Winter in Southern Oregon:
Winter in Michigan:
Winter in Idaho:
Winter in Wyoming:
Actually, Easter in Wyoming.
Showing posts with label oregon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label oregon. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Monday, August 27, 2012
The Nutty Bird
When I was a pre-teen, my grandparents on my mummy's side, Rod and Joyce (you can seem him on this post ) owned a frozen yogurt and sandwich shop in Pendleton, Oregon.
My sister and I worked there one summer (or two, I don't remember, but my grandparents were gypsies and never stayed in place for longer than a year, so I doubt they owned it that long). I have a couple funny memories of that place, the first being that Pendleton has a large Native American population and one gentleman in particular used to come in frequently. He always wanted the chili and he would walk in, cross his arms, and bellow,
"CHILI BEAN!" in this terrifying, deep voice.
Not "chili beans," in the plural form, just
"CHILI BEAN!"
He was the largest man I had ever seen, and though he didn't dress in native garb completely (I seem to remember a cowboy hat, wranglers, and a more authentic looking Indian type jacket), he was very unmistakably Native American, and let me tell you, rather frightening.
He also would let out a massive fart before he left.
Also, rather frightening.
Anyway, my other fondest memory was of a sandwich they invented.
It was called The Nutty Bird.
Ruebens? Love 'em.
Turkey, cream cheese and cranberry? Delish.
Ham and swiss? Tasty.
Subway Italian Trio with all the veg, hold the cheese, extra banana peppers and salt and pepper? Yum.
But The Nutty Bird? The one and only? Divine. Heaven in a pita. Yes, ma'am.
Make one.
You'll thank me later.
The Nutty Bird
Layer in one pita:
sliced turkey
cream cheese
avocado
tomato
sprouts! (Sprouts are underutilized and deserve an exclamation point). Also, you can have the kids grow them in a mason jar and call it skool.
Drizzle with Thousand Island dressing, your favorite brand or homemade.
Sprinkle with sunflower seeds. Lots of 'em.
Devour.
Along with the scent of Jafra cosmetics, this is a favorite Gramma Joyce legacy.
Homemade Thousand Island
3/4 cup mayo, or half mayo and half sour cream
1/4 cup chili sauce or ketchup
1 tablespoon dill relish (use sweet if you want, just don't ever come back here. We are no longer friends)
1 teaspoon lemon juice
salt and freshly ground pepper
My sister and I worked there one summer (or two, I don't remember, but my grandparents were gypsies and never stayed in place for longer than a year, so I doubt they owned it that long). I have a couple funny memories of that place, the first being that Pendleton has a large Native American population and one gentleman in particular used to come in frequently. He always wanted the chili and he would walk in, cross his arms, and bellow,
"CHILI BEAN!" in this terrifying, deep voice.
Not "chili beans," in the plural form, just
"CHILI BEAN!"
He was the largest man I had ever seen, and though he didn't dress in native garb completely (I seem to remember a cowboy hat, wranglers, and a more authentic looking Indian type jacket), he was very unmistakably Native American, and let me tell you, rather frightening.
He also would let out a massive fart before he left.
Also, rather frightening.
Anyway, my other fondest memory was of a sandwich they invented.
It was called The Nutty Bird.
Ruebens? Love 'em.
Turkey, cream cheese and cranberry? Delish.
Ham and swiss? Tasty.
Subway Italian Trio with all the veg, hold the cheese, extra banana peppers and salt and pepper? Yum.
But The Nutty Bird? The one and only? Divine. Heaven in a pita. Yes, ma'am.
Make one.
You'll thank me later.
The Nutty Bird
Layer in one pita:
sliced turkey
cream cheese
avocado
tomato
sprouts! (Sprouts are underutilized and deserve an exclamation point). Also, you can have the kids grow them in a mason jar and call it skool.
Drizzle with Thousand Island dressing, your favorite brand or homemade.
Sprinkle with sunflower seeds. Lots of 'em.
Devour.
Along with the scent of Jafra cosmetics, this is a favorite Gramma Joyce legacy.
Homemade Thousand Island
3/4 cup mayo, or half mayo and half sour cream
1/4 cup chili sauce or ketchup
1 tablespoon dill relish (use sweet if you want, just don't ever come back here. We are no longer friends)
1 teaspoon lemon juice
salt and freshly ground pepper
Monday, April 2, 2012
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas
Why? Why do the Road Trips God curse me every time? Is it something I said? Have I wronged them somehow?
Though not as mind-numbingly terrifying, white-knucklingly awful, brain-meltingly horrifying, as some I've been through and lived to tell the tale, this kind of driving is not my idea of a good time. I now understand why people retire in Florida. If it weren't for my dislike of 'gators and bugs bigger than my bread box, I'd be there now.
On the plus side, I now need all two hands and two feet to count the number of highways I've shut down over the years. That's an accomplishment not many can boast. I barely make it through the White Witch's Winter Wonderland, my eyes blood shot from the force of the defroster melting my face, finger nail scratches on the windows, small children hyped up on the emergency candy supply (chewing makes them talk less which is a bonus when you are scared beyond belief and need quiet to plan your own funeral), blocks of ice eerily similar in size to the one that sunk the Titanic stuck to the windshield wipers, bladders about to burst, and the Lord's Prayer bursting forth out of my mouth in intermittent gasps, when I see friendly state troopers turning everyone back from the Mountain of Death and Dismemberment. Where are such friendly troopers when I attempt to go up the mountain, huh? Why are they always waiting at the bottom for me? Are they biding their time in order to judge my state of mind when I finally slide down on the black ice?
Hey, Roger Roger, here comes the Mommobile now. Gettin' a good look as she fishtails by...yeppers, by golly, her hair is white and there's a Twizzler stuck to her ear. That calls it for me: shut this mountain down, boys.
Roger that, over and out.
It really doesn't matter what time of year I plan a road trip. It doesn't matter what state lines I plan to cross. It doesn't matter what the weather men say. If your crops are in a drought, dear readers, I can save them. Either that, or bury them forever in snow: potAYto, potAHto.
