Getting ready for Fun

I leave in a few hours for Ocean Shores on the Washington Coast. I will be traveling with Austin and my Mom and meeting up with my Aunt Mary. Some unstructured time is ahead of me. Instead of trying to find my inner child or inner saint, I am going to search for my inner dog. The one that likes to stick her head out of a moving car and feel the wind on her cheek. The one that can eat and drink on the run, no questions asked about where the food came from. The one that can run on the beach, and sit on the sidewalk. For just a few moments. Then off for a new distraction. I don't plan on meditating.

Here's the Proof

Brad and I enjoyed fish and chips at one of our favorite hangouts - the Lockspot. We have been going there for over 20 years and have never found a parking spot at the side. Oh, we have occasionally parked in the four spaces in front, but we usually park in the pay parking lot. Yesterday, we ruled! I took this picture knowing no one would believe me if I didn't. The Durango has been immortalized.

Me and Archie

A visit to Archie McPhee's <a http://archiemcpheeseattle.com"> . Just about the most fun one can have and spend under $5 dollars. Brad and I were on a pig quest and good quests end up at Archie's. I only wish Jessica had been there. She would have giggled with me, instead I had Brad who rolled his eyes a lot.

What will You Remember?

I looked down our road as I remembered a conversation I had with my Father in his home. He had several bottles of liquid soap on the table. He told me how much he enjoyed the soap and wanted to send me home with a bottle.

As a child, he had to use lots of water before handling the bar of soap to work up any suds. The soap back then was rock hard, with no sweet smell. One had to work hard to get clean.

He said you could squirt liquid soap onto your hands and work up a real lather, before you added water! He thinks you get cleaner this way. My father has seen computers and rockets come of age in his lifetime, but liquid soap can make him stand back and marvel.

I am reminded of a bus ride I took in the mid 1970's. I boarded a city bus headed for downtown Portland and asked an elderly woman if I could take the seat beside her. She said yes and a delightful conversation ensued. During this conversation she kept looking up, out the window. At one point I asked her what change in her lifetime most impressed her. She replied, "windows." When she was growing up at the beginning of the last century, buildings did not have many. The tall buildings she was looking at were covered with windows.

I wonder what changes I will find fascinating when I am a bit older.

Mighty Fine Food

Brad and I had a fun day in Seattle. The Ballad neighborhood has special meaning for Brad and I. We both served on the USCGC Fir which tied up behind the Chittingham Locks. The day started with us roaming the streets looking for a place to enjoy breakfast. Brad stopped in front of the Senor Moose http://SenorMoose.com and asked me how I felt about having Mexican food for breakfast. "I'm game." I knew this was going to be special the moment I stepped inside. We sat at the counter. The dining area was too far from the action.


The staff treated us like guests in their home, not customers. Even the cooks, who did not speak English, smiled and greeted us. The grill and surrounding equipment looked like it was from 1953, compete with hot grease stains. On the wall is a faded picture of the Madonna. Four clocks are on the wall, only one of them works. Two windows are broken. The wooden counter has dents from years of use. The business license hangs askew. A black t-shirt hangs on the wall. Pictured are five moose on stools at a bar. One moose has fallen backwards off his stool. It reads: Moose dropping.


Oh, and the food was as good as it looked. An egg scramble served with black beans. Tortillas kept warm on the side. I was immediately reminded of the small diners we have visited in rural Arizona. This is authentic food, not American Mexican food.


I did have a moment of disappointment. I realized this was going to be the best part of the day, and the day had just begun.

My Corner

My corner. My respite. My link to myself. Since Austin moved out of his bedroom - two years ago, I have been trying to clear the clutter (also known as my fabulous fabric stash). I wanted an oasis in its place. A place to meditate, to sew, to write, and . . . . today. . . I saw the room.

I sat, I breathed. Why didn't I do this two years ago?

A Snowy Day in Paradise

The winter snow has melted. The sun can be seen over the treetops during the afternoon. The birds have been returning; I enjoy them early in the morning. A snowfall started today and I sipped my cup of coffee while watching. Although snow has fallen much this winter, I never know when the last snow of the season will be. Therefore I try to take time to enjoy the spectacle. This picture was taken of our road today. At one point the snowflakes were in such abundance, they were a blur in the camera's eye.

I am reminded of a similar snowfall earlier this winter. I was in Top's Food parking lot waiting for Brad to pick me up after work. Few people were around at midnight. I looked up and noticed this one was special. The flakes were very large, something I had not seen since living in Seward, Alaska. The light from the light pole highlighted the flakes a long way up. The snowflakes looked like a map of the universe, a constellation of snowflakes. Each snowflake fell slowly. I could track the trajectory of each flake from high above. I was mesmerized. Customers stopped to ask me what I was looking at. When I explained that I was peeking into the universe, they joined me in my gazing. God wows us in small ways.

