Girl.

Hi, I love you.

Okay, hi. Hi there. How're ya? Ya good?

See, I know it's been a very long time. And I actually have a lot to say to you, my sweet Interwebs, but things have been so so so so so busy lately, that I haven't been able to sit and organize any thoughts (let alone the photos, oy the photos!) to send your direction. I will try, I will. Very soon.

When? After I'm done packing for our move to the giant house this weekend, and have finished the 2500 word article I have to write for one class, and written and practiced the 10 minute story I will be presenting orally (snicker) for another class, and have trained the new girl at the Wellness center, and read three loooooong books for school, and workshopped 7 articles for the first class and read some Flannery O'Connor for the second, and previewed tons of good/bad/heinous submissions for the Portland literary magazine I've committed my eyeballs and exceptional discernment (ha) services to each week, and organized the next meeting for my writing group (that I've COMPLETELY dropped the ball on, you guys, I'm sorry - I'll make it up to you with fancy drinks and an extra large deck on which to smoke your wicked writerly cigarettes), and cleaned my old small pretty apartment, and cleaned my new giant weird house, and phone banked at least once more and hosted my awesome Obamania brother for a post-election decompression, and hopefully having thrown the celebration of the century after the Election in a few weeks. THEN I will sit and put it all down here for posterity. For myself. Because I'm old and I have started to forget things. And for the five of you who might be curious as to what's been happening all up in these here Northwest parts.

So I will tell you about the new house, and my Facebook addiction, and Josh's birthday, and the weird coincidences that have been happening lately, and the dream I had about Jojo giving birth to twins (actually a very fun dream, all things and strange subject matter considered), and perhaps I will have more interesting stories to tell you. For the moment, all my words have been reserved for the classes I impetuously signed up for a few weeks ago.

In the meantime, lacking anything of substance, please watch the following, compliments of Z The Wonder Volunteer, who keeps me well liquored in the lubricating grease of campaign and peripheral greatness:



I know you won't judge me when I confess to thinking these two too skinny Ruskies are hot. Especially not after you hear the "I love you" at the end. I love Al Gore, or whoever invented the internet. I don't know how I lived a life before it came to be.

V. Important.

Thanks to Bex for this one. I think it's important enough to repeat here. Why aren't we seeing these clips, these images of Iraq in mainstream media? I have no doubt it would make a difference in the polls.

F.

Shout Out To Scout (And Other Random Pet News).

A shout out to Scout. Scout Bakken, that is.

After being sick in bed for five days, I finally went out for a brief spell this morning, to have breakfast with Joosh at an establishment we've taken lots of visitors to, mostly because it's cheap and has giant plates of goodness, but also because their motto (printed right on the menu) is "You Eat Here Because We LET You" and I like a little sass with my fast-breaking.

As we left our neighborhood, I thought how nice it would be to take a walk again, recalling that my last walk was a super one with a darling darling dog named Scout, a Norwegian Elk Hound (who knew?) with a terrific personality.

If you know me, you know I'm not a dog person, but I am partial to this sweet one and did indeed find myself wishing that Scout was available for some walkies (as Joosh and I call it when we take a stroll around the 'hood - and yes, we say it in sort of a sing-song pre-school voice: "Walk-eeeees" because that is how we behave when not in mixed company, I am both proud and mortified to admit to you here). If I can get Scout's parentals to pass over a photo, I will post it here, because she's truly a darling and unusual creature, often getting stopped and admired by strangers everywhere she trots. I was glad to have the chance to hang out with her while Moms and Pops were at a Wilco concert in Bend last weekend.

* * *

In other animal news, my stepsister friended me on Facebook yesterday. We've not spoken nor had any real words since her brief reply to my "Happy Birthday" email of last December, where she basically said thanks, and told me that I should write to my father as he'd probably like to know that I was all right. Ugh. Since when does she care about my dad? She despises the man (though she says he's good for her mom - which I have no opinion on either way). So she and I have never talked about last summer, she's never asked to hear my side of the whole fiasco, and she's still fairly dependent on the folks for support while she's finishing school in England, so I don't expect she'll ever broach it. Plus she pretty well freaked out last time I revealed a story that didn't match up to the official version she was given, and couldn't handle that her mother had conceivably lied to her, and started to short circuit in a very unpretty way. Subject was quickly dropped before new meds had to be ordered.

ANYWAY, my point here: She told me, in our Facebook chat, that my folks in Mexico have adopted two little sister kittens and named them "Fanny" and "Mae."

Which at first I thought was completely adorable and Jew-y and sweet. Then my sister typed: "Get it?" Oooh. Reallllllly. Huh.

