On the way home from work this week, I saw a handful of crows dive bombing a bald eagle in mid-air as it flew towards the sunset, a pigeon on a solo trek to somewhere, and a couple of seagulls having an apparently leisurely flight to Lake Washington.
I like spring, and I really like birdies.
Ahhhhh.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
April so far
I can't believe it's been over a month since the last post!
To catch up, here goes....
Paul - my sweet beloved and total weirdo and person who makes me laugh more than I thought possible - turned 45. I think he's actually about 25. Had a nice party where we played 45s (get it? 45 speed records on his 45th birthday? GOLD!)
Gotta say it was a real treat to see so many friends.
My family came to visit and hung out for a week - quite nice to have them here for a bit, though I wish I'd been a little less busy at work and could have taken more time to be with them all.
Spent last weekend scrubbing the back deck and stairs in the rain. They're all covered with your standard dirt/dust/pollen mixture, with the occasional dollop of some green growth, so I decided that the best thing to do was to wait for some rain and give everything a scrub. Kind of therapeutic, actually.
Will attempt to treat the deck this weekend - gotta figure out how and with what. The owner says it's a pain, so I have no idea what to expect, but there are some cans of goo in the shop that might help.
Working with our lender to see if we can buy the house. No idea if we will be able to qualify for anything close to what the owner wants... but I guess that's part of the exciting journey.
No cakes in April, so it's a quieter month. We're both trying to return to a more balanced life and figure out more effective ways of taking care of ourselves.
Last note - spring has definitely sprung, and I'm loving it. Aside from the allergies, all the flowers and trees are so pretty!
To catch up, here goes....
Paul - my sweet beloved and total weirdo and person who makes me laugh more than I thought possible - turned 45. I think he's actually about 25. Had a nice party where we played 45s (get it? 45 speed records on his 45th birthday? GOLD!)
Gotta say it was a real treat to see so many friends.
My family came to visit and hung out for a week - quite nice to have them here for a bit, though I wish I'd been a little less busy at work and could have taken more time to be with them all.
Spent last weekend scrubbing the back deck and stairs in the rain. They're all covered with your standard dirt/dust/pollen mixture, with the occasional dollop of some green growth, so I decided that the best thing to do was to wait for some rain and give everything a scrub. Kind of therapeutic, actually.
Will attempt to treat the deck this weekend - gotta figure out how and with what. The owner says it's a pain, so I have no idea what to expect, but there are some cans of goo in the shop that might help.
Working with our lender to see if we can buy the house. No idea if we will be able to qualify for anything close to what the owner wants... but I guess that's part of the exciting journey.
No cakes in April, so it's a quieter month. We're both trying to return to a more balanced life and figure out more effective ways of taking care of ourselves.
Last note - spring has definitely sprung, and I'm loving it. Aside from the allergies, all the flowers and trees are so pretty!
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Appreciation, and Linda Ronstadt's teeth
First, let me say how much I appreciate everyone's comments and emails about the posting on my grandmother (below). I don't know if it's cuz I don't have kids to pass things on to or what, but I feel tremendously pleased/relieved/soothed by being able to share who my grandmother was with so many people.
Unrelated to that...
My waking thought this morning was, "Linda Ronstadt has 3 rows of teeth!"
I'd apparently been having a very specific dream about this:
She took them all out and cleaned them - they came out of her mouth in rows - every other day, or before she met anyone important. Then, once a month on the new moon she took them all out and did a thorough chemical cleansing. She did this on the night of the new moon so that there would be no mistake when the sun came up because letting the teeth sit too long in those chemicals would damage them.
Did I mention that at these times she would also strip all the flesh off her skull and had enormous eye sockets?
Lest you think this reflects some sort of theme on my part, the other dreams I had last night involved:
> a very specific and realistic view into the fridge during which I discovered we had no more orange juice (we actually do, though I remember feeling really bummed out about it in the dream)
> being a small bird
> Paul being a space jet pilot trying to land his expensive space jet thingy on the top side of a narrow cliff
>being in a high mountain lodge at night searching for a lost South American female hiker - then finding her in the lodge
This should be more than enough information for the average person to discover the following about me:
1 - what I had for dinner last night
2 - how I feel about my mother
3 - my shoe size in 3rd grade, and
4 - I have strong powers of prediction. You just wait and see, I know I'm onto something with Linda Ronstadt's teeth....
