Teacher Work Day=Makeovers

Today Alicia and Mary and I gave each other makeovers.  It's hard for me to imagine why a seven and ten year old think they want makeovers when their skin and hair are perfectly youthful, bright and shiny but these girls watch "What Not to Wear" often enough to know that the guests think they will have much better lives if  their physical appearances are altered.

I was first. The girls fashioned my short white hair into eight small pony tails and then they went to work on my face. They applied face powder onto my cheeks, chin, forehead and nose. Eyes were next. This was the scary part because the action took place with my closed eyes as the palettes for young, inexperienced hands. Then came the easy part - lip gloss. This was generously applied and included a lot of the area outside the actual space of my lips.  Then I was invited to the "reveal" in the bathroom.  I loved it and the girls were hysterical with delight. They laughed even harder when I asked if they'd do this for me when I go to my friends' holiday party.

Then the girls took turns making each other over. Mary's long, thick hair was given an odd part and the section slung over her right ear was held in place with several bobby pins. I leaned in way close when Alicia was doing Mary's eye makeup truly worried about her vision safety but her eyeliner turned out just fine if not well-placed.  I was invited to "do" Alicia's hair and so I twisted long strands and joined them together in the back.  Mary offered her approval so Alicia decided to like it too. Of course, their 'dos did not compare with my ponied up style but they were satisfied.

Next came an extended game of "Mexican Train." I've spent some time thinking about that title and wondering if it might be insulting in any way but played it anyway.  The reason it lasted so long was because the rules changed all time.  Finally I suggested to Mary that it would be better if we were surprised by our tile choices rather than looking at them and choosing one that worked best in our favors. She huffed off at that one so Alicia and I played for another half an hour until I just couldn't stand it and asked if she wanted to watch an episode of "Zooey 101."  I knew that would be a game ender so I was able to enjoy my new appearance and feel confident about my new look as do the guests on "What Not to Wear."

Too Much of a Good Thing

Have you ever watched those programs on cable channels about "hoarders"?  I happen on them from time to time but don't stick around long because the houses and the hoarders are too creepy and I feel as if I am intruding on their exaggerated sense of space and belongings so I surf through to other odd ball channels.  But I've been thinking about hoarding and what I'd save if I came down with this particular illness.  One thing I'd definitely overstock would be candles.  I love the shapes and scents of them.  I like them from the inexpensive Glade kind you can buy at Safeway to the elaborate wax sculptures that you can see at speciality boutiques.  I'd line them all around my window sills and place them on every flat surface in the house including the backs of the toilets.

I'd also cram every drawer in the house full of tee shirts.  I love the variety that is available; I can barely resist tee shirts with any sort of sparkle on them.  Another thing I'd love to own vast quantities of is Christmas tins.  I am drawn to these as if my fingers have magnets on them designed to lead me to them anywhere.  There are so many cute ones!  The artwork on them is so bright, clever, festive and charming.  I'd stack them in like colors all over my kitchen counters.  I'd fill 100 of them with homemade holiday treats and give them away so I could buy more.

And then there are paper napkins.  There is a little trend out there to collect these but I'm pretty sure I was first at it.  I have two friends who buy them as souvenirs wherever they travel.  I don't do that unless some really distinctive ones turn up as I roam shops away from home.  I do buy way more holiday napkins than I need and would buy enough to fill up at least half the attic if I could.   Yarn!  I have to carefully control myself in yarn shops lest I bring home garbage bags full to add to my modest stash.

Worst of all, I'd buy hundreds of books.  I'd stack them along all the walls of my house or, as my friend John in Stayton does, I'd have bookshelves in every room full of books so that both the shelves and their contents compliment the decor of the room.  What can be more inviting than a bookcase full of books for those of us who are book people?  To gaze and study the titles and think about which five I'd choose to read is one of the best ways to while away time that I know.

I no longer keep books, though, because my collection began to overpower me in an uneasy and uncomfortable way so I sold or gave them away.  Anytime I finish a book these days, I try to find a new reader for it right away and request that they pass it along so that its spirit can travel to other places. I sold my tins at a garage sale; I regularly pare down my tee shirt collection, and I'm trying to use up the napkins and burn the candles as often as I think to do so. And I try to keep control of my yarn stash. I don't think I really have any inclination to be a recognized hoarder, but there are certain things that I wouldn't mind overowning.

Extra Baggage

Why was I so surprised? I should have figured that after being folded in half then fitted tightly into a jet and barely able to move during a six hour flight from the East Coast home that I might arrive back in Oregon with something I didn't want.   During the flight I developed a persistent pain that felt as if angry elves were pounding relentlessly on both sides of my skull.  My eyeballs started to feel like poached eggs. And then the very next day my throat started itching.  Soon The Incredible Hulk arrived to body slam me several times and I began to feel chilled and then too hot as if he was also alternating the placement of heating pads and then ice packs all over my body.  Next=a woozy and blah feeling.  Here's what made me know absolutely that I was beyond all sense of good health--I lost my appetite. My thinking fuzzed out.  I had just enough energy to start coughing in a manner that would be appropriate sounds for Halloween zombies to make.

