Day Drinking and Dino-Attack!

Today I indulged in another of my favorite holiday traditions. Day drinking with my Portland-Based BFF. We started this tradition years ago, sometimes the drinking is at my house, sometimes hers, one time we got hustled off the stage (where we were playing darts) at the Kenton Club by a transvestite gospel singer, who wanted to start his show. Today, I got to play host, there were dogs, booze, a silly movie, nachos and cake.

There was also an incident with Cruncher. The awesome impulse buy Christmas gift I got for my handsome friend. I literally saw a commercial for it on Amazon and decided that he and Ruby needed it for Christmas. Handsome friend loves it. Ruby not so much. Sam considers the whole thing beneath him.

It's not nice, but it's funny.

A Christmas tree post with no pictures of Christmas trees

Like I said, no particular order.

One of my favorite holiday traditions involves torturing my little brother. Every year, I bribe him to go get a Christmas tree with me. The bribe is usually for dinner of his choice and somehow, without fail, the predetermined day falls on one with truly horrible weather. One time it was 15 degrees outside; we went to the closest lot we could find argued for about 5 minutes and quickly left with a tree. Last year it was pouring and since neither of us is sweet enough to melt in the rain, we participated in the yearly Christmas tree negotiations.

Stupid brother likes short fat Christmas trees. I like 6 foot-ish nicely filled out trees in generic Christmas tree shape. He says I'm boring. We argue about it every year, brother always insisting that I like dumb trees. The simple fact that I do not have space for a tree with the sort of girth he is suggesting is not a valid argument. On the upside, we don't argue about what type. We always get a noble; we are allergic to all other varieties.

This year when I informed him it was time for our annual Christmas tree excursion he looked at me incredulously.

"I don't have to do that anymore! That's his job." He pointed at my handsome friend.

What a silly boy. Of course he doesn't get off that easily. It just means that now I get to drag both of them with me. Handsome friend is willing, stupid brother is not.

This year however I get a BRILLIANT idea. We will go to a Christmas tree farm and cut our own tree. I proposed this adventure and got, unsurprisingly, mixed reactions. Handsome friend is up for anything, stupid brother bitches. And continues to bitch until we started out there. The farm was 7 miles out a twisty road that skirts the Washougal river, an interesting drive that none of us had ever taken before. The farm was easy to find and when we got there we realized, it had a petting zoo.

You'd think these boys had never seen a horse before. Stupid brother quickly made friends with a miniature donkey (fitting yes?) and handsome friend chatted up a pair of mini horses. There were tiny goats, a golden retriever and a very nice man running the operation. He outfitted us with a tree cart and saw. We headed out at the same time a family of two teenage girls and their mother. Picking a tree wasn't too hard, lots of options and someone with a valid opinion (not my brother). In fact, I'm convinced this is the prettiest Christmas tree I've ever had.

As I was waiting for the nice Christmas tree man to run our tree through the shaker machine the family of girls came back pulling their tree. The older girl, beautiful in the way of all 17 year old girls, looked at me and said, "Well, that took us a whole lot longer than it took you." She then paused and took stock of my two guys making goo-goo eyes at the pack animals and said, "Oh, I see. It's because you had two big boys with you."

"Hey, I cut most of mine down all by myself."

"Well, I cut the whole thing down and I hauled it back. I saw you. You didn't have to do it at all."

I didn't have the hear to tell her that as far as this whole thing went, I've paid my dues to the goddesses of feminine empowerment. I wandered off into the barn, where there were rabbits, a ducks that took a flying leap at stupid brother, and some squirmy oinkers. And as a beautiful detail, someone had hung shiny Christmas ornaments all over the barn. In the dim evening light they reflected the lights and made everything seem warm and old-time picture perfect. It sorta was.

In no particular order, Christmas posts

Conversation from sometime around Thanksgiving.

"So do you have a stocking at your mom's house, something you've had since you were a kid or anything."

"No, not really."

"Oh, I think I'm going to need to make you a stocking. So I can put it up with mine. And for Christmas with my family. We always get a few stocking stuffers for everyone. I'm sure they will have some for you. So, what would you want on your stocking?"

"A dinosaur!"

"Seriously dude? A dinosaur? How is that Christmas-y?"

"He could be wearing a Santa hat. No wait, he could have Santa's head in his mouth. There could be teeth and blood."

"I'm not making you a bloody Christmas stocking. I can put a dinosaur on it, but it has to be a happy dinosaur."

"Okay, you're right. A happy dinosaur would be better."

Best intentions, blah blah blah

How can you not love this face? I mean besides the fact that Sam has decided that he is now officially old and therefor doesn't have to ask to be let out to pee. No, no, why do that as a curmudgeon he thinks it is his prerogative to go in whichever corner is close. Like the one right above the furnace intake....gross.

In this particular picture Sam is wearing his festive holiday sweater and laying on the memory foam dog bed purchased for him by a certain sucker, who is most assuredly not me.

And then life gets in the way.