PS - If I die under mysterious circumstances, question Linda's people.
Unrelated to that...
My waking thought this morning was, "Linda Ronstadt has 3 rows of teeth!"
I'd apparently been having a very specific dream about this:
She took them all out and cleaned them - they came out of her mouth in rows - every other day, or before she met anyone important. Then, once a month on the new moon she took them all out and did a thorough chemical cleansing. She did this on the night of the new moon so that there would be no mistake when the sun came up because letting the teeth sit too long in those chemicals would damage them.
Did I mention that at these times she would also strip all the flesh off her skull and had enormous eye sockets?
Lest you think this reflects some sort of theme on my part, the other dreams I had last night involved:
> a very specific and realistic view into the fridge during which I discovered we had no more orange juice (we actually do, though I remember feeling really bummed out about it in the dream)
> being a small bird
> Paul being a space jet pilot trying to land his expensive space jet thingy on the top side of a narrow cliff
>being in a high mountain lodge at night searching for a lost South American female hiker - then finding her in the lodge
This should be more than enough information for the average person to discover the following about me:
1 - what I had for dinner last night
2 - how I feel about my mother
3 - my shoe size in 3rd grade, and
4 - I have strong powers of prediction. You just wait and see, I know I'm onto something with Linda Ronstadt's teeth....
PS - If I die under mysterious circumstances, question Linda's people.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
A tribute
My grandmother, Marta Grace Walsh (nee VanAuker), passed away last week at the age of 100+. While I am saddened by the loss on a personal and selfish level, I've been surprised to learn how much it has catalyzed a sense of thankfulness.
a - I am grateful I had the great fortune to get to know her after I became an adult - I simply never understood the depth of her character and enjoyable personality as a child. And, to have learned more about how she lived has inspired me in my own life.
b - I am grateful that I got to see her before she passed away. Due to weather craziness over the holidays I hadn't been able to go down to the ranch since last summer, and was deeply sad about that because we all knew she wouldn't have another year. I thank my family for letting us know it was time, so I could see her and be ready to say goodbye.
c - I am grateful for how she went. She did not linger, her pain was well managed by good hospice care, and she was still shockingly with it up till the end. Her vision and hearing were pretty weak and the morphine surely had her a bit whacked out, but she did perk up sometimes and say some pretty funny - and compassionate - things. She then passed away a few hours later in her sleep, still only on the minimum morphine dosage; she did not have to suffer through ever-increasing pain cycles. If I could choose the way I will go, that'd be it without a doubt.
d - I am grateful I got to tell her while she was fully alive and alert how pleased I was to know her, and how proud I was to have her as my grandmother.
e - Finally, I am grateful for my family, and that we could all be together last week.
She was such a strong personality that she still feels like a big presence. I guess I'm kind of amazed that her presence persists - at least for me - so strongly even though she's died. But then again, for someone like her, it kind of makes sense.
Only a few of the many high points from a rich life lasting over a century:
She took her first world cruise in her early 90's, at about the same time she decided to learn how to use email.
She was quite a dancer for much of her life, and at her 99th birthday party she demonstrated that could still stretch her leg up above her head - she seemed to embody the idea that aging was for other people.
She gave birth to my father during the depression, and raised him as a single mother loooong before it was as common or as possible as it is today.
She painted all her life, even taking up new techniques in the last decade just so she could keep learning. This black and white is a picture of her (center, circled) at a painter's retreat in the northern California hills.
She appeared not to fear anything, and enjoyed travel, watching sports, listening to opera, and taking a strict approach to the weeds in her yard.
Those of you who met her at our wedding may remember a lively, self-sufficient 94 year-old.... she looked and acted like that up until right near the end. It's just so impressive.
When we gathered last June in California for her 100th birthday celebration - which included a hot air balloon trip because she'd always wanted to do that - I just marveled at how she managed to keep up with everyone. Heck, sometimes she was even leading the charge. We all had to take naps to keep up with the full schedule, but she was able to keep pace with us 'young'uns'.
