2009, Sunday August 2^nd,

We had an evening flight from Dulles so we had all day to get ready.  We were ready early.  So instead of waiting around doing nothing, we asked Mary to take us to the airport early.  With online check-in boarding passes in hand, we checked a duffle bag on wheels and the multi-colored Guatemala bag.  Turns out it was really good we got there extra early because the security line was longer than we’d ever seen it.  Took an extra long time to get through. 

Once through, I wanted one of Annie’s pretzels so I bought one and a strawberry lemonade.  We found the Red Carpet Club and went in.  The lady behind the desk said, “Oh, no, you can’t bring food from outside in here. Please go out and finish it before you come in.”  WHAT?? I said (I had brought food in before many times.) “That’s the number 1 rule here…” I’d had enough.  Number 1 rule my ass.  What kind of number 1 rule is that?  This is a premier club service for United Airlines customers.  You would think there would be about 10 other “rules” more important to the customer experience that would rank before their “number 1 rule” that customers can’t bring in a pretzel.  THAT’S RIDICULOUS!  I spat out. I pay a lot of money for this membership! (That is not strictly true.  It is a very expensive membership, but we pay NOTHING for it because we were “charter members” back in the early 70’s.  She didn’t know that, though.)

I stormed out.  As I left I imagined what it would take to make me one of those dignified people who sliced through the “number 1 rule” bullshit with logic and cutting charm to get my way and reveal how foolish it all was.  Eh.  I guess I’m not that suave.

I took my pretzel and my husband to the gate where we found people milling around looking nervous.  The United rep got on the PA and explained they had seriously overbooked this flight and the plane was a smaller one than originally scheduled.  “Listen:  you will not all be getting on this plane,” she said.  “I would like to ask for volunteers to go on the next flight out; we’ll give you a round trip ticket as a gift.  Don’t everybody rush up here at once, now.”  We thought about it.  We had our seat assignments.  We declined to volunteer.  They let us on the plane. 

The flight was uneventful except that Gil refused to pay $9 for a sandwich – he’s not used to flying the “new” way where you pay a la carte for everything from baggage to food to headphones.

We got to Portland at 10:30 and went to pick up our full size rental car.  They didn’t have it.  Would you mind an upgrade to the next class of car, free?  Why, of course, whatever you can do.  We left there with a boat.  Well, it drove like a boat:  a pretentious black “Signature L” Lincoln Town Car.  Leather interior, GPS, Satellite radio, automatic everything for comfort.  Thing looked like a limo, and Gil struggled to get a grip on its bodacious dimensions.  Come on, I said.  We grew up with cars like this – our fathers’ Oldsmobiles were as big. He learned quickly. 

We got into the hotel and were crashing into bed by 11:15.

Monday August 3^rd.

We woke up at 3:30 a.m., our bodies still on East Coast time.  Had a surprisingly good complimentary buffet breakfast at the hotel. Then we went driving looking for the class, which, it turns out, was walking distance right across the street to the left (we had gone right).  Class was 7 people, most of which were from Virginia, one from Seattle and one from Chicago.  The instructor was a local with eons of experience in voice networks and telecommunications.  Every time he talked about his days as a “lineman for the county,” I heard Glenn Campbell in my head.  He was jovial and extraverted and spent lots and lots (and lots and lots and lots) of time on “preliminary material,” which was orientation to the classroom, the rest rooms, the staff and amenities, his experience, our experience, his grandchildren, local attractions, and the fact that one of us was apparently dropped off to class in a black limo.  I smiled demurely.  I got a little nervous when, after 7 hours of class, he had spent approximately 70 minutes on actual telecommunications coursework topics.

The guy I was paired with was a high energy team lead for a firm that works for the gov’t in highly secure installations.  He needed lots more than a basic administration course, but, he had to start with this one, so there he was.  I myself was fine learning just the basics for now, and I let him click around frenetically exploring all sorts of screens and downloads and online manuals while we were supposed to be looking at the “add station” command; and I let him take over the keyboard for all the exercises cause it kinda looked like he would burst if he had to wait for me to do anything.  So I would feed him the commands that he didn’t seem to retain the first time around because he wasn’t paying attention what with all that clicking.  I got enough out of it that way, since I knew what we were doing and I would split my time between following his “explorations” and listening to the lecture.  I was actually very glad to be paired with a crazy-aggressive learner because when the instructor would go off on one of his tangents, I would be itching to get back to work and so was my partner.  So, we would just modify trunk lines or circuit packs or phone setups while we waited for the class to resume.