Happy, beautiful, sing-songy days and mundane days, and frustrating ones all just take over. The nice part about my days now, and since late October, is that at the end of them I get to come home to my furred lovely ones and my handsome friend. He has taken up residence and it couldn't be more wonderful. However, it changes the dynamic of my life in such a way that doing things like writing blogs becomes a bit more challenging. Well worth it, just challenging.

But, there are approximately 11 more days of my winter break. (I love break!) and I'm going to post on each and everyone of them. To start with, a shiny sparkly picture from our outing to the grotto where we looked at lights and heard a rather awkward saxophone Christmas concert, from a Ryan Seacrest wanna be dude in his mid-40s, in a Catholic chapel. Strange, but fun.

This was my answer.

To a friend's question, how do you know you're over someone. Not sure it's perfect, but it's what I think.

You give yourself time.
You don't push it.
You fill your days with people and things you love and you love to do.
You allow yourself to feel, but don't get too involved.
You are nice to yourself.
And you don't stress about it.

I think, and some may disagree, that those memories stay tender for a long long time, something you shouldn't poke at, those become old wounds which just stop mattering. If I think hard, they are still there and upon feeling that tenderness, I get worked up. As if the fact that the pain still exists negates or calls into doubt any happy emotions I may currently feel. Its not the case at all. In each of us is a huge capacity to feel. Those feeling can both exist. I just refuse to give the old, achy ones any time or mental energy. I get to choose what matters.

Lame-o Friend

A belated birthday post for one of my most favorite people. This was the email I sent her yesterday, upon realizing that I am, in fact, a flake.

(This is the conversation I had, in my head, as I drove home from work.)
Ugh. G's first birthday gift is not finished and therefor is not in the mail. Grrrr!
Wait, it might possibly be Nikki's birthday.
(Upon further consideration )
Yes, I do think it is nik's birthday.
Hmmmm, I didn't call or send a card.
Sara, you are a rather shitty self absorbed friend as of late.
It's true; I hate September.
Facebook will tell me for sure if I missed her birthday.

And I did.

This is hard.

A excerpt from conversation with one of the three GREAT teachers with whom I am co-teaching. Co-teaching in the half-assed, unfunded, unplanned, untrained model our school is currently experimenting with has made for the most difficult start to any year, ever.
"So, I'm not sure I like how this is going. I want you to have a greater presence in the classroom."
"Okay, that sounds great. I'm not sure how we can accomplish that."

"Well, what's working in your other classes?"
"Honestly, we're winging it all over the place. I'm not sure what's working. It feels different everywhere."

"Hmmmm, okay. Well, how about this...I don't like that you are off to the side and I am on a physically higher plane than you. I'd like you more integrated."
"I agree, it would feel more cohesive. Do you have any idea how to make this work?"
"Let's try this, there are two chairs. You take the one at the back. That way you are on the same level as me."
"Okay, if you're sure. I mean it might seem awkward with me sitting while you are teaching."

"It might, you're right. But let's try it. If it doesn't work, then well. We can try something else. And I mean, I know you; I trust you. If you were anyone else I might not invite them into the chair. You should be there. I mean sitting off to the side you are the most expensive staff assistant in America."

"I said that on the second day of school. Let's try it. We can keep working."

It wasn't a perfect fit, but not terrible. And to tell the truth, not terrible is pretty good lately. This shit is hard.

I'm SOOOOO brave!

This is a picture looking towards the summit of Mt. Hood. Before today, I'd never been up to the mountain.

All summer long, my handsome friend has tried to talk me into an adventure up here. Mind you, what he was proposing, was not an extreme adventure. A nice drive up to Timberline lodge, touching snow, eating lunch, and taking a ski lift up to an observation point on the mountain. I resisted, I thought of other ideas, I let him oversleep, I avoided and all because I'm afraid of heights. Ski lifts scare me. That's super dorky, I know but I can't help it...always have been.

However, our Monday adventures are quickly coming to an end, in fact we've only one left, I had no more good reasons not to go.

(That's not to say that I didn't try. I even suggested laying around in bed all day. Now, this suggestion while one I'm sure he would appreciate doesn't work at all because he knows full well that it's something I am incapable of doing. I might offer, and he might want to take me up on it, but I can't follow through.)

So, we went. Drove up on a mostly cloudy crappy day. He predicted that the clouds would burn off or, even better that from Timberline we would be above the clouds looking over them down into the valley. He was right.

We had lunch, tasty and stately in the heavy feeling rock dining room at Timberline.

Then we walked towards the ski lift. I balked. It looked like a long way to the top. It looked like a long way off the ground. It was dumb, but I was afraid of the ski lift.

"I've got to watch it for a few minutes."
So we did.

It seemed silly not to go.
I couldn't see any sort of safety bar.
I knew he really wanted to go.
I wasn't sure that was a good enough reason for me.

"You convince me to do all sorts of new things," said my handsome friend as he stood behind me with his hands upon my shoulders.

He's right. I do...all the time. And he's such a damn good sport. So, I did. And it was super scary on the way up, and not so bad on the way down. The valley stretched below us, clouds at our feet obscuring our view. There was snow on the ground, skiers flying past us and a funny Japanese couple with self portrait device that looked like a modified golf club. It was sunny and warm and I felt very brave.