I began cancelling appointments and rearranging my schedule so that I could continue to lie back on the couch and think about how awful I felt. Nights were exercises in agony as I tried to arrange my sore body in some sort of comfortable sleeping pose.  I awoke nearly every hour to begin another round of the zombie howling cough.  I started watching junk cable TV during the daytime saving only my favorite trashy program "Duck Dynasty" for evening entertainment.  When you're as sick as I was, you begin to think the whole lifestyle of this bearded Louisiana clan has some sort of charm and meaning.

Still, I managed to babysit my grands and fill the refrigerator and pantry with fresh food.  Not much else went on, though. I continued to suffer, zombie cough and wonder what it must have been like to feel well.  When I was young, I just stuffed myself with Dayquil, told everyone I was fine and kept up my schedule of work and home as usual.  When asked how I was feeling, I would declare firmly, "I"m just fine." HA. The bottom line was that I sick then and I'm sick now.  Who cares if it's the flu or a cold?  My doctor even told me to ride it out with Tylenol, fluids and maybe some Claritin.  I'm still "riding it out" and it's been a week.

Far East

My recent trip to New England was an experience of stepping into post card scenery and walking onto what appeared to be movie sets of small towns.  The country roads were bordered in all six states with golden leaved trees and topped with deep blue skies all basking in spicy fresh autumn air. The houses and buildings along the tour route were of Cape Cod or colonial style and most of them featured pumpkins placed on steps, fence railings or along wooden roof gutters.  The display of unbelievable wealth at Martha's Vineyard and the 70 room palace at the Vanderbilt mansion in Newport, Rhode Island offered me little or no connection to the lifestyle of people with names like Kennedy or Bush or Bouvier.  But I easily enjoyed peeping into how their lives were dictated by their fortunes.  The Norman Rockwell Museum overwhelmed me with the art work of a painting genius whose studio looked out to the autumn beauty of the Berkshire Mountains. We saw the fascinating birthplace and village of President Calvin Coolidge, took a harbor cruise in Portland, Maine and enjoyed an authentic lobster dinner in Kennebunkport.  One of my favorite spots was Mystic, Connecticut where we wandered around a preserved whaling village which presented a sharp contrast to the wealthy vacation villages of the famous.  I recognized my own hard work ethic here and loved seeing the many examples of the practical mindset of our early colonists.  You can't swing a Halloween black cat in Boston without hitting a Paul Revere this or a Freedom Trail that or a church steeple where you can almost see "two if by sea" lights glowing in warning to the early freedom fighters.  I saw the history lessons of my early education in action on this wondrous trip and sensed a warm welcome everywhere we went.

111 XXX (disguised as directed by family members)

The numbers and letters in the title belong to the license plate of the driver of the white Jeep who taught me a driving lesson this morning.  Apparently, I needed to know that it is perfectly acceptable to drive through a yellow light even if I have been waiting for an emergency vehicle to clear the intersection.  It is also okay to use the rude finger gesture and an impatient wave to urge someone to move on.  What was really surprising to me is that a driver is allowed to speed up, turn in front of another car and then sit at a green light to prevent that driver from proceeding. I think that's supposed to teach me what it's like to slow up other drivers. Then you can speed up to a good ten miles an hour faster than the posted limit.  All these little lessons are, I suppose, handy driving hints for how to break the law. Sad to say, though, that even speeding did not allow an escape for the Jeep driver.  He quickly went to the back of the line again and I had plenty of time to write down his ODL number.  Should I report him????

DMV

I've been preparing for this day since my driver's license renewal notice arrived a few weeks ago.  I put it on the top of my "to do" pile and kept shuffling it to the top.  Then I realized that my birthday is coming up soon and it was time to really do something about that notice.  So I gathered up my passport, my marriage certificate, a check for $40 and placed them carefully within the pages of my newest paperback.  I felt ready.  I was even mentally prepared.

It was difficult to get a parking place so I was patient.  I got into the line to get a number.  Then I got into the line to tell the clerk why I was there. He gave me my application so I found a place to sit down midst all the rest of the customers who were sitting, standing, milling around, taking tests, and otherwise waiting.  It was noisy and growing warmer every minute.  I used my best printing until I had to pause at the question that was about four lines long and had something to do with did I ever have a license in another name/state/planet and did I ever use it to identify myself or as a means to rent a car and did I remember my mother's maiden name or something like that.  I was stumped.  I asked the people around me if they thought the application had trick questions on it.  They all laughed and seemed to know what question I was on.  They helped me.  After that, I just didn't answer the questions I couldn't understand.

