On the edge of my muggle seat

Great news: I just received a special delivery at work: My copy of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows." Oh happy day!

Not-so-great news: This morning, before receiving said special delivery, I agreed to accompany the association's executive director to a workshop in Shoreline tonight. That is to say, I just sacrificed my evening, which would otherwise be dedicated to devouring HPatDH. Oh sad day!

The book is sitting on my desk, taunting me. It is everything I can do not to lock my door and start reading right now.

If you, blog readers, are Harry Potter fans, too, I wish you happy reading!

Ten reasons to feel happy

Today is a good day for the following reasons:

1. It is gray, rainy and cool. Not exactly the ideal summer day, but perfect nonetheless. After a few days of suffering through the arid heat of Phoenix, a measured dose of PNW rain is just I what I need. Sure, I'll be wishing for the sun in a few days, but for now, I'll take the clouds and the raindrops.

2. SMH liked the birthday presents I gave him this year. My husband is thoughtful and romantic and talented at picking out gifts for me. I do not share that talent, and I somehow always fall short of any great ideas. But, finally, I hit on some gifts that resonate with his interests/personality, including a tool belt (a great accessory to match his rapidly developing DIY skills) and Icky Thump (first track: um, hello, prog rock?).

3. My boss is downright wonderful. Not just "I can tolerate my boss because he is not a complete jerk" but "My boss is an outstanding, classy human being who supports his employees, constantly gives positive feedback, brings energy to the job, and has a sense of humor." (He appreciates the humor of -- and therefore can quote -- Best in Show, the SNL cowbell skit and the SNL Star Trek convention skit. Are you kidding me? If I had to choose a boss, I would choose this guy!) I am not saying this to kiss ass because, though he knows I blog, he doesn't know my web site...at least, I don't think he does.

4. Over the past week or so, I have heard from a slew of old friends, who despite my pathetic record of correspondence, still seem to like me. I don't know why they don't write me off. I deserve it. But still, they send me e-mails and call me and make me miss them something awful.

5. I am making new friends here in OlyWa. One of my first nights here, I broke down over a bowl of clam chowder (topped with crab, it's good that way!), confessing my greatest fear: that I'd never form any friendships here. But we're meeting people -- nice, cool people. The kind of people who make me grateful for having the nerve to move across the country.

6. In a matter of weeks, we will have a second-floor bathroom. Our house is currently in a state of utter chaos, with holes in walls, floors torn up, furniture out of place. plastic hanging everywhere. But soon, very soon, we will no longer have to go downstairs for all our bathroom needs. (Note: See me after we get our next bill to check on my mood.)

7. I am baking up a storm. In a feverish baking spree (known as "elf mode") last night, I made brownies, meringues and truffles. And, in my search for Fleur de Sel (which I never did find), I found out which store in OlyWa sells star anise.

8. I had a positive travel adventure last week. While flying to and from Phoenix, I saw the following out my airplane window:
- A very close-up view of Mount Rainier.
- The Grand Canyon
- A forest fire in California (OK, I know that is nothing to celebrate, but how often do you get to see that from above?)
- Mount Shasta
And, as we flew into SeaTac, and I saw the Sound and the mountains and the trees, I thought to myself, I love where I live.

9. I am eating healthier (brownies, meringues and truffles notwithstanding). The unfortunate fact that I am no longer running regularly is balanced by the fact that I seem to be off the evil sugar addiction.

10. This morning, I saw the following quote from Anne Frank: "Isn't it wonderful that no one need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world?" Bittersweet, but it kind of made my day.

Birthday greetings

A big, ginormous HAPPY BIRTHDAY to SMH.

It is very sad that we are 1,450 miles apart and cannot celebrate together.

But believe me, SMH, the best birthday present is that you don't have to be here in the fires of Phoenix with me.

You are getting to do things like shoot the Tigers/Mariners game, while I am having to do things like spend an evening (outside) at "Rawhide, the 1880's Western town, steakhouse, saloon and shops in the heart of Wild Horse Pass" (description: "Step back in time where the Wild West comes to life with old-time hospitality, delicious chow, old west shootouts, and lots of fun attractions.")

Seriously, who's getting the short end of the stick here?

This is your list of things to do:
- Enjoy the day as a bachelor.
- Forego the endless house projects and do something fun.
- Don't be sad about turning another year older.
- Sing this little ditty to yourself: "The greatest adventure is what lies ahead..."