Gil came and picked me up for lunch and we went to Shari’s where we ordered half sandwiches and soup or salad, then homemade pies.  Gil’s eyes got big with surprise and curiosity when  I ordered “Marion Berry” pie.  Marion Barry is Washington DC’s notorious and beloved past mayor.  The guy who took kickbacks and was caught on tape smoking crack in a hotel room; went to jail; came back and got elected to the city council again, and right now is fighting some terminal disease along with fighting charges of tax evasion.  Anyway, Gil had never heard of marion berries and so was amused by my ordering pie named after the discredited mayor of DC. 

I tried to buy an Oregon Power Ball lottery ticket at Shari’s.  Gave the lady a $5 bill and told her I wanted QuickPick numbers.  The waitress ran away quickly.  I wanted to do the PowerPlay, cause Mary says you always have to do the Power Play, but the waitress disappeared too fast.  I followed to find her, and found myself in a dark, 6x8 foot den of slot machines and lottery and other tawdry looking stuff.  Who knew Shari had a back room for this stuff??? She wasn’t there.  She had ducked into the kitchen and come out a different way looking for us.  She saw Gil’s t-shirt with American Red Cross on it and proceeded to tell us about her work helping hurricane victims.  She does this frequently.  I remember looking at her frail, small frame, her white-ish pancake makeup and the dark kohl smudge that ringed her eyes, top and bottom, and wondering how she managed that face in those work conditions.  Did she wear that makeup?  Did it melt and run down her face? Or did she go without?  She gave us back the PowerBall receipt.  I didn’t get 5 numbers.  I got one QuickPick number that plays for 5 weeks.  I didn’t even know you could do that.

Gil took me back to class.  The instructor wanted to know where all of us had gone for lunch.  We all reported, and he used the information to give us commentary on all the eating places around here, how he liked them, which ones were worth it, how to get to them, etc.  The rest of class was mostly this type of discussion until it ended at 4:30. 

Gil picked me up in “the limo.”  We were in the mood for some good food, so we went to the Ringside Steakhouse which was next to some golf and country club.  The “limo” fit right in.  The food was delicious.  We had wine, salads, filet mignon, prime rib, sautéed mushrooms, spinach with hazelnuts and cream sauce, bananas foster and strawberry rhubarb pie. The steaks were cooked to perfection, but the place was pretentious and friggin’ overpriced.  Try $39.00 for an a la carte 8 ounce filet!  Good God.  We went with the $29.00 specials but it still ended up costing too much.  We felt so full we could have been wheeled out.  Plus, it was like midnight for us, because of East Coast time.  I was just-shoot-me-now tired.  We both crashed into bed.  We woke at 3:30 in the morning, of course.

Tuesday August 4^th

We ate less breakfast this morning after all that food last night.  Gil delivered me to my class.  The day was spent much more on germane topics much to my relief.  We learned the hardware of punch-downs and patch panels, 650’s and 8400’s, routers, switches.  We learned the software of managing stations, circuit packs, ports, modules, cabinets and carriers, addressing for all of it and how to use commands like List, Display, Add and Change, which you never, never used like that.  You would be lazy and type Li, Displ, Ad, Ch.

Gil picked me up for lunch and we went to a deli with festive outdoor tables in 72 degree balmy weather where I had a chef salad and Gil had dark meat chicken and rice. We shared a beer.   We still had time so we walked across the street to a Leatherman tool factory, which had a very small retail store attached to it.  I like tools.  Leatherman makes Tim-Taylor-like tools that have a dozen uses – like a Swiss Army knife, but it is not a Swiss Army knife, it is a “Leatherman.”  They give away bumper stickers that say, “I have  a Leatherman.  I can help.”  I have been looking for this multi-tool for my garden ever since I lost mine (I inadvertently buried it in the garden somewhere.)  I was SO excited, therefore, to go to Leatherman to find a replacement, which I did.  11 tools in one! Pruner, soft-wire cutter, grafting knife, bark lifter, saw, weeder, phillps screwdriver, flat screwdriver, sprinkler tool, bottle opener, ruler.

