Christmas 2012

Merry Christmas! I am looking out my attic window onto the street below - no rain or snow. Yes, here in Portland it is clear  - and cold, very cold. Last week's snow was perfection - beautiful to watch floating down, didn't stick to the road (to the car, yes, but not the driveway) and was soon gone. My kind of snow. I am thoroughly enjoying Christmas with a 3-year old. Wesley is enchanted with everything and adds his own spin to things.

Window decorations
Right before Thanksgiving Wesley and I traced our hands and turned them into colored-paper turkeys which we taped to the kitchen windows. He had done them at home (Stephanie was much more creative - she added legs and beaks in different colors - the Martha Stewart of turkey production!) and wanted to do them at my house as well. Last week I suggested we replace the turkeys with snow flakes. He was delighted. He is quite good with scissors (well, for a 3-year old) and we cut and snipped away. He taped all our creations to the window adjacent to the turkeys which he insisted must stay as well. We have, therefore, quite a seasonal display.

But then he asked to add something special. I wondered which Christmas addition - Santa? Stars? Trees? No, he wanted to add rocket ships. Of course. I drew a primitive one and then he told me who to put in the windows as passengers - Daddy, Mommy, Greg (visiting right now), Gramma, Grampa Tom (Dan's father), Wesley and in little windows above and below him, Matilda (his dog) and Divet and Newton (his cats). I was happy to oblige.

 So, if you are driving down SE 21st Avenue, look for the kitchen window with snowflakes, turkeys AND rocket ships.

Advent Calendar
I gave the Advent Calendar Christmas Tree I made when the children were young to Stephanie so Wesley happily adds a decoration to it each day. At my house I have a Noah's Ark Advent Calendar that Wesley played with last year. To him it was just a toy - I didn't try to use it to mark the march of days toward Christmas. This year, when I pulled it out, I wondered if he would remember it (nope, to him it was brand new) and if he would want to use it as a calendar. Again, nope - it was an interesting toy with lots of possibilities, none of which included a calendar.

Here it is as a possible calendar - one animal added for each day.

I told him the basic outline of Noah and the Ark. He liked the part about the animals marching on board two-by-two. He asked me to make a sign for the ark - can you read it?

It says Must have buddy to get on Ark

And so the play began. He would hide an animal (so that the buddy couldn't go on board), find it, put it in another "boat" (the basket that holds the TV remotes) and sail it over to the ark where the buddies were reunited.  They could then go on board together.

Can you see the "boat" on the floor to the right? The monkey, lion and dove are inside the basket waiting to be reunited with their buddies on the Ark's deck.

Later he decided that having a buddy wasn't enough. The animals must have tickets as well (this from a child who has already flown umpteen times so knows his boarding passes). We attached stickers to all the animals.

Yep, they are legitimate passengers - their stickers show they have the proper credentials. The elephant has a fairy, the lion a snake and the hippo a blue ribbon. Of course.

Then, love of scatology reared its head. What is happening in the photos below?  The animals are peeing off the side of the ark, of course. I blame Lee. Wesley is fascinated by the bathroom system on Lee and Michelle's sailboat - a bucket for those who wish it or, the more direct approach, peeing overboard. Wesley can't wait to be old enough to pee over the side but enjoys using the bucket in the meantime. Noah's animals have already advanced to the "over-the-edge" method.  Note that animals go all around the ark.

 Close up of one side, buddies hanging off the side.

This is an equal opportunity Ark - both sides can be used at once when peeing overboard.

Nativity Scene
The one I have is tiny - it was all we could afford when we were young parents and, of course, now I wouldn't think of changing it because of all the memories associated with it. I am a history teacher and I liked to place the nativity in an historic setting so I started Mary, Joseph and the donkey across the room and each day Stephanie and Lee would move them a bit forward until, on Dec 24th, they made it to the manger.  I started the kings several rooms away - after all, they came from much farther away.

I showed the set to Wesley and started to go over the basic story. Before I got much beyond "They were on their way to Bethleham" Wesley picked up Mary, Joseph and the donkey and deposited them inside the tea pot in the bookshelf. "They have to go to jail first," he said, "Then they can go back on the road." There they stayed for several days. In fact, when I went to move them back to the stable this morning I realized that Joseph has gone missing. I checked the neighboring "jail", the coffee pot, but it was empty as well.