Now no more silliness. I must go unpack my suitcase; I'm fairly certain there's a small child in there somewhere eating all my Twizzlers.
Do you have a talent/gift for disaster that rivals mine? My shattered nerves would love to hear it.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Paint, Unicorns, and Drowned Ancestors
I own three cameras (not counting my phone) but I can't make any of them work. One had its batteries fried inside it (they sorta 'sploded), one is brand spanking new but either its a lemon or the only AAA batteries I can find are dead as a doornail, and the other is the camcorder which also takes still pictures but it needs to be charged and I don't which one of our 3354839.34i87 cords and wires and plug in thingies will do the trick.
So, I can't put up photos of our cute house. But that's okay because most certainly there'd be a two foot high gremlin with his fingers up his nostrils stealing the camera anyway.
I'm not much of a decorator. Some women (you know who you are) are really amazing at knowing what to buy, what not to buy, where to put it, what colors to use, etc. I'm not that woman. And after our little stint as professional parents came to a close, we were forced to realize we don't own anything. Here's what we had in June:
each other.
boxes of clothes.
boxes of books.
a Kitchen-aid mixer.
photos.
That's it. Not a stick of furniture or a wooden spoon with which to stir the spaghetti sauce which is fine actually, because you can't make spaghetti without a pot.
So, little by little, we've managed to get the bare necessities: a sectional couch that looks like everyone else's brown sectional couch except ours is stuffed with spike balls, a free kitchen table with four chairs (count the people in our family and you may see the problem, but hey, the kids have small tushies and can share), a bunk bed, a mattress set, some Goodwill dishes, and an embarrassing number of pizza cutters and ice cream scoops. Why? I don't know. Evidently every time I was in a thrift shop the past three months, I had a panic attack that we would someday have pizza and/or ice cream and have nothing with which to slice/scoop. So, if the world indeed ends in 2012 like John Cusack said it would, I will at least have my pizza cutters and ice cream scoops. Cuz there might be zombies or something. I don't know if there will be, but it's only logical. I can slice em up and then scoop out their brains.
Anyway, I was supposed to be walking you through our house. So, back to the decorating. The only successful thing I've done with decorating is my collection of black and white photos. It's our Family Wall and it's come with us no matter where we've gone. I think that sentence is grammatically WRONG, but you get my drift. Everyone is our relative, some we knew personally, some are much too far gone for us to have known. One is of Mike's aunt who is standing in front of the projects of NY city where she grew up: a pretty Italian girl with her black hair blowing in the breeze and wearing gloves and a scarf that look fashionable now but were probably all she owned to keep the cold out. Another favorite is my great, great, great Grandma (totally guessing the number of greats there) Loretta, who rumor has it, died after being baptized in the Columbia River in 1877. I'd love to know if this family legend has any truth to it and Cora and I plan on doing some genealogy this school year. Also on the wall: my dad as a chubby toddler, both of my grandpas in their military uniforms, my grandpa as a baby in the arms of his mom who looked like a totally rockin' '20s flapper, my mom and my mom-in-law as curly haired little girls, and plenty of my own kids in black and white.
We also bought: a hutch that doubles as a tv stand for our wee little tv, and several dressers. You remember the craigslist dresser, right? So, being me, I of course had to take as many shortcuts as possible with this thing, in terms of making it presentable. It is beautiful wood with scalloped edges and just lovely, but some dingbat had painted it diarrhea brown. No problem, says I, we'll buy the cheapest white paint on the market and that'll be that. Well, I thought I bought the "paint and primer in one" deal, but I did not, and the diarrhea turned the weirdest shade of pepto bismol pink. A second coat did not solve this predicament. I was in a pickle. Also, I was out of paint. Also, I was in trouble with my mother in law for getting paint on her patio. That reminds me, if you're reading this, honey, will you go over to your Mom's and clean that up? Thanks, love muffin! Anyway, at this point I was really getting annoyed with myself and had to go buy primer. Then I had to go buy more paint. Then I was really high on fumes and started painting unicorns and sunbeams everywhere. Eventually I got my dresser white. Even though it was for Anna and she was mad that I covered up the pepto pink. Ungrateful pixie!
So when you're me, this is how you buy a used dresser:
1. Risk your life and almost get chopped into pieces by craigslist sellers in remote locations. Spend $30.
2. Paint with cheapest paint possible. I bought a small can because I actually had two dressers to paint: $10. The other one had to be painted because it was owned by smokers. Smokers who evidently crawled inside their dresser to do their smoking.
3. Go back to Lowes.
4. Buy primer. $5.
5. Whine a little.
6. Enjoy the fumes. Hum a little Doors.
7. Go back to Lowes. $5.
8. Finish with spray paint.
Bask in the glory that is your$30 $50 dresser. Easy as pie! Except I may or may not have killed a couple brain cells. Pretty sure I wasn't using them anyway, so no loss.
Also, when you're me you don't own a pie pan and your kids clamor for chicken pot pie and so you make it in a large skillet. And it looks totally fabulous, like something on the cover of Martha Stewart magazine, and they snarf it all up before you can take a picture. Which you can't do anyway because of all those cameras you can't figure out. But it was pretty. And it was good. And so was my homemade pumpkin spice coffee creamer. Also, no photo.
The end.
So, I can't put up photos of our cute house. But that's okay because most certainly there'd be a two foot high gremlin with his fingers up his nostrils stealing the camera anyway.
I'm not much of a decorator. Some women (you know who you are) are really amazing at knowing what to buy, what not to buy, where to put it, what colors to use, etc. I'm not that woman. And after our little stint as professional parents came to a close, we were forced to realize we don't own anything. Here's what we had in June:
each other.
boxes of clothes.
boxes of books.
a Kitchen-aid mixer.
photos.
That's it. Not a stick of furniture or a wooden spoon with which to stir the spaghetti sauce which is fine actually, because you can't make spaghetti without a pot.