I imagined them in their brand new 3000 sq foot slave-labor-built, staff-serviced fiefdom looking down over the ex-pat dominated and newly yuppified old town of San Miguel while people all over the US are losing their homes from the shitty decisions that resulted in things like the Fanny Mae and Freddie Mac meltdown and how the worst is likely still to come and how they moved South to exploit the cheaper services and healthcare available on the backs of the indigenous in Mexico rather than fight for something better here (and they had it just fine, here, by the way) and man, I just wanted to voo-doo dollhouse their new crib down the side of a mountain.

Saving the kittens, of course, because excepting the insensitive reference, little sister kitties named Mae and Fanny would be nothing short of idiot-smiles and awwwwww-worthy adorable.

I Ride My Bike, I Roller Skate, Don't Drive No Car.

Please imagine a wee spotty Anthony Michael Hall singing to Molly Ringwald in the passenger seat of the front half of an old American car in a typical High School shop class garage as you read the following: "Duh nuh nuh nuh nuh, you say it's your birthday, duh nuh nuh nuh, it's my birthday too, yeah!"

It's my birthday! Or it was my birthday, several days ago now. (Thursday, according to the belated email I received from my Stepmother on Friday that said "Yesterday went by in a minute, and I'm only now sending you my birthday wishes" but truly, it was Wednesday). It was terrific, thank you.

The darling man who spoils me rotten at every gifty opportunity purchased a fantabulous bicycle for me. It's called "The Amsterdam" (from Electra), and yes I feel totally Euro riding it around. It has a sweet not-too-shrill bell and a light that generates power from the turning of the front wheel (which my grandfather says adds a twenty pound drag equivalent, but I am inclined not to believe him because this is the 21st Century and I am confident that the technology of such things has improved since the last time he had anything similar on his bicycle in the 1980s). The chain is enclosed, as are the gears, so no grease or catching of my skirts on moving parts (because when have you ever known me to wear pants, except overalls once or twice while fishing or carving pumpkins ten years ago?). All I need to complete the oh-so-EU package is some kind of saddle bag on the rear and maybe a wicker basket for the front.

The aforementioned darling, taking the shiny new toy down from the crusty old bike rack that lay neglected on the porch all winter and seems to have served as a nice shelter for several insect and arachnid families.

Wheeeee, biking! I am especially thrilled that my shoes match the bike. I totally planned that. And the fact that I look like I just woke up, put on a velour jogger over my nightgown and hopped carefree onto my stylin new ride? Completely intentional as well.

Earlier in the morning we went to breakfast, and I tried my hand at food porn photography:Not quite what I was hoping for. (It might have been helpful if I had remembered to take photos before digging in - smeared red pepper coulis is probably not attractive in any light, I would think).

Went for a swing around the hood. Nice day for it. Didn't fall off or kill myself: It's like riding a bike.

Napped. Chatted on the phone. Wrote in my journal. Read tarot cards. Chatted with Joosh. Hunted online for reviews of the city's best Carrot Cake - really just wanted the cream cheese frosting, and Portland's infinitely discriminating Foodies helped a sister out by continually reviewing different options based on their components, cake and frosting, instead of just whole enchilada. Awesome.

Headed out to "A Piece Of Cake" which was well-reviewed, conveniently close to the Watson's and claimed to be voted "Best Cake In Portland." Which is maybe not the whole truth, as it turns out. It was mighty fine, don't get me wrong, especially for the vegan and gluten-free options we sampled (yes, yes, I'm turning into THAT person, whatever) but I don't know that I would say best in the city. In fact, having satisfied the chocolate itch but not the Carrot Cake need, the next day I bought slices of Vegan Carrot Cake and Vegan Wheat Free Oatmeal Cake from New Seasons and both were amazing, much more satisfying than the carrot option from the night before. Maybe my error was in purchasing Cupcake cake, instead of Slices of Cake cake.

Anyway, went to Sushi at the old favorite. The kids did very well and the food was huge, fresh, delicious and cheap, as per usual (the best part though was the fact that Sarah and Jakob threw us into the parties-of-six-or-more category that can leave a cell number and wait somewhere warm to be called back to a ready table, instead of freezing our collective buns off outside with the rest of the shnooks - since the Watson's live so close, we kicked it at the house and then hightailed it over apres phone call).

Then back to the house for statements like "Ugh, I'm so full" and Jakob's cute attempts to stall bedtime, and a little bit of baby snuggle time for me.

The object(s) of my affection (the one in pink, with the round head, and the one in black, also with a round head, though the one in blue bearing a slight resemblance to Ben Affleck is no chopped liver and does tell a wicked story).