Back to class. They have bowls of assorted chocolates on every table.  These assortments are like those mixed nuts you get where the label says, “no peanuts,” meaning, only the real good stuff, nothing cheap.  So, the bowls had Almond Rocca, York Peppermint Patties, Snickers, Butterfingers, Rolos, Bit-o-Honey, Milky Way, Mounds, Almond Joy, and more.  In the break-out room, they had pastries in the morning and a standing assortment of taffy plus a cookie jar shaped like a stack of Oreo cookies, with cookies in it of course.  The reception area had more bowls of candy and dispensers of M&Ms.  As if this were not enough, the office there was celebrating a birthday, so, we took a break at 2:00 for poppyseed cake, chocolate cake, rocky road and vanilla ice cream.  By 3:00 we were all in a sugar coma.

By 5:00 Gil and I were on our way to The Grotto in Portland, a wooded sanctuary among high cliffs with pathways to statues and ponds and altars all showcasing a devotion to Mary, Jesus’s mother.  The artwork was beautiful.  Among the ethnic statues and little shrines were those from the Polish and Lithuanian communities.  I took pictures of them for my ethnic Catholic relatives.

Being surrounded by all the green was soothing.  But the high cliffs and rocks were my favorite.  It was like a mirror of the inside of me.  I feel large, unmoving and strong like that – standing against the elements, exposed to sun and rain, and still glorious in the unassailable strength and union with Nature that I hold.  But it is more than that.  It’s not just me, it is my whole lineage that forms this foundation of strength.  So when I look at it I behold me, past, present and future.

We went to the gift shop.  Gil’s sister had given us a gift of money to buy a garden ornament of some sort to honor my mother, Marion, who died this past May.  We found in the gift shop a lovely faux stone angel who stood tall and serene with a bird sitting in her cupped hands.  So now, we have angel Marion to keep company angel Loretta in the garden.

From the Grotto, we proceeded down Sandy Blvd on our way to good German cooking.  Funny though, mile after mile we saw only Asian culture.  After the neutral Fairley’s Pharmacy and Kim’s Kreations, there were businesses like Sieu Thi, Mai’s Floral, Thai Abode, OHana Hawaiian Café, Thanh Thuy’s Hairstyles, Viet SuperPages, Chaba Tai, Zien Hong and then, BAM, across from a Taco Bell, there’s the Rheinlander German restaurant!

It was great. Although Gil did have to try three times to fit the Town Car into the parking lot.  Authentic German food with an authentic German import waitress, the sweet Maria, who hooked us up with delightful German beer – Spaten Urmarzen Oktoberfest for Gil and Spaten Optimator for me.  Get this – the complimentary appetizer was a divine gruyere and Swiss cheese fondue with a basket of bite sized bread chunks – ryes, sourdough, French.  Maria suggested we add sausage slices with the fondue, which we did.  How is it possible to make sausage taste “light?”  I don’t know, but they did!  Their regular bread basket was served with herb butter and plum sauce.  Then we had a full pound lamb shank with potatoes and carrots (Gil) and Sauerbraten (tender meat slices in brown sauce) with potato pancakes served with sour cream and applesauce and red cabbage.  The talented accordion player came by and serenaded us; he played Lara’s Theme by request and Gil remembered dancing with our daughter at her wedding.  The place was beautiful with hand-painted murals and flags and stained glass.  We left without dessert, passing up genuine homemade apple strudel, and once again crashed into bed at the hotel.

Wednesday, August 5^th

The Portland morning was gorgeous again.  Fresh air, 72 degrees, sunshine.  I made myself a Belgian waffle at the hotel breakfast bar and my driver took me to my class across the street.  Class was arcane tables of class of service and class of restriction on phone lines.  More Li, Ad and Ch commands.  And of course every morning the instructor would question us about what we did the night before.  “Where’d the limo take you last night?”  I effused about the Grotto and the Rhinelander, and at least one other student decided to make reservations there for dinner with his wife the next night.

At lunchtime my driver picked me up and we were off to Reed College to meet a newly-minted assistant dean, KC, who is also the daughter of a dear friend of the family.  We found our way to her administrative building on the pretty city campus.  She showed us around; I took photos of her in her new office to send to her Mom who hadn’t seen it yet.  We drove out to the Laughing Planet for lunch and I had a chicken quesadilla.  We decided to meet with her and her boyfriend, James, for dinner at a downtown restaurant called “R. Palate.”  Reed College was pretty far away, so when I got back to class after lunch I was a half hour late.  The instructor stopped class to ask me to report where I went for lunch.  “Laughing Planet near Reed College,” I said.  Why in the world would you go all the way out there?  “It’s where my limo driver wanted to go,” I said.  Then I told him about KC and James and he allowed how the students coming out of Reed College are among the brightest and the best minds anywhere.  I couldn’t argue with that! The instructor also mentioned that he himself had installed the phone system in Reed College.  Cool.