So, little by little, we've managed to get the bare necessities: a sectional couch that looks like everyone else's brown sectional couch except ours is stuffed with spike balls, a free kitchen table with four chairs (count the people in our family and you may see the problem, but hey, the kids have small tushies and can share), a bunk bed, a mattress set, some Goodwill dishes, and an embarrassing number of pizza cutters and ice cream scoops. Why? I don't know. Evidently every time I was in a thrift shop the past three months, I had a panic attack that we would someday have pizza and/or ice cream and have nothing with which to slice/scoop. So, if the world indeed ends in 2012 like John Cusack said it would, I will at least have my pizza cutters and ice cream scoops. Cuz there might be zombies or something. I don't know if there will be, but it's only logical. I can slice em up and then scoop out their brains.
Anyway, I was supposed to be walking you through our house. So, back to the decorating. The only successful thing I've done with decorating is my collection of black and white photos. It's our Family Wall and it's come with us no matter where we've gone. I think that sentence is grammatically WRONG, but you get my drift. Everyone is our relative, some we knew personally, some are much too far gone for us to have known. One is of Mike's aunt who is standing in front of the projects of NY city where she grew up: a pretty Italian girl with her black hair blowing in the breeze and wearing gloves and a scarf that look fashionable now but were probably all she owned to keep the cold out. Another favorite is my great, great, great Grandma (totally guessing the number of greats there) Loretta, who rumor has it, died after being baptized in the Columbia River in 1877. I'd love to know if this family legend has any truth to it and Cora and I plan on doing some genealogy this school year. Also on the wall: my dad as a chubby toddler, both of my grandpas in their military uniforms, my grandpa as a baby in the arms of his mom who looked like a totally rockin' '20s flapper, my mom and my mom-in-law as curly haired little girls, and plenty of my own kids in black and white.
We also bought: a hutch that doubles as a tv stand for our wee little tv, and several dressers. You remember the craigslist dresser, right? So, being me, I of course had to take as many shortcuts as possible with this thing, in terms of making it presentable. It is beautiful wood with scalloped edges and just lovely, but some dingbat had painted it diarrhea brown. No problem, says I, we'll buy the cheapest white paint on the market and that'll be that. Well, I thought I bought the "paint and primer in one" deal, but I did not, and the diarrhea turned the weirdest shade of pepto bismol pink. A second coat did not solve this predicament. I was in a pickle. Also, I was out of paint. Also, I was in trouble with my mother in law for getting paint on her patio. That reminds me, if you're reading this, honey, will you go over to your Mom's and clean that up? Thanks, love muffin! Anyway, at this point I was really getting annoyed with myself and had to go buy primer. Then I had to go buy more paint. Then I was really high on fumes and started painting unicorns and sunbeams everywhere. Eventually I got my dresser white. Even though it was for Anna and she was mad that I covered up the pepto pink. Ungrateful pixie!
So when you're me, this is how you buy a used dresser:
1. Risk your life and almost get chopped into pieces by craigslist sellers in remote locations. Spend $30.
2. Paint with cheapest paint possible. I bought a small can because I actually had two dressers to paint: $10. The other one had to be painted because it was owned by smokers. Smokers who evidently crawled inside their dresser to do their smoking.
3. Go back to Lowes.
4. Buy primer. $5.
5. Whine a little.
6. Enjoy the fumes. Hum a little Doors.
7. Go back to Lowes. $5.
8. Finish with spray paint.
Bask in the glory that is your
Also, when you're me you don't own a pie pan and your kids clamor for chicken pot pie and so you make it in a large skillet. And it looks totally fabulous, like something on the cover of Martha Stewart magazine, and they snarf it all up before you can take a picture. Which you can't do anyway because of all those cameras you can't figure out. But it was pretty. And it was good. And so was my homemade pumpkin spice coffee creamer. Also, no photo.
The end.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
The Touch of Home
There is something about the first few nights in a new house...
My favorite sound:
The dishwasher running. Our new one is evidently made for elves, but no matter. It purrs like a kitten and I love the sound it makes when the kids go to bed and it's humming in the background. I really don't know why I love that sound the way I do, it's not even that I hate doing dishes by hand. I even have a thing for Dawn soap. I use it whenever I get the chance. I would totally take a bubble bath in that blue, bubbly stuff. What is it about a dishwasher though and that sound? It sounds like security to me. I know. Weird.
My favorite smell:
Popcorn mingling with hot cocoa and stinky kid feet as we all cuddle on the couch together and watch a movie. I don't even like popcorn or hot cocoa but I do love my kid's stinky feet.
My favorite sight:
Anna's hair all bundled up on the top of her head, Cora's long legs stretched out over way more than her fair share of the couch, and Gianni passed out halfway through Mars Needs Moms, his sticky hands dangling over the side where Milo lays, licking the butter off his fingertips, my hands anchored on his little butt to keep him from falling off, his Buddha belly sticking out from his muscle shirt.
My favorite touch:
My feet on Hubby's lap.
Actually, my feet (one foot, I exaggerate) hurt. I dropped a rather large picture frame and it stabbed me right on top of my Hobbit foot. Now I have a crater on it and it hurts like the dickens. I don't know how I will skip and frolic and chasse and leap and pirouette with dem ballerina babies tomorrow. I'll have to distract them with fairy wands and flower crowns so they don't mutiny.
My favorite idea:
That we are all together again, all five of us, whole and happy, broke but fed, missing our five boys and Marie, tired but blessed; broken picture frames, sore feet and all.
My favorite sound:
The dishwasher running. Our new one is evidently made for elves, but no matter. It purrs like a kitten and I love the sound it makes when the kids go to bed and it's humming in the background. I really don't know why I love that sound the way I do, it's not even that I hate doing dishes by hand. I even have a thing for Dawn soap. I use it whenever I get the chance. I would totally take a bubble bath in that blue, bubbly stuff. What is it about a dishwasher though and that sound? It sounds like security to me. I know. Weird.
My favorite smell:
Popcorn mingling with hot cocoa and stinky kid feet as we all cuddle on the couch together and watch a movie. I don't even like popcorn or hot cocoa but I do love my kid's stinky feet.