Silly.
And loved.
And brave.

Paradigm shift

Two days into our teacher training for the 2011-2012 school year. (That's year NINE for anyone who's counting.) And what amazes me most is the almost instantaneous transition my brain makes from summer to work. The physical day to day takes a little longer, but this is old hat for my brain. I woke up early yesterday, energized, making lists and planning in my head. The nicest part? No stress, just the patterns of mind that go into being a teacher.....like I'd done this job before.

Summer adventures

So...work starts tomorrow and honestly, I'm worried. There are big changes afoot, the type I'm not sure I'll be so great at handling, but after worrying and whining and expressing my concern and getting sick to my stomach at the very thought of it, I've decided it's just about time to put on my big girl panties and deal. A dear friend from work helped me reframe it in my mind and perhaps if I anticipate a difficult task with the promise of significant positive change for my students, then maybe, just maybe it will be okay. Or at least that's what I tell myself.

But, it's my last day of summer. I'm lame but I like to spend the end of break holed up, hunkered down, organizing the parts of my life that I have been neglectful of (what WAS that green slime at the bottom of my fridge?). So, I'm cleaning and reading and organizing. My handsome friend is asleep upstairs and later we're having dinner and making ice cream...he thought of and brought over all the necessary supplies.

This summer has been wonderful.
Here is a top of my head list of some of the cool things I've done: driven through the Redwoods, two day trips to the coast one with friends and one yesterday with my mom, camped two separate times, met babies, kissed babies, sunned, went to the zoo, ate amazing food, organized my basement into a craft space, family beach trip, Columbia River stern wheeler tour, swam in the river, discovered two new close day spending spots, watched two beautiful couples get married, read, then read some more, played with the dogs, bbq-ed, hosted great company and got to spend tons of time with people I love.
Ahhhh.
How lovely.

The Best Ones (or unexpected gifts from the universe)

I'm a lucky girl.

I have an amazing family, a job that makes me happy, a house that's all my own, I live in one of the most beautiful places in the country and I've found a handsome friend who loves me.

Yet, even though these things are never far from my mind, I am sometimes blown over by the beauty and the fact that THIS is MY lot in life. I felt that way on a recent trip to the beach. I convinced my handsome friend to go camping for a night (in the same campground we started our early July trip) and then we headed up the coast and stayed three nights in a house with my family. For the most part, it was a great trip. Not without some family drama, but that's not what this is about.

What this is partly about is the fact that my family genuinely likes each other. We don't get to spend enough time all together but the time we do get, I feel we spend well. We drank beer, walked on the beach, laughed, teased, cooked, played games and sat in the company of one another. The two new additions to our "family vacation" were my nephew-- a fun well adjusted 9-year-old and my handsome friend.

I wasn't nervous about bringing him along, but curious about how it would go. How would they react to them? How would he deal with their brand of crazy? How would I feel with him there? It was better than I would have imagined...as truly most things with him are. (Why am I so worried about everything?) The answers to the questions were as follows:

They did as they always do, made room for one more, listened when he had something to say, talked, gently teased him and passed him their beers to try.

He hardly blinked at their crazy (maybe because he is familiar with mine). He took two naps as breaks and rolled his eyes fewer than four times. He cooked amazing macaroni and cheese that my mom is still talking about. He let me vent, a lot, when my family was frustrating me.

How did I feel about him being there? I didn't question it once. He was supposed to be there.

The other thing this post is about is the beach at Seal Rock. Just south of Newport in Central Oregon is a place that I don't think I've ever been before. Growing up we spent almost every major family vacation on the Oregon Coast, driving up and down hunting agates and spotting seals. We have favorite spots that are totally out of the way and beaches we frequented that were just a few miles from where we almost always stayed. But we'd never spent any time at Seal Rock.

Handsome friend and I stopped on a whim when we had a half hour to kill before meeting up with my family. It was beautiful, but we didn't have time to get close. Just enough time to look and decide that we should come back, preferably at low tide.

Sunday, before we packed up and headed east, my mother, my handsome friend and I did just that. We probably got there about 8...the tide was low and there were more tide pools than I had ever seen. "It's like being underwater." He remarked and as I counted more than 7 types of sea weed...laying down awaiting the return of the water I knew he was right. It was a glimpse into another world. There were waterfalls and starfish (both orange and purple), teeny tiny fish and crabs, green and pink anemones, barnacles, muscles and oysters. There were also people, young and old and even a few not very adventurous looking canines picking their way across this exposed landscape. We were not the only ones up early to bear witness to this gift. Because that's what it felt like, an unexpected present, one that made me nearly giddy.

"Look at this, Look at that." I kept pointing, most likely sounding like an annoying little kid. I felt like Ruby, wanting to wiggle and bounce out of pure excitement and joy. It was totally worth getting up early. (Oh, and you should totally click on the picture so you can get an inkling of how cool this place was, but only from a distance, it was a different sort of cool close up.)