Then the real line waiting part started.  I waited in line to get my eyes tested.  I waited to figure out if I should  sit down and wait for my number to be called.  Then someone told me to wait in what was laughingly called the "express line."  My turn in that line and the sound of my number being called occurred at almost the same time.  Then I breezed through the actual process of having my license renewed by handing over the check and my documents.  She entered stuff into her computer, handed my papers back and then told me to put my application in the blue box at the end of the counter.  It was really easy to find the box because it had a bold sign on it that said "Blue Box."  Then I waited in line to get my picture taken.  I'd carefully fixed my hair for this part, put on fresh lip gloss and practiced my smile in my rear view mirror on the drive over. This was sure to be the best driver's license photo I'd ever had.  Wrong.  I look like my brother Bill on a bad fishing day.

Of course I'd had to go to the bathroom since I was waiting in the first line.  The DMV doesn't make it very clear, and I really don't think they want to, that there is a perfectly clean and serviceable restroom within the building.  But I asked and then wound my way through the even bigger and noisier crowd that now consisted not only of applicants but their babies, grandparents and biker dude uncles as well.  It was hot. It was loud.  And it smelled funny in there.  The restroom, however, was cool, clean and empty.  I half thought about spending an hour or so in its quiet confines but I was getting really hungry.  So I took a deep breath and then had the endless joy of walking out of the DMV building and working my way through the crowd that was now spilling out onto the sidewalk of the building. Someone waited patiently for my parking spot which I was happy to relinquish.

Clare's New Dress

I used to sew a lot.  Amy wore lots of homemade clothes when she was little and I completed plenty of  my own outfits along with crafts of all kinds. I particularly remember a Spiderman (or was it Superman?) blanket that I stayed up way late into the night to get finished for a gift for Brian.

Sewing wasn't easy for me.  It took years before I figured out that reading the pattern carefully went a long way toward completing a project without tedious time spent in ripping out. When I finally broke down and started basting things together before putting in the final seams, I truly realized the worth of doing things the long way.

But I haven't taken on a sewing project for a really long time.  It just isn't as practical to sew anymore.  Patterns and material and notions cost a lot of money.  Sewing things at home isn't as cost efficient as it used to be.  Maybe that's why the dress I just finished for Clare (the new American Girl doll) cost around $20.00 and two trips to the fabric store to make.  The dress fits an 18" doll but it might as well have been a ball gown for a real live Cinderella for all the sweat that went into it.  The thread on the machine kept breaking because I didn't recall the correct way to load the bobbin.  I ran out of thread and had to fill the bobbin and rethread the machine at least three times.  That's a real challenge since I can  barely, just BARELY see the eye of the needle.  I had to rip out and replace one sleeve and, remember, this is a doll dress so the sleeve consisted of only three inches of material to work with.  Still, imagine how tricky it is to get that eased in sleeve properly placed on the machine for stitching.  And it's not easy to press tiny seams open.  Thank goodness the velcro fastening the back of the bodice together didn't give me any problems.  I had this horror that I'd have to rip stitches out of velcro and that, I'm sure, is a seamstress's nightmare.

But a new dress awaits Clare who will be here along with the family tomorrow for a Labor Day weekend barbecue.  Now I just keep my fingers crossed that the ultra picky Alicia will like it. And it only took an hour flat on my back on the couch to straighten out the kinks in my neck and shoulders from leaning over  a hot sewing machine.

Sky Scarf

Exactly one year ago today I started my sky scarf.  It is finished today.  I spent a little time every day capturing the weather by knitting two rows of an approximation of the day's sky.  Colors included various shades of blue, gray and white, and even black for really stormy days.  If the day was sunny, I attached a little tassel of yellow on the side.  I used special hues for trips to Arizona, Hawaii and Black Butte.  I attached color appropriate tassels for holidays. When I study it, I can trace memories of August 25, 2011 through August 25 2012 just by "reading" the scarf.

It was an interesting project and I will use it as a valance over the double hung window in my craft room. It will never leave that room.  I will not take it to my knitting group to mingle with the other sky scarves and I will most certainly not let it go on display at the yarn shop on Main Street.  You will not see a picture of it here.  It is rudely crafted due to running out of yarn here and there and joining in colors of just enough weight difference to add width.  Somehow or another I added stitches so that the width became even wider and odder.  It is as ugly a project as I have ever undertaken and completed.  Ordinarily I would have quietly murdered such a bungled project but because it took so much time and I can easily trace such pleasant memories at the sight of it I could never do such a thing.  I did not play the role of Madame LaFarge who knitted all those horrid secrets into her project. My secrets are all pleasant personal memories, and I will cherish them and let the thing live forever in the solitary confinement of my craft room.