My favorite sight:
Anna's hair all bundled up on the top of her head, Cora's long legs stretched out over way more than her fair share of the couch, and Gianni passed out halfway through Mars Needs Moms, his sticky hands dangling over the side where Milo lays, licking the butter off his fingertips, my hands anchored on his little butt to keep him from falling off, his Buddha belly sticking out from his muscle shirt.
My favorite touch:
My feet on Hubby's lap.
Actually, my feet (one foot, I exaggerate) hurt. I dropped a rather large picture frame and it stabbed me right on top of my Hobbit foot. Now I have a crater on it and it hurts like the dickens. I don't know how I will skip and frolic and chasse and leap and pirouette with dem ballerina babies tomorrow. I'll have to distract them with fairy wands and flower crowns so they don't mutiny.
My favorite idea:
That we are all together again, all five of us, whole and happy, broke but fed, missing our five boys and Marie, tired but blessed; broken picture frames, sore feet and all.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Houses and What Lies Therein
This coming week we move into our own home. We are a little bit excited. A little thrilled. A little elated and a little frothing at the mouth. It's just been too long (two years) since we've lived somewhere with just us five. That's too long by anyone's standards. We always have adventures in moving and we already know what one of our adventures will be:
We will find something in our new house after oh, say, six months of living there. In our old house in Idaho we found a window after living in that house for two years. A window, you say? Like a window pane, stuck high in a closet somewhere? No, I mean an actual window, in an actual wall, in our actual house, with an actual view into our actual backyard.
Not much gets by us. We're kinda like Nancy Drew married to Frank Hardy. A Bobbsey Twin who hooked up with 007. Velma and Freddy's love child. We are extremely observant human beings. I don't blame you if you feel a little intimidated.
Hey! I just noticed a cup holder in my van! Whoa! When'd that get there?
So anyway, this particular window was finally ferreted out by my detectively skilled #1 Husband who was out in the backyard one day. He came back inside with a peculiar look on his face and told me to go to the bathroom and listen. I did. He leaves. I hear knocking on the wall. I follow the sound. It appears to be coming from the sink. Perhaps it's an Englishman banging two coconuts together? Could it be Eric Idle living under my sink? I look behind the mirror that is hung up behind the faucet. Voila! A view of my husband's baffled face.
We had always kind of wondered why that mirror had a window ledge below it and more than one frame.
Not a lot gets by us.
What the??! Have I always had a dog?
We're like Perry Mason meets Trixie Belden. Shaggy meets Flavia de Luce. Hercule Poirot meets Agatha Christie. Which would be logical seeing as she made him up. Sam Spade meets Cherry Ames. Kate Beckett meets Father Brown.
Anyway, we fully expect to find a bedroom we didn't know was there...or a refrigerator...or something way spiffy, like a garage. Possibly within the first year of living there! I'm very excited. There could be a full basement! Or a second story! Or a hot tub! The possibilities are endless.
We're also looking forward to doing some home improvement and living up to our reputations in that area as well. It may be difficult to live up to the ol' cribbage board holding up the window trick, or the infamous "I'll just plug this hole in the wall with my pants" idea, but we'll try. Don't underestimate us. Maybe we can plug a newly found window with our pants...
Wait, I have pants?!
We will find something in our new house after oh, say, six months of living there. In our old house in Idaho we found a window after living in that house for two years. A window, you say? Like a window pane, stuck high in a closet somewhere? No, I mean an actual window, in an actual wall, in our actual house, with an actual view into our actual backyard.
Not much gets by us. We're kinda like Nancy Drew married to Frank Hardy. A Bobbsey Twin who hooked up with 007. Velma and Freddy's love child. We are extremely observant human beings. I don't blame you if you feel a little intimidated.
Hey! I just noticed a cup holder in my van! Whoa! When'd that get there?
So anyway, this particular window was finally ferreted out by my detectively skilled #1 Husband who was out in the backyard one day. He came back inside with a peculiar look on his face and told me to go to the bathroom and listen. I did. He leaves. I hear knocking on the wall. I follow the sound. It appears to be coming from the sink. Perhaps it's an Englishman banging two coconuts together? Could it be Eric Idle living under my sink? I look behind the mirror that is hung up behind the faucet. Voila! A view of my husband's baffled face.
We had always kind of wondered why that mirror had a window ledge below it and more than one frame.
Not a lot gets by us.
What the??! Have I always had a dog?
We're like Perry Mason meets Trixie Belden. Shaggy meets Flavia de Luce. Hercule Poirot meets Agatha Christie. Which would be logical seeing as she made him up. Sam Spade meets Cherry Ames. Kate Beckett meets Father Brown.
Anyway, we fully expect to find a bedroom we didn't know was there...or a refrigerator...or something way spiffy, like a garage. Possibly within the first year of living there! I'm very excited. There could be a full basement! Or a second story! Or a hot tub! The possibilities are endless.
We're also looking forward to doing some home improvement and living up to our reputations in that area as well. It may be difficult to live up to the ol' cribbage board holding up the window trick, or the infamous "I'll just plug this hole in the wall with my pants" idea, but we'll try. Don't underestimate us. Maybe we can plug a newly found window with our pants...
Wait, I have pants?!
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
A List
Time for one of those list type blog postings. A couple reasons for this:
1. I can't get my thoughts organized cohesively enough to make blackberries segue nicely into ballet, or homeschooling segue into bacon. Actually, there's a lot of bacon in homeschooling, so that might work.
2. I should be making a list of homeschool supplies instead of a list of nonsense. But I'm not. And it's getting harder to deny that school is starting soon. Stoopid back to school specials and sales and commercials. How am I supposed to bask in denial and procrastination if ad genius' keep throwing it in my face? Also, I want a Trapper Keeper. And Sharpies...lotsa Sharpies!
So here are my thoughts, happenings, and desires, posted in a lovely numbered format for you. Try to keep the excitement to a minimum.
