our spring trip, post 5: the coast with Cam, Rach, and Linda

our spring trip, post 4: Portland with Rach, Cam, Poppy, and kitties

Rach is about 22 weeks along here with Poppy, otherwise known now as Baby B.

Little story: one night at Ethiopian food, Rach asked what my guess was for the baby's name,

because I told her I knew. My first guess was Bo, and I was preparing a poem for him:

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Little Bo Clear

Had lost his skier

And didn't know where to find her.

He sought and he searched

And he learned with a lurch

She's a photo in his black Steno binder.

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Rachel said, "Nope, not Bo. It's more of a last name." And for a split second, I could nearly see the name in print before my eyes. Out I blurted it, with hardly a thought more! Rachel and Cam were flabbergasted, as was I, because none of us know anyone by this name. They just made it up then later discovered it is a last name. So, I am feeling pretty good/weirded out about that little guessing situation. Right now, for the low low price of $39.99, I will tell ye your futures...

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Zoralee takes to Cam like a duck to water. She especially loves for him to chase her down the hallway, but she'll make do with whatever activity gives her the chance to flirt it up.

Ruling the world isn't easy. Believe you me.

Aunt Rachel let Zoralee unwind a basketful of yarn one evening.

You can see there Sumo joining in on the yarning of the living room. (last two pics by Rachel)

Thanks, Rach and Cam, for the fabulous week! We love to hang out, eat delicious foods from all about Portland, take pretty drives, and laugh and laugh. And get totally inspired to clean up our lives from one simple episode of "Clean House."

zodiac boots

I mentioned these boots in passing awhile back. They are fantastic. I went on a boot buying frenzy one time and wound up with like five pairs of boots. I hadn't meant for it to happen. I just kept winning bids on ebay. My competition sense overrode my common sense, see. Except in this case.

I have to be honest though. When I wear these particular boots, which is rare, but which I had opportunity to do several weeks ago for a show of my brother's music that I played in, I have two nearly paralyzing negative feelings, which I'm fixing to tell you about. Fortunately, they have corresponding redemptive feelings that I can try to focus on.

Sad thought #1: It's a solid bummer that every girl can't have a pair of boots like this. No kidding, I try to avoid the eyes of any onlookers who are not hiding their jealousy well. It breaks me up inside - not enough to hand over my boots, you know, but enough to be heartsick. I like competition in sports and games, just for fun, but then I wish we could all win. Am I reading jealousy into their eyes, because these boots are THAT cool to me? I dunno. You tell me. Are they sweet? Before you answer, you should know that the soles are made of a really unique, grippy rubber. Also, it takes time, on the order of minutes, to put on each boot, so you totally get into the zone of wearing them. The old school zone of corsets and fancy dresses and barn dances. What clothing articles take time to put on, in these casual, flippant days? (I realize long time lacers could be considered negative, because the whole time you're thinking, "Gosh, if I fall off a horse and my foot gets stuck in the stirrup, no way I'm kicking these things off. I'm getting THRASHED by that runaway horse.") So, there's the first sadness.

A redemptive realization that I'm just now having is this, though: because of the miracle of blogging, at least you people know they exist and can be on the lookout for a pair of your own! They are a brand called Zodiac. Most of the Zodiac boots that come up on google images are pretty westerny for my tastes, but gosh, these ones are great, right? And I found out in the Dallas/Fort Worth airport recently that cowgirl boots are way in style with dark jeans and silky tops, especially if you sit in a waiting area with a laptop and do very important business.

shakin' an egg......in these boots

(thanks for the pic, Heather)

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Sad thought #2: It's a crying shame that I haven't got the calves to properly fill out these boots. I really cinch 'em down to where zero tongue is showing, and there's still space. On the other hand, Zoralee is destined to have thicker legs than me (how could she not?), so she will be stunning when she wears them with shorter skirts.

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Or any of you would look stunning, if you paid me several hundred dollars for these boots.

break from trip pics - red sweater day back in January

I just downloaded a bunch of pictures from old camera cards. Here's this one of the non-planned red sweater day in our house, waaaay back in time, when Z had only two teeth on the bottom. So young! And yet....it was only three months ago.