When he is over next we will have to review other possible options for Joseph's location. For the time being the shepherd is sitting in for Joseph. I moved the kings into the photo - they are still in the kitchen, slowly working their way toward Bethleham, but wanted them to have their 5 minutes of fame in the photo.

Each figure is 1- 2 inches tall. 

Cookies
Wesley and I made a set of cookies and had the usual experience -  more frosting on his face and hands than made it onto the cookies. Much fun. I am missing Stephanie's girl friends from Carmel High. For years they came over today (Christmas Eve) to decorate cookies. As they grew older I loved listening to their chatter as they caught up with each other's lives while creating interesting frosting colors for cookies that became more sophisticated in their design. They had favorite cookie cutters and brought more to add to my collection. What good memories.

So Christmas 2012 is almost here and I am thinking of all of you - family and friends. I wish you all the happiest and most joyous of days tomorrow and right through the New Year into 2013.

December - What a Month!

So much to do, so little time - no, no longer true. My life in Oregon is so tiny compared to the life I led in Pacific Grove that I can no longer use that excuse. Not ever again. Not for anything. I now have plenty of time and love every non-busy second of it.

Right this minute my laptop is somewhat precariously balanced on my lap, my feet are propped on the coffee table, the gas fireplace is on, Christmas music is playing, the tree is lit and Wesley has added other decorations around the room in his own inimitable style. What more could I ask? 

I do love this time of year. The shortness of the days adds to their mystery. It's now almost dark by 4:30 and the air is quite crisp (and, often damp - who knew?)  Last night Stephanie, Dan and I took Wesley to watch the Christmas Express train in all its steaming glory set out on its once-per-hour trip around the surrounding neighborhoods, its decorated cars filled with excited children and parents. The 3 of them rode it this afternoon - much more to see in daylight, of course - but oh, it was magical to watch it depart, steam shooting up in the air in the darkness of last evening. Wesley was thrilled.

Thanksgiving was lovely - we gathered at Pattie's house in Novato. I, however, was the guest that no one wants at their table. What I thought was non-contagious food poisoning that I suffered through on the day before Thanksgiving ended up being quite contagious - I passed it on to many at the  celebration. Lovely. I hope that my role as Typhoid Mary will be forgotten when Thanksgiving rolls around next year.  

What was interesting was the very small article I spotted in The Oregonian the week after I returned. It stated that 3 schools in Oakland were closed because of a highly contagious intestinal sickness rapidly working its way through the schools. The description of the symptoms was exactly what I had experienced and - guess what? I had dinner with Lee in Oakland the evening I arrived in California. Ah, that is where I must have picked it up - or, dread thought, did I bring it down and end up infecting the whole school system? No, impossible . . . . yes?

I also spent a few days in Pacific Grove - it was lovely to visit with friends.  My house, rented to others, seems to be fine and, most importantly, survived a huge storm the evening I left (hmmm - is this a coincidence? Both disease and pestilence follow me.).

But now I am home enjoying the end-of-autum-almost-winter season. The first unusual activity was the marathon reading of Homer's The Iliad at the Portland Art Museum. It was in conjunction with it's latest exhibit, The Body Beautiful, a joint-effort with the British Museum that focuses on the Greek ideal of beauty. Lots of Greek pots and sculpture including The Discus Thrower. Magnificent exhibit and this particular event was lots of fun. 300+ volunteer readers read non-stop for 10 hours. I was reader #64. I was given a great section to read  - meaning no hard names to pronounce and it was somewhat exciting - a description of 2 rivals putting on their armor and then facing each other, enraged, spears raised. We were urged to read our 2-minute segments in another language if we wished (I wondered if pig latin would work? "Ehthay aisedray eirthay earspay . . ."). Most read in English but during the 3 hours that I stayed to listen several spoke in Greek, Latin, Russian, French, and Spanish. My favorites were the children who read. We received our sections a week early so clearly the students had practiced and each read perfectly. The girl pictured below (standing on a box) was probably 9 years old. An interesting way to spend a Sunday morning. While listening, I thought a lot about my husband who loved teaching The Iliad.