Beach I, II and III

August just wouldn't be August without a trip to the Oregon Coast but what about three trips?  That's what I'm doing.  Beach I trip was to Seaside where my sister and I reunited with a near total of 20 female relatives from our Dad's side of the family with two males thrown in just to keep us on our toes.  The women are all special personalities keeping the boredom level at rock bottom zero.  And speaking of zero boredom, I was fascinated with a little painted rock garden that Tracie, Bobbie and I found at the beach entrance at the end of Avenue W.  We learned about it from a little painted rock display at the yarn shop (we rate this a five star yarn shop, by the way) which featured some very nicely painted rocks and a well-written little description for how to get to the little garden. Beach goers are invited to paint rocks and contribute them to the garden and when we saw it, all three of us enjoyed exclaiming over the various rocks.  And we followed up that with a visit to the flower garden at a nearby motel (can't remember the name) that was spectacular.  So the weekend centered around these motley gardens of women, rocks and flowers.  I loved it.

Beach II was Lincoln City.  Just picture perfect weather at the Coast:   Blue, blue sky overhead, the calm blue ocean punctuated with whale spouts, a light tangy breeze and you have exactly what we experienced.  I have never seen such glorious weather at the beach. Pair that with the perfect ocean view from our comfortable room and top everything off with time spent with our oldest friends in the world who travel up from Arizona every year to spend time in cool, cool Oregon.  We laughed and strolled and played games and ate great food and remembered old times and places together and took pictures of each other in front of the gorgeous flowers at the Salishan Market Place.  Life was at its peak for us.

Tomorrow is Beach III.  Bobbie and I will go to Lincoln City to sign and sell books at Bob's Beach Books.  The weather seems to holding out so we will meet lots of interesting people and enjoy some time in the fresh air.  My new book is ready for the display table and I can't wait for readers to enjoy it.  Then I hope we'll get to enjoy a gorgeous drive back home through the farm land of the valley.  That drive has its own summer flavor and I enjoy it every time I drive it. As an old Oregonian, I've certainly made that trip plenty of times hoping to catch the magic of a sunny day at the Oregon Coast and that magic sparkled big time for I and II and we holding our breaths for III as well.

Ahhhhh Summer!

Here are the raspberries I bought last week at the Farmer's Market at Black Butte Ranch.  I can't think of a better way to capture the essence of summer.

The Boobs Return

You may remember Boobs Clea and her sister Boobs from last summer.  They are the Barbie doll sisters whose mother liked the name Boobs so much that she gave that name to both of her daughters.  Remember, too, that there's nothing disrespectful about the name in any way.  It's just a way that Mrs. Clea had of determining that her daughters would be athletic.  I know the meaning is somewhat cloudy but I think it has to do with my granddaughters' associating strong girls with large, well-endowed bodies along with a healthy dose of spirit.  Well, the Boobs girls are back and busy at being in charge of the entire Barbie population at my grandgirls household. (The population, by the way, is so large that the girls' mother doesn't really like to think or talk about it.)  When I asked about how these extraordinary dolls maintain control of the stylish, complicated clan, I was told that if one of the Barbies does something wrong, she gets tossed into the trash.  That's it.  Seems to be keeping everyone in the Bonus Room in line.

But maybe they've met their match. Way last summer I promised Alicia that I'd buy her an American Girl doll if she quit biting her fingernails.  I never thought she would and so I'd therefore be safe from the outrageous expenditure of this coveted doll.  I didn't factor in a sudden loss of many teeth that rendered the habit of nail biting impossible so the new doll arrived this morning.  She is truly a special doll and very well made but still not worth the bucks I put out.  She does, however, promise to have lots of doll power so maybe she'll put the Boobs girls in their places.  I do know for sure that the new doll will be coming to live at my house if Alicia grows enough nail biting teeth and starts up the practice again.  I hope a name has been chosen for her by then.  It's awkward to refer to Boobs Clea and the American Girl doll in the same sentence.  It just doesn't seem like a fit. She really needs a name soon.

Waterfalls to Trees

At long last the first draft of my new book is finished.  I learned more about writing from this experience than in all the years I taught it.  First:  Remember to be willing to change your subject and content at any second.  That's what you need to do if you start out writing about waterfalls and end up writing about trees.  Second:  Don't let the content depend on the seasons.  If you're planning a perfect fall day for the setting and need to do some field work, you'll find out that the perfect day will also land on the day when you need an emergency tooth extraction.  Third:  If kids are in any way involved in the writing process, you need to remember how many meltdowns a six year old can have in any given half day time period.  Fourth:  If using artwork by said kids, you need to factor in that they may not be in a creative mood at the same time as your deadline for art rolls around.  And (this one turned out to be most vital) if you're planning to use your own photos as part of the illustrations, be EXTREMELY sure that you know how to download those photos without accidentally erasing them.  If you do, you'll have to talk the kids into another long car trip, trace the steps of the previous discovery hike and pray that the new batch of photos can approximate the first attempt.  Oh.  And you'll need to bribe the children with ice cream cones.