Heat = whinge

I am writing from Phoenix, Arizona. In mid-July. Need I say more?

Yes, it is miserable. Intolerable. Unbelievable. Who in their right mind decides to live here?

The temperature today was 108 degrees. "It's a dry heat," some say, to put visitors' minds at ease, I guess. But I assure you, a dry 108 degrees still feels like a fiery inferno.

Whinge, whinge, whinge.

A conference for work brings me to Phoenix. Unlike last year's conference in Chicago, when I thoroughly enjoyed my free time strolling around the wonderful Windy City, this year's conference has one theme: Spend as little time outside as possible. So, I am a slave to my air-conditioned room, to the television, and to the laptop, which my boss has generously lent me.

Whinge, whinge, whinge.

This puts OlyWa's 99-degree day on Wednesday in perspective. Our PNW "heatwave" lasted two days this week. And, my fellow Midwest natives, speaking of whinging, you would not believe the storm of complaints that the heat set into motion. With your constant barrage of "hazy, hot and humid" conditions, you would laugh these PNWers out of town.

...Which leads me to wonder, am I unable to tolerate the Phoenix conditions because I have become a soft PNWer? Am I complete wimp? I suspect I already know the answer.

Steve from Cincinnati

...Not to be confused with John from Cincinnati, who apparently is also a surfer. SMH got to try his hand (or feet) on the surfboard last weekend, when we went camping with friends at Kalaloch. How did he do? Aside from a cracked rib, I'd say pretty good.



Friend/surfer Dave lent SMH and the other fellas an extra wetsuit and his surfboard. Each took a turn with the board.




Three-year-old Eloise shows up the guys, with the help of her dad!







Eloise wonders, "Dude, what's up with these amateur surfers?"

This little girl:
Cracks. Me. Up.

There were six children on the camping trip -- all funny, all cool. Yay for kids playing on the beach all day.









Loki made a few new friends at Kalaloch, including Eloise and Angus.

Karla's making me laugh

I owe friend Karla a shout out.

If you didn't know, Karla is one Ballsy designer.

Aside from making me yearn for a weekend, or two, or three, in NYC, Miss Karla made me howl with laughter last week as she reacquainted me with the joys of Gawker Stalker. I had kicked the GS addiction for a while, but am now off the wagon (or would that be back on the wagon?), checking the site obsessively for new additions. The "Trey Macdougal" sighting is making me laugh especially hard today. Karla assures me she will make her own contribution sometime soon (but, Karla, make sure it is not about a Richard Belzer sighting).

My old friend is also lighting up my life these days by sending me references to Freaks and Geeks. The fact that she not only appreciates the minor characters but is able to cite obscure quotes from them puts her a notch above ridiculously cool.

Karla is doing very well for herself on the LES (which is no surprise), and I expect someday soon she will be the subject of a GS entry. Just don't forget the little people, Karla.

Get me out of here

I have never been so happy to finish a week. Was it me, or did this week last about a year? Ugh...

In the spirit of Waitress, I made three special desserts last night:
Lamenting-My-Lack-Of-Professional-Luster Lemon Bars
Tired-Of-Making-An-Idiot-Of-Myself Pecan Pie Bars
I'd-Rather-Be-Anywhere-Than-My-Office Double Chocolate Chip Cookies

I will soon be enjoying these tasties by a campfire at Kalaloch, where I will be happy to shun all thoughts of computers, telephones and televisions -- in a word, technology.

Forget about the line to buy an iPhone (from Gawker: "So it's shiny. It's new. It turns sideways or something!") , where is the line to get rid of my cell phone, et al?

Big challenge

I have a new guilty pleasure. Emphasis on the "guilty," given my longstanding hatred of all entertainment which includes the word "reality" as a descriptor.

You guessed it. My new guilty pleasure is a TV show. A TV reality show. Shameful.

Let me begin with the obligatory statement of innocence. I just happened to turn on the TV as I was, um, doing some housecleaning (who me?! I never lay around lazily watching TV), when I got sucked into the first show of Shaq's Big Challenge.

The premise: Shaquille O'Neal helps six overweight kids, ages 11 to 14, lose weight, become active and adopt a healthier lifestyle. (Like most successful show these days it is modeled after Unfit Kids, a British program with Arsenal superstar Ian Wright.

The kids are not just pudgy, they are obese -- some are "morbidly obese." Especially tragic is Walter (age 14, 285 pounds), who just about breaks your heart with his utter nerdiness and quirky (or, as the doctor called it, "infantile") behavior.