Can I just take a minute to say: Baby snuggles are the best best best. Followed by cupcakes. (Which were totally good, don't let my curmudgeonly withholding of the "Best In Portland" moniker deter you. The only thing that should deter you is the scary "Amby's-Kitty-Cat-Pee-Grandma" style decor of the interior of the shop... dusty old 1950's aprons, weird ceramic antique-ish tea sets, boxes and boxes and SHOEBOXES of random single cards for all occasions, including some in Spanish and Russian. I wish I'd taken photos. Oh wait, you can see a small one right here, but it really only scratches the quaint surface).

More bad food photos for you. Chocolate Cherry, Carrot, Lemon White Chocolate Chiffon, Chocolate Caramel and Chocolate with Vanilla Frosting. Three of these vegan & wheat free, if I'm not mistaken, but I can't remember which three.

We divided each in quarters and went to town, but were bested by 3 and 4 quarters each. I'm told that the next day Jakob said "I'm going to have one of Amber's cups!" which is especially cute since I didn't think he had even spotted them the night before. Smooth operator, and cute to boot.

The piece de resistance of my entire birthday, however, was this:

I keep opening that sucker up and giggling. Eventually it will probably stop making me laugh and start making me feel heinously old since that movie came out TWENTY-FOUR YEARS AGO. But for the moment I am still blissed out on birthday goodness, so who cares, years are just numbers and blah blah blah. And I loves me some Jake Ryan always and forever... even if I am now old enough to be a cougar to his high-school hotness (the only thing about this that doesn't send me screaming to the botox clinic is that the actor was at least 25 at the time of filming, and while maybe not totally kosher, that's still better matched with 32 than 18 will ever be - too bad I keep getting older while Jake is frozen in cinematic time). Sigh.

Ketchup, part 1: Oh, Canada.

There's no good reason for me not to have been updating with photos and interesting ("interesting" perhaps) tidbits for the last month (and them some). I'm lazy, I suppose. Or just really really really lost in my own head, so much so that I have a hard time putting the speed-of-light/off-they-rush-into-the-ethers thought bubbles out on the page in readable words. Plus it's pretty much Bexy that reads this little vanity project, and we talk weekly, so c'mon, whatevs, right? Except my visual descriptions of photos can only go so far, I would assume... So here are a bazmillion catch-ups for the last month or 6 weeks or so:

Trip to Oh, Canada.

Though I had been aiming for Italy, I was way to busy with my last project (did I say project? I meant to say debacle) to plan and execute such a trip for Joosh's 35th birthday (yep, 35, not a typo). But I did promise the old man that we'd get out of the country, and so out of the country we went. After pit-stopping at the Peet's in Vancouver, WA (conveniently located just off the 5, and open quite early, thank you Peetniks), we drove up I-5 to Hwy 101 and enjoyed the beautiful scenery all the way up to Port Angeles where we hopped a 90 minute Ferry to Victoria, Vancouver Island, Beautiful British Columbia, Canada (hard to fit on a post card, eh?). I saw two small whales on the voyage over, so it was already a terrific trip for me. The only bummer was that our coffee and pastries from 7 that morning had pretty much worn off by 1 but the items they passed off as food on the boat was sadly lacking in a) substance b)nutrition and c)anything without meat contained therein.


Joosh's "mmmmm" face at the only vegetarian items we could find, nachos and sliced veggies. I am eating a super gross chicken sandwich (cold) with a piece of pineapple slickering across the boiled chicken surface. Mmmmmm, indeed. Oh well, what can you do. Next time I'll bring a picnic.

Here we are on the Ferry, blowin' in the wind* and fairly freezing. Joosh may have been wearing shorts (quelle suprise) but I can't recall for sure. (Please excuse his fuzzy neck - the last time I buzzed his head, we forgot to attend to the neck region. It was about an inch longer than the hair on his head. Ah well, all the more to gross out our North-of-the-Border compatriots, I guess).
Actually, maybe the neck fuzz was why we were so harshly questioned at the border crossing! In retrospect, it probably wasn't that harsh, but somehow I felt like I didn't have the correct answers, and that I looked obviously guilty each time I looked at Joosh to see if he was going to answer the interrogator or if I should. Guilty of what, you ask? Absolutely nothing, unless toting a bottle of California champagne over the border is a crime! Authority figures make me nervious, I guess. Even 5'3" slender women in funny hats. It was the clipboard. And her cold cold stare.

We arrived in the afternoon at our first night's destination, Fairburn Farm, in Cowichan Valley. I found it through this website, and as it reminded me of the Agritourismos of Italy, I thought it would be a fitting locale. Plus, you know, Water Buffalo. How could I pass that up?