Spook, Root Beer and One Tick

What a weekend!  After five months of battling snow, wind, heavy rain, wet feet and clothes, goose chases after phantom hoots that turned out to be a grouse and other challenges we finally, finally caught up with a Great Gray owl.  In fact, we found both a parent and its owlet.  We only had to travel about 260 miles east to a spot about half way in between Meecham and LaGrande to narrow the searching field.  We took the Spring Creek "road" to another numbered "road" which was little more than a dirt lane bouncing our way over dips, doodles and mud holes to find the five trees out of the thousands and thousands that we'd passed in the Wallowa Whitman National Forest.  We didn't see them the first day and my legs were wobbly the second day from climbing up and down a shallow draw several times over trying to find  all the nesting platforms.  We found two derelict ones-two at the Spook nesting site and one in tact at the Root Beer site-but couldn't find hide nor feather of the one at Spook that was supposedly housing a baby. We retreated to  LaGrande where I found a tick on Bobbie's head which she smashed on the table with her knife and then brushed it on the floor at Mt. Emily's Ale House.  The server looked mildly on as all I said was, "Tick."  She seemed to get it right away.  Then I got to battle with an annoying case of diarrhea the next morning which made me fast track it behind a few of those thousands of trees I mentioned above.  Nothing like the feel of mountain air on one's nether regions while maintaining a thigh shaking pose in the undergrowth.  All trials were soon forgotten as we made one more trip down the draw where Bobbie spotted the baby within 30 minutes.  Look carefully in the middle of the lower photo and you can see him.  Within seconds she spotted the parent owl a few trees to the left which you can see if you look in the middle of the upper photo.  We did silent high fives and screamed without making sounds for awhile and then settled in to watch the birds for about an hour and a half.  We heard the parent make a few comforting hoots to her baby and even found owl feathers.  We sneaked in as close as we dared so as not disturb them.  They were amazingly tolerant allowing us to set up photo bases in their area.  We did just about everything except climb the trees and pet them.  What magnificent creatures!  We paid them a respectful farewell and spent the rest of the day seeing other wildlife and stunning landscapes in the Todd Marsh Wildlife Refuge.  What a way to spend a vacation weekend.

Trying To Sleep

Sleeping presents a whole new perspective for those of us who are aging.  First, there's the element of partner disturbance.  Even in the best of relationships, someone is bound to awaken the other with snoring, weird dream restlessness, discomfort, frozen limb rescuing,  temperature sensitivity and even more oddball aspects of sleep behavior that prevent us from sleeping  like unconscious walruses the way we did when we were thirty.  We learn what sleep apnea is and take on the alien appearance of an ET sleeper with the addition of the C-PAP machine.  Don't assume this is an easy process.  A number of trips to the doctor and an interesting "sleep study" at the hospital are required before acquiring this impossibly ugly piece of night gear.  The adjustment period is long and fraught with anxiety and comments such as, "Adjust your mask!  You're making funny breathing sounds!"  Well, no kidding.   With the advent of the C-PAP, we have moved beyond the commuting bed stage and into the era of thinking about getting a new bed. The trip to Maui and the blissful nights of sleeping in the king size bed next to the soothing sound of the sea cinch it for us.  We'll get a new bed.  So we do.  I look forward to sleeping on the new extra firm mattress between new sheets and under a new lightweight summer comforter.  I won't bring up the number of trips it took to purchase just the right kind of bedding for this new bed other than to say that Pat is definitely not a satin sheet sort of guy.  And weren't we surprised when the new bed is way too hard (like a concrete slab, according to Pat).  So we make a "comfort exchange."  I am more than a little anxious about how we'll survive our first night on our new "plush firm" mattress. I hope this one does the trick because I've run out of ideas about sleeping well for older folks.

"Live in the sunshine, swim in the sea"

The title describes exactly what I did this past week in Maui.  Everything ever said about Hawaii is absolutely true no matter how many times we visit.  From the bottom of the ocean at Ulua Beach where I swam with clouds of colorful fish to the top of Haleakala where I could almost see to Japan, I had vivid experience after vivid experience.  The water in the ocean was warm; the air on top of the mountain was cold and literally breathtaking.  The flowers that studded the edges of the paths at the Kula Botanical Gardens were like tropical jewels.  The small upcountry town of Makawao had some  intriguing art work and a cool tropical breeze.  Hilo Hattie and the ABC store had fun stuff to buy for souvies and Safeway was just a few blocks away where we bought stuff for our meals and enjoy the spectacular view from our lanai at the same time.  The little historical church and the lava beach at LaPerouse Beach at the south end of the island were two very vivid spiritual experiences.  Maui is indeed a place of vivid experiences.  But my favorite and most unforgettable time in Maui was bobbing in the ocean with the tropical sun above and the fish, turtles and coral below.  It's one of the times when I feel most one with the universe.