While we read, our section was projected on the screen behind so that all in the 
audience could follow along.

Yesterday afternoon I attended the 22nd Annual Tuba Christmas in downtown Portland. 283 musicians with a wide variety of tubas performed Christmas carols for 90 minutes. These included all the traditional ones and some quite untraditional - who knew Doe a Deer belonged in a Christmas program? Or the fight songs for both the University of Oregon (Go Ducks!) and Oregon State (Go Beavers!)?  

One section of the audience - it wound around half of the plaza. I sat near the front on cold brick steps.  Note to self - next time bring a padded seat cushion!

While waiting for the performance to start a group on a scavenger hunt needed people to play foosball on the plaza so they could take a video of it. About a dozen people volunteered and played for a few minutes while the crowd cheered them on.

The tuba player in the Santa outfit won best costume (and decorated tuba - although you can hardly see it. I know, I know -  horrid photographer!)

The only folks who were protected from the weather were the tuba players - and of course you can't see them in the tent.  Look at the very back - can you see the sousaphones?  Look closely, way back. They are behind the other 200+ tuba players.

It was amazing to hear only tubas play music - some of the songs were magical, some haunting, and some, I must admit, were almost unrecognizable (when the conductor asked us to sing along with Away in A Manger I thought, "THAT was what they were playing?") But the 2000 people gathered in Pioneer Square in the light misty rain (and not a single umbrella - I looked far and wide - lots of hoodies and caps, however, oh those Oregonians!) had a good time singing along. 

I am busy at my two volunteer jobs. It's not a good time for those who are unemployed so we are giving out lots of food boxes at the emergency service place where I answer the telephone. At the other end of the spectrum, the library gift store is hopping with lots of Christmas goodies added to the usual assortment of used books and related cards, notebooks, calendars etc. for sale. Much fun in that all visitors seem to be in a good mood, especially when they spot the perfect little something for someone on their Christmas list.

So all is well here and I hope you are all enjoying this lovely season. It only comes once a year, you know, so go grab a cup of eggnog and celebrate every second of this joyous time with friends and family.

Much love to you all and Merry Christmas!

Year One Review

I forgot to celebrate the end of my first year in Portland. I am now officially two months into Year Two of my 5-year projected stay. Of course, the upcoming birth of grandchild #2 may change that schedule a bit.  Ohhhh the delights of babies.

So, how am I doing?

Four Signs that I am becoming an Oregonian:

#1 I bought a pair of wellies. Yep, you just need 'em if you are going to spend time outdoors, especially if gardening or walking with a grandson who adores jumping in puddles.

Okay, this is the best I could do leaning over to snap the photo with my phone camera. 

 Anna, of the wonderful African photos, where are you????

The wellies, just inside my back door, ready for action in the great Northwest.

#2  I grab a jacket with hood whenever I go out.  Mary gave me a jacket that I love (don't even THINK of trying to get it back from me, sister dear). So much better than the wool jacket I previously used - see below.

Although it is deliciously warm, this wool jacket gets damp in the rain and you know that wet wool smell? Not great. The new jacket, well the loaned/borrowed/I'm-sure-it's-now-mine jacket is warm AND water resistant. Much better for Portland. I walk around like a true Oregonian, popping the hood up when it starts to mist, pushing it away when it stops. So handy and it means I don't need an umbrella. My hands stay free. Lovely.

Okay, what about my bright neon yellow jacket from my time in Africa? Yes, it has a hood and is water resistant but it also overwhelmingly hideous. I have to be desperate to grab it. However, if I need to be spotted in a large crowd, it is waiting in the wings.

#3 I am now a pro on the bus. I will take it downtown early tomorrow morning to transfer to MAX, the light rail system, that will take me out to the airport to catch my plane to California. Oh so very urban!

#4 I am a kinder, gentler driver. However, given that I will be back in California tomorrow, I also know old habits die hard.