1. Last night my smurfs (or is it smurves?) picked blackberries on the side of the road. Today, we make pie. It's another reason to love Oregon, the wild blackberries. They are delicious. Gianni eats them as fast as I can pick them (obviously he can't pick them himself, he's far too busy eating them). He has a strange fear of "pokies," something I believe his hypochondriac sister instilled in him, so it takes him approximately three weeks to approach a bush. We also weren't dressed for picking last night (we were supposed to be taking a bike ride but were ambushed by a strange and irresistible jonesin' for blackberries five minutes in) and so I was forced to carry him a bit. He was nice enough to lay his head on my shoulder and cheer me on by saying, 'you can do it, Mom! I'm not heavy! Just a few more miles to go! Yaaah, Mommy!'
2. My first column for Home Educating Family came out this month. I'd love to tell you how great it looks, but I sort of am not a subscriber. Yet. I will, I swear! But the Trapper Keeper comes first. Budgeting is everything. Anyway, if any of you readers subscribe would you tear out the article entitled Everything I Need To Know I Learned in Sunday School and mail it to me, please? Thanks. It was based on this original blog posting if you want to refresh your memory.
3. We have found a house we very much want to rent so I will let you know if the landlady accepts us. Thinking of delivering fresh blackberry pie to her... It's a super cute 1950s house (yes, very us) in a lovely neighborhood.
4. I entered my first writing contest, but alas, did not win. I didn't expect to, but it would have been a nice shot of motivation. Ah well. Still plugging along on the book: 25,000 words! That's a quarter of the way through! Yaah me!
5. We bought a second car from some of our closest friends, which is just another step in the Get Thee Back To Normalcy Project we've been working on since June 15th. Before you know it, we'll be living like YOU! Like EVERYONE ELSE! Joy, rapture, hallelujah, and pass the bacon! I'm going to dig myself a wonderful rut and never come out. You'll all wonder, where's that strange girl with the fifteen children and the pink carpet and the crazy lifestyle? and I'll be like, here I am, in the rut down here! Basking in normalcy and writing a book. That's me. I may even, I don't know, get a gym membership or something totally Americana like that. Or a Starbucks punchcard!!! Oh yeah. Totally getting one of those. And shop at The Gap!! Nah, I'm never gonna do that. I went on a date with my LuvahBoy last weekend and we went to see Crazy, Stupid Love (cuz when you've been married more than ten minutes the husband goes to see what the wife wants to see) and there's a scene where Ryan Gosling (who may or may not be married to me in The Movie in My Head) tells Steve Carrell he is better than The Gap. And then he makes fun of his Great Clips haircut, which made us laugh because we had literally just walked out of Great Clips not two hours before. With a coupon.
6. Nutella has become a food group 'round these parts. If that's wrong, Roo and Moose don't wanna be right.
7. According to my stats if you type in Fondant Preacher in a search engine, you will eventually be directed to my blog. I find this funny, odd, and weird, since I don't recall ever in my life having written a word about fondant. I've never used the stuff. Wanted to, but never have. I can't buy fondant when I need Sharpies and magazine subscriptions. Also, silverware, beds, garbage cans, towels, chairs, and all that other stuff we have need of and don't own, but would look great in our 1950s style rental house. Dishcloths, waste baskets, curtains, pillows, soap, spoons, bowls, water glasses. Good grief, I should be making lists of other things... Pots, pans, footstools, why did my font just change on me?
8. I don't actually have anything to say about bacon, sorry. Except that's it is excellent on potato and leek pizza.
9. When we went to the coast a few weeks ago, we all went zip lining. Great fun. Gianni had no fear, quite like he is in water. Segue into...: the little water rat taught himself to swim. He's only three! What the?? I don't know if I like it. Water scares me. Anyone who knows me, knows this. I think it goes back to when Cora disappeared during the Episode of Which We Do Not Speak. She was gone for an hour and a half at the age of four, lost in the mountains and I really thought if the kidnappers didn't have her, then I would find her face down in a stream somewhere. At least, that's my psychologist take on it. Maybe I've just seen Jaws too many times. Whatever. Anyway, the last thing Moose needs is more confidence in the water, so I'm not sure his doggy paddle is something to be happy about. If only the water was full of "pokies" he might exercise a little restraint. Anyway, I would put photos of the little man zip lining but it would make his Gramma toss her cookies, so I won't.
10. I don't have a #10 but you can't end a list on a 9. That's be weird.
1. I can't get my thoughts organized cohesively enough to make blackberries segue nicely into ballet, or homeschooling segue into bacon. Actually, there's a lot of bacon in homeschooling, so that might work.
2. I should be making a list of homeschool supplies instead of a list of nonsense. But I'm not. And it's getting harder to deny that school is starting soon. Stoopid back to school specials and sales and commercials. How am I supposed to bask in denial and procrastination if ad genius' keep throwing it in my face? Also, I want a Trapper Keeper. And Sharpies...lotsa Sharpies!
So here are my thoughts, happenings, and desires, posted in a lovely numbered format for you. Try to keep the excitement to a minimum.
1. Last night my smurfs (or is it smurves?) picked blackberries on the side of the road. Today, we make pie. It's another reason to love Oregon, the wild blackberries. They are delicious. Gianni eats them as fast as I can pick them (obviously he can't pick them himself, he's far too busy eating them). He has a strange fear of "pokies," something I believe his hypochondriac sister instilled in him, so it takes him approximately three weeks to approach a bush. We also weren't dressed for picking last night (we were supposed to be taking a bike ride but were ambushed by a strange and irresistible jonesin' for blackberries five minutes in) and so I was forced to carry him a bit. He was nice enough to lay his head on my shoulder and cheer me on by saying, 'you can do it, Mom! I'm not heavy! Just a few more miles to go! Yaaah, Mommy!'
2. My first column for Home Educating Family came out this month. I'd love to tell you how great it looks, but I sort of am not a subscriber. Yet. I will, I swear! But the Trapper Keeper comes first. Budgeting is everything. Anyway, if any of you readers subscribe would you tear out the article entitled Everything I Need To Know I Learned in Sunday School and mail it to me, please? Thanks. It was based on this original blog posting if you want to refresh your memory.