Back to the Owls

Last Saturday found us chugging up the familiar route to Cieslak Meadow at Silver Falls State Park. It was a definite spring day with soft air, warm sunlight and a forest alive with the sound of birds and buzzing things. We heard the Great Gray muffled hoots as soon as we got out out the car. We had a plan. We headed down Silver Ridge Road to the spot across from where we heard the call last time we were here. Not far from where someone had abandoned an old craft table alongside the road ("Why would someone want to do that," Bobbie asked. "I dunno. I like to think it just maybe fell off the back of the truck," I supposed) the darn bird shut itself up and we stood like a couple of listening ninnies for a long time before we decided to "track" it on the other side of the pond so we hoofed it back to the car and then headed down the barely discernible tire-tracked lane and made the approach from the other side of the pond. Again we heard the call. It fell silent but started up again not much longer so Bobbie took off down slope while I stayed with the dog. It was pleasant sitting in the woods with nothing to do but think and listen. I could sometimes see Bobbie twisting and turning between the trees and she explained later that the owl was projecting its voice first this way and then that way. She was sure it was just trying to throw her off the track. So we definitely heard it but since we didn't sight it, we'll call it an "encounter" with a Great Gray.

Then Sunday we were up close and personal with our sure thing sighting of a Barn Owl at long last. Bobbie had a connection with an Audubon member who knows Farmer Ron way out south of Salem close to the Ankeny Reserve. He lives on a most tidy little 14 acre farm with his wife, horses, goats, pigeons, and garden along with a nesting box full of baby Barneys-four live ones and their gorgeous mother. He lets visitors look at them via a monitor that projects what the web cam stashed in the nest shows. He lets special guests climb up the tall sturdy ladder and peek through the crack in the sliding door of the box. I did and then carefully slid it open to see Mama Owl giving me a dirty mistrustful look before she took off leaving me to admire the babies. They amazed me with their bobbling little heads and little hop hops around the nest. What a privilege it was! And how very different this controlled sighting environment was from the wilds of the day before! Another notch on our owl belts, nonetheless.

(Not About Owls

There's lots of talky-talk about college these days. Statistics are published, people are interviewed and conclusions are broadcast. It seems that not as many people are going to college and other people are worrying about this. Guess what: this is not the time, this is not the economy and this is not a job market that supports a four year degree goal. The job market is so limited that the day of just having a degree to guarantee employment is as outdated as reel to reel film projectors in the classroom. A student can do well with a two year degree, good networking and plenty of patience and determination when it comes to landing a decent job. I don't even recommend that my own grandgirls plan for college. I can't believe I said that but it's true. The most that can be said about going to college these days is that kids are allowed four more years to grow up in an academic setting that has little to do with the real world. Sorry. I'll get back to owl writing maybe even later today.)

Be Prepared

Weekend before last found us up on Silver Ridge on the western (southern?) edge of Silver Falls State Park looking for Great Grey Owls. It was cold, very cold. In fact, we stomped through several inches of snow and the sky spit at us all afternoon. The wind blew right through my sweat shirt. My feet got soaked. I received many little lectures about always going out into the wild fully prepared. So this weekend I staggered out to the car under a load of stuff that wouldn't fit into my backpack: extra shoes and socks, hooded sweatshirt, heavy sweatshirt, padded rain coat with hood, hat, visor, sunglasses, camera, binoculars, lunch and purse. The setting was the same as last weekend but the sunny weather made the landscape much friendlier and more inviting. I was properly dressed and even thought about shedding my big sweatshirt while basking at our "scanning station" that we set up in what we now call "SilverRidge Meadow." Ahhhh. . . .no owls but gorgeous sunshine, a fresh breeze and clean silence. What a way to start Spring Break!

Jake and Katie

My grandgirls have alter egos. Mary often plays the part of Jake and sometimes plays the part of Alexis aka Lexi. Alicia is always Kate. It's taken me a long time to figure out this role playing game. I often hear them talking to each other using these names but they are not in plain sight when this occurs. I just thought they were taking the voices of various Barbies but began to wonder when they were addressing each other by these names in the back seat of the car with not a Barbie in sight. Then this morning Jake (Mary) was talking through the pet door to Kate (Alicia) who had been kidnapped and was being held in a large cave (the garage). I was washing my hands (using the bathroom) and Jake was feeling sorry for Kate and wondering about how to free her from the kidnappers (getting their stuff together for school). Never miss an opportunity to use your imagination, I guess.

Granny Dream

Picture this: A stylish new bakery has opened in the Oregon City area. I take my grandgirls there after school for a special treat with this vision of a French bakery/cozy "teatime" sort of experience with the girls and me eating pastel colored treats at a table covered with a pretty lace tablecloth. The flowers are blooming outside and the sky is spring blue. Mary chooses a thick slice of almond poppyseed bread. Alicia chooses a huge chocolate crinkle cookie and I decide to pass so I can just enjoy the girls' chatter. We sit. Alicia wants a bite of Mary's. Then she wants another bite. Hers is "too sugary." She wants a third bite of Mary's but Mary has lost her sense of sharing and heaves a large sigh and shouts, "NO." Alicia whines. I reprimand and Alicia says, "stop." This is directed straight at me. I tell her to watch her attitude. She tells me to watch mine. Mary tries to broker a bit of peace. Alicia tells her to "stop." I fold up the remainder of the treats and lead them out to the car. At home, I send Alicia to her room. "Fine," she replies. The afternoon has broken down and is only saved by doing math homework with Mary. And guess what: I can't figure out how to do some of the problems. Sigh.