July 7th

“Prehistoric Gardens, look Eric dinosaurs.”
“I like dinosaurs.”
“I know, in 13 miles.”

“It’s got to be better than the walk through safari,” which from our moving southbound 101 vantage point seemed to be animals in cages.
12 miles later.

“It’s coming up.”
“Ooooh.” Prehistoric Gardens WAS in fact better than the walk though safari.

A very tall stoned looking smiley tyrannosaurs rex stood outside the gift shop and we could see other equally concrete dinosaurs behind the fence.

I didn’t stop or slow down, but waited for the inevitable:
“You know if we have time tomorrow, I totally want to stop.”
“I know. We’ll have time.”

Apparently we did. But just for this picture.

July 6th

This is a picture of a beach I didn't go to. I don't remember it's actual name, but as we drove by and we stopped for a picture, I remarked that it looked prehistoric. In my head I've named it Jurassic Beach. It is between mile marker 33 and 35 on Highway 101 in Southern Oregon. There was road construction right beside it and the wind was blowing like crazy. Enough that I didn't insist on stopping. But, I love the idea of saving adventures for later.

July 5th

Tillicum Beach, just south of Waldport. Our campsite overlooked THIS. I'm standing 15 feet from our tent. We picked this site on his dad's recommendation. By far the best of the 3 campgrounds we picked. In this photo however, you cannot see evidence of the gale force winds. I fully expected to be freezing, but by a stroke of genius, I convinced my handsome friend that he wanted to lug the huge futon mattress in and out of the car for 3 days. And it was so worth the effort. We slept like babies, well if babies also shared their bed with a 50 lb boxer, and 3 inches off the ground, under a massive sleeping bag we were almost sweating. Luxury camping.

July 5th

An unexpected surprise creature at an adorable little rest stop off of 34 West. I wanted to strip down and go swimming. But, that's sort of my default for sunny days and clear water.

No deep thoughts.

But I've got some fun pictures of this summer. I can't figure out how to configure this blog to load multiple pictures and captions so I'll just treat each as it's own post.

Wedding post

Maybe not an actual post but a list and not even a complete one. But, the start of one.

After the wedding I was laying on the couch at my handsome friend's place, picking bobby pins out of my hair and talking to his roommate/brother.

"How was the wedding?" Roommate/brother asked.
"Wonderful." I said. "But, you know what, I don't think I could actually give a valid opinion I love them both so much." And it's true. I'm so fond of them and happy for them that it is impossible to be biased.

Things I loved about getting to be a part of this wedding.
1. The bride's grandmother wore shiny sparkly blue nail polish on her toes and fingers.
2. My little brother finagled an invite, by reassuring the bride that no matter what happened with her dress, she'd still be beautiful. He somehow had never been to a wedding, besides my mother's and needed help shopping. It had to be explained that pinstriped pants do not match any sort of striped shirt.
3. The bride was brave enough to let the florist, a friend, "surprise" her with the bouquet. It was a beautiful surprise, vintage NOT earthy.
4. The step mother of the groom offered the bride a half a Valium before the wedding. The bride politely declined.
5. The wedding started at 5:00. At 4:40 the bride, two bridesmaids, a grandmother and the officiant (me) were still at the salon. Which was okay, because when we got there the arbor had apparently just toppled over and problems were being solved.
6. A hellion of a flower girl. Very cute, very bad. I have a dog she should meet.
7. Dogs! At the reception. A squirmy black lab puppy and two very old wiener dogs.

That's all for now, possibly more later.

The department of licensing

Quick post.
Still not the post I want to write, but sorta funny none the less. I just got a call from a deep voiced, older sounding gentleman from the Multnomah County Department of Marriage Licensing.

Apparently in the hubbub and haste of Saturday night, someone forgot to fill in some necessary information, I think it was me. I meant to check on an address that I didn't know off the top of my head...the name and official address of the religious organization who made their wedding legit.

Seriously? I'm supposed to know this off the top of my head. I filled out a an online form almost 10 years ago to marry two of my friends and that was the last I thought about it. In the 5 weddings I have performed this is the only one who called to verify ANY information. Which in and of itself is funny. Portland is a stickler for the right information, really? But, the man on the phone was nice and seemed neither amused or annoyed at me so it was okay. He even knew the correct address off the top of his head.

A disappointing ending

Okay, what I really wanted to write a post about today was my dear friend's wedding yesterday. Beautiful and perfect, but I just finished the last 30 pages of a book I have been SAVORING and am so annoyed that I'm posting about it. I'll save the good post for tomorrow.

I've been reading "In the Woods" for a few weeks and was totally hooked. I liked the narration, and the twinned stories. It's about a guy who is a murder detective outside of Dublin. When he was 12 years old he was playing in the woods with his two friends and they disappeared and he was found with bloody shoes and no memory of what had happened. Flash forward 20 years and he finds himself working a murder of a young girl in the same woods.

