating senior performed at the Drama 4's Final Curtain Call. Saying farewell to some much loved seniors.
9) Reading reflections from my Creative Writing class about what a great teacher I am.
10) Staying up too late playing clay-marble sudoku with beautiful Christie.

And, at no extra charge, 11) Having enough time and energy to sit down and blog.

Marble's Morning

Hmmm. Blogger is making us sign in through yahoo and we have only 1 yahoo identity. I don't know that we want more, so this post is really Wrigley's.

Marble's Morning Routine:

• gets up
• eats breakfast
• watches birds
• sits by heater
• little more breakfast
• goes downstairs to nap
  

Sunday Cream Puff

Now I just need a 66 story building.

I don't know who spends time creating these quizzes. Every so often one catches my eye, but they tend not to deliver much in the way of either insight or smiles. This one will make you ponder and smile.

Short, terse, unfriendly, Yet sometimes quite emotive; I am the Haiku. What Poetry Form Are You?

Go on, now... take this one; there are no questions regarding poetry - I promise.

Hang on Tightly

We got a package a little while ago with these funny little cards in them. The cards each have an "ultra-short" piece of fiction on them. They came in a nifty little box. Ed has a piece included. We got extra cards of Ed's. It's kinda of fun to think about where we could leave the cards (his and the others as well) as a bit of surprise fiction for people as they go about their day. But we enjoy them too much. We'll keep them here.


This is probably too small to read, so click here for the overwhelming size.

By the way, Ruby is Wrigley's name as she appears in Ed's fiction. Some party pooper (yours truly) thinks Wrigley as a name in fiction is far to distracting, and she highly discourages Ed from using it.

Flashback

When W was learning to talk, the "rl" combination was really the only sound that gave her a hard time. She always added an extra "er" into the word. She hasn't done that in a couple years now, but today, in the excitement of feeding the squirrels, it came back. "Here little skwirler, here little skwirler." Makes a mama's heart sing.

Hearts

Happy Valentine's Day

All Play and No Work

Ed had a whopping one day work week this week. It started with the Martin Luther King Jr Holiday followed by three snow days. It was only a few inches but Portland doesn't really have much in the way of snow removal equipment, so it takes a while to get things moving again. It was a fabulous snow for sledding and we did plenty of it. I didn't get many pictures of it, though, because it wasn't until the last snow day that I figured out that keeping the camera batteries in my armpit would do wonders for keeping the camera working in cold weather. Next time.

On the third snow day we headed out hiking in the Columbia River Gorge. The highways were clear and Wahclella Falls is right off the highway. I do not know why I have never heard of this hike before last fall when Cindi and I were looking for a hike close to the Bonneville Dam. We didn't make it all the way to the waterfall that hike. When you hike with kids and stop to examine every rock in the creek, sometimes a mile hike is too long! This time we made it to the waterfall. This one rates up there with the ohmygod hikes. The ice lended a lot of beauty, but even in the heat of summer, I am certain this one is still amazing.




When you come visit, we'll have to take you there.

The pit stop at Multnomah Falls wasn't bad either.


In other news, Wrigley has finally decided that the tire swing is fun after all and we've been heading off to the playground for her daily dose of dizzying spinning.


And in still other developments, I've started a project I am calling Project 364. Most folks are doing Project 365, but I missed the first day, so it is 364 'round here. I find it challenging if only because I do just about the exact same things day in and day out and there isn't enough light to shoot indoors. You may enjoy my slide show here.

You Mean There's More Than One?

Overheard during a Daddy/Wrigley grocery shopping spree:

"Mommy would let me buy yogurt. That's one of the reasons I prefer Mommy."

2006 Book List

I may have mentioned this before, but I really like book lists, so I share mine for those could use some recommendations. This year I added in some of those 400+ page non-fiction books that take forever to read as well as some young adult which go along very well with the non-fiction because those take only a couple of days to read.