Four Challenges in my Transition to Life in Oregon 

#1 I'm not quite there yet with Oregonians who welcome the weather. What is outside my window right now? Hmm, what a surprise - gray skies, mist, trees rapidly losing their leaves and water dripping from the roof. Yes, it does have a certain "let's-go-sit-in-front-of-the-fire-and-read"ambience but almost every day? However, on the positive side, when the sun breaks through it is really appreciated, much more so than when I lived in California.

#2 I have now voted twice so understand the mail-in process. No in-person voting here; all voting is done by mail. It is certainly easier and, perhaps, by giving voters more time, voting is more thoughtful but I do miss that tingle of citizen-pride that I experience whenever I enter a polling booth. Such a precious right. This was especially true at my last California election when I accompanied Francia who was voting for the first time as an American citizen. I made sure everyone in the room knew we had a new citizen among us and she became the recipient of many smiles and nods of approval. She beamed and wore her I Voted sticker with pride. I miss those stickers.

#3 I am still adjusting to different conditions in the garden. Gardening in PG had its plusses and minuses. Technically just about anything will grow given its mild weather but I had to contend with deer that ate everything in sight including the tags that identified new plants as deer resistant. In addition the summer fog and hint of salt in the sea air meant that some plants didn't grow as well as they did a bit inland. I didn't even think of growing tomatoes but plants in big pots on my fenced deck (fie on you, deer!) grew prolifically. I had bulbs in the spring, herbs and bright flowers all summer and something green the rest of the year.

Here in Portland I share a small garden with my duplex neighbors. Just as the house is divided right down the middle into two identical units, so is the garden. My half is mostly paved; they have the back lawn and raised beds so I have returned to gardening in pots. I added them slowly, started with one on the front porch to greet neighbors, added a few along the back driveway to hold bulbs I brought from California (yes, I left lots of stuff stored in the attic in PG but dug up the bulbs to bring with me). In spring I filled two pots with primroses and in summer I filled three pots with herbs and two with strawberries (a Wesley favorite). They all thrived in the warm summer weather.

But now I have a problem - winter. The local paper warns that herbs in pots need to be moved into the ground. If not, the roots may freeze. Problem - the raised beds are in the neighbor's half of the yard. Could I use them? Probably. However I also appreciate that we carefully respect each other's space. I'd rather not invade their's. But what to do? I don't want to give up the herbs. I love picking them as needed. It seems that I have 2 choices - set up a indoor garden under a grow light in my basement or put them in the natural light in my kitchen. I chose the kitchen. I know, perhaps quite dumb given how small my unit is.

The plant on the chair is another problem child. My landlady left it with me while she and her husband went to India for a year. She loves it and I promised to keep care of it but it can't winter outside. The pot with the rosemary is the tall plant to the right in the photo.

The remaining herbs are on the other side of the table - ach, you can't see them - here is a close-up:

Parsley and thyme are in one, oregano, chives and another type of thyme are in the other.  I wonder how much time will pass before I grow tired of tripping over them and move them down to the basement and install a grow light?

I didn't think the bulbs would be a problem - they like the cold - but, oh my goodness, look.

They are already growing! I know they won't bloom at this point but what is going to happen next March? Not much, I suspect. Drat. Those were precious bulbs. I know, I know, I can start over and find ground space for them somewhere along the driveway but it is not the same. I have nursed these bulbs through 5 seasons.

And, finally, the primroses - they will have to tough it out. I don't have any more room inside and I never seem to have luck with primroses anyway. You're on your own.

#4 Have not yet added Portland expressions to my vocabulary. They just don't trip off my tongue. The two big ones are "spendy" and "PDX". The first means expensive, as in "That restaurant is spendy." The second means Portland. I'm not sure how the airport designation got turned into a reference to the city as a whole but that's just the way it is.

I will be away for the next 10 days - home for Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday of the year. Have a lovely Turkey Day, everyone, here in PDX or wherever you are.

See I CAN start using those words.

Hunkering Down

It's getting cold and it's getting dark. With the departure of Daylight Savings, dusk now starts before 5 and, yesterday, I woke up in an extremely cold bedroom. I reluctantly took those steps that indicate looming winter - I turned on the gas fireplace insert for the first time and pulled out my hat, gloves and scarf for their winter storage on my grandmother's high chair that stands next to my front door.