In the evening, we planned to pick up the youngsters then go to the Chinese Gardens and then to “R. Palate.”  Now, Gil loves exploring new cities, and he is “geographically gifted” in the way he finds his way around.  The Town Car had GPS, which we had never used before this trip.  As we set out, I punched in KC’s address and the voice, which I will call “Mona,” started directing where to go.  Gil does not trust Mona.  And he anxiously, loudly complains about her directions:  “WHY is she telling us to go THIS way?  I wouldn’t do that.  I can’t understand this.  Oh, I have a real fear that this is going to be bad.  I can tell where this is going.  It’s going to dump us off at such and such street and that’s NOT where we want to be.”  “Gil,” I say.  “Get a grip.  Mona hasn’t steered us wrong yet.  I chose Shortest Time, and maybe you just don’t know the route yet.  What’s the worst that could happen?”  “I don’t know, Carrie.  I don’t think this is right.  I just have a bad feeling about …. Oh.  Look at that. I didn’t know this road was here.  Oh, I see where this is going now.  This will be fine.”  I roll my eyes.  

            
We got to KC’s place in a cute, hippie Portland neighborhood before she arrived a few minutes later by bicycle – a birthday gift she’d given herself.   We went up the narrow stairway to their flat and met James.  Shortly thereafter we took off for the Gardens.  Turns out they were way too popular and we could not find a place to park so we went to the Washington Park Rose Garden instead. 



We wandered through acres of roses of every color and size, past fountains and arches and a big hillside amphitheater where there was live music.  We bought a couple tie-dyed shirts in the gift shop – typical Portland – and headed off for the newly renovated, upscale downtown section of Portland.  Gil found a parking spot on the street and had to parallel park the limo on the left side.  We all held our breaths while he executed the maneuver perfectly in one smooth motion.  We got out and headed for the restaurant only to have James go ahead of us and find that there was a For Lease sign on the door.  Well, all we could think was that was a waste of a perfectly good parking job by our driver, and it was a shame.  So I took a picture of it, at least.

We proceeded back to a small neighborhood Mediterranean restaurant called Lauro’s.  James was directing from the back seat, so we didn’t have to contend with Gil’s arguing with Mona.  James and KC were loving the luxury of the leather, spacious back seat with its own climate controls and the ability to push a button and adjust the seats in front of them (read: mine) to give them more leg room. 

At Lauro’s we shared stories about how we met our partners.  James, leaving Nottingham College in London to come to Reed; KC, leaving Reed for a period to study abroad in Nottingham.  We talked about our families and how we appreciate them with all their crazy quirkiness.  We talked about the phenomenon and hope that is Obama, and our hopes for the future.  We shared a pitcher of sangria, and we ordered a burger, Moroccan chicken, grouper with honey crusted carrots and couscous, and I had smoked salmon raviolis with cream lemon sauce with capers.  We shared warm fresh fruit cobblers with cinnamon ice cream for dessert.  We delivered the delightful couple back to their apartment with hugs and hopes to see them again sometime in the future.  It was becoming clear that there were many more things to see and experience in Portland than would could hope to fit into this one trip.

Thursday, August 6^th

Thursday dawned cloudy and pregnant with rain, though none had yet fallen.  I suppose this is the type of weather people usually associate with Portland. Breakfast was another Belgian waffle and then Gil delivered me to class, which was uneventful.

Noontime we went to the Embassy Suites dining room where we met Marna and Lars for lunch.  Marna is a friend from back home with whom Gil and his sister grew up, and whom Gil has not seen for perhaps, oh, 45 years?  I love this about Gil.  He sees community everywhere, and if you ever mean something to him, then, you will always mean something to him, truly.  Marna clapped and bounced for joy as we arrived and the four of us settled into a happy engagement of thoughts, stories and catching up.  She brought us hand-chosen gourmet chocolates and a sweet bracelet with the breast cancer pink ribbon on a heart with the message Love Heals.  Marna has a heart for healing, and much experience with it over her career in nursing.  It was such a privilege to hear her talk – about anything and everything – because she was so articulate and thoughtful, with experience in the world and a terrific perspective on life.  

