Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
- A new national park outside Vancouver with (fittingly, I suppose) a large mall; and
- A food court restaurant with do-it-yourself sushi.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
I've never measured the sidewalk length, but being that our lot is oversized by today's standards, and that it is on the inside corner of a cul-de-sac, I'm going to estimate it at a mile, maybe mile and a quarter.
It took me five pictures to photograph it all, which I offer you here (except the part up to the door because it didn't come out very well).
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Sunday, December 14, 2008
It seems to be the thing to do these days - cut down on consumption and stash a little more away for a rainy (or snowy) day. Even the squirrels are into it these days.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
- Mathematics calendar (makes math exciting and accessible!)
- Extraordinary Chickens calendar (the cover chicken is especially extraordinary)
- Alien Abduction 2009 calendar (mysteriously, this item has no description. Conspiracy?)
- Sock Monkey calendar (how many sock monkey fans are there?)
- Bunny Suicides calendar (the notorious almost-banned-from-the-school-library book is now a calendar!)
- Mensa 10-Minute Crossword Puzzles-A-Day calendar (so you know on a daily basis whether you're Mensa material or not. 12 minutes? doofus.)
- Seed Catalogues calendar (um, seed catalogues?)
- Trout of North America calendar (a Brown Trout, a Yellowstone Cutthroat, an Owyhee Redband, a North Umpqua Steelhead!)
- Fabulous Frogs calendar (frogs!)
- 375 Day of Shoes calendar (celebrate your socially acceptable fetish!)
- Collectible Teapots calendar (A sunny Hall China Lipton set! A Wade lusterware Genie teapot! A pink-and-cream Royal Worcester pot!)
- a glow-in-the-dark calendar for the Lunar Year
- Cow Abductions calendar (ooh, wish list item! Check out their website now if not sooner) and finally (but not exhaustively)
- the Scotch calendar (the Glenfiddich 18 Year Old! The Aberfeldy 21 Year Old! The Aberlour 16 Year Old! Comes with six punch-out coasters!)
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The photos don't seem to do the effect justice, but they will have to do for the rest of the year until next year when the leaves come down and then the rain comes down soon after.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
I just turned on the Oregon - Arizona game.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
- Naming a road "Crossroads Road."
- Using "ask" as a noun, as in "that's a tall ask" (although I'm not sure I've heard this particular misdemeanor outside of Tour de France broadcasts). (Still. Don't.)
- Calling the Foo Fighters the Foos. No matter how much of a first name basis you feel you are with the band. I'm not even a fan of the Foo Fighters, so I'm not sure why I'm so adamant about this issue, but adamant I am.
- Pharmaceutical commercials. If my doctor, after 12 years of doctor training, is counting on me to discover the proper drug for my condition by watching NBC between 9 and 10 on Tuesdays, then the system is broken beyond repair and I need a new doctor.
- High heels.
- The Bush Administration's last minute "ecological yard sale," in which they are looting ecological regulations to allow mining companies to dump the waste from mountaintop-removal mining into rivers and streams; allow factory farms to pollute waterways with tons of poo without a permit and completely independent of the Clean Water Act; allow federal land-use managers to approve development, mining, and logging without consulting federal habitat managers and biological health experts responsible for species protection; and (hilariously) transfer the responsibility for examining the environmental impacts of federal ocean management decisions from federal employees to advisory groups that represent regional fishing interests. Undoing these regulations by the Obama Administration will be difficult and time-consuming. I guess they must think they haven't done enough damage. See OMB Watch for more outrage.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Sunday, November 09, 2008
He was familiar with the concept of Wordstock because I dragged him to the expo portion of it last year to hear Peter Sagal. For the Captain, the expo - rows and rows of tables stacked with books - was something to be endured rather than reveled in, so I was thinking a variety show, even with a guest list stacked with authors, would be a more palatable way to celebrate Wordstock this year.