3. We have found a house we very much want to rent so I will let you know if the landlady accepts us. Thinking of delivering fresh blackberry pie to her... It's a super cute 1950s house (yes, very us) in a lovely neighborhood.
4. I entered my first writing contest, but alas, did not win. I didn't expect to, but it would have been a nice shot of motivation. Ah well. Still plugging along on the book: 25,000 words! That's a quarter of the way through! Yaah me!
5. We bought a second car from some of our closest friends, which is just another step in the Get Thee Back To Normalcy Project we've been working on since June 15th. Before you know it, we'll be living like YOU! Like EVERYONE ELSE! Joy, rapture, hallelujah, and pass the bacon! I'm going to dig myself a wonderful rut and never come out. You'll all wonder, where's that strange girl with the fifteen children and the pink carpet and the crazy lifestyle? and I'll be like, here I am, in the rut down here! Basking in normalcy and writing a book. That's me. I may even, I don't know, get a gym membership or something totally Americana like that. Or a Starbucks punchcard!!! Oh yeah. Totally getting one of those. And shop at The Gap!! Nah, I'm never gonna do that. I went on a date with my LuvahBoy last weekend and we went to see Crazy, Stupid Love (cuz when you've been married more than ten minutes the husband goes to see what the wife wants to see) and there's a scene where Ryan Gosling (who may or may not be married to me in The Movie in My Head) tells Steve Carrell he is better than The Gap. And then he makes fun of his Great Clips haircut, which made us laugh because we had literally just walked out of Great Clips not two hours before. With a coupon.
6. Nutella has become a food group 'round these parts. If that's wrong, Roo and Moose don't wanna be right.
7. According to my stats if you type in Fondant Preacher in a search engine, you will eventually be directed to my blog. I find this funny, odd, and weird, since I don't recall ever in my life having written a word about fondant. I've never used the stuff. Wanted to, but never have. I can't buy fondant when I need Sharpies and magazine subscriptions. Also, silverware, beds, garbage cans, towels, chairs, and all that other stuff we have need of and don't own, but would look great in our 1950s style rental house. Dishcloths, waste baskets, curtains, pillows, soap, spoons, bowls, water glasses. Good grief, I should be making lists of other things... Pots, pans, footstools, why did my font just change on me?
8. I don't actually have anything to say about bacon, sorry. Except that's it is excellent on potato and leek pizza.
9. When we went to the coast a few weeks ago, we all went zip lining. Great fun. Gianni had no fear, quite like he is in water. Segue into...: the little water rat taught himself to swim. He's only three! What the?? I don't know if I like it. Water scares me. Anyone who knows me, knows this. I think it goes back to when Cora disappeared during the Episode of Which We Do Not Speak. She was gone for an hour and a half at the age of four, lost in the mountains and I really thought if the kidnappers didn't have her, then I would find her face down in a stream somewhere. At least, that's my psychologist take on it. Maybe I've just seen Jaws too many times. Whatever. Anyway, the last thing Moose needs is more confidence in the water, so I'm not sure his doggy paddle is something to be happy about. If only the water was full of "pokies" he might exercise a little restraint. Anyway, I would put photos of the little man zip lining but it would make his Gramma toss her cookies, so I won't.
10. I don't have a #10 but you can't end a list on a 9. That's be weird.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Oregon Trailings
I haven't lived in Oregon since I was a wee little sprout. Actually, I was a 15 year old sprout, but I was fairly wee considering I stopped getting any taller at the age of 11 and was on a strict no fat, no dessert diet for that year. I wore a size 2, and lived on carbs because I had no idea that those were not diet foods.
Anyhoo, I'm back in Oregon and very delighted to be calling it home. Medford is a cute town, surrounded by mountains. I'd post pictures but our laptop is pushing up daisies and I'm not smart enough to know how to put the memory card thingamabob in the correct flashdrive attached to the right console whatchmacallit on my in-law's computer. I can only do that with the laptop. So, close your eyes and picture it with me:
Trees
Mountains
The Ginger Rogers Theatre!
The Ashland Shakespeare Festival
Rolling wineries. Well, I guess it's the vineyards that are rolling, not the wineries, per se. Unless you've spent too many hours there, sampling. HAHAHAHAHA!
My favorite places to shop: Ross, The Grocery Outlet, TJ Maxx, and a plethora of thrift stores.
The Oregon coast 90 miles away. They have the ocean, don't you know. Also, crab. And crab cakes, and crab patties, and crab salad, and crab omelets, and crab chowder. And shrimp! And shrimp gumbo...and shrimp - well, you get the picture.
a Dutch Bros coffee stand on every corner.
A pediatric dentist who said Gianni and his teeth should just be left alone! Joy and happiness! Rapture!
A choice of swim teams for Miss Cora.
Lots of rental houses that are snatched up too quickly which I find extremely annoying. We can't move until Oct 1, which means it's actually too early to start looking. Which I find extremely annoying. Somewhere out there is a house for meeeeee! With a vacancy sign so you can come see meeeeeee! Gianni and Milo are both good snugglers, you'll be in very good hands. Er, paws.
It's not too far from Idaho, my other home.
Did I mention the crab? And lobster! And lobster stir fry, and lobster pancakes, and fried lobster, and baked lobster, and lobster with gobs of mayonnaise. That last one was a shout out to Ginger, and the first person who tells me what movie she said that in gets a lobster! Not really on the lobster prize.
Anyhoo, I'm back in Oregon and very delighted to be calling it home. Medford is a cute town, surrounded by mountains. I'd post pictures but our laptop is pushing up daisies and I'm not smart enough to know how to put the memory card thingamabob in the correct flashdrive attached to the right console whatchmacallit on my in-law's computer. I can only do that with the laptop. So, close your eyes and picture it with me:
Trees
Mountains
The Ginger Rogers Theatre!