We met up with Marna later that night in the Alberta Street district in a little “dive” to enjoy Lars’ brother Terry who plays acoustic guitar.  Great blues guitar and even greater old friends (new for me, but felt like “old” in no time) – it was all a blessing.

    
Before the evening guitar set, Gil and I drove down to this district which was all hippy-ness and hemp.  The Lincoln was conspicuous in its presence in this neighborhood. I tried not to knock over the bicycles chained to the tree as I opened the car door.  The sandaled, floppy haired people who lounged at the café tables outdoors with their Mac Books perched atop did not seem to be bothered by “our kind” invading their neighborhood.  Our destination was the Siam Society restaurant, where we arrived in time for happy hour.  I chose a pomegranate cosmopolitan and pot stickers; Gil chose an Alaskan Summer Ale – a micro brewed beer - and coconut prawns.  Siam Society is in an old electrical building, with sweeping, high windows and modern art on the walls.  Chris, our waiter was good – he said he was created in Washington, DC, but grew up in Sacramento, CA.  He served us our main dishes of scallops (me) and pork roasted in banana leaves (Gil) and we took his recommendation for dessert: banana and hazelnuts in puff pastry with homemade coconut ice cream.  

By now, we were accustomed to West Coast time, so we drove home comfortably, very satisfied after our last night in Portland.

Friday, August 7^th

No time for a Belgian waffle this morning.  Being completely acclimated to the time change, I “slept in” till 5:30.  Just time enough for a quick shower and then getting online to manage things back at the office on the East Coast.  Got on a conference call at 7:00 a.m.  Packed, dressed and dashed out to class.

Learned about voice-mail servers and accounts and features.  Gil was meanwhile packing and checking out of the hotel and gassing up the Town Car.

We got certificates, shook hands good-bye, got out around 11:00 and Gil came to pick me up.  We ate lunch where we had started earlier in the week, at Shari’s, and then took off for Rainier, Washington. This time he did not harangue Mona as he had the last three times we used the GPS.  He was still skeptical, but he let her have her way, and it was fine.  It was only a 2 hour drive, and the weather was more typical – cool, dense clouds and gray.  We arrived at my sister’s driveway where I jumped out of the car to open the heavy steel gate onto the former Weyerhauser forest property.  As soon as I pushed that gate open and walked onto the property I felt my mother’s energy.  It lit up my chest cavity, prickled my eyes with tears, and scintillated through me.  OH! You’re here.  So, this is where you’ve been hanging out.  (I don’t feel her that way back in Virginia.)  We proceeded along the winding, wooded path of gravel with weeds, grasses, blackberry bushes and Queen Anne’s lace bobbing and brushing against the Town Car all the way.  We arrived at the second gate to their house, the one with the star in the middle. I got out and opened it, saw the garden sign “Freedom” and felt welcomed.

Joyful, joyful reunion with my sister as we embraced, both wearing the same deep blue.  Gil and I got out and ate leftovers – the doggie bags we had collected this week and brought with us in the car - and then later Tanya made zucchini buttermilk soup.  It’s a cold soup, made with her zucchini, sautéed with scallions, cumin and curry, and then blended with cold buttermilk.  It was delicious, and it made my face, my mouth and tongue freak out in involuntary contortions with the striking sourness of it.  Great stuff.

Gil ate almost all the chocolate that Marna had given us, and found in the gift bag of chocolates the sweet bracelet Marna had tucked in there.  He checked the local paper for the goings-on in Olympia and at the Red Wind Casino, but I said I just wanted to stay in tonight.  Gil headed off to read and went to bed early while Tanya and I chatted about our journeys since we last saw each other in June.

When we were talked out, Tanya gave me her bed, which I appreciated.  Gil had gone off to sleep in my mother’s room (both of these are twin size beds) which is in the other end of the house.  He kept waking up wondering where I was.  Tanya slept out under the sky on her picnic table, cocooned in her sleeping bag in the 50 degree cool air.

Saturday, August 8^th

Saturday Gil took us to breakfast at McKenna’s Y Restaurant in Yelm.  He really talked it up.  I was surprised to get there and find a sparse, order your bacon and eggs at the counter, country simple place, but it was the variety of pictures on the wall that Gil liked.  I especially liked one of two winter-clothed wolves huddling together with the caption, “Love does not see with the eyes, but with the heart.”  Good pancakes. 