We started the evening at Tastebud, a not-too-frou-frou restaurant close to the theater. A few lessons learned:
- No matter how awesomely wood-fired the pizza is and no matter how locally and organically grown, squash is not a good pizza topping.
- Sharing a table with strangers makes the Captain feel uncomfortable.
- Sharing a table makes it hard not to listen in on your table-mates' first-date conversation.
- When said first-date conversation degenerates into a who-is-more-literate word fight, it can be at once uncomfortable and fodder for jokes for the rest of the evening.
At the Aladdin Theater, the Captain learned that Live Wire! is like A Prairie Home Companion, only for the under-50 crowd. Less country and gospel music, more Storm Large and Portland indie rock; less gentle humor, more edgy humor.
The Live Wire! Guests:
- The Long Winters, bringing their brand of transient cool down from Seattle;
- Lynda Barry and Alison Bechdel, discussing being cartoonists and lesbians;
- Jonathan Coulton singing a song about being a middle school nerd and said nerd's plans for future world domination;
- Slam Poet Anis Mojgani, slamming our faces with some poetry;
- Sandra Tsing Loh doing some over-the-top menopause-themed reading;
- PNW favorite McKinley, workshopping a piece from her upcoming play (because that seems to be the thing to do now when you get tired of being a rock star);
- Jay Allison, discussing his NPR series (and books) "This I Believe" (with accompanying comedy sketches by Faces for Radio Theater); and finally,
- John Hodgman in a jaunty mood and accompanied by Jonathan Coulton.
I think the Captain (with the exception of the table-sharing and squash pizza) enjoyed the evening.
I know I did.
p.s. Dean says next time we should eat at Le Pigeon on Burnside. As long as we can have a table to ourselves, we'll take his advice.
Saturday, November 08, 2008
After the kind of hot bath that makes you want to put on a big cotton t-shirt when a turtleneck sweater would be wiser.
It's the kind of fall day that makes you want to eat potato chips.
I don't have any potato chips, but I have this turtleneck sweater. And when I cool down from my bath, it will feel more comfortable.
I'm going to go troll for chocolate in the kitchen...
Thursday, November 06, 2008
I thought that I could start where I left off a couple months ago. Turns out to be a bad idea. Other bad idea: listening to Drew about the benefits of ultra-deep knee bends.
If you need me, I'll be rummaging through the medicine cabinet.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
They had been walking and talking with me on the phone, moseying down to the neighborhood pub where they could toast this new country we made today, until I let them know that Obama had begun his acceptance speech. They didn't want to miss it, because this is a moment they will remember all their lives. So they hung up and ran.
Yes, it is a different country today than it was yesterday. It has a new face - one that more closely reflects the people who make it up - and a new leader who inspires his constituents to help. Not just shop.
In the words of the immortal Flounder, this is gonna be great.
Monday, November 03, 2008
Here is how that sketch came out, and what I am currently working on.
The bear and firefighter picture took on a mural-like quality, with simple lines and suggested shading, instead of either a more realistic effect (which I don't usually go for), or a more impressionistic effect (which is what usually happens, like it or not).
I could put it back on the easel and work on it some more, but I don't think a different look would improve it. So there you go. Bear and Fire Fighter, 2008.
After every piece that includes a person or animal depiction, it's nice to relax with some landscape. With a landscape I can put a rock or hill wherever I damn well please, and it doesn't make it look like the victim of a warty disease.
I've started on a simple picture of the road leading up to the summit of Steens Mountain. It had a picturesque "z" quality to it, but the surrounding countryside was dry and rocky. So I've added a little color for fun.
When I first saw the photo I took, it didn't really look like what I had expected. But now I'm warming up to it. It's odd that the camera shows a different painting than the one I just had my nose up against. And it's odd that paintings take on a life of their own. And it's odd that I don't have much control over that. It seems, being the author of the thing, that I should...