Weird thing about kids - growth is woven into every moment; there is rarely enough stagnancy to allow holding onto a particular stage or way of their being. I can only really grasp who Zoralee is by thinking of her right now, with her personality exactly as developed as it is, at this precise age of 16 months and two weeks. I can't mentally undo her progress. On the other hand, you people who haven't seen her in awhile (if ever), you know her by images and stories; she occupies one-dimensional spaces in your brains, so that when you see her again, you have to adjust forward. Try as I may, it's nearly impossible to adjust backwards.

our spring trip, post 3: Zoralee's balcony speech

-- in Portland at Uncle Cam and Aunt Rachel's house --

(I have a truckload of Portland and Sequim pics, so they'll come in reasonable batches.)

moment of decision

our spring trip, post 2: seeing Jason (yaaaay!)

open seats + a sleeping child = glorious airplane moment getting to know the motel room first thing

we three

to lounge in the hot tub or read my book? oh, the questions a girl faces...

out to eat Z carried her Sassy Seat to and from breakfast each day (note the industrious expression).

Here she's also trying on my shoes, not an efficient combination.

Let's just say if she'd have been playing basketball, she would not have been called for traveling.

our spring trip, post 1: the people of our travels

Three airplanes took Z and I to the southwest for a sweet and short reunion with Jason after six weeks apart. These are some of the characters we saw, heard, or interacted with. (When I have better internet, I'll post pics and tell of our travels after that point, including Portland and Sequim. For immediate reportage on our time in Portland, you could visit Rachel's blog or this link at Christi's blog.)

• In one airport, Zoralee gave her tiny plastic horses to a little Indian boy in purple tennis shoes. Sidenote: I can already hear my mother saying, "She was probably a girl! See how confusing it is when people don't dress their children like obvious boys or girls?" To which I reply, "Yes, I see now," because it took me several minutes to decide boy, and I'm still not willing to bet the farm. However, we put Zoralee in a thick plaid hand-me-down jacket today, a very boyish article, and she looked more like herself than in pink, that's for sure. I thought mauve pants would even her out, but she was called a boy with the utmost of confidence by a grandmotherly store clerk. End of sidenote. The Indian boy. He accepted Z's peace offerings as she placed them in his hands one by one, and then he promptly threw them about the waiting area. Z sat on my lap and stared at him, as she does new people, and was resolute to not go with him when he tried to drag her away by the wrist.

• I speculated that the boy's parents were married by arrangement. She was young, very beautiful, and sullen; he must've had 15 years on her and was not a handsome or friendly man. His eyes were harsh and cold. The two of them expressly avoided communication with each other, and she exuded the sentiment that the sooner he dropped over of a heart attack, the better.

• On our longest flight, from Seattle to L.A., we shared a seat with a very affectionate, Asian, teenage, lesbian couple. It was our most random seat pairing, wouldn't you agree? The gal right next to us took an immediate interest in Zoralee, and was very helpful the whole flight long, during her breaks from cuddling. At one point, as I was nursing Z, she pulled the blanket aside and peeked in to see how Z was doing. It was really funny. There wasn't a lot of verbal exchange, or rather, when I tried that, I was met with a blank stare, but she was so patient as Z passed her piles of books and toys.

• In the motel restaurant one morning, Zoralee was sat up to the table in her Sassy Seat when she was approached by a 10-year old boy with fuzzy red hair, who wore a t-shirt that said, "GOD WINS." He jumped around and played peek-a-boo and generally set about entertaining Z, while his mother tried to persuade him to come eat. Later we saw him in the hall playing with a yo-yo which he had taken up the day before; turned out our rooms were across the hall from each other. He asked Zoralee's name, and when I told him, he said, "Well that's just cute," like a kind, old man.

• One night, I could hear the people next door arguing, though actually, it was the woman doing the work. Phil just listened.

• Generally speaking, it surprises me how loud people in motels are late at night, both in their rooms and walking down the hallways. It's like they forget they are in a place where other people have specifically come and paid good money to sleep. The people who wish to sleep might even have babies, you know? And the babies might have a hard time settling down when there are loud, sporadic noises, conversations, knocks on doors and subsequent yelling to "come on out, Hank! The car's started!" Hello. Hi. Yeah, we're on the other side of a really thin door from you, and since it's the middle of the night, we're sleeping. Last night I fantasized about opening our door and slapping a sign on the outside that said, "WE'RE SLEEPING. SHUT YER PIE HOLE." Why pie hole, I don't know. Just seems like a redneck intervention is the only thing that would get through.