We went to Yelm Cemetery to visit graves.   The headstone that sits beneath the massive pine tree is now etched with my mother’s dates next to my father’s, and the inscription says, “We shared each other’s completeness.”  We then visited Gordon’s Garden Center where I love the garden furniture and statues and pots and other stuff. 

 ‘Could not bring myself to buy many of the things that caught my eye; even the small things were too pricey, like a charming night light for $23.00.  I settled for a joyful angel at 30% off - her arms are flung open wide, face tilted up to the sun, embracing the joy of creation.  ‘Reminds me of my mom’s spirit – and my own. 

We visited the other kitschy stores in the area, like JZ Rose, which had a delightful set of café table and chairs.  I would have bought the fabulous set and had it shipped home except that it was $4,600.  Instead, I bought chocolate truffles in the shape of clown fish for Mary, and Gil found me some wonderful The Thymes hand cream for 75% off.  ‘Came back to Tanya’s to do laundry and drink strong coffee and eat her homemade, homegrown whole wheat zucchini bread, full of nuts and raisins.  She made the coffee because she was so tired.  Then I found her napping ten minutes later.  I would think the coffee would make the napping unproductive, but go figure.  She arose after a half hour or so.

We chatted about life again – you know, the usual stuff:  tapping into the neural network of the timeless collective subconscious brain, the value of living your gifts and passions, the value of figuring out what those gifts are and which thoughts serve us well versus thought patterns that don’t support our human life so well.  If you know me and my sister, this is all normal conversation.  She tried to go outside to plant her winter garden on the roof one, two, three times, but we kept starting new conversations.  I finally let her go and I got busy with laundry and figuring out how to economically pack all the STUFF we acquired on this trip so it could make it back to Virginia on the plane.  When we were in the Portland rose garden gift shop, I bought two outrageously bright tie-dyed shirts – one my size and one Seattle’s size.  They are great to remember Portland, the hippie, back-to-nature place that it is.  I got out the one my size and put it on.  YOWZA.  This was really something on this middle-aged, size 2x woman.  I like outrageous; it makes me laugh.  So I’m wearing it tonight when we go to my niece’s house for dinner.  They may have to wear sunglasses. 

My sister is toiling outside in her garden.  I saw her pushing her wheelbarrow down the hill, so I thought I would bring her some sunshine and humor by popping out in my crazy shirt.  I opened the door, stepped outside and shouted Woo-hoo!  She could only laugh. She came closer to look.  “I want one of those!” she said.  She welcomed the opportunity to set a spell at the picnic table on the patio (the same one that was her bed last night) and we talked about enthusiasm and joy, and how if you are born with a deadly-serious nature the way we were, you really have to choose and pray for and deliberately practice enthusiasm and joy in order to have it in your life.  Wearing this outrageous shirt is an example of that.  After she was rested up, she declared she had to continue on down the hill with her wheelbarrow to retrieve her worm compost which really needs to get used because the worms are all drowned now from the rains.  Last June, the rains drowned the worms, but not before they shat enough into the dirt to make rich compost. My brother had pointed out that the soupy mixture in the wheelbarrow was hosting mosquito eggs, so my sister decided she had to drain it, but she couldn’t bear wasting all that good worm compost tea, so she tipped the wheelbarrow (a wheelbarrow with no handles, since they had broken off; try to picture this) to drain the water into buckets, which she distributed over her fruit trees and such.  What’s left is what she is now adding to the winter garden soil on top of the house (this is an earth-sheltered home, with vegetable gardens on the roof) where she dug the beds this afternoon for planting cauliflower, broccoli and cabbage.  She said this amendment adds tilth to the soil.  Say, what?  “Tilth.” Even my Word dictionary is objecting to this word with a red squiggly line.  “Tilth is the quality of being light and fluffy,” she said.  So the soil is “tilthy?” I asked.  “Yes, that’s right.”  Can bread be “tilthy?”  “I don’t think so.  It only applies to soil, I think.”  Tilth.  I looked it up in the dictionary and it says it is the quality of having been tilled.  Hmm.  You learn something new every day.