Look Carefully! Do You See It?

Yesterday was a struggle for me. We went up and down hill after hill (okay only two); I sweated a bucket (my neck was wet where I was carrying my camera and binoculars); and I could barely breathe (this is true). We were in Tryon Creek State Park looking for a Barred Owl. We got to the right spot according to the park ranger and didn't see a thing except for a very beautiful and well constructed nest. I needed to rest. Bobbie suggested a log "over there." Whew. I was so glad to sit and even to lean back on the log behind me. "Just like a chair," I said. Then she immediately said, "OMGosh! I SEE it!" After several attempts to describe its location, she finally succeeded in getting me to see it. We were thrilled and awed. Our new binoculars allowed us to watch it move, see its yellow beak and study the bars on its fluffy chest. What a restful time it was having in the warm sun. And what an exciting time for us. We were also happy to share its location with other hikers and walkers who took pictures and enjoyed the sighting with us. Owls 13 Owlers 5!

Blue and Yellow

Oh my gosh, Phoenix was glorious. The city itself is unremarkable except for its cleanliness and easy access to everything but it doesn't matter because of its crown of blue sky and yellow sun. The low light angle at this time of the year just makes it that much more attractive. The temperature hovered around 80 degrees all the time we were there. I can prove it-I was swimming in an outdoor pool one morning at 7:30 and didn't need to sprint from the pool to the spa. Another example: We ate dinner outside on our friends' patio and I was barefoot at 8:00 at night. The coyotes were a-howling and the stars were a-twinkling all swirled together with the smell of the bbq-ed salmon and the vanilla scented candles on the table. It was heaven.

The tourist highpoint for me was our visit to the "Vincent Van Gogh Alive" exhibit at the Phoenix Science Center. I was enthralled and awed by this multi-sensory experience into the life and work of this artist. And it was so apropos to my class work this week that centers around the relationship between an artist and his art. Unforgettable.

But the very best part of the trip was the time I got to spend with our friends Cheryl and Irvin. What fun we had! And the absolute best was when Cheryl and I had a few hours to ourselves while the guys played golf. Just like old, old times. Talk, talk, laugh, sigh, talk, and talk some more. She helped me find a solution to a very disturbing problem I've been grappling with for the last several months. I knew I could count on her. She is such a treasure.

The Sun at $49.99

I finished my daily allotment of rows on my sky scarf four days ahead of time today because we're going to Phoenix tomorrow and I don't want to schlepp this bulky boxed project with me. And I knitted the future four days all in yellow because that's what the sky is expected to be like in Arizona with an accompanying temperature near 80 degrees. So the sun will shine on my life for the next few days and not only from the sky but from the smiling face of my good, good friend Cheryl and her good guy husband, Irvin.

I've known Cheryl since I was in the seventh grade. That was in the year 1959 which was a very long time ago. She is now my oldest friend on earth. She is one of the few left who can remember any of the specifics about my own childhood so I stand secretly in a selfish kind of awe of her. She's one of my power figures. When we were in junior high, she was one of those girls who just knew everything and everyone including the most amazing facts and stories about the cheerleaders and the yell kings. In high school, she could handle her cigarette the way Tippi Hedren did in the movie "The Birds" when she was calmly sitting on the bench in the school yard with the weird birds beginning to fill her background. In fact, Cheryl recited the whole plot of that movie to all of us at one of Karen's famous slumber parties that my parents actually let me attend. We were so scared by her realistic interpretation that we couldn't go to sleep but I was immensely grateful for her narrative because I knew I would never be allowed to see such a movie. There was nothing uplifting about it, according to my mother.

And then, believe or not, Cheryl and Irvin got married a year after we graduated from high school when I was still struggling with Shakespeare and wondering how I would ever pass my math requirement and desperately shopping for a husband of my own. The two of them are still happily married today and living in the perpetual warmth of Arizona. They come home to Oregon only when the heat is absolutely unbearable in that part of the country. They spend part of their summer at the Oregon Coast and we visit with them there. But now I am excited to go see my friend who understands more about me than anyone on earth except maybe for my sister. And for that reason, she is one of my best people. And, wow, did she ever look good in those short, short pleated Pendleton skirts and matching sweaters that we wore in the old days!

Lucky Thirteenth

Check this out! Today was my lucky owl day. I just felt right in my bones this morning that I would see this Western Screech Owl. Traffic was good, there were only a few people at the refuge and there was no one on the trail until my return. I did spot squirrels and chipmunks and walked right through a flock of Canada geese without disturbing them one bit. That seemed like a good omen. The forested area was deserted and I found myself slowing my steps as I approached the tree but VOILA! there it was! I held my breath as my shaking fingers readied the camera. He let me take as many pictures as I wanted and only opened one eye for a quick glance before going back to sleep. I was walking at least six inches above the trail on the way back. What a thrill! New score= Owls 13 and Owlers 4. (The camera date is wrong. I forgot to readjust it. Darn.)

