Continuing my love affair with the Saint John’s Bridge…
and this city!
Warming up at the James John Cafe. Go for a wee biscuit and gravy! Mmm…
Happy 91st Birthday to you, Grandma! I love you…
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How cute is our little Schmoo? I think that is nick name no. 100 for him, by the way. Funny how that goes.
My favorite four-year-old is now FIVE! It was a fun filled afternoon of picking him up from school (where he is rather handily learning and singing Chinese), choosing and reading books from the library, watching a movie, making pizza, puzzles, and colossal block towers. Squee!
We hosted a cocktail party with some of our best pals, with much imbibing, laughing, eating, and reminiscing after one GIGANTIC glitch. I went to the store to get ice and those last minute items one always seems to need, and on the way home the poor little Mini went kaput. On Powell Boulevard! During rush hour! Thankfully, I was rescued by Kate and Kimberly, two lovely ladies in a Volkswagen with Montana plates (Are you reading? Please let me buy you that beer!). They stopped to help while others zoomed and honked, even though my hazards were madly blinking. Then, the nice TriMet driver instructed a passel of burly teens to push my car to the safety of the Wendy’s parking lot. The cherry on top? Kate and Kimberly loaded the wagon of all my party goods without a second thought and whisked me home. Oh, fantastically marvelous helping hands of the universe, I LOVE YOU!
As for the Mini, it was the transmission, and it could not be salvaged. Apparently it was a problem particular to 2003, and one that we forestalled by babying it and only driving some 55,000 miles. So now, a bit ahead of schedule, we are getting a new Mini, and our mechanic is getting gently used one in fine condition, save one minor (ahem) detail. It all works out in the end, doesn’t it?
Banana Cardamom Ginger Smoothie
We bought a Vitamix, and it is ON, peeps, ON!
Sometimes I forget what a looker the hubster is.
This photo reminded me in a BIG way.
Her tights had sparkles on them!
F U N
One Community is a monthly photo project in which participants photograph their homes and community with a theme in mind. The theme varies by month. The goal is to both showcase similarities and differences in our communities worldwide – and bring us all closer together in understanding through art.
Would you like to join us? All you need to do is post one or more photos for each of the theme words, gratutude, fun, blue, and home, and add your blog post to the link-up. Easy! It begins today, November 5th, and stays open for one week.
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I am middle aged. Forty-two. The hubster and I have been together for twenty-two years. And this very evening, this boyish utterance, in a half-awake state, “I was dreaming about bananas,” though sweet and funny, was hardly a surprise. There aren’t any surprises left. I have seen all of his cards. They are lovely and fine and worn at the edges. Beautiful, even.
This is not about me wanting to be with someone else. The hubster is everything I love in a person, everything, and me being with another would look an awful lot like me with him, because I am not keen on that other jazz. I had a friend who was obsessed with dating a bad boy. Her ex, who was not kind, terribly insecure, and cheated on her, apparently was not bad enough. I dated plenty of them as a young person, men who were unkindly about my appearance or casually told me they spent the night with other women as if they were talking to a wall and not a real-live person with feelings. It was awful, and I hated it.
I just get a little terrified when I think that if we live to be ninety, we will be together for seventy-one years. This is a long time by human standards and sometimes discomforting to think how much more worn those cards will be, down to gossamer and still no surprises. I kind of like surprises, novelty. It is why I watch so many movies (recommendations coming soon!) and know so many restaurants in town. We ate there six months ago. It’s just too soon!
Then I read Mindy Kaling’s book, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?, and she kind of rails against married couples talking about how hard it is. But it is! The hubster will never be as detail oriented or questioning or interested in home improvement projects as I am. I will never be as tolerant as he is or love discussing software design. It took me eight hours to update the look of my blog (Did you notice? Century Gothic rocks!), and I was nearly insane with irritation. He does this kind of thing for a living, every single day.
There is no map for this territory. People get married and stay married and don’t really talk about the day-to-day, the boredom, the irritation. Why people take up hobbies and have separate vacations, I suppose. Sometimes marriage is wildly difficult, and I wonder if I am insane to do it. But most days I know I am one lucky gal, plodding along in my peculiar way with the finest human I have ever known and think, seventy-one years is nothing, really.
Thursday morning and afternoon. My goodness, it was beautiful, the kind of day that sends the soul aloft. I spotted a Red Breasted Sap Sucker in the dogwood, a new find for our yard. Later, when walking through the living room, a flurry of wings caught my eye, Robins, a half dozen of them, rooting, scattering leaves, and running alongside Golden Crowned Sparrows, two squawking Scrub Jays, and one Northern Flicker fluffed and delicately sipping water from the bath. I reveled at all the life on a mere 5300 square feet of land.
My friend Kristin came over, and we shared our stories, mine nearly finished, despite procrastinating, and hers just emerging from its shell. I am grateful for our time together, time to be encouraged and laugh, be dazzled by a thought caught mid-flight and gorgeous, to drop the bullshit and write, write, write. Cast fear aside and hop into the cocoon is the order of the day. It might get messy and loud, all those voices and threads inside, but they are nothing, really, and worth the butterfly.
I drove to the west side for Indian (dot, not feather) groceries and ankle boots. As often happens in that part of town, I got turned around thinking I knew where I was going and traversed the TV highway twice. All worked out fine in the end, spicy bhujia, candied fennel seeds, and tea, though the boots had to be ordered instead of procured for immediate gratification. First world problems.
I came home happy, ebullient even, got on the web, and learned my cousin’s girlfriend had died. Crash went my heart. Though I never met her, by all accounts she was a person I would like, determined, strong, talented, and beautiful, the type who radiated kindness and positivity. She was killed while doing what she loved, and, at a mere twenty-six, what she would have liked to do for some time. Oh, how nature reminds us to be grateful and present, and say, “I love you.”