Tanya harvested various veggies from her garden to take to Jen’s house for a family dinner party.  After a failed attempt at making a dip — hung yogurt in a cloth overnight to drain and turn into cheese – it didn’t; combined fresh cucumbers with the yogurt, salt and dill in a blender anyways – it turned watery and boring; added fresh mint – didn’t help; now we had almost two quarts of this watery unsatisfying stuff. I said it needed capers and cream cheese.  Tanya said, “BLECH.” – Tanya made a dip plan B and we took the veggies and dip to Jen’s. 

On the way, Tanya mentioned that we would be driving right by Shipwreck Beads – an 80,000 square foot bead store.  Oh! That sounds like fun.  Gil rolled his eyes.  I’m sure he was thinking, godalmighty, I thought we were going to Jen’s for dinner; I’m hungry; these women; I can’t believe they want to go to a BEAD store now.  He complied, since he was outnumbered, and, he loves me.  Once inside I seized on the ones that were made of delightful polished stone.  Oh, I have to hand-pick a bowl full of these!  Thirty-three rows of beads in this store and I never got out of row 1 while choosing my beads.  I was focused.  I bought 25 beads of various fabulous colors of deep green, oranges, bronze, and maroon.  Luckily, the store was closing in 30 minutes, so I didn’t buy more, and we had to get to Jen’s house any way. It was a delight.  I am pretty sure even Gil enjoyed it.

When we got to Jen’s, we got a tour of her new house which is truly FAB-ulous.  The details! The layout! The three porches! The stone work! The kitchen! The front doors! So happy for her and Fritz and new Baby Girl who is at 7 months gestation right now.  These are the good old days, kids.  While we waited for the rest of the guests, I unwrapped my beads and examined each one, thrilling to the patterns in the stone and arranging them on the table.  I took pictures of them.  I played with them for, oh, 45 minutes, which fairly disturbed Gil, who thought I was regressing before his eyes.  He doesn’t understand my love of stone yet J.  The rest of Tanya’s family arrive and we ate melt-in-your-mouth peanut chicken Jen made, plus more of Tanya’s zucchini bread, this time topped with vanilla ice cream, for dessert. We were pleasantly “spent” by 10:00 pm and so piled into the limo and let Mona try to guide us home.  Mona and Tanya disagreed on some things; Tanya won; Mona adjusted, and she did manage to land us right in front of the Weyerhauser gate. 

Sunday, August 9^th

Ate breakfast of typical cereal decadence: spiced pecan cereal with fresh blackberries I picked from the roadside yesterday, skim milk with a splash of half-n-half.  The blackberries are plentiful along the long gravel driveway road here, but you’d have to train with the Special Forces to be able to harvest them without serious injury.  I scouted out the pickin’s with each trip up and down the road, and finally decided there were enough within non-hazardous reach that I could go pick some.  I took a quart and a half berry bowl and found the proverbial “low hanging fruit.”  There was much, much more hanging in copious clumps and invasive drapes of vines a-waaay up there, unreachable, and guarded by impressively large thorns.  As it was, sometimes I had to perch on a rock on the precipice of a ditch and keep my balance while I reached in.  Spiders rule the woodlands, and I know I reached into a web somehow when I was performing one of these ditch maneuvers.  Finally my eyes landed on the spider whose home I was wrecking.  She was quite large and was fumbling around looking irritated, so I backed away and called it a day.  I walked back to the house with a full bowl, though.

Gil wanted to go to Sunday mass, so we set out for a Catholic church in Yelm.  By the décor and architecture, I’d say it is a typical 70’s era suburban Roman Catholic church.  We got there real early.  I chose a seat way over on the right, next to the stained glass windows of Luke and Mark because I liked the energy of the color.  The first thing I noticed was the kneelers.  Oh, there was some cruel monsignor who was going to stick it to the lazy laity who must have been on the building committee.  The good part:  the pews were 3 feet apart from each other, which gave a ton of leg room in each one.  The bad news: this arrangement meant that when you pulled down the kneeler you were forced to kneel properly, as in, straight up, none of this slide-to-your-knees-and-lean-your-butt-on-the-bench-behind-you irreverence.  Once you knelt in this pew, your butt (even my big one!) was just out of reach of the seat behind you so you could not lean.  Sneaky bastards. I have never seen this affliction of enforcement so well orchestrated.

The priest was thin and very old, with sunken cheeks and white hair.  He was flanked by two altar boys – one a dark young man with black hair and Peruvian nose and cheekbones, the other a pale, freckled red-head with braces and glasses.  They wore blood red full length cassocks which Gil said made them look like little monsignors.