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Today, the umpteenth-straight day of painting on account of the unseasonably dry weather, which is due to vanish right on schedule for all the Halloween Cinderellas and zombies to be obscured under decidedly non-princesslike and/or non-undeadlike raincoats, I dreamed of having help. Of literally having help. A second child we could have had, which we could use mainly for house work and spare parts.
Of course, we would have had to train him to expect nothing more than food, lodging, and a pat on the head in return for lawn mowing, roofing, house painting, and the odd cornea or bone marrow.
"Mom, how come Dean gets his own room, and I have to stay in the laundry room?"
"Because, Dear, he is our Dean, and you are our Spare."
"But did you really have to name me Spare? I've always been partial to the name Shaquille."
Now that Dean has moved to Colorado Springs, I often think about how handy he could be to have around - when we leave for the weekend and he keeps an eye on the dogs, or when we need help tearing a roof off or moving something heavy. And it would only cost us all the food in the house. A small price to pay for some help you can count on.
Too bad I didn't have one more of those in reserve for when Dean left in Pursuit of Happiness and Red, White and Blue Glory.
The cat uses the laundry room now as her bathroom, so we might have had to move our Spare to the garage, but it would have been worth it if we had had a built-in handyman to paint the house for us this week.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Here's a Halloween-themed thought: you know how ghost spotters are always seeing men in Civil War uniforms, or women in white, flowing dresses? Once, I saw a ghost with a rebel-style cap on Ghost Hunters. For sure. So, if ghosts are dressed in period costume, does that mean that you will have to wear what you have on in your final earthly moments for the rest of your ghostly existence?
That might make you think twice about wearing those pants that are too tight in the crotch. Who knows what ghosts feel throughout eternity?
I need to go shopping.
Monday, October 20, 2008
I know, the ant and the grasshopper, we were busy playing in the sun and we put it off until it was too late, while somewhere, the ant people were dutifully painting their little houses, getting paint all over their thoraxes and what-not. You're only half right, because I believe we have some solid-ish excuses.
You can't really expect to get any more painting done in June than in October in Washington. True, school lets out in June, but that does not mean summer begins. So even if painting the house had been a priority in June, which it wasn't, it would have been an iffy proposition. Besides, Drew was busy freaking out at work and going to the chiropractor for his hunchback.
In July, the focus was on the AVC in the middle of the month, which takes prior planning and post-race recovery time. The rest of the month was spent finding a contractor to put in a new heat pump (with any luck, for not much more than it cost to build the house in the eighties).
In August, the new heat pump system went in, which made us not-so-ready for more housing-related expenses. And in turn made us consider painting the house ourselves, the old fashioned way, with rollers and brushes. It's cheaper, and the Captain won't forever wish he had done it himself anyway, because the Captain is, um, particular. And the Captain's tummy hurt. He said.
I had been hoping that we could devote ourselves to some heavy-duty house painting in September. But first we had to go to the Steens Mountains for our anniversary, then the Captain had to ride around Oregon on his dual-sport bike, then we had to fly to LA for track nationals.
So we are painting the house now. With rollers and brushes. In between rainy days. If we don't paint it now, I firmly believe that the cedar siding will peel away like an exploded barrel this winter and leave us wet and cold.
So, that's the answer to, "What, you're STILL painting the house?"
Hello, we're the grasshoppers.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Okay, okay, recently when I was forced to listen to Duran Duran's "Hungry Like the Wolf," probably by a big box store, but possibly by my husband, I amused myself by hearing a lyric I could have sworn went
I smell like I sound
Today I thought it's Friday, I don't have to post anything good. I'll just re-amuse myself by posting my funny lyrics.
So I Google the song to find out the real lyrics, because I have no idea. Turns out that according to the two most popular sources, that's really the lyric.
Now it's not that funny anymore. Now it's just a really, really much more stupid song.
By the way, these are also official lyrics: Do do do do do do do dodo dododo dodo.
However, further Googling uncovered this gem by Bruce Campbell, and now I feel better. Almost as good as I smell.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
So I guess having them around makes me a (very) slightly better person.
So I guess it's worth it.