It was a lovely, old-fashioned, low-key, mellow, not particularly quiet between the rooms sort of place, but incredibly restful otherwise. (Like, the gal at Orangette went there on her honeymoon? Um, quiet sex only, in the cold bathroom, I would think, unless you wanted your neighbors to have an earful of your wheeeeee-we're-newlyweds!!!!!!!!). One bummer for me was that I selected our room because it had a jacuzzi tub, only to find out it was a jacuzzi tub for one. Duh.


This is the only remotely decent shot I have of our room, and it is both blurry and vaguely psycho. Better photos on the owner's website, I suppose.


This is the view out our window.



These are two very tired, very wind-blown, pretty darn hungry travelers. Dinner was not scheduled for a few hours, however, so we napped.

Dinner was amazing, I thought. Everything was local, most of it grown on the property. Unfortunately the vegetarian entree lacked any panache because it was just the fish dish without the fish. So just vegetables in a non-fishy broth. Probably boring. Sorry, honey. My fish was awesome (smoked something or other, monkfish, I think? I can't remember but it was perfect). The salad was the last of the heirloom tomatoes (uh, oops) with water buffalo mozzerella cheese (I gave Joosh my cheese and took his "vile" tomatoes) and incredible balsamic vinegar and smoked salt (kill me delicious). There was an AWESOME risotto with wild mushrooms with a slab of sauteed squash (very meaty, a bit buttery, yum). And the desert was an incredible butternut squash tart - rich, creamy, delicious, perfectly lightly spiced, gah! - and honeyed semi-freddo. Dude. So good. Did I take a photo? No. I loves me some food bloggers, but any ability in that department has yet to make itself known in my pic-taking skills to date.

I didn't get a photo of the Water Buffalo running by the window at breakfast the next morning, either. You can view them here or here. They were, no other word for it, rad.

I did ask Jooshy to take a photo of the garden while I paid the bill and asked for a recommendation for that night somewhere else on the island (oh hey, did I mention we were there on Canadian Thanksgiving? Yeah. We were. Cause I am an EXCELLENT planner that way). He got half the garden, maybe a 1/3:



We took a mini-ferry (held 18 cars, we were number 18 in line an hour before it left, and they took USD, for which I was extremely thankful since had about .35 Canadian on me) to Brentwood. We could have driven, but Mara at the Farm had suggested the Ferry, and thank goodness she did because they closed the trans-Canada highway in both directions right at the off-shoot for this Ferry, just before we got there. I tried to figure out why, but never did get the story.

The baby ferry (Joosh is standing next to our car):



We ended up at a new upscale spa at Sidney Pier where Mara had recently done some consulting. It was just what you'd expect of a newly developed seaside town, right along a new and perfectly landscaped strolling promenade, with the requisite "steakhouse" on the water, and what looked like Timeshare Condos (gah!) stretching along the shore. We ate a late lunch/early dinner at the restaurant, and I watched a Vietnamese couple pull crabs out of traps at the end of the pier. We spent the rest of the afternoon/evening chilling in the room, staring at the water and watching Canadian TV (tons of commercials for, about, or referring to Hockey, no kidding. They truly love that icy madness up there, man. Even the commercial for like, the local coffee chain, was about Hockey).

We got up early and headed back for Victoria, not sure if we'd get on the early Ferry or not. Apparently all the Canucks were headed to Washington to take advantage of our ridiculously depressing dollar (on par with Canada's while we were there, probably worse now, but I truly cannot bear to look right now) on what was essentially their "Black Friday". Enjoy your lead poisoning, suckers?

Back on the Ferry (Where's Waldosho?):



Oh look, there he is:



Taking a slow leisurely drive back to Portland, we stopped here:



And here:















And saw this:


And this:


It was beautiful, peaceful, restorative, restful, and just a long long drive. When we got back, it was back to work for both of us, though the viability and certitude of my particular project was crashing to a close. Well, my involvement anyway. Que Sera, apparently.

*Every time I say or hear the phrase "Blowing in the wind" I think of K-Dog and her awesome impression of Jodie Foster in the movie "Nell"... "Meeee, Nellllll. Bloooooowin eeennnn da weeeeeen" in a tone most akin to something like an actual deaf person forming unheard words (or more simply, kind of like an unkind person doing their best impression of a mentally handicapped child). Killed me every single time. J and I can still crack each other up by imitating K's spot-on mimicry of Ms. Foster's "Oscar, please" attempts to capture the 'specialness' of the Nell character. Full disclosure: I never saw the movie, but I just know in my heart of hearts (and from previews, I guess) that K has it down pat.