Saturday Sunset

Back to the wheat warehouse and the giant fir trees today where Bobbie had discovered many more owl pellets and ventured that the owl had probably been watching us fiddle around in the old building from the top of one of those trees. We inspected the warehouse carefully, used our new binoculars on the huge trees, poked at some pellets and then set off cross country roads where I got to see an active beaver lodge that Bobbie had discovered a long time ago. The winter scape was gorgeous and only outdone by the sunset which we watched while swiveling our heads to the owl site parked at the perfect spot to see him leave either the warehouse or the big trees. We were foiled again but the warm winter day was exhilarating and we celebrated it with dinner at La Margarita in Salem. DELICIOUS.

Empty Branches

I'm pretty sure the owls see us coming. They spot our car and then quietly make their way to the far side of whatever grove we plan to scout and simply lift their wings and take off. Maybe if we looked fast enough before we get out of the car we could spot their rear ends heading out. Once again, lots of evidence-pellets and whitewash-but no owls. We even laid down on the duff of the grove floor next to the farm house at Howell Territorial Park on Sauvie Island and stared up into the swaying limbs for a good long time. Lots of sunshine, a brisk fresh breeze, and old oak leaves to scrunch through all added to the otherwise joyful experience of this rare and bright February day. And then the drive back around the island in the long shadows of late afternoon with the empty fields and winter trees basking in the last rays of the almost warm sun made the whole trip so worthwhile.

Food, Nature, Valentine

Here's a simple little food to nature connection that you can easily put together. Serve it up with a sweet red or chocolate treat and, viola, Happy Valentine's Day!

old wheat warehouse

Owls 13 Owlers 3

The title is how Bobbie explains the outcome of our latest owl venture. We are trailing owls this year. We hope to see 13 different kinds within the Oregon border but we may have to wander just a little ways into the state of Washington. We've already seen a great horned owl (the one made famous in our book Owl Grove) and we had the breathless privilege of seeing a snowy owl on our first trip out and a short eared owl just off I-5 a few weeks ago along with getting a good close up view of our new great niece, Olivia.

The last couple trips out have rendered no new owl sightings but have transformed me into a true amateur birder complete with new binoculars hanging around my neck. Today we quietly clomped around in an old wheat warehouse on an Oregon Century Farm hoping to see a barn owl who left lots of hefty evidence of his presence in the form of big owl pellets and plenty of whitewash which is maybe the folksy bird watchers way of referring to poop. We studied it carefully to try to determine which side of the barn he entered and which side he exited according to the spray patterns of the, um, whitewash. And we used the flashlight to try to spot him up in the rafters. Bobbie even climbed up one of the wooden ladders that led up to one of the shafts to try to spot him. No luck so we had some fun looking at the old farm equipment and some interesting sorts of farm relics in the huge structure which cast all sorts of angles of light patterns in and around the inside of the warehouse. We warmed ourselves up in the car which we angled into just the right position to catch sight of the owl as he left at dusk to hunt but we didn't see him even though we lingered until almost total darkness. We figure he must have a secondary roost somewhere else but we will return within the next few weeks to try to spot him so we can up our score against the winning owls.

Football the Fast Way

We watched the Rose Bowl today. We watch "Pat's way" which means that he DVR's the game and then we start watching it when it's about halfway through in real time. That way he speeds through the commercials and all the talkie-talk from the commentators on the sidelines, in the booth and behind the duck who does push ups every time Oregon scores. We skip half-time altogether. It's actually not so painful for me to watch a game if done this way.

I don't like football. It's too violent and reminds me too much of ancient Rome when the gladiators slaughtered Christians and animals for sport in front of packed coliseums. But as depicted in movies, we maybe could have recognized the fighters and their victims while football players remain nearly anonymous in their Star Wars-looking uniforms. I always think of the players' mothers as they are being twisted and pounded on the field while shouts of, "Get him! Kill him!" are roaring around the stadium. And when the game is delayed for injury, I don't like it when the cameras swoop down for a close look at the injured player sort of like driving by road kill. Then I am panting with anxiety for the player and his poor mother who is watching with both pride and horror.

When I was young, I refused on principle to watch football. I had all sorts of lofty reasons for not "wasting my time" on such aggressive, violent exploitation of players, colleges and fans of all ilk. I watch it once in a while now just because I can sit there and knit, be with my husband, and eventually doze off to the rattle-rattle white noise of the commentators. I sort of understand the game but am still way too much put off by all the noise, commercialism and violence of this American cultural rite of some sort of passage that the fans and participants somehow never manage to get through.

And why is it now called the "Discover Orange Bowl" rather than the "Orange Bowl" as sponsered by Discover? Sounds like Wall Street has a big hand in this activity too.

Maybe I'll provide my views about professional basketball sometime soon. I watch lots of Trailblazer games and have views about this "sport" as well.