No. No, it's probably not.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Friday, October 10, 2008
Here are the rules of the game:
Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs. Let them know they are tagged by leaving comments on their blogs.
Now I must give you some trivia re: myself. Although I usually like trivia, I am not my favorite subject, so this will take some mental digging. However, I love using bullet points and numbered lists, so that's enough to get me started. So bear with me. Or skip over to Fanatical Apathy; I'll understand.
Seven Things You Might Not Know About Me.
- The first dog I owned (apart from family pets growing up) was a long-haired chihuahua named Twinkle Toes. Although I can't claim that chihuahuas were ever cool, this was long before Paris Hilton made them into living accessories for morons. Twinkle Toes (or Twinkie, as she came to be called) showed up at my house by way of a friend who worked at a veterinarian's office. Twinkie was dumped there - tiny, moody, missing some crucial teeth, a little iffy on the concept of "housebroken," and suspicious of everybody except me. As soon as she saw me, she just fell in behind me, and I had a dog. Such as she was. I kept her through no-pet apartments, my marriage to her least favorite human, moves to Austin, Texas, and babies. Drew has been distracting me from getting another chihuahua all these years by keeping me busy with large collies. But I'm sure he knows that it's just a matter of time before I show up with another big dog in a small package.
- My degree is in psychology. When I was in high school, I wanted to be Bob Newhart (the first one, the stuttering psychologist, not the stuttering Vermont innkeeper). What I learned in college was that, as a psychologist, if you wanted to help your patients more than they would be helped by the mere passage of time, you really need to get yourself a prescription pad, which meant going to med school. Med school was beyond my ambition level.
- I have never smoked pot. I know! I had one chance to try it when I was in high school, but I was afraid I might look like a dork, so I made an excuse. In college, I hung out with brainiacs and athletes. After college, Drew was in the Air Force, which doesn't take kindly to that sort of activity, even if they had paid us enough to afford anything other than food, clothing and sub-standard housing. And no, I don't care to try now.
- I once went to nursing school but quit the day I realized that I would be expected to slide rubber hoses into old men's penises.
- I have raised a child and trained a firefighter to be wordsmiths and grammar police. They will never allow me to forget that I once got so carried away trying to make a completely valid point, that I called a perfectly legitimate item of cycling wear "asinine." But, I mean, come on. If your knees are cold, why wouldn't your ankles be cold? Either wear tights or shorts - don't wear "knickers" that come halfway up your calves. That's just...wrong. And unsightly.
- My stripper name would be Fritzi Laurel (or more literally, Fritzi Laurel Park Drive).
- I was a cheerleader in high school. I know! Hard to imagine today. But at the time, although I was just as shy, I had that hammy thing that shy people have when they get in front of an audience, and I used the cheerleading squad to perform skits, dance, and generally get attention.
I don't spend a lot of time reading blogs, but when I do, here is where I go:
- Dean's blog, because he's a better writer than I am, and leads a more exciting life.
- The Blogess, because she's funnier than I am, and leads a more exciting life.
- Two Can Anne (Anne Altman), because she is young and funny and makes me wonder how cool it would be to be young and talented and living in New York.
- MeMo (Kyrie O'Connor's blog) from the Houston Chronicle. She blogs like she's in your living room with her feet up on your coffee table.
- Deteriorata (dee), a Fanatical Apathy family member, which means she can think and she can write. My North Carolina news. I think one of my favorite bands of the week, Band of Horses, comes from North Carolina, don't they?
- Another Monkey we know as Harold. Fan Ap again. Sorry. We like the way we think. And Harold knows stuff. And he has a very cute picture of a dog on his sidebar. What more do you want? A virtual Obama sticker? He's got one of those too.