So, here you are (my favorites are in bold):

v The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini – engaging with flashes of great writing and flashes of crummy writing.

v The Bridge of San Luis Rey, Thornton Wilder – Some quite nice writing

v Ursula, Under, Ingrid Hill – Boy, I was excited about this one. I heard about it on someone’s best 5 list on NPR. Boy it was long and disappointing. It was filled with characters that were very interesting, but most of them didn’t get their due. There were too many ancestors and the writer was long-winded and sometimes overly detailed. I hate being driven to skim books, and I skimmed this one a lot.

v Freakonimics, Levitt and Dubner – Fun read. Easy to pick up and put down for a week or six.

v How I Survived Being a Girl, Van Draanen – (YA) Spunky young adult read.

v This Heavy Silence, Nicole Mazzarella – Very good read, though not particularly artful writing.

v Because of Winn-Dixie, Kate DiCamillo – What a great story!

v The Optimist’s Daughter, Eudora Welty – This was excellent. It so nicely explores love and feeling, and leaves me with much to ponder.

v Is Your Bed Still There When You Close the Door? How to have Creative Conversations with Your Kids, Jane Healy – Good. I may buy this when Wrig is a little older.

v The Tale of Despereaux, Kate DiCamillo – A cute sweet tale, but what really makes it excellent is that it must have been great fun to narrate. I love the voice, and the writing is very good.

v The Pleasure of My Company, Steve Martin – I was surprised by how much I liked this. I thought the main character was pretty interesting, even if I suspect not particularly realistic.

v Animal Dreams, Barbara Kingsolver – I really enjoyed this story, even though upon reflection I decided it was a bit formulaic and predicable.

v Travels with Charley, John Steinbeck – This starts out quite well and full of great insights, but peters out in a big in way on the return trip. Still, I recommend it. Sometimes it is awfully interesting to read what a author has to say when they aren’t hiding behind characters and plot.

v Small Steps, Louis Sachar – (YA) A follow up to Holes, but not half as good. Though contrived, the story is compelling and fun to read.

v Hold on to Your Kids, Why Parents Need to Matter More Than Peers, Gordon Neufeld – Excellent. This adds an important element to my parenting philosophy.

v The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, Kate Dicamillo –I am really enjoying Kate Dicamillo. I hope one day she writes for adults too.

v The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros – Rereading this with my book group. I enjoy this one, but I like Caramelo much better.

v Gilead, Marilynne Robinson – Rich, rich, rich. Just enough plot to move things along at a decent pace, but primarily a dying ministers review of his life and the people in it. There was a fair amount about God and religion, but it somehow didn’t put me off. A high recommendation for those times when you’d like to read a thinking book..

v Like Water for Chocolate, Laura Esquivel – Excellent and a joy to read.

v A Room with a View, EM Forester – Very good.

v Fly by Night, Frances Hardinge – Very engaging kid lit. Three quarters of the way through, though, my adrenaline had all been used up before the final twists and turns, and I was reading just to be finished.

v Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer – This one goes on my Top 10 list. I couldn’t put it down but I forced myself to so I wouldn’t get too caught up in the storytelling that I couldn’t concentrate on the writing.. His writing is fabulous and unique.

v Housekeeping, Marilynne Robinson – I liked Gilead much more than this one. In this book her style didn’t capture me.

v How I Live Now, Meg Rosoff – (YA) This won a Michael Printz award, but I don’t know why. The story is interesting enough, but the writing isn’t particularly skillful, the voice is forced and it seemed that the author ran out of story and decided to just wrap it up hastily.

v The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Stephen Chbosky – (YA) this one much more satisfying. The voice bugged me a little (perhaps I am too old), but the story had depth, the voice thoughtful and the writing was good enough.

v Picture Perfect, Jodi Piccult – Eh.

v Time Travelers Wife, Audrey Niffenegger - Excellent story. Very likeable characters and a good complicated plot. Fascinating.

v City of Ember, Jeanne DuPrau – (YA), Eh. Interesting concept, writing has little flare. It was compelling enough that I’ll read the sequel, but I don’t recommend it.

v The People of Sparks, Jeanne DuPrau – (YA) sequel to The city of Ember. This one is a smidge better. It takes on some significant themes, and again, the story is pretty darn interesting. However I will not read the third book, a prequel.