You know how, when you go to church, there’s usually some nice middle aged lady sitting nearby who sings all the songs?  She can’t hit the high notes; her voice cracks and rasps; she doesn’t come in on the downbeat and sometimes forgets or reads the wrong words altogether or has to clear her throat in the middle of a note?  You put up with all this and think, God bless her; I’m glad she has such enthusiasm; at least she’s participating.  Well, it appears they found this lady and promoted her to Cantor at this church.  There she was in her matching seersucker blue and white striped Capri pants and shirt.  She took her place at the microphone and sang every song, antiphon and response — and startled me with each one.  She wasn’t quite Edith Bunker, but her voice could pass for Edith’s sweet, church-going sister.

As if the cantor’s voice were not startling enough, the priest who led the mass had a… speech impediment?  Each time he opened his mouth to speak, I found my eyes getting wider and wider in disbelief.  What did he say??? How is it possible this man is speaking when he seems to be missing the entire top palate of his mouth?  It was remarkable.  Not quite the priest in the Princess Bride, but he pronounced his R’s the same way, and couldn’t do L’s or ch’s at all.  There were whole sections of sentences that got lost in his mouth as he recited the familiar prayers …  all this punctuated by the cantor’s song… it was kind of unreal.  I did understand the last couple lines of his homily which talked about Jesus being an “irresistibly compelling” force in our life.  I liked that.

The best part of the mass for me was the traditional sign of peace, where I got to grasp the hands and look into the eyes of the people around me.  There was the Philippine family in front of me, the soft, round, white-haired pastel senior ladies to my left, the Thai family behind me – I got to trace a cross on the broad forehead and shake the little hand of the 2-year old Thai boy who had been bumping and shuffling against my seat and who sneezed on my back, twice. I kissed my own Gil, who was just glad to be present for this experience of “the church of the prairie,” as he put it.  So be it. 

We decided it might be fun and potentially lucrative to stop by the Red Winds casino on the Nisqually Reservation on the way home.  We were willing to lose max $50.  We arrived and lucked out on an amazing parking space.  Feeling this could be a sign, we made our way to the casino floor, figured out the medium of tickets-for-cash and proceeded to try the nickel, then the quarter, then the dollar slot machines.  We lost all 50 bucks and got the heck out of there.  We gave up our choice parking spot to some other lucky dog and headed back to Tanya’s.  I rolled down my window to try to blow the smell of smoke out of my hair and clothes.

Tanya prepared a feast of salad from her garden for us and I also had some of the “failed dip” from yesterday which made a lovely cold cucumber/dill/mint soup.  A bowl of blackberries for dessert.

Ari, Tanya, Gil and I went to Puerto Vallarta for dinner, eating outside in the waning sun, next to a fountain.  The food was very good, but Tanya couldn’t bring herself to eat more than chips and a strawberry daiquiri cause she was still full from that bodacious salad at lunch. 

Monday we set off for Portland again, back to the airport to drop off the Town Car.  We got it there with a few minutes to spare; got through security, and then we waited as our 11:10 departure changed to 11:45, 12:05, 12:20 and finally we left at 12:30.  Since we left so late, we missed our 6:04 connecting flight in Chicago.  Had to get seats on the 9:30.  We ate an Italian dinner in O’Hare airport, and our flight got delayed till 10:10, then 10:24, and we finally left at 10:30.  That would put us at Dulles around 1:00 a.m. Tuesday.  “Oh, Gahhhhd,” Gil moaned.  “How are we gonna get up for work tomorrow? Oh, jeez.”  Gil.  Stop. We’re on West Coast time.  It’ll seem early!  And hey, a bad day travelling together is better than a good day toiling at work.  So, we chilled out, and Gil beat me at 500 rummy which we played in the Red Carpet Club lounge, and, after they kicked us out at 9:30, we played balancing on seats at the gate.

For all my bravado, I felt like a crumpling house of cards by the time we got to Dulles.  A bleary-eyed Mary and Seattle came to fetch us and somehow we made it home where Gil and I slid into fresh satin sheets and well-earned sleep.

Portland, you were great.  With your curbside composting, green ways and weirdness.  With your youth and intellectualism and love of freedom and art.  This couple will come see you again sometime in the future.

Rainier and Tanya et. al., thank you for your generosity and hospitality.  Save a place for us - we'll be back!





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