- Hedera's Corner by Karen Ivy. Okay, one more Fan Ap. But Hedera is from the Bay Area, and it is the only place on earth I would move away from the Pacific Northwest for (but only if somebody left their house to me in their will because I can't afford one). And she is in a choir, and I love being in a choir. And her blog background and writing voice are so soothing.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
When Dean walks around like this, we know we are in for a disappointing day. His posture tells us everything we need to know. This was Dean on Wednesday: jet-lagged, tired, over-sangria'ed, and juiceless.
Since Dean was out of the competition for Friday, we took the day to drive north up the Pacific Coast Highway to watch this bird work the surf for his dinner.
At the Malibu pier, we encountered a group of ruffians guarding this armoire, who someone had taken great pains to carry out to the end of the pier and conceal the front with a table cloth of some kind. What was in it? Drugs? A dead body? Snacks? I wasn't going to ask.
Yes, I am quite serious when I tell you that this was the view from our eighth-floor luxury room at the Doubletree Hotel in Carson, California, home to the $14.95 weekday breakfast buffet, the Thursday night jazz stylings of Saddam Hussein's Phillipino cousin, and $8 glasses of cheap wine:
By Sunday, Dean's posture had improved, and his legs had that snap that we are used to seeing. He almost did not get to compete in the team sprint because of poor performance early in the week, but because Michael Blatchford was forced to bow out due to back spasms, Dean was given a chance to redeem himself and join the team. He did that, with the fastest anchor leg of the competition, helping his team to win gold.
We had so much fun hanging out with Dean for a week, even with the jet lag and mood swings (his jet lag, my mood swings). And we learned things, like how to enter a bank in a high crime area, and where to eat breakfast in Manhattan Beach (Eat at Joe's). But mostly, we learned not to stay at the Doubletree Hotel in Carson, California.
More later, as I think of stuff.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
More later as Blackberry and Blogspot don't seem to be playing well together.
Monday, September 29, 2008
We're off to Track National Championships, Version 2008. No road trip in the team van this time. Just a regular, old, boring airplane flight of which I am not afraid of in the least. Not afraid. Not afraid. Not afraid.
Unfortunately, we may have to miss seeing our old buddy, Craig Ferguson, as his show tapes in the afternoon, and we may not have any of those free. Same holds true for our real friend, Adam Felber's show, Real Time, with the stranger Bill Maher (you can't expect me to be on a first name basis with everyone).
I'll be in touch via raspberry if something crazy happens.
I'm going to go pack my Valium now.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Tortured genius is a true species amongst the genus artists.
"The diseases that we civilized people labor under most are melancholy and pessimism."
Vincent Van Gogh
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Churches often have nice people in them (although not always), and there's coffee and refreshments afterward. And sometimes, if I'm lucky, I can get a break from feeling agnostic, because, believe me, it's not a comfortable condition.
Churches, however, (with the exception of the Unitarian-Universalists, who I can't figure out) are made for true believers. They sing about how much they believe, the pray about how much they believe, and they talk about what awesome things they're going to do with all that belief.
I don't want to sing about something I'm really iffy about. I don't mind praying; I talk to my dogs, even though I know they don't understand English. But I don't want to listen to a sermon exhorting me to go out there and throw my belief around.
I want a sermon that tells me I'm not crazy to be in a church. I want a sermon that makes me take out my Bible, which is all marked up from the years spent studying why I should believe, and mark up some new sentence with some light. Some good news.
Since I experienced such a sermon last, 12 years ago or so in Bend, I've been to four or five churches looking for another. I know, that's not that many in 12 years, but have you ever been to a new church? It's exhausting, and for me, terrifying to meet all those nice smiling people.
I tried a new one this morning. I have nothing to report, sermon-wise, because they had a visiting pastor who was awful, but the lovely church lady who led me to the after-service coffee hour assured me that their regular pastor is way better. They sure could use some help in the hand bell choir, though.
I've been more diligent this year in trying to find a new church. The thing that is puzzling me about my recent church visits is that I spend most of the hour staring at the hymnal, inwardly criticizing the preposterousness of the words, trying not to glare at fussy babies, and critiquing lay peoples' reading abilities and styling choices, and then I go to take communion and get a big cry-lump in my throat.