The Ashland Shakespeare Festival
Rolling wineries. Well, I guess it's the vineyards that are rolling, not the wineries, per se. Unless you've spent too many hours there, sampling. HAHAHAHAHA!
My favorite places to shop: Ross, The Grocery Outlet, TJ Maxx, and a plethora of thrift stores.
The Oregon coast 90 miles away. They have the ocean, don't you know. Also, crab. And crab cakes, and crab patties, and crab salad, and crab omelets, and crab chowder. And shrimp! And shrimp gumbo...and shrimp - well, you get the picture.
a Dutch Bros coffee stand on every corner.
A pediatric dentist who said Gianni and his teeth should just be left alone! Joy and happiness! Rapture!
A choice of swim teams for Miss Cora.
Lots of rental houses that are snatched up too quickly which I find extremely annoying. We can't move until Oct 1, which means it's actually too early to start looking. Which I find extremely annoying. Somewhere out there is a house for meeeeee! With a vacancy sign so you can come see meeeeeee! Gianni and Milo are both good snugglers, you'll be in very good hands. Er, paws.
It's not too far from Idaho, my other home.
Did I mention the crab? And lobster! And lobster stir fry, and lobster pancakes, and fried lobster, and baked lobster, and lobster with gobs of mayonnaise. That last one was a shout out to Ginger, and the first person who tells me what movie she said that in gets a lobster! Not really on the lobster prize.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Oregon
Multnomah Falls. Mike assures me that this photo is a bit of an illusion. My sweet punkin is NOT actually about to topple off to his death. There is supposedly a long ledge behind him. I was in the gift shop recovering from a long hike with some retail therapy so I am not responsible for this lovely, if terrifying, shot.
Right after this hike I decided to take up jogging.
My baby girl.
After a day of vacationing, there's only one thing to do: pass out on the hotel bed.
Yaquina Head lighthouse. 114 steps to the top.
Right after this hike I decided to take up jogging.
We took a gorgeous hike in the Rogue Valley as well. Mama was huffin and puffin and vowing to take up jogging immediately if not sooner by the time we reached the top. Darn kids practically ran the entire way, and 21 year old Aunt Sarah was also making me look bad. But it was so worth it and I would love to have a spot like that near me. Right after I take up jogging.
We were so close to the coast that it seemed silly to not go. Unemployed we may be. But we have Holiday Inn points to spend, and Mo's World Famous Chowder House was calling our names. So...we took a weekend vacation.
It's the responsible thing to do.
Uhhh, yeah, there is no illusion in this one. They ARE rather close to toppling off the cliff which pretty much gave Sarah a coronary. Which made them want to get even closer to the edge. Which made her want to throw up. Which made them scoot closer. Which made her smack em and chase them back down the mountain. While I lugged my booty ever farther behind and promised myself to take up jogging.
Anna running from the icy waves.
My baby girl.
After a day of vacationing, there's only one thing to do: pass out on the hotel bed.
Yaquina Head lighthouse. 114 steps to the top.
I am taking up jogging.
A bat ray at the aquarium. A good place for Mike to sing the entire four trillion verses of the B52s Rock Lobster as we wandered through.
Muggin' for the camera.
There are also fish under the glass on the floor. So of course the proper way to view them is to throw yourself prostrate on it and graciously allow everyone else to walk over the top of you.
If anyone knows a surefire way to get a shot of three kids with smiles and open eyes and no bunny ears or sticking out tongues or fingers up their noses ALL AT THE SAME INSTANT, I am open for suggestions.
What is it with me and shots from the back? I just find them ever so artsy.
Yes, of course we all sang "Yellow Submarine."
He's special.
I was going to include a couple shots of my brothers, who I also got to spend some time with, but once again, I can not get a single shot with out bunny ears, crossed eyes, and nose picking, and they're in their 40s, not their terrible twos. Thanks, buttheads.
A bat ray at the aquarium. A good place for Mike to sing the entire four trillion verses of the B52s Rock Lobster as we wandered through.
Muggin' for the camera.
There are also fish under the glass on the floor. So of course the proper way to view them is to throw yourself prostrate on it and graciously allow everyone else to walk over the top of you.
If anyone knows a surefire way to get a shot of three kids with smiles and open eyes and no bunny ears or sticking out tongues or fingers up their noses ALL AT THE SAME INSTANT, I am open for suggestions.
What is it with me and shots from the back? I just find them ever so artsy.
Yes, of course we all sang "Yellow Submarine."
He's special.
I was going to include a couple shots of my brothers, who I also got to spend some time with, but once again, I can not get a single shot with out bunny ears, crossed eyes, and nose picking, and they're in their 40s, not their terrible twos. Thanks, buttheads.
Back in Idaho now and if we don't have some good news, in the form of employment, soon, then I will start charging you all money to read this blog. But you wouldn't pay and then I'd get depressed and start eating too many Cheez-its and that would directly affect the stellar results I am about to see from practically, almost, thinking about taking up jogging.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Lythia Park in Medford, Oregon is a nice place to be in February. We had just been dive bombed by a herd (pack? litter? flock?) of hungry, greedy ducks.
Homeschooling even while on the road. Anna put to good use the boiled up remains of a turkey dinner. Here are all the bones all nicely labeled and drying out. I think she may be one of those uber cool lady forensic scientist or something. She'll probably get her own tv show. Maybe an action figure.
I'm not kidding; Lythia Park has some of the fattest, shiniest, most perfect looking duckies you will ever see. The look like Disney cartoons.
Here's Gramma Nancy on her 85th birthday. She's being all goofy with Cora as they munch on curly ribbon. Oddly enough, this was before she got out the brandy and shot glasses. This girl cracks me up. We heart you, Gramma Nancy!
The girls would like to be duct taped to their Auntie Sarah's side for all of eternity. Sarah lets them sleep with her, takes them to the mall, the movies, shares her earrings, and makes them banana splits bigger than their heads. She works at an ice cream shop, so basically she's the bomb. And the sweetest person on planet earth.
While staying at the Chateau Shafer, there was a whole lotta gymnastics going on. Can you tell Cora just is soooo over it?