v The Tiger Rising, Kate DeCamillo – This completes all of Kate DiCamillo’s work for me, and I loved it all. Can’t recommend it highly enough. Sure it is for kids, but the only thing that keeps it from being adult lit is it’s length and the complexities greater length allows.

v Shopgirl, Steve Martin – This is not great, but it is definitely good, and Steve Martin’s writing is surprisingly unique and interesting. (The movie turned out to be worth a watch, as well)

v Mojo Mom, Amy Tieman – eh. I need to stop thinking I’ll get something from these types of books.

v Brick Lane, Monica Ali – This was pretty good. The story was engaging, but there was really nothing remarkable about the book.

v Yellow Star, Jennifer Roy – (YA) This was very good, but I don’t think it adds much original to the cannon of Holocaust literature. It was written as poetry, but the writing wasn’t particularly poetic, more just prose written in shortened lines.

v Love Medicine, Louise Erdrich – This was good, but not great. I didn’t quite connect with the characters. Not so much because they were so different from me, more because there were so many of them and the focus of the novel changed often. There were several protagonists, and I don’t think they were handled particularly skillfully. I may read more Erdrich.

v Last Child in the Woods, Richard Louv – Interesting read. I loathe the subtitle, but he doesn’t spend much time claiming that nature deficit is an actual disorder, but he is trying to put it up there with ADHD and other “disorders” of childhood. I very much enjoyed reading about how nature and children impact each other, and I appreciated an argument in favor of allowing children to experience nature in ways that might do minor damage (reorganizing streams, building treehouses), because this is an issue I struggle with just about every time we’re outside some place other than our backyard.

v The Big Love, Sarah Dunn – this was a quick, light, fluffy, funny read. I very much enjoyed it.

v The Black City, George Sand – Hmm. I can’t decide how well I liked this one. It was excellent, but the translation felt watered down a bit. Also, the ending is over the top cheesy romantic. It is, though, fascinating to read those early early women writers.

v A Little House Sampler, Laura Ingalls Wilder & Rose Wilder Lane – This was a great way to read a biography. The editor took writings of both Laura & Rose’s and arranged them along with some context to be a biography. Laura’s writing career began as a columnist on the life of a farm wife for the Missouri Ruralist, and Rose was a journalist and short story writer. They were both excellent writers. It was loads of fun to read.

v Looking for Alsaka, John Green (YA)– Eh. At least the author can write (better than the other YA books I’ve read this year) and the story is okay, but neither the writing nor the story have much spark and the characters aren’t particularly real.

v The Giver, Lois Lowry (YA) – better, though I am certainly beginning to believe that the YA genre could really use some top notch writers. The book, though, does and excellent job of presenting some pretty heavy themes to middle schoolers.

v Omnivore’s Dilemma, Michael Pollen – An interesting, interesting read. Pollen is a great and humble storyteller. His topic is fascinating and his conclusions sensible. The first section is a bit difficult to get into, because, frankly, the tales of industrial food are unsettling, but the rest of the book moves at an excellent pace.

v Coping with Food Intolerances, Dick Thom – Interesting. Enough said.

v On the Way Home, Laura Ingalls Wilder – Journal account of Laura’s covered wagon journey as an adult. Interesting, though not formed into publication by Laura herself, so it’s pretty rough draft.

v Monsoon Summer, Mitali Perkins – (YA) Finally, a decently written YA book. While it didn’t have the flashes of fabulous writing that I so love discovering in books, Perkins’ novel about a fifteen year old’s summer in India is well written, engaging and I think relevant to the lives of fifteen year olds (but really, what do I know about fifteen year olds these days?).

v The Not So Star-Spangled Life of Sunita Sen, Mitali Perkins – (YA) I liked Monsoon Summer better, but this one was good too.

v Clown Girl, Monica Drake – This was good. It was sometimes awfully self-aware and the author really seemed to continually raise the stakes, but all in all the characters were interesting, the story good and the writing bother clever and witty.