As I look out my window I can see smoke rising from chimneys across the street. Our long Indian Summer is now officially a memory of the past. And of course this means gray skies and rain have come back as have all the hoodies on everyone walking by. The wonder is the leaf-turning. It is not as spectacular as the Connecticut Autumns of my past but it is pretty darn good. On our ride home from preschool each day Wesley and I note the difference in today's amount of leaves versus yesterday's. There is one stretch on McLoughlin Boulevard that we call the "Tunnel of Trees," where huge trees span the road to meet overhead. They are our gauge of the seasons. It seemed to take forever for the green sprouts to turn into full grown leaves last Spring and now they are slowly disappearing before our eyes.

Wesley loves to help me rake the leaves that fill my driveway and back yard. We use the old plastic rake that was here when I moved in last year. We add my full-size broom and his small one and then, at his insistence, we add the whisk broom - we might need it for small spaces, he says. When we create a pile of leaves Wesley decides if we scoop them into the garden waste bin or exuberantly toss them up in the air to come raining back down on us. Often it is the latter which means the job can take quite a while to complete. I could care less - time is something I have. The next step is stomping the leaves in the bin to create more space for tomorrow's session. I push the tall bin over to my back stairs. Wesley climbs to the top and then, from that perch, steps over the rim to stand on today's pile. Then he starts stomping. He is most proud of himself.

Yes, I know it's out of focus but it is me behind the phone camera - so I will suggest 

it is an action photo!

Cypress, my cat, is also adjusting to the colder weather. Her favorite place, right now, is on the mantle, above the fireplace. I have moved the clock a bit to give her more room. She snuggles against it.

She spends quite a bit of time here or as a lump in my bed. She slips in between the duvet and sheets. Wesley has learned to check any such lumps before bouncing.

Some other Autumn memories - Halloween was lots of fun, especially as this block is chock full of young kids. Wesley surprised us with his choice for a costume (which Stephanie and Dan created out of boxes, paint and a funnel - such clever ones!). Get ready . . .  he wanted to be the Sugar Cane Train. Yes, the same train on which we had our interesting adventure in Maui. Here he is - my first visitor to trick or treat at my door.

Another wonderful October memory - I spent my last full day in California (the day after my 50th reunion with my 8th grade classmates) with my good friend, Sally. She arranged for me to meet a new acquaintance of hers, Rhonda Giangreco, who works with the MS community nation-wide. I always hold anyone with MS close to my heart from all my experiences as a spouse of someone with MS and my 6 years of volunteer work as Executive Director of the MS Quality of Life Project in Monterey. Rhonda had a most interesting response to her diagnosis of MS. Instead of collapsing into the debilitating fatigue which so often accompanies this disease she decided to take on the challenge of celebrating and holding family and friends close by cooking and hosting a dinner every Sunday for one full year. And she did it - she started in January and prepared 52 consecutive meals. Her book, The Gathering Table: Defying Multiple Sclerosis With A Year of Pasta, Wine and Friends, describes this remarkable year as she copes with the realities of MS.

Our plan was to meet in a restaurant in Sonoma but, instead, she invited us to have lunch at her house. Was she really up for it? Yes, she insisted. When we drove to her house we passed a small park with an outdoor table charmingly set with tablecloth, napkins, plates and glasses. I wondered who was going to spend a glorious afternoon at this table, never dreaming it would be me.

It turned out that the unexpected brilliant weather (it was 80 degrees) inspired lunch al fresco but Rhonda and Michael had already put their outdoor furniture in storage for the winter. But she is clever, that Rhonda. She decided to use a bit of the small park around the corner from her house as our lunch site. We happily helped carry over the food and wine.

What a spectacular meal. It had everything - new friends, wonderful food and a lovely ambience - sun sparkling down as we sat at a table that bordered a Sonoma vineyard (look in the background of the photo above). Let's start with the food that Rhonda prepared (hint of its quality - she took cooking classes in Italy):

Perfectly grilled herbed pork loin with figs grilled on rosemary spears.

Add wonderful herbed biscuits and salad

And a grand finale of apple pie.  