Trees

I was a toddler in 1956. Women wore skirts to just below their knees. My mother would take me to family gatherings. I remember trying to walk. I was unsteady and occasionally reached out to keep from falling. I saw only legs around me, topped by darkness, fringed by the hems of skirts. My hand would reach out and touch a leg to balance myself. At times, I was too far from the leg and would grab up to reach a hem. Usually I would start to fall, but an arm would come down from above the skirt line and right me until I could balance myself.

Last Tuesday, our neighbor sent a text message that a semi-truck had overturned on Highway 2, blocking both lanes. We would have to take Reiter Road home. We followed Reiter Road as it started up the hillside, not knowing if we would be turned away by snow. As we neared the top, the road was barely wide enough for two cars. Luckily, at 1 AM, no other cars were approaching us. Total darkness among the trees. As we turned a corner, the alder trees were an arm's length from me. I could only see the trunks, as the tops were fringed in darkness. The headlights shown on the white trunks. I, again, was a child among the forest of legs. The wonderment of children engulfed me as we silently wound our way through them. I felt I could reach out and touch them to right myself. I miss the women in my life. Silently there to reach down and hold me strong.

Missing Person

I stopped at the bulletin board in Gold Bar. Her face caught my eye. The page was titled "Missing Person." I knew her. At the beginning of our road lives Cameron. His girlfriend is Francis. "She has been missing since 2/18/08." The last time I saw her was in early February. I had stayed late in Woodinville, arriving home at 1 AM. Cameron's truck was across the road. I was not happy. I waited; he did not move his truck. He came over and said, "I'm sorry, hon, but we were leaving and got the truck stuck. I'm afraid you will have to walk home." I sat for a couple of minutes, ticked off because I did not want to walk a quarter mile, in the snow, in the dark. I then resigned myself to my fate, called Brad, and began to put on my winter gear. I got out of the Durango and began to walk. I noticed Francis, sitting on the ground, in jeans and a light jacket. She was trying to scoop the snow out from behind the truck. Her hands were bare. I went over to her and said hello. I then knew she was as drunk as Cameron. My irritation quickly became concern for her. "Francis, you need to stop and go inside to get warm." She looked up and me and apologized for making me walk home. "Francis, I am okay, but you need to go inside before hypothermia sets in." She said she was allright and needed to finish. I then went back to Cameron and told him to stop shoveling, and get Francis inside. I pointed out that even if he got his truck unstuck, he could not go anywhere as my car was blocking the road. He said okay and started to approach Francis. I hoped they would go inside, but had no control to make it so. As I walked a light approached me. Brad was walking down our road to make sure I arrived home safely.

"She may have left with a man named Dave. She may be delusional and not taking her medications." Francis likes everyone. On occasion Brad and I will pass her on Mt. Index Road hitchhiking. We give her a lift to friends in Gold Bar, glad we picked her up and not some stranger. She is trusting beyond reason. Two pictures showed her smiling and laughing. Cameron looked content.

I had no idea of the pain Cameron is going through as I pass his cabin daily. Missing Persons happens to other people, not to people I know. I hope she is safe and returns. How hard to protect people when they do not realize the danger they are in. We can only pray and wait.

Winter in the Field of Poppies

Dorothy running through the field of poppies, gradually succumbing to the feat. But, yet, surviving and reaching the Emerald city. The past two winters have been our field of poppies. We received over five feet of snow, eleven inches in one night. Our roads are not regularly plowed and I awoke one morning with a blanket of white all around. No definition of roads, rocks, or woodpile. I tried to drive out and high centered my car. It took two hours to shovel out. Brad then drove the car to Mt. Index road. All this while he had headaches from high blood pressure and pneumonia. I then proceeded to work, very carefully. The next day our road was plowed, but the pathways required constant shoveling. The snow fell almost daily since December. The world was beautiful, but not conducive to arriving at work on time.

Our power is intermittent. And with loss of power is loss of water. We hauled water in and showered at the gym. Yes, I am starting to use the gym for exercising, not just showering. I rather liked using the wood stove and candles. Lots of sandwiches and eating out.