Here's my issue, and I'm sure in some way it just proves I'm an immature reader, or something, but I need resolution at the end of books. I get that life doesn't always have resolution and that there are always things that don't work out, but it bugs the shit out of me when I don't get resolution from a book or movie. Something needs to come together. It doesn't have to come together neatly, but I want more. In some ways I feel the author has totally copped out. That he or she can't figure out how to end it with the same level of intensity or humor or intrigue or whatever as he or she has written the whole book and therefor just quits before the story is actually told.

Of course this is most bothersome when these are books I actually LIKE. For example, Christopher Moore. His endings suck. I loved the book Lamb. Loved it, like laughed out loud on an airplane, loved it. And then the ending just fell flat (literally for those of you who have read the book). That's how I felt about this book....so much build up and then nothing....so annoyed.

Blogging

I've been a journal-er for as long as I can remember. My oldest attempts at journal-ing chronicle both my childish thoughts, which is okay because I WAS a child, as well as my horrible handwriting. Hopefully, my thoughts have matured and most of the time my students can read my scrawling on the board, so apparently I'm making progress. I don't journal as much as I would like and I actually blog more than I journal. This is strange to me. Blogging has not replaced the intimacy of a pen and paper journal, but it is a different sort of pleasure. It is more of a public attempt at organizing my thoughts.

What is especially funny about this is that in my head blogging is community minded. Not that I think these words have a huge audience, but I know that there are a few people who read my blog on a fairly consistent basis. This would be strange to me if it weren't for two things, one, I like that they are reading and hope they continue and two I also read their blogs. As I think I've mentioned before I am in a year long blogging contest with one of these readers and recently realized that one of my best-est friends is also blogging with some regularity.

Her blog is baby centered and filled with pictures of complete cuteness. Her writing is even more telling about what's going on. She and I have had conversations about the unexpected pleasure of this form of writing and a silly habit of composing blogs in our heads. Part of what I enjoy is the thought process involved with writing. Thinking about what to write, how to say it and whether it will get the point across. In college I was a communications and English double major (laugh all you want) and so essentially I spent 4 years writing papers, some of which I really enjoyed. As an adult there are very few opportunities to think about writing...

(well, that's not exactly true. I teach writing, so I think about it fairly consistently, but it is a formula driven coping skill that I try to teach my writing leery students. They are not, generally, the type to enjoy the process or even the outcome, an exception to that is poetry but that's the stuff of another blog)

These posts are self indulgent, intellectual fun and it still surprises me how much I like the process and the sharing out. Most importantly, it forces me to slow down and deliberately think about what I am thinking. Intentionality is important, another friend and I have had long conversations about meditation (something I do not do) but the effect (I would imagine) is similar. It is about mindfulness. In order to write I must slow down enough to examine a situation or my own thoughts about it. And though I do not get the opportunity near as often as I like, that is why I'm writing this blog.

post script: I had completed half of this post, saved it for later, then checked the post of my best-est. Her most recent post was about blogging. I didn't read it, wanting to complete my thoughts before I read hers. So I finished mine then read hers; she also referenced our conversation, which took place last weekend, about composing blog posts in her head. Reading her comments made me nod and not surprisingly, made me even more determined to keep up with this self indulgent game.

Dying flower....soft as I feel right now

Soft, like red wine, a long year, and two days left.
Soft, like things I'm too tired to write right now.
Soft and open like my heart feels lately.
Soft and safe.

June 5th

Here is the invitation I sent out as a group, though not quite mass, text: "If anyone is free I'm doing a mostly impromptu bbq tomorrow, 5/6ish. (But fair warning, my house will probably not be clean and my dog is annoying.)

I got mocked for the text, but my house filled up anyway. I didn't think that was going to be the case, but happily all the "Maybe I'll swing by" responses found my house and I kept pulling out lawn chairs.

There were five dogs and 12 beautiful people and food that made everyone smile. What had been clear hot day (the very first of the year) flowed into a clear lovely night. And what I appreciated the most was that the group was simply a gathering of people, all smart, funny and friendly and really that's all a group of people need to go on. Moving from space to space I could hear and take parts in snippets of conversation and simply enjoy these people who I so admire.

My brother organized bocce ball and blends easily into mixed and varied company. And my handsome friend manned the grill and had to put up with more than one person whispering, "Is that him?". Neither of which he had any qualms about. He and I spent the day shopping and working, playing and talking. This morning I am thinking about the question my mom asked several months ago, "Does he make your life easier?"

At the time the answer was no, but I wasn't expecting him to... upon this morning's consideration, I find that the answer is yes, having him with me yesterday made the day both easier and simply better. Lucky me! (But, how the hell did that happen?)

addendum

One kid just returned from the bathroom. He was followed by a very determined looking collegue of mine. She (all 102 lbs of her)marched in behind the student and said, "No, I'll just go ahead and take that."

Took his phone and without a word, walked out of the room.

Sometimes this place I work seems slightly like a military state. But, most of the time it's justified and most of the time I think it's funny.

State testing.