What's that about? I've never really even considered communion a necessity to Christian worship. I always thought it a little over-wrought and not exactly what Jesus had in mind. I could go all theological on your ass right here, but I'll refrain. So why the emotion flood?
If you say it's God's will, I will hit you.
But they are all home grown tasting, which means delicious, and I'm going to keep at it until the freezer is bulging and my skin is shiny and red. Redder than usual.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
I don't miss him. That's not to say that I won't be happy to have him back. I just enjoy me some "me time." More than most people, I'm afraid (I already get 24 hours of "me time" every time Drew goes to work.) And I must say I may be not missing him more than usual this time, as we had just spent a week together. Like, constantly together.
However, I am missing Dean. The quiet reminds me how much I miss him. I laugh more with Dean around.
The dogs are funny, but they're not Dean funny.
That is all.
Back to my tomato cooking.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
I could begin my post by continuing the outdoor-toilet-substitute-exploits theme begun last time, but I'm afraid that story may lead to my son finding it necessary to dig the visualization lobe out of his brain with a spare bicycle spoke, so I will just report here that there are very few outhouses in the Steen Mountains.
(Aah, crap - interception. This game is not going as planned.)
The Steens Mountains wilderness area has two official
(Fumble on the kick! Purdue's ball again! Aaah!)
The Steens Mountains wilderness area has two official
(A Purdue run to the two yard line!)
The Steens Mountains wilderness area has two official campgrounds up on top: one with maybe a dozen spaces around a tiny lake, and one with just four spaces around a dry wash.
We chose the latter on account
(now 20 to 3! What the hell!)
We chose the latter on account of the camo-clad bowhunters at the lake campground, who, instead of bowhunting, seemed to be content to use random campground items for beer-fueled target practice.
The Steens is dry and high, with several glacier-scooped gorges, juniper, sage, and aspen just turning yellow now.
It's high and thus cold at night, which makes a good sleeping bag a must, and some quick-on sweats a must for those late-night outhouse trips.
(Argh! Missed pass! Yipes! Bad snap! This game is a nightmare.)
We heard something prowling around our campground the first night, but Drew had his big old camping knife with him, so even though I kept thinking about Brick Tamblin's concern about women and bears,
(What! That was an incomplete pass, not a fumble!)
I wasn't worried. In the morning, Drew says he saw some tracks that may have belonged to a bobcat. Bobcats aren't scary - they're cute with their fluffy ears.
(This game sucks.)
Monday night, all four spaces were full in our little campground, with more hopeful campers continuing to drive through, scanning for spaces late into the evening.
Tuesday night, inexplicably, we had the whole place to ourselves. We scoured the other three camp spaces for firewood (feeling a little like survivors from Cormac McCarthy's The Road),
(Aargh! Another interception!)
We started a fire, hooked the Ipod up to the truck and listened to a Tim Dorsey book (Serge Storms: my favorite serial murderer with a photographic memory for Florida history and a certain code of gentlemanly behavior, however twisted).
Wednesday morning there was frost on the tent, and the coffee water took such a long time to boil.
(Dropped ball! Dropped ball! Dropped ball!)
After three days and two nights of dry and dusty camping, we were ready for some hot water and a milkshake, so we packed up the camp and headed east.
(Finally! A Duck interception! With 39 seconds left in the half.)
East? Yes, east - first to a natural hot springs spot on the edge of the Alvord Desert (sort-of lovingly sort-of kept up by loyal users), where we lolled in a wind-screened pool of slightly slimy, sulfury and minerally spa-hot water in the middle of nowhere on the edge of an ancient dry lake bed with no one in sight. Brilliant and absurd.
(20 - 6 Purdue at half time. Ugh.)
Once the hot water had turned my face a satisfying shade of fuchsia, it was time to move on to Fields, the teeny-tiny town that is home to the legendary Fields General Store.