• In the same store where Z was called a boy (though that's hardly newsworthy; it happens continually), a man walked up to Jason, who was holding Z, and said to Z in a reeeeally high-pitched, loud voice, "Hiiiii! How are youuuuuuuuu???" I guessed by his behavior that he was deaf or mentally handicapped, so I smiled at his joy over Zoralee. But then he said to Jason "Adorable" in a super low base voice at normal speed! It surprised us both. Then he repeated the whole thing, verbatim. "Hiiiiiii! How are youuuuuuu???" to Z, and this time he grabbed her face. Jason pushed his arm down and away. It was kind of freaky. Then he repeated "Adorable" in the base voice again. Oh my gosh; it was just really, really strange. Almost like he was possessed. But I think he was just drunk.

Zoralee....and a few others of us

Z and Auntie Rachel during her visit a couple weekends ago

the twos of us

Grandpa Gene made this little push cart for Z. She loves it! She started off with stuffed animals then graduated up to real. But it's her ultimate favorite to be the cargo.

"Guh buh, guh buh, guh buh, guh buh"

Interpretation: good boy, good boy, good boy, good boy Auntie Heather is the ride giver here, complete with conductor style cap.

feeding the horses with Grandpa Larry

first time up the driveway, which we're on or near each day....

...necessitating a SLOW sign

(permanent marker on the back of a large weather-proof "For Sale" sign)

- Though they might not be recognizable to you yet, this is Z and Poppy in a couple years. -

skyping Jason

the curly ways (of hair and blogs)

And I thank ye for your interest.

Now then, would you let me take a minute to work out some mental curls? I know I have said these same things before. I am insecure.

It's like this: I feel like a shallow, egotistical maniac posting hair pictures (or practically any pictures having to do with me or my own family) while young girls somewhere on the same globe are being forced to fix their hair for another day in the sex trade industry, and a child is lying underneath a rubble heap after an earthquake, and old and sick people are forgotten by society, and worse yet, their own families. Even in my own world, heartache lurks. Those close to me are trapped under mountains of debt, or the sickening anxiety of having their voices taken, or relational confusion.

This is one reason my blogging is so sporadic. I sit down to post yet another scrap of silliness that seems irrelevant to the suffering of the world. It may be meaningful to me, and somewhat to my family and friends, but I feel like a fool that this blog is not an intentional social commentary. It's not a forum on faith, politics, or social justice. It's just not. It's actually an online family time capsule. I think about the other things, and have other communities within which to face those truths and ask what to do about them (some of them your blogs), but not here. And this makes me feel very guilty and very stressed out. It's not an accurate picture of the whole me. And yet, I can't change it. I simply don't have (or am not making) time right now for it all. It's so much easier and quicker for me to document what I know... which is what I see around me...which is my family...and, in this case, my hair. So what does all of this mean, Tamie, from an Enneagramic perspective?!

I ran into an old high school friend the other day, and in the middle of telling me that her father in law had just died unexpectedly, she said she'd been waiting for me to post pics of my hair the curly way. It totally threw me.

Thinking about it later, either my old friend is an incredibly selfless individual to have the presence of mind for my hairdo in the midst of her own trauma, or selfless and selfish aren't such a big part of this picture as I'm making them to be. I guess, I think, I hope we need the little things - knowing how your friend's trip went and if your grandma is feeling okay today - to get through life, to enjoy life and each other, to endure heartache, to balance us out from all of the other craze. Right? You guys probably already know this. It's me who needs to work it out.

So, my self-reminders are 1. it's okay that my blog is trivial in the overall scheme of the universe, because we shouldn't take blogs for accurate portrayals of people as their whole selves, and 2. if we care only about ourselves (and then, only the surface things), and choose blindness to our neighbor's joys and sorrows, we're really missing out, both on reality and the chance to affect reality.

So there. Thank you again. In closing, let's all do our part to help a friend or enemy in need, and would you like to see a pair of fan-frickin'-tastic boots, the result of an ebay frenzy I went on several years ago? Okay then. Here they are.

Um...........

DRATS! I must not've downloaded them. Another time then. Another shallow, shallow time.