At this very moment, I am administering a state math test. I am sitting in a classroom that is not my own and babysitting 14 students, only one of whom I see on a daily basis. One is in the restroom, one is sleeping, two drawing, and three fidgeting. All of them wish they were able to text right now; hell, I wish I were able to text right now. All of us would rather be in class. I'm all about the occasional time suck in class. Using class times for games or jokes or conversation about silly things. But I HATE the waste of time that is standardized testing. These students will sit in here for another hour with literally nothing to do. All but one are finished.

It is also a strange activity from my point of view. I am in charge of kids whom I do not know. Being a teacher, and one who strives to build rapport with kids, I'm generally pretty good at managing these type of situations, but it's an odd sort of organization, as I try to remain friendly when most of what I must say to them is literally printed on a paper in front of me. I must read a script: verbatim. I am just as bored as they are. But, I am writing this blog and they are keeping the whispering to the barest minimum. They are better behaved than I.

"Do you have any food?" A kid who slept through the test just raised his hand to ask this question. There is one kid still testing. I wish I did have food for them, as nice as they are. Teenagers are silly, high school is silly. State testing is dumb.

Beasties!

They are on guard. Michief makers beware!

Surprise....times it's fun to be wrong.

I'm usually quite full of myself. Little Miss Smarty Pants and everything. I admit it. However, I do try very hard to admit when I'm wrong...I think this is an important thing to model for my students and along with that the fact that it's okay to be wrong.

But, yesterday when faced with a particurally difficult interaction I was forced to admit to myself that I had completely underestimated another individual. These are the times it is wonderful to be wrong. I love being surprised by people. I love it when people I love prove to me that they are even more wonderful and insightful than I had previously given them credit for being.

The details aren't important here, just that I was wrong and was reminded that I am a lucky girl. Who needs to ask for what she needs and to be patient with the world.

It was sunny and bright, I got plants put in my raised beds and had three little pots from the high school plant sale that I couldn't identify....pictures later.

kelp knot

I want to be at the beach.










I want it to be warm enough to walk barefoot in a t-shirt with my jeans rolled up. I want to be watching the surf with a cup of coffee. Today, I don't get any of those things, but I took this picture when I went for a day trip last month; at least I like this picture. And Paul Simon, who is pretty much the only thing I want to be listening to lately.

Faith. Hope. and Love.

Isn't this wonderful.

Truly right?









This sweater is made of hand spun and most likely hand dyed yarn. My Fiber Based-BFF (FB-BFF) may be nutzo sometimes, but hell, the girl is talented. The buttons are pictures of Scorpio, my Zodiac sign, Mother Theresa, a well dressed Indian man who might be a god but I don't really think so, and George Washington. (She's also sorta funny). It's soft and warm and gender neutral by design. It is a baby sweater and it was part of my 30th birthday present. It made me cry. The beauty of such a gift and the faith it held in it was more than my lonely heart could process.

My most deeply held belief is that happiness is a choice. (I know, I mention this over and over) The world isn't always exactly what you want it to be, but you choose whether to be mired in the ugliness and disappointment or to should deal with what you have in a way that allows you to continue to be happy. I try to do the second.

But somedays it's hard, and other days it's just impossible. On days like this it's nice to have people around who will carry the burden of faith for you. FB-BFF has offered to do that for me. Literally. Most days I want babies and some wonderful soul around to help me raise them. I want them to have long hair and cloth diapers and play in the sand by the river. She knows this about me. Her own children are so beautiful and she is such a good hard working parent, it sometimes kills me to be around them (although, I get far, far to few opportunities). She knows I fear this will never be part of my reality. She knows this and has graciously offered to carry the faith for me, to believe for me when I'm not sure that I do. This sweater is the talisman of her belief.

I started thinking about Faith and Hope (as big ideas worthy of capital letters) after reading a few of my friend Andrew's blog posts. He was talking about the placebo effect and religion. Which I get. I am neither as well educated nor as well opinionated on this subject, but I get what he's saying.

Here are his exact words which I'm fairly certain he will not mind me re-posting. (Sorry, Andrew) "The major gripe I have with religion is that instead of encouraging others to have faith and hope, they insist others have faith in hope in the same things they have faith and hope in."

I love the simple, eloquent and perfectly exact phrasing.

It made me think of a friend I had when I was younger. He was the son of a minister, a Chinese missionary, who had married and brought his wife back to the United States where he led congregations of Chinese Americans. He lived in the same city as me for about four years. He moved to California sometime during high school and we kept in touch, over the phone, for several years. For some reason, he was the first person I opened up to when my parents were splitting up and I felt like I couldn't hold anything, especially myself, together. And we talked and I cried and he told me he'd pray for me.

I felt no cynicism or irritation at his offer, instead, I felt incredibly lucky. I have never been a follower of any religion, and my own spiritual leanings are a rather complicated mess, but when my friend told me he would pray for me I felt thankful. We both knew I didn't believe, but in praying he was holding me up to his highest power. Offering assistance in the form he felt would do greatest good. This was sincerity and love in a pure form. He couldn't help me, but hoped that maybe his prayers could.

