springing into summer

our spring trip, post 7: clamming

This was my favorite day in a long time. I now love clamming! Never had done it before. Rejuvenating. With the simplest of tools, a bucket and a shovel and possibly a rake, you walk out at low tide and dig into the sand to see if it's the right consistency for clams. Various clam types prefer different sand/mud mixtures, if you can believe that. Picky little critters, but then, what other choices do they get to make in life? This is the height of their self-actualization. Pretty soon, if it's the right environment, you'll start finding clams, their shells already shut tight or maybe just shutting, a stream of water squirting out. It's great. Easter egg hunting on an adult, hunter/gatherer, survivor level.

What you're seeing in the background of this next shot are the legs of a man in his 70's who'd just placed second at the senior Olympics in Vancouver, B.C. Pole vault, I believe. Rad, ain't it?

Z didn't feel well, so she didn't take to clamming like I'd hoped. She stayed close to me and didn't give a fig about the wriggly crabs and worms we unearthed. She wanted to nurse. So there we were, me at a squat, she latched onto my breast, standing in tiny shoes on the ocean bed floor, where hours before there had been enough water to cover us over and would soon be again. That's the kind of timeless, grounding, spiritual experience I like to see around here.

After a few hours of digging up clams, we took them home and made linguine. One of the boys played guitar while my aunt and uncle cooked. I baked bread. We all feasted. It was deeply satisfying to eat those clams in the warm light of a coastal town kitchen, with windblown hair and faces, and to talk about the best way to get the sand out of the clams beforehand, and how to prepare them. It reminded me again of how far removed from our food sources we are most of the time and of how much simple contentment we miss out on because of it. And of how easy it is to get back in touch!

our spring trip, post 6: Sequim

Z and I took Highway 101 from Portland to Sequim, to spend our final week there with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. Zoralee slept nearly the whole time, which was road trip bliss for me. It was sunny, and we glided through forests of thick pine trees. Ahhh, the northwest; nothing like her. We slowed for each tiny town, both to obey the speed laws and to delight in the make-shift structures so indicative of places without zoning codes.

It was stormier in Sequim than usual. One night, the wind was so fierce it blew the sleep right out of us. I love being part of the weather - being affected by it, I mean. It's important.

You just can't know people outside of their homes the way you can from inside, huh? I already know these people well; we'd lived with or near each other in various configurations through the years. But it's been awhile. During this visit, this one week visit, I got a nice long peek into my cousins' lives. I witnessed prom preparations, including the developing plan for asking a particular girl (and the ensuing news that, after the poem had been read and flower received, she'd said yes), college letters of acceptance arriving in the mail, excitement over a motorcycle safety course passed, a summer job offer from Alaska, a fender bender in the old Suburban, working on a video project for Spanish class, and getting ready for an all-state business competition the night before it started. I met or visited with a current or former girlfriend of each cousin. :) True story.

Here's Dalton on his mom's bike. He's bad to the bone (Z following suite), but what's really awesome is his usual ride in the background.

wrestling with Cousin Connor

glow in the dark paint, designed to match Dalton's date's dress

This is Z with P, a little guy my aunt babysits. Playmates are awesome. I cannot WAIT for Zoralee to have a sibling. She needs one like crazy. I need for her to have one like crazy.

The following scenario was not set up. We were out for a day of errand-running, and I peeked back to see how P and Z were doing. They were tired, a bit out of it. But through the brain haze, P reached over and placed his hand near Zoralee. She lifted her hand to his, and they sat this way for several minutes of the drive, not unlike a happy old couple who'd seen a lifetime of loss and gain and still found comfort in togetherness.

Zoralee enjoyed the dogs too, Sophie and Cinch. Here she's trying to rope them. I especially like the shot where she's coincidentally in her leopard pajama top. A real animal trainer.

our spring trip, post 7: Easter

a foggy dawn meeting at the ocean shore to commemorate the Resurrection

later in the day...

Zoralee took her sweet time hunting eggs. 40 minutes to find 12, actually.

She carefully opened an egg, chewed on several of the candies within, and moved on. This pic knocks me out; it's exactly what my sister, Rachel, looked like at this age.

Zoralee and the Chicken Train

I shall try another day to upload a better version. This one's of questionable quality. But, enjoy as you're able!

our spring trip, post 6: Portland friends

Here are the friends we got to visit in Portland.

First up was the Kurtz family. I hadn't seen Jeff and Christi since college, where Christi and I quickly found we had a mutual appreciation of spastic and cornball humor, and where Jeff and Jason (along with Steve W.) lived together for a semester in a haunted house. It was good to recall those days. J&K are certainly passing the baton of old-fashioned silliness on to their three energetic and hilarious boys. We met at the Spaghetti Factory for lunch, where Max, Caden, and Milo engaged Zoralee in a balloon-swapping game of undeciphered rules. Little Milo evidently takes balloons everywhere he goes. Presch. Then we took some form of public transportation (a trolley on wires?) deeper into town for coffee and to sit a spell in Powell's Books. Portland all the way, baby.

Boo hiss that I didn't get more pics of Cam and Jeff. Tell you what; just look at the little boys and minus out their mother's face. Now combine them into one person and add 25-30 years. Tuh duh - it's Jeff.

(last pic by Jeff)

We then got to spend a couple of hours with Autumn, Rhett, and Mezmur. I went to school with Autumn and Dan too, though we've gotten to know each other much better through blogging than we did sitting a couple rows apart in choir. Mez and Zoralee were just as happy to be in their own individual play worlds, so I didn't catch any good pictures together. But you can see Mez and Rhett in all of their cuteness over at Autumn's blog. Here was one fleeting moment of affection.

Later that evening, we had delicious tortilla soup with Steve, Darla, and baby Annie, along with Dayn, Mandi, and Daylan. Again, not many pictures, but here is Steve showing Z the decorative birds, and Darla being fuzzy because she's managing two wigglers at once.

One of the evening highlights was Steve and Daylan talking about which Wendel Berry books they've read and what they thought of them. Steve got a gleamy dreamy face and went about the house plucking books from shelves, opening them for a few seconds to fully illustrate that in this book, in this exact book, are some amazing words about U.S. involvement in the middle east wars or about plant growing being a holy endeavor, or in this collection of stories, we are invited to imagine what true forgiveness might look like. That'll inspire a gal like me to put a Wendel Berry book or two on hold over at the library.

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This trip was for Z and me a tour of sickness - we literally caught a new cold, with symptom variations, at each of the three towns we visited - so we didn't get to see as many of our Portland pals as we'd planned. Huge bummer. There are baby thighs I've yet to squeeze, and papa and mama necks I haven't hugged in so long.

But we hope to be back soon!

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:

*

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.

*

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...

*

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."