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 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.

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.

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.

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).

Arcadia Beach

The view looking north from my favorite day trip spot on the Oregon Coast.





It's a dramatic combination of rock and sand a few miles south of Cannon Beach, which makes it approximately 104 miles from my front door.

I have been here three times this month.

First, with the best friend I found during first semester of college: she and her 4 year old bundle of excitement and energy and joy were visiting for "girls weekend". The little one had never been to the beach. As a side note, both dogs and kids react the same upon first exposure to the beach...they wiggle around with uncontrollable glee and run. We poked things, climbed rocks, dug holes and discussed how even though it wasn't sunny we needed to remember to wear sunscreen. We know better, we declared with all indication of learning from past mistakes. Apparently, we do not and I burned so badly I peeled.

Second, with the best friend from high school: she and I once were part of a three day beach backpacking trip out of "gasp" Forks, Washington. (The trip was so long ago we weren't even aware we should be looking for vampires) At seven months pregnant her reaction to the beach was remarkable dissimilar to dogs and little girls. She dug belly sized hole in the sand squealed because she could finally lay on her stomach and then slept for an hour. I walked south with the mutt.

Third, with my brother, sister, mom and step dad, and three dogs: We picked up rocks, and took turns acting (and sometimes being) impressed by on another's finds, we waded, the mutt suffered a strange bout of dementia and was running in the opposite direction, sure he would find me. My brother practiced acrobatic feats. It was beautiful and the tide was out exposing rocks and life and beach upon which the crazy girl boxer could practice her thoroughbred impersonation. A good day.

As another side note, all three days were cloudy and fueled by peanut butter and jelly.

Rowena's Crest

Learning stuff is cool.

Realizing you understand enough to apply it is even cooler.


Last weekend, as a mother's day present, my mom, step-dad Steve and I went on a geologic tour of the Gorge. I know, right, you're completely jealous. It was put on by a local organization that offers all sorts of sciencey classes to teachers. This one started off with a mini-lesson in geology from a professor from the local community college; she was amazing, enthusiastic and excited. Made me want to run right out and sign up for Geology 101. It was a fun day. The weather was perfect, the assembled group friendly and chatty, and I learned all sorts of information about the various stops we made. This is the view from our last stop, just west of the Dalles, in that area where the terrain is transitioning from lush to high desert. I'd never been here before and the hike looked like it might be worth a return trip...especially in the spring because the wildflowers here were impressive.


I took about six photos of this delicate white flower hoping that one would turn out. (Again, I need a real camera.)But, this morning as I sat down to look up the name of whatever this was I was surprised to find that my guess, that it was part of the onion family, was correct. It's called a Fool's Onion... it looks like one but, according to the book doesn't look or smell like one.

How did that happen? When did I learn that?

South Texas picture post #3

It's called a caracara.











We took this picture along the coleche road on the way to the Laguna Atascosa National Wildlife Refuge. It is amazing. We saw alligators, and flowering yuccas, and birds, and it smelled like heat and south Texas. But, as it was early February, it was like getting Texas-lite. You knew what it felt like but didn't have it attacking you... besides, in the summer you never see the alligators.

I wrote for six hours today,

but none of it was fun, but I finally feel almost confident about entry 1 of my national boards. I hate them, they are hell, however this picture, taken January 2nd in the Columbia Gourge is, at least pretty, and all I can muster up right now. I do have the idea for the next actual post, if I ever get around to it.

Posts: 6 of 319
Days skipped: 0

A sense of place

This is a picture of the view from my mother's favorite rest stop.






Now, it does amuse me that my mom even has a favorite rest stop...but only a little because I have one too, but that may be another post. This rest stop is on highway 14, which runs along the Columbia River from Vancouver to the Umatilla bridge crossing. Highway 14 starts out green and lush and ends up in the dry high desert and this rest stop is at this edge, where the trees begin to give way to the dry gold grasses.

The bigger idea here is that if this is the view from a rest stop why would anyone want to live anywhere other than the north west. It was 105 degrees in the Portland metro area yesterday. We headed west on 26 to avoid the heat; it worked. In and around Rockaway Beach it was not only cooler, but overcast and foggy. (In case you were wondering, you do still need sun block on overcast days). Driving up and down the coast, I was struck by that thought. This is the most beautiful area, how could I ever want to live anywhere else. Obviously, I don’t live at the coast, but I love the fact that the place where I’ve chosen to put down roots is in such a centralized location that I am able to access all of this scenic variety.

July 20th Post

Alternate title: Ode to the Columbia draft 235 (draft number approximate).




(I've been writing love notes to this river for as long as I can remember.)

My favorite place on the river is not a secret. It is a patch of sandy shore north of the dock at Snyder road and south of the dead end at Ferry. It is almost impossible to see- save from the actual river traffic, which is morning has only consisted of a single jet skier. Not surprising- it’s a Monday before 10 o’clock. But, in July, it is already hot, saved from uncomfortable by a breeze blowing from the north along the surface of the water.

Weekday mornings are my favorite time to inhabit this particular place. I’ve never run into anyone, in the evenings and weekends it would probably be full- with young people looking for literally a place away from older disapproving eyes- my own eyes would be viewed in exactly the same way, self centeredly assured that they are all individuals and I could never have come looking for what they now seek. I’m sure I believed the same.

I loose focus in Richland. Not that this summer I am focused on much of anything but place and history and family often send me off kilter and I feel like I am constantly looking for a way out and for someone to love me. I’ve long since found my way away- strangely close to the far away banks of this same river. That river, though a scant ¼ mile in proximity is beyond my home range. Inaccessible. And I silently thank those army corps planners of the 1940s for designing Richland with public spaces along the river. Because my spot may be private right now, but a grill, a fire pit and inscriptions of LOVE remind me that it is home to other people’s musings and escapist tendencies. I don’t make use of it often, but I’m glad it’s here to share when I can.