As I try to follow a spiritual path, I stub my toe on rocks in the path. Mice are one of them. The cold spell we have every year drives them towards the warmth of our home. Brad sets traps for them. Our kill rate is up to ten, not near my good friend from Minnesotta Dawn's kill of 31, but ten more than I would like. I am reminded that I will never be a saint. Reality: I contract Brad to kill for me. This coming from the person who cried if she accidental killed an ant or worm when she was a child. Yes, my comfort level wins out over my spiritual self. Hard truth to face about myself. This winter was long, but did not have the normalcy, punctuated with drama, that last winter had.

The winter starts with flooding in the Cascades. Last year, the bridges were half an inch from being shut down. One night I could not make it home and stayed at my daughter Jessica's home, eight miles away in Gold Bar. We drove around Sultan marveling at the water rushing under the bridge. One could reach out and touch it. The bridge going to Ben Howard Road had trees passing under it. The flooding had entered Sultan, closing off roads and flooding buildings. Brad was stranded behind a wall of water on Mt. Index Road. He told me the of water was to his waist and he could see the spawning salmon swimming through it. He could reach out and grab them. His night alone, without power, was peaceful. Our home was not threatened.

Then the ice storm hit. We at work made plans to get home. Woodinville is known for bad storms. Stacey, Daf, Sandra, Jill and I headed for home at 10:30 pm. We were a caravan heading north out of Woodinville. Jill and Sandra headed for Highway 9, knowing they would be in heavy traffic and moving at a crawl. Stacey in her Ford Explorer and Daf and I in my Dodge Durango headed up the steep hill on Woodinville-Duvall road. We did not know if we would make it out of town judging from the number of littered cars on the side of the road. These abandoned cars were twisted into an odd formation due to the whim of the iced road. The road was one sheet of ice. At another time, I would have enjoyed a fast, very fast, sled ride down this long hill. Once safely at the top, we stopped for gas. The station was already full of people who had stopped for supplies, gas, and commissary. I was thinking about our chances of survival when Stacey and Daf came out of the station with hot dogs, chips, and drinks. Stacey said laughingly that we needed nourishment for the journey. Stacey makes everything an adventure, she dreads nothing and is absolutely fearless. Thanks to Stacey, I now was on a quest, not a death trap. I quickly ate my hot dog as both hands were needed on the wheel as we drove, or glided, at 5 mph. My knuckles were white gripping the wheel, waiting for the ice to have its way with me.

Lady Luck was riding with us. By the time we reached the downhill slope going into Duvall, the ice road was breaking up. Otherwise, we would would have really had an adventure. The only vehicles on the road had 4-wheel drive and studs or chains. Vehicles without those were quiet on the side of the road. In Monroe, we left Daf at her doorstep, which was still a task to cross with the snow. Stacey and I proceeded east on Highway 2 without incident. By now we could drive at 35 - 40 mph. A real treat after Woodinville-Duvall. I left Stacey at Big Bend and proceeded up into the foothills of the Cascades. My adventure resumed.

I was facing near white out conditions due to the snow. No lines or markers of the road could be seen. No snowplow had been through nor any vehicles for that matter. A smooth surface of snow to maneuver. I drove slowly looking for signs of the road, knowing a hillside was on my right and the Skykomish river was on my left. Somehow I made it to Mt. Index road, I don't remember most of it, I was concentrating so hard. Mt Index Road was a comfort as the snow forms around the shape of the road. I made it home only to find that we had no power, but it felt warm and comforting none the less. Brad came home within the hour having driven the 50 miles from Renton, mainly on the back roads. All major freeways and highways were blocked. Some people spent eight hours getting home. Stacey, Daf, and I got home before co-workers who had left work hours before we did. Brad had to face going downhill on roads that bystanders said could not be done. We were glad to see one another and were reminded once again that a day will come when one of us will not be there to greet the other.

Our last adventure of the season was a windstorm. Trees fell over Highway 2, forcing Brad back to Gold Bar. He spent the night at Jessica's. I spent the night alone with Rigel, our 65 lb Siberian Husky. There was once again no power but I did get a fire going. The sound of heavy branches crashing on the roof would startle Rigel and me. Rigel was afraid of fire and kept trying to climb onto my lap. You can see how much fun I was having. I kept in touch with the world using the emergency radio Brad had insisted on buying. I listened to KOMO 1000 all night long, marveling at the community of stranded folks helping each other. People were offering rides, wood, and food to each other. I said a prayer of thanks that the people I love were safe somewhere. Yes, I was a little jealous that Brad and Jessica were together without me, but grateful they were safe.

The rainy season is late, but has begun. The birds are singing again and the snow is slowly melting. I am ready for new adventures.

A New Beginning

A new beginning. Posts from my old blog, Briarpatch, are below. My new thoughts are above. Thank you for joining me.