My grandmother in her 20's at a picnic in northern California, with my grandfather's arm around her, and two of their friends.
GrandMarta - Born in June 1908, died in February 2009, and really full life in between.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Gas Pump Girls
There are bad movies, and they exist at different levels.
Some are bad because they aim to be, which perversely can make them really good (Army of Darkness, Frankenhooker, Grease 2, My Chauffer, Bad Taste).
But this isn't about those.
No, this post is about the kind of bad movie that makes you realize there is a point at which you will no longer watch it, a movie so bad you will walk out of the theater or press that small square button on your remote in order to end the agony.
But that decision can be tough - sometimes there's the hope of something better, staying the executioner's hand. Afterall, most movies manage to assemble at least 1 good scene; what if that scene is such gold that you end up laughing your brains out and quoting it for the rest of your life? Or, what if there is the promise of some good gratuitous nudity?
So the tortured viewer must ask: How - and when - do you decide??
Last night, I discovered the point closest to stopping a movie without actually doing so. And that point was called Gas Pump Girls.
Sure we could have turned it off anytime. But there were SO many things going for it that could have resulted in a classic piece of B-movie gold: description called it a 'sex comedy", filmed in 1979, a totally unknown cast, a bad plot explained in 1 random musical number, unbelievably bad steroetypes, and a creepy character named Uncle Joe. SO much potential!!
Alas, at the end of the movie we couldn't recall a single good scene - The 'sex'/nudity was so depressingly lackluster it made flannel nightgowns seem racy. The implausibility of the plot never ventured into campiness, it just roamed the neighborhood of earnestness looking confused. And the characters were so bizarre that I found myself wondering how strong the pot was back then.
Favorite costume: Motorcycle gang leader (with an inexplicable Brooklyn accent, despite the setting being the California central valley) wearing a full black leather riding jacket (in the blazing sun) with no shirt (ewww), tiny black shorts with white trim (ewwww), and black leather mid-calf boots (ohdearohdear).
My brain cramps up when I try to figure out the logic of that one....
Does it help to know that he is an Israeli and was a Chippendales dancer as well as a model in playgirl?
brains oooooozing out of ears.....
Some are bad because they aim to be, which perversely can make them really good (Army of Darkness, Frankenhooker, Grease 2, My Chauffer, Bad Taste).
But this isn't about those.
No, this post is about the kind of bad movie that makes you realize there is a point at which you will no longer watch it, a movie so bad you will walk out of the theater or press that small square button on your remote in order to end the agony.
But that decision can be tough - sometimes there's the hope of something better, staying the executioner's hand. Afterall, most movies manage to assemble at least 1 good scene; what if that scene is such gold that you end up laughing your brains out and quoting it for the rest of your life? Or, what if there is the promise of some good gratuitous nudity?
So the tortured viewer must ask: How - and when - do you decide??
Last night, I discovered the point closest to stopping a movie without actually doing so. And that point was called Gas Pump Girls.
Sure we could have turned it off anytime. But there were SO many things going for it that could have resulted in a classic piece of B-movie gold: description called it a 'sex comedy", filmed in 1979, a totally unknown cast, a bad plot explained in 1 random musical number, unbelievably bad steroetypes, and a creepy character named Uncle Joe. SO much potential!!
Alas, at the end of the movie we couldn't recall a single good scene - The 'sex'/nudity was so depressingly lackluster it made flannel nightgowns seem racy. The implausibility of the plot never ventured into campiness, it just roamed the neighborhood of earnestness looking confused. And the characters were so bizarre that I found myself wondering how strong the pot was back then.
Favorite costume: Motorcycle gang leader (with an inexplicable Brooklyn accent, despite the setting being the California central valley) wearing a full black leather riding jacket (in the blazing sun) with no shirt (ewww), tiny black shorts with white trim (ewwww), and black leather mid-calf boots (ohdearohdear).
My brain cramps up when I try to figure out the logic of that one....
Does it help to know that he is an Israeli and was a Chippendales dancer as well as a model in playgirl?
brains oooooozing out of ears.....
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