My favorite is Kevin, the only kid to manage a few push-ups in the presidential fitness test that Shaq required (all the kids failed -- no surprise). And, as Walter struggled, and I mean struggled, through the mandatory mile-run (read: run/walk) for the fitness test, Kevin ran on to the track to join last-place Walter and encourage him through the last lap. Cue to the empty tissue box currently next to the couch.

OK, the show has its flaws. Shaq does seems like he's acting sometimes (but some of his off-the-cuff comments are hilarious). And his musclehead physician/trainer is hard to watch; his every word and gesture seem contrived. Not to mention the expectation that the kids be self-motivated enough to work out at the gym on their own 5 days a week. (What?! How many adults are that committed?!)

Anyway, I know where I'll be next Tuesday night. Sedentary on my couch, watching a TV show about fitness.

At the old ballgame

Speaking of Cinti ex-pats...

Saturday night we joined Cincinnati-turned-Seattle friends Dave and Mary T. for the Reds vs. Mariners game. This was the much-heralded series that brought about the return of Ken Griffey, Jr. to Safeco Field.

Mary T. apologized for the seats - in Riverfront Stadium speak, we'd call them "the red seats" -- but they were great! It was warm and sunny, meaning that Safeco's retractable roof was open, and we basked in the Seattle sunshine while admiring a view of the city and the Sound.

We soaked in the vitamin D...
















...and sure, we had to shield our eyes for much of the game, but when you're in the PNW, you never, ever complain about the sun lest it start raining 5 minutes later.














Mariners fans welcomed "The Kid" back with open arms, and the crowd erupted in cheers whenever he came up to bat. (What, no hits that night? What a crock!) A few days back in Seattle, and Griffey's all, "I want to retire there." Junior, Junior, don't get those Seattleites' hopes up. Don't you know, the peoples wants to see you.


Who would have guessed there would be so many Cincinnati fans in Seattle? Perhaps they were just wearing Reds garb in deference to Griffey...but we saw an awful lot of Reds shirts, along with a UC sweatshirt, a Miami U. t-shirt and lots of Buckeye paraphernilia.



Yes, we were very sad that the Reds got pummeled, 9-1.



















But hey, we got to see a grand slam, we got to dance everytime a homerun was hit, and we got to eat ice cream out of a miniature baseball helmet (which we dubbed "Delish in a Helmet Dish") -- so how could we possibly complain?

Bliss comes in scrounds

News today that Graeters has begun selling their ice cream in 56-oz. scrounds, ie, rectangular cartons with rounded corners.

The question on the minds of all Cincinnati ex-pats: Will the scrounds be available for shipping? We hope so, Graeters. Not a week goes by that we don't lament the lack of "real ice cream" out here -- especially during those summer evenings.

Only a few flavors have made the first rounds of scrounds. But, saints be praised, those flavors include the most important: chocolate chip, black raspberry chip, mint chip and double chocolate chip.

Spare us the nausea

When it comes to picking the next president -- or even just a presidential candidate -- I hope that we as a nation make our choice based on things like experience, intelligence, proposed domestic/foreign policy, depth of character, ability to make sound judgment, etc.

Even still, I can't help but think that Hillary deserves to be voted down based solely on her recent selection (or YouTube voters' selection, so she says) of her official campaign theme song, "You and I," by Celine Dion.

Celine Dion? Really??? Are you sticking with that, Hillary?

Because, truly, if you were looking for a sound that could generate a visceral reaction of regret and revulsion, you have nailed it. Is the theme of your campaign agony and distress? Are you looking to nauseate the entire population? To set our collective teeth a-gnashing and stomachs a-wretching?

Rosa Brooks of the L.A. Times says, "If the SAT's analogies section tested politics and pop culture, even the dimmest teenager would agree that 'Hillary Clinton: Politics = Celine Dion: Music.'"

Right on, Rosa.

This is a question of one's ability to make sound judgment. Hillary, I know you're going strong, but we really have to question your decision-making ability on this one.

Summer is here

Today, at 11:06 am, we welcomed summer. With the first day of summer came 15 hours, 59 minutes and 31 seconds of glorious daylight.

At this time of year, the sun rises around 5:00 am and sets around 9:00 pm. When you include the morning and evening twilight, that's a lot of light. This is one of my favorite things about PNW summer. (Yes, the converse is true: The short winter days are one my least favorite things, but let's not think about that right now.)