(Quick note, I've had other people say this to me and I did not feel as grateful. There was nothing shallow, pandering or overly pious in his offer and his support, which was crucial to it's importance.)

I feel this way about FB-BFF's offer of faith. She knows my limitations. She loves me anyway and still chooses to believe for me. That is love.

This seems critical to me. Love gives shape and support to faith and hope. All can exist simultaneously, but strength comes when the three are fused. In order for that faith and hope to have a shape and substance, there must be love backing it up. Which is why religion sometimes makes sense to me. I understand how all three can be wound together; I understand how such an idea would be enticing. Though I myself cannot believe, I can understand how someone would want to. What I don't understand is religious doctrine that is based on hate or fear....how can hope and faith, both necessary to maintain and grow a religious following, flourish under those conditions? Or why should it when love is so much...easier, freeing, warmer, softer, more welcoming... pick one. I'll be overly simplistic and just go with better. Love is so much better.

My heart is not so lonely these days. The sight of her magical talisman, in my underwear drawer wrapped carefully in tissue paper, seems more sweet than bitter these days. Her faith is still stronger than mine and I am content to let her hold on a while longer, especially because she has not yet asked me to relive her of that particular burden. My handsome friend fills me with a sort shapeless hope that is happiness. Gaining in both strength and consistency I'm in no hurry to mold, poke or prod it into anything more than what it wants to grow into.

My FB-BFF can hold onto the faith, I will nurture the hope, and continue to appreciate that I am surrounded by love.

(Note, I worked on this post off and on for almost 3 weeks. That fact speaks more to my current lack of focus than any other thing. Oh, and Andrew's blog is here: http://oudevoida.blogspot.com/)

The last solider at Fort Stevens.

An unexpectedly dry-ish day in February, accompanied by an old roommate who'd never seen the Oregon Coast. I love playing tour guide. Or perhaps, I just love the beach. Possibly both.

Working an an actual post, with writing and thoughts and the like. Maybe later today. Molly is beating me in the blog posting competition, although Andrew is beating both of us.

and I am apparently incapable of writing a complete sentence.

a tall order...

but none the less, a gradly noble idea.

I know this is silly.

Okay, I know. But, I just found out that Cross Canadian Ragweed broke up. (New band: Cody Canada and the Departed) My favorite band is not together any more and this sorta rocks my world, not in a good way. This ranks with two other strange cultural events that have had a strange emotional impact that is silly even to me.

1. Watching Andre Agassi play his last US Open tournament. This was the tournament where is back gave out. I cried watching him play. I was 26.

2. The end of the storyline for the For Better or For Worse comic strip. I had never felt like I had grown up with a character, but I felt that way about the kids in that comic strip. I was 28.

Go ahead and laugh, it's a bit ridiculous. But really, my world is rocked.

Things that have made me happy this week.

1. Five days in Oklahoma City on Tinker Air force Base with the following:
a. Babies who are no longer babies
b. More snow than any of us wanted to deal with
c. She who is talented and wise but whom I often still think is full of shit
d. Talking and talking and talking

2. The women on both sides of me at zumba this evening, on my right the woman was tall and willowy and blond and everything she did was graceful. On my left the woman was red faced, and kept laughing when she turned the wrong way. They both smiled with me during the whole class.

3. My current music obsession Jason Boland's, Comal County Blue and Robert Earl Keen's collection, Best.

4. The book I'm reading, The Shadow of the Wind, so good.

5. Reading blogs written by my smart, funny, insightful friends.

6. My 6th period...4 good natured boys with wildly different personalities. But, they like one another and they like me.

7. My beasties, both the good one and the bad one.

8. That my handsome friend took me to the airport last week. I like being humored.

Old

I don't feel old. Sometimes however, I am rudely reminded that, in fact I might as well be dead because, "Basically after 30, your life is over."

Ahhh, teenagers, aren't they jerks? Clever, surprising, wonderful, unruly, jerks? Most all of the ones I deal with are that sort.

One of my classes does not shy away from reminding me, constantly how very old I am. One of these lovely students sings a song, I have no idea where it's from, about a nursing home fire...the chorus of which is (I'm not kidding) "Old people burning, Old people burning."

I thought I'd share this artistic rendering of what thirty really means.

Oh, and while playing taboo with the class this was one of the conversations that took place.
Student one, giving clues: When you're thirty you are...
Student two, grinning widely and guessing: OLD!

Again, I know everyone is jealous they don't work in a high school.

3 day weekends call for some day drinking

This is a picture from last Sunday. My dearest Portland friend and I had a drinking day.

It was a warm dry-ish afternoon and as we walked to to bar, already a few drinks in...gin and tonics with fresh grapefruit and Old Tom Ransom Gin...we came across this handsome fellow sunning himself on the front steps.

(Quick note: the same dear friend bought me a bottle of this AMAZING gin for my birthday, seriously, it's so good I want to ration it. It tastes like cardamom and malt and oranges. It's the only gin I've ever wanted to sip.)