It was an amazing lunch accompanied by wonderful local wines.  DELICIOUS!

I enjoyed meeting Rhonda and her husband, Michael. They are warm, welcoming and charming. And she is indeed a spectacular chef. I felt as if I had a taste of one of the meal experiences she described in her book. The great thing about wonderful memories is that, as I sit in gray Portland, I can close my eyes and be right back at that sunny table in Sonoma. Thank you, Sally, Rhonda and Michael for such a lovely visit. I hope we meet again. And if Rhonda insists on cooking, fine with me! I love being sous chef and will happily help.

So bring on winter. Cypress and I look forward to its unique charms - as long as my heater works.

50 Years Later

Oh my goodness - I am still processing the experience of meeting my 8th grade colleagues 50 years later. I had not seen most of them since we were 14 and we all had changed a bit. We each did the usual reunion move: kiss the person on the cheek while surreptitiously glancing at their name tag with their 8th grade photo prominently displayed . . . it's him! . . . it's her!

We met in the school's large hall (auditorium) and, to me, Mount Carmel never looked more beautiful. The original school, built in 1885 (at another location) was replaced in the 1920s by the current school building. It has classic mission architecture with all the beautiful woodwork typical of that era. I could not believe that the hallways had the same linoleum we ran along. Now that is quality! How many thousands of student feet have walked/run/skipped along these floors? The classrooms were just as I remembered with the exception of the windows - those old ones that required the use of long poles to open and close had been replaced by more efficient ones - oh, and there was carpet on the floors and the blackboards were now white. Gone were the erasers that we begged to clean each afternoon. What fun we had pounding them together while watching chalk dust float overhead. I was delighted to see that the "cloak rooms"(what do they call them now?) - a long closet that ran along the back of each classroom with an opening at each end - were unchanged. There were the same hooks where we hung our coats and the shelves above where we stored our lunch boxes. Wonderful.

50 of us started first grade together in September of 1954. Over the next 8 years a few moved away while a few others moved into our class. After 8 years together, however, we knew each other well. We knew our talents, our weaknesses, our families, our stories. About 25 of us attended the reunion. We spent the first 30 seconds of each interaction mentally adjusting to the new reality of a classmate who looked so different 50 years ago. Then there was the quick exchange of basic information and, if we were lucky, we were able to chat a bit more.

Those who had, for 8 years in the far past, shared lessons, sports, games, choir practice, recess, folk dance lessons, gossip, projects, and adolescence were now lawyers, teachers, nuns, a film producer, medical professionals, designers, non-profit leaders, small business owners, spouses, widows, divorced, parents and grandparents. Some were retired or planning for it; others had decided to use this time to start second careers. It was fascinating. When we shared thoughts over dinner we realized we had something in common, something that the nuns had pounded into our skulls over the 8 years they had us - that we are on this planet to make the world a better place. Seeking social justice came up over and over in our conversations. I am downright proud of us as are, I am sure, those gracious, stern, funny, warm women who taught us.

Oh, and I forgot - not only were 25 of us there - so were two of our teachers - Sister Cecilia (first grade) and Sister Andrew (second grade). I suspect they were just out of college when they taught us which puts them in their early 80s. It was wonderful to chat with them and thank them for their care. They also had funny stories to share. What I personally remember most about Sister Andrew is that one of her lessons showed how I was still a bit behind my classmates when it came to spirituality. It happened on the day of our First Communion when we were 7. She told us that, on this special day, we should ask God for something when we first spotted the chalice inside the open tabernacle. Okay, I could do that. After Mass she asked us what we had each prayed for. The others got it - they asked for world peace, to get to heaven, etc. At that point in my life I hadn't yet learned how to avoid telling unpleasant truths. Instead I admitted that I had asked for a bicycle. I think, way back then, Sister Andrew was a bit disappointed. However, I should state that I got my bike a few months later so clearly God was listening.

Specific memories from this wonderful evening:
1. The whoops of laughter and welcome that met each of us as we walked into the hall and someone recognized us and called out our name to the assembled group.

2. After first being surprised by the current reality of a classmate  I could still see reminders of each of their 14-year old faces looking back at me.