Another thing I relish about PNW summers: Unlike the Midwest, summer here doesn't mean oppressive heat. Locals are keen to tell you that summer doesn't really start here until after the Fourth of July. Case in point: It was a cool, sunny 71 degrees today, and temperatures this weekend are not expected to rise above 70. OK, so there's rain the in the forecast for Saturday and Sunday -- but I'll take it. It reminds me of Ireland and England.

Speaking of summer...We have already taken a mini summer vacation to what has become one of my favorite places in the world: the Oregon Coast. (Pictured above are SMH and Loki enjoying the ocean at low tide.) We spent the first weekend in June in Newport, then followed our noses to a campground about 15 south of Cannon Beach.

The campground -- Oswald West State Park -- turned out to be an amazing discovery. Camping is tent-only, so you have to hike in about .25 mile (the park provides wheelbarrows -- how thoughtful!) to set up. When we finally settled in, we realized we were one of the only campers there without surfboards. Turns out the camp is popular with the local surfers, so we spent some time down at the beach watching and wishing we knew how to hang 10.

We also did some hiking along beautiful cliffs



And we explored some tide pools.

The last picture shows some starfish in the tide pools. I know they look a little squishy and creepy, but they are actually beautiful, decked out in brilliant oranges and purples.

The weekend also involved a tour of the Rogue Brewery, a delish salmon dinner, a run on the beach, and with friend Kevin's help, a whale-spotting in Depoe Bay.

The summer is off to a spectacular start.

Ewww...

I like to crab to my husband. Crab about how he doesn't do the dishes, how he always loses his keys, how he doesn't keep his car clean. If you were to call this "henpecking," you would not be too far off base. I admit it, and I am not proud of it.

Last week, SMH earned himself a "get-out-of-henpecking-free" card for the next, oh, year or so.

He called me at work with news of the horrible discovery he had just made in our backyard: a bloody decapitated cat, with limbs and entrails astrewn. After he hung up the phone, he proceeded to clean it all up, blood and guts and all. Just hearing about it made me gag. Clean it up? No way I could have done it.

We think the culprit was probably a coyote, or maybe one of Oly's killer raccoons.

This is not the first time SMH has had to deal with Oly wildlife. Last summer, he caught and "relocated" a pair of squirrels who came down our chimney. If the two resident deer return to our backyard this year, I am thinking maybe I should quit my day job and become a zookeeper.

Weekend memories

Third day after the marathon, and I am breathing a bit easier. I am now officially over the need to walk down the steps backwards as well as the desire to install handicapped- accessible bars on either side of our toilet.

So, here's a bit more about our weekend adventure in Sequim-Port Angeles.

Joined by friends Laurel and Kevin (and dog Loki), SMH and I headed up to P.A. last Friday evening. On Saturday morning, we took the ferry over the Victoria, BC, where we spent the day wandering in the dreary PNW rain, stopping for breakfast, drinks and snacks along the way.

I am sure you would be surprised to find out that I was stressing and obsessing about the marathon all day Saturday. Me, obsess? Yes, it's true, and as I was busy obsessively plotting out charts and maps during the ferry ride, SMH interrupted to show me an article in the Seattle Times about one of the marathon monks of Mt. Hiei. Suddenly, the race the next day lost some of its significance. See, when I run, I carry Gu, which I will use to replenish my energy if I start to bonk. When the monk runs, he carries a rope and a sword, which he will use to kill himself if he is unable to complete his daily journey. Eeek.

After returning to P.A. Saturday evening, we had dinner, followed by a walk along the final stretch of the marathon. Here we are in the chute, with the finish line just behind us...

...And there I am about 50 feet from the finish line of the marathon, from the perspective of SMH and Kevin, who were enjoying a beer from the balcony of our hotel room. (A well-deserved beer, I might add, after rushing around the course all morning.) Funny thing about this photo ... I don't remember smiling and waving to the fellas. In fact, I don't even remember acknowledging them. And I don't remember Laurel peeling off here. I don't recall much of anything except wanting it to be over and wanting to get out of the cold rain.

Can you tell it wasn't a big race? Where are all the crowds at mile 26???