It was a great day...she is my favorite drinking partner and our exploits for the day included offending the bartender, making friends with drunk guy we had previously scorned, eating take out thai food at the bar and strangely winning back over the bartender we had previously alienated. Later we drank wine, made brownies and played Wii bowling. Warm, silly and happy, in the last hour we were joined by her fiance and the whole time we were surrounded by our furry four legged family members, three dogs and a cat.

Her friendship reminds me that in life I am blessed by both family I was born into and family I have created. The very first time I hung out with her, I knew I had lucked out...almost five years later I am still convinced.

Ode to the Columbia River, again

A conversation...

...with a man who didn't immediately like my dogs. (GASP!)






Me: Ruby, move!
Him: Oh, she's okay. I'll just scoot over.
Me: Ruby, move it!
Him: I told her she could get on the couch.
Me: You told her?
Him: Yes, I told her she could get on a couch if she was a good girl.
Me: And not a bad girl?
Him: No, she had to be good, and not annoying.
Me: She's always annoying.
Him: She said she'd be good.
Me: Hmmmm, okay, but she's in my spot.
Him: Well, I'll just move over.
Me: So, I'm moving, and you're moving so she can sit beside you on the couch?
Him: You can sit on the other side. There's room.

For the record, she was a perfectly behaved girl and I'm pretty sure she likes him better than me...this might be why.

Don't look at me!

Being the center of attention is hard for me. I am not attention seeking and sometimes even talking about myself in front of a group of people makes me want to crawl behind something and hide. As a general rule, oversharers or attention seeking personalities irritate me. That's not to say I don't talk to people, there are lots of people to whom I whine, bitch, moan, and ramble. But, things that are truly important are not what I want to discuss with a large group.

This relationship I have found myself in is important to me. I am so excited about it that it scares me. When things scare me, or I get overwhelmed, I tend to retreat into myself to process or protect whatever I'm excited about.

I don't generally overshare with strangers or acquaintances. I don't like my shit out for all the world to see. (Yet here I am "discussing" it....stupid irony.) In other words, the idea of changing my relationship status on facebook from "single" to "in a relationship" is equal parts stupid and scary to me. But, I did it to make someone happy. (He doesn't know this blog exists, not yet.)His reasons for wanting me to change it seemed more sound than my hesitations. My favorite crazy friend (who immediately knew that changing such a thing was not done independenly of my own volition) reminded me that relationships are about compromise.

In response, I asked her, "What the hell do I know about such things?"

What I do know is that the interest from people around me is warm, friendly, and should be taken with more grace than I can generally muster up. I also know, that for as happy as it made him (even if I don't understand the reason) it was a minimal gesture.

Now suck it up Sara and deal!

Flat Stanley

I'm not a big fan of deadlines. I often choose to ignore them, especially when it comes to projects and cleaning. But, I generally have good intentions.

This is a picture of Flat Stanley. This particular version of the paper-doll traveling geography project phenomena comes from the niece of one of my best friends. I got her the week before Christmas. In the first week I took her to a Blazer game, the Portland Sat. Market and took her picture in front of one of Portland's many bridges.

I should have sent her on. I even have a priority envelop already addressed to Flat Stanley's next host...but, instead she got left in the Tri-Cities after Christmas. For two and a half weeks this would be world traveler was holed up in a closet in a 9 year old's room. Alas there was not even a single photo to authenticate her time in that exotic locale. I got her back (and a needed pair of tennis shoes) and took her out again. With me apparently she's on a sports kick, she was taken to a Winter Hawks game, rode public transportation and walked along the Columbia at the site of one of Lewis and Clark's stop-overs.

I really do like this project, and always get a kick out it when I see people with Flat Stanley dolls (this has actually happened to me about three times) but it is a lot of work for the people involved and a lot of trust by that teacher that these projects will in fact be successful. Okay, now to find a way to print the pictures, write in the journal and send the stupid (but brilliant) project out into the world (or at least to her next stop-over in San Fransisco).

Why my job is better than yours...

because really are there any other jobs where seeing a singing, ukulele playing, happy teenager sporting an angry mohawk is completely normal?

Resolutions 2011

I have a dear friend at work. She teaches in the room next to mine and her desk is next to mine. She's super smart, an awesome teacher and I sorta couldn't stand her when we first met. I honestly couldn't belive anyone could be that perky and real...oh no ladies and gentlemen. She's also genuine. As you can imagine, if I didn't like her so much, I'd pretty much hate her.

She asked me this morning about New Year's Resolutions and she was talking about them not in the traditional (exercise more, loose a ton of weight) sorta way (I mean I do have those) but as a list of fun things you would like to do this year.

Of course I've been pondering this all day....here's what I've come up with.
1. Learn to knit, actually do it...knit socks.
2. Go to the Braun Brother's Family Reunion (Ragweed in Idaho, be still my heart)
3. Visit the Newport Aquarium
4. Go camping
5. Blog more consistantly
6. Take a fun art-type class
7. Learn to make mole
8. Go to a professional soccer game
9. Organize a few poker parties
10. Learn to play Settlers of Catan
11. Go hiking in 5 new places

This list (like most other aspects of my existence) is a work in progress.