The Fields General Store's claim to fame seems to be burgers and shakes. And the kind of quirky homeliness found only in American deserts.
If you eat at Fields, I suggest that you take a seat away from the grill, as it is best not to watch this process too closely. It would also be best to be one of those desert individualists who don't have much use for either aesthetics or hygiene. Or those food safety "theories."
(An Oregon pick! I hope the offense takes advantage this time! Nope. Fumble.)
We ended the day with hot showers in a Bend motel up on Century Drive.
Thursday was our ann
(Duck special teams touchdown! Purdue is now only up by 7. But where's the offense?)
Thursday was our anniversary and Drew wanted to do something nice for me, so we had a milli-calorie breakfast at the Westside, and headed up past Todd Lake to one of the Broken Top trail heads. Drew's aim was to hike over to the Green Lakes, which lay between Broken Top and the South Sister.
Drew is not a natural hiker. The hiking he does, he does either for me or for meat. (You know, for hunting.)
It didn't look that far on the map, but it ended up being a 6 to 7 -mile hike one way to the lakes, which are actually nestled at the base of the South Sister. Drew and his flat feet and sore shins, still smarting from Steens hiking the day before, were tired and achy when we got to the lakes, and although the scenery was unmatchable, with very few other humans within whistling distance, he rested in the shade while knowing he had to do it all over again to get back to the truck.
(Duck touchdown! The score is tied! Tied! Quack, dammit, effing quack!)
On our way up, Drew marveled at trail maintenance crews, who must pack chain saws up here to clear the trails of downed trees. I could easily imagine doing that, but can't imagine doing 100-mile bicycle rides just for a workout like Drew-type people do.
Although the hike up to the lakes had been quiet as we were busy admiring the scenery, I thought Drew could use some
(Fumble! Oregon's got it!)
I thought Drew could use some distraction on the way down, so I kept him talking. I rewound our last 26 years, and stopped it every five years to see what we could remember.
(Another fumble back to Purdue. Crap.)
From 1982, we stopped at 1987 (at Travis AFB with a show-stopping-cute two-year-old), 1992 (living in Bend before the BFD experience goes sour, Dean learning how to ignore his teachers), 1997 (post BFD "divorce" and past a quick spacer job at the PDX FD and new at the VFD job, living in Tualatin close to my Hollywood Video legal dept job), 2002 (deep into Hollywood Video supervisory headaches and starting to learn what it means to have a kid who is good at an expensive and unpopular sport), and finally 2007, our 25th anniversary, which we celebrated by gaining a daughter-in-law in August.
(Purdue is on the 15 and threatening. Here comes the field goal guy...yep. Purdue up by 3.)
That and a few other random topics kept us talking all the way back to the truck. It was touch and go at times when Drew stopped to rest his aching back - I wasn't sure whether he was going to straighten back up again, but he powered through it like a soldier.
Some happy-anniversary dinner at the Pine Tavern and a soaking in the Turkish bath at McMenamins, and Drew's back on top.
(Aach! Another missed catch in the end zone! Oh well, we got a field goal out of it. Back to a tie at 23.)
I wouldn't kick him in the shins today if I were you. Well, any time, really. But those shins are more than a little sore today.
(28 seconds left. Purdue has the ball. Down to a 44 yard field goal. Its wide! Its going to overtime!)
(Crap. QB Roper's down with a knee injury. Field goal for 3. Purdue's turn.)
(Thurmond gets a pass interference. Purdue gets close. Closer. Another field goal. To OT#2.)
(Purdue goes backward in their possession, and can't hit the field goal.)
(Freshman Duck QB Harper gets sacked as well. Johnson gets some yards back and Ducks get a 1st down. Blount in the end zone! TD and its over!)
(Holy crap. I've got to go lie down.)
Camping is made better by the shower afterward. Hiking is made better by the payoff at the end of the trail. If you get a chance to hike to Green Lakes (it turns out there is a shorter trail - check your favorite Central Oregon hiking guidebook), I would definitely do it.