One of the reasons I chose this marathon was because Sequim is reputed to be one of the sunniest places this side of the mountains. But not Sunday. Sunday, it was windy, wet and chilly. Which makes it all the more amazing that Laurel jumped in and carried me through the last third of the race. She is the only thing that kept me going. As nice as the charming bridges were along the course -- as nice as the cows were, serenading us with their moos -- as nice as the trumpet player was at the water stop, playing "Happy Days" as slow as molasses (and apparently "Deck the Halls", too) -- as nice as the last stretch along the water was -- there was nothing, nothing, as good as having Laurel there to push me through. She told good jokes, posed some thought-provoking "would you rather..." scenarios, and kindly encouraged me and other runners with crazy exclamations like "You look great! You look strong! You're awesome!" I knew they weren't true -- I looked like hell -- but I clung to her every last word. Thanks, Laurel! And Kevin, SMH and Loki!

Oh, those 26.2 miles...

It took me over two years, but finally -- a second marathon is under my belt.

Here is my initial assessment of the North Olympic Discovery Marathon:

Boo to headwinds!!
Boo to cold rain!!
Boo to hills, hills and more hills!!
Boo to atrocious splits!!

But to make up for all those "Boos"...
YAY to friend Laurel for carrying me the last 10.2 miles!!
YAY to supporters SMH, Kevin, Laurel and Loki, who speedily navigated their way through the course and cheered me on at nine(!) different spots!!

3:54:42? Not the time I was shooting for. Certainly not fast enough for a "Sub-Dub" (ie, not fast enough to beat Bush's marathon time). But I'll worry about that tomorrow. Right now, it's off to rest those achin' legs.

I can die a happy woman

Well, friends, I am happy -- no, ecstatic -- no, euphoric -- to share with you what I did over the holiday weekend.

I saw The Police in concert.

That was the ice cream sundae. This is the cherry on top: It was the first show -- the first show! -- of the Police's first world tour in 23 years.

My friend Rachel and I traveled up to Vancouver to catch the kick-off show, and oh, was it worth the trip. I was nearly weeping like a schoolgirl when they took the stage. Sigh...

Need I say that The Police are still one of the greatest bands in history? And need I say that their music sounds incredible and amazing live? And need I say -- really, need I say? -- that Sting is still capable of setting every girl's heart aflutter? For crying out loud, does the man even age?

I will not bore you by waxing poetic about the show; I will only make these few observations:
1. The trio did not start the show with "Roxanne." Thank you, thank you, thank you for that.
2. Stewart Copeland stole the show in a subtle, understated kind of way. He has not lost his edge in the slightest.
3. I am a complete idiot for following the rules and not bringing my camera to the show. Wah, no pictures for me.

Go here if you want to get a taste of what the show was like.

A running trainwreck

A few months ago, I started something new.

About once or twice a week, I run during my lunch hour. The Chehalis-Western is a great bike trail a half mile or so from work, so I can hop on, get in a few miles, then run back. The trail is home to evergreen trees, ponds, horses, even surprisingly pretty black and green snakes. And occasionally, a young person or two toking it up behind the forsythia. Oh, and sometimes, scary unleashed dogs tearing after me.

Today's was a halcyon run, with the sun shining and the air cool. Birds were singing. Passersby were friendly. It was good.

The only thing -- and this is kind of a disgusting thing -- is that there is no shower at work. So, I have to come back, wash my face, brush my hair, and hope that I don't look like a trainwreck.

That's pretty optimistic, I know, especially because these days I typically look like a trainwreck when I leave the house in the morning.

I'm thinking that the PNW has made me less vain. Either that, or it has made me a total rube.

Wow...

...That was a long case of writer's block.

Good thing Kevin paid us a visit and threw a bit of his creative force our way. A few good conversations with Kevin, a few visits to his blog, and I suddenly feel inspired to break this six-month hiatus. Thanks, Kevin.

So, bear with me. I'm shaking out the blogger's cobwebs. The good thing, I guess, is that everybody has probably given up on my blog by now, so I am free to write really crappily without being self-conscious.

Why start the blog again? Here's the scene: I've been finding post-it notes I have written to myself all over the place. All over the place. On my dashboard. On my ipod. On my "free gift" Clinique makeup bag.

What is written on the post-its? Some book titles, some grocery lists, some time splits. But mostly, I don't know what's on the post-its. All I know is my thoughts seemed really important at the time (on one of them, I can decipher the words "terribly important"), but now these scribbled thoughts are meaningless, relegated to a corner of my desk at work. I can't read them, either because I can't make out my own handwriting or because the pencil has all but faded. But I can't throw them away (what if what I wrote was my one and only stroke of genius?). The solution: Lose the post-its, go back to the blog.

So, after about an hour and a half of trying to remember my blogspot username and password, it's back to the blog I go.