Sometimes my camera disappears and when it comes back to Mama there are all sorts of odd photos on it I don't remember taking...
Anna and Aly turn 8 and 5, respectably. I love how Aly is watching Anna.
At the Takashige household I just couldn't resist (not that I tried to) taking this photo of two cute morning people. Note their coffee and laptops and synchronized face shielding from the paparazzi.
At the High House, Gramma reads to her youngest grandchildren. Kary really is thrilled we're back and willing to share Gramma with Gianni. Really. She hides it well. Behind a face of annoyance and frustration. Gianni's Oregon cousin, Aidin, pretty much feels the same way about him. Aidin and Kary may be a match made in toddler heaven.
There's a lot of this happening in our lives right now. Which is nice. Lovely. Because when it's not like this, there's a lot of screaming and hollering and bouncing and munching and noise.
There's a bit of snow in Idaho City. Makes for supreme sledding conditions. That speck of black? Cora.
This is the scene of a crime. I challenged Cora to a snowball fight, and it was epic. She took the time to make her snowballs ahead of time and stacked them on her sled. Then things got ugly. The great big one? It's called The Grand Finale. In spite of that, I so totally won.
The girls got snow shoes for Christmas. They're quite fun. And it burns calories. Like 600 an hour! Can you see the fat just melting right off me?!
It's easier with walking sticks. Also helpful if you get bored and want to practice Jedi fighting skillz.
Oh my gosh! Guess who gave up the binky? This was tragically harder on Mommy than it was on Moose. He promptly forgot about it. I still remember it fondly and with a sad sniffle.
Milo found the holidays to be exhausting, what with all the lying around and eating and such. Fortunately, he has the rest of his life to recover from the stress. Remedy: lying around and eating and such.
So, we're several weeks out of Wyoming, and still as homeless as ever (no, honey, that was not a dig on you - don't be sensitive, pumpkin). We've spent time with all the people we missed and who allegedly, missed us. In fact, they desperately want to miss us again, I do believe... but now we just don't leave. The kids are amazingly flexible, thank goodness, and Mike goes to bed at night seeing job applications floating in front of his dried out eyeballs. We take up a lot of space wherever we go, so thank you to everyone who's been putting up with us. Hopefully, life will get back to a normal routine someday soon, because I know you've all missed my posts about humdrum things like paper towels. I don't have paper towels anymore. Because I don't have a kitchen. Again, honey, not a jab at you. Next stop: Washington. Did someone say Bon Jovi concert? Don't mind if I do!
Homeschooling even while on the road. Anna put to good use the boiled up remains of a turkey dinner. Here are all the bones all nicely labeled and drying out. I think she may be one of those uber cool lady forensic scientist or something. She'll probably get her own tv show. Maybe an action figure.
I'm not kidding; Lythia Park has some of the fattest, shiniest, most perfect looking duckies you will ever see. The look like Disney cartoons.
Here's Gramma Nancy on her 85th birthday. She's being all goofy with Cora as they munch on curly ribbon. Oddly enough, this was before she got out the brandy and shot glasses. This girl cracks me up. We heart you, Gramma Nancy!
The girls would like to be duct taped to their Auntie Sarah's side for all of eternity. Sarah lets them sleep with her, takes them to the mall, the movies, shares her earrings, and makes them banana splits bigger than their heads. She works at an ice cream shop, so basically she's the bomb. And the sweetest person on planet earth.
While staying at the Chateau Shafer, there was a whole lotta gymnastics going on. Can you tell Cora just is soooo over it?
Sometimes my camera disappears and when it comes back to Mama there are all sorts of odd photos on it I don't remember taking...
Anna and Aly turn 8 and 5, respectably. I love how Aly is watching Anna.
At the Takashige household I just couldn't resist (not that I tried to) taking this photo of two cute morning people. Note their coffee and laptops and synchronized face shielding from the paparazzi.
At the High House, Gramma reads to her youngest grandchildren. Kary really is thrilled we're back and willing to share Gramma with Gianni. Really. She hides it well. Behind a face of annoyance and frustration. Gianni's Oregon cousin, Aidin, pretty much feels the same way about him. Aidin and Kary may be a match made in toddler heaven.
There's a lot of this happening in our lives right now. Which is nice. Lovely. Because when it's not like this, there's a lot of screaming and hollering and bouncing and munching and noise.
There's a bit of snow in Idaho City. Makes for supreme sledding conditions. That speck of black? Cora.
This is the scene of a crime. I challenged Cora to a snowball fight, and it was epic. She took the time to make her snowballs ahead of time and stacked them on her sled. Then things got ugly. The great big one? It's called The Grand Finale. In spite of that, I so totally won.
The girls got snow shoes for Christmas. They're quite fun. And it burns calories. Like 600 an hour! Can you see the fat just melting right off me?!
It's easier with walking sticks. Also helpful if you get bored and want to practice Jedi fighting skillz.
Oh my gosh! Guess who gave up the binky? This was tragically harder on Mommy than it was on Moose. He promptly forgot about it. I still remember it fondly and with a sad sniffle.
Milo found the holidays to be exhausting, what with all the lying around and eating and such. Fortunately, he has the rest of his life to recover from the stress. Remedy: lying around and eating and such.
So, we're several weeks out of Wyoming, and still as homeless as ever (no, honey, that was not a dig on you - don't be sensitive, pumpkin). We've spent time with all the people we missed and who allegedly, missed us. In fact, they desperately want to miss us again, I do believe... but now we just don't leave. The kids are amazingly flexible, thank goodness, and Mike goes to bed at night seeing job applications floating in front of his dried out eyeballs. We take up a lot of space wherever we go, so thank you to everyone who's been putting up with us. Hopefully, life will get back to a normal routine someday soon, because I know you've all missed my posts about humdrum things like paper towels. I don't have paper towels anymore. Because I don't have a kitchen. Again, honey, not a jab at you. Next stop: Washington. Did someone say Bon Jovi concert? Don't mind if I do!
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