3. The wonderful hugs I got from each classmate as if 50 years had never passed.

4. The comment blurted from one of my classmates, after understanding who I was, "Oh, you were one of the nice ones!" So funny.

5. New secrets shared by some classmates. Today, of course, topics of secrets are far different but sharing them still lifts weight and I deeply appreciated their trust.

6. Seeing classmates exhibit behaviors that I remembered from the past - Mary still blushes a bit when she laughs. Steve still has the sardonic attitude that drove some of the nuns crazy. Several of the "boys" still tease each other as they did in years past. Ah, the joys of consistency.

It was simply a wonderful evening  but DRAT, I just wish we had many more hours - it ended way too soon.

Hawaiian Adventure

Yes, I had another adventure. Another near death experience, you ask? As in Africa? Well, not really. In fact, this time my description of the accident is written with tongue firmly planted in cheek. But wait 'til you see my crappy photos - you'll wish Anna was with me on this trip too.

I loved every single minute of my time with Stephanie, Dan and Wesley in beautiful Maui. I have been blessed to go to Hawaii many times and Maui is perfection in so many ways. The nice thing about being a frequent visitor is that, at this point, there is nothing I NEED to see - I have already seen what is important to me. I have snorkeled at wonderful beaches and at Molokini, watched the sun rise on Haleakala, driven to Hana more times than I can remember, driven all the roads on which you are not supposed to take rental cars, toured the museums, hiked in gorgeous valleys, eaten at wonderful restaurants and stepped into many shops. I thought I had done it all but no, there was one attraction I had not yet done and this is where the perilous adventure happened. Yep, it was on the Sugar Cane Train out of Lahina.

Okay, picture it. An ancient steam engine pulling four brightly colored cars filled with kids (and their parents and a few grandmothers as well) sitting on hard wood seats with windows thrown wide open to catch any available breeze (85 degrees most days). The track went from Lahina to Ka'anapali  (a round trip of about 6 miles) and we were hurtling along at a grand speed of about 5 miles per hour.

Historically, the track wound through sugar cane fields but not any longer - instead we saw houses and bare land on the inland side and hotels and condos on the opposite ocean side. The children could have cared less - they were thrilled to be on a moving train.

About 20 minutes in (hmm  - 2 miles or so) the unexpected happened. The steam engine hit the front of an SUV that drove through a stop sign. The two machines were so unevenly matched that I didn't feel a thing - after all, we were each going about 5 miles per hour. The train engine suffered no damage but not so the SUV. The force pushed the hood up a bit and ripped off the fender and one of its head lights. The 3 surfboards perched on top were untouched.

The children were agog and hung out the windows to watch the driver (male, maybe 55) explain what happened.

The conductor apologized for the delay and sang and played a ukelele to help pass the time.

The children didn't mind - they watched in fascination as not one but two police cars drove up to investigate. I just wish a fire truck had come along because they aren't red in Maui but bright yellow. It would have added to the scene.

I could't help but feel bad for the poor driver - how do you have ANY credibility when trying to explain how you ran into a large, slow moving steam engine? A train that had sounded the traditional announcement of its arrival in the road?  The driver looked chagrined, the police looked official, the conductor continued to strum his ukelele, and the children bounced in their seats.

After about 15 minutes we were once again tootling along but not before 4 cars of children leaned out to enthusiastically wave goodbye to the policemen and to the poor driver who had given them such interesting entertainment. God bless him, the driver gamely waved back! Except for the cost of the car, it was perfect entertainment - unexpected, interesting, no one was hurt and the delay was minimal. However, it meant we were late to the Ka'anapali train station so had no time to get out and stretch - we had to make up time on the return trip to Lahina.

But the excitement did not end there. For the 5 remaining days of the trip Wesley used the little wood train set I bought at the station to recreate the accident. We played it over and over and over again.

So now you can see exactly what happened. The blue car with the green driver is the SUV, the black engine - well, if you look close you can see SUGAR CANE TRAIN written on its side - is pulling the cars with kids on them. The animals (giraffe, zebra and elephant) are innocent bystanders. The red car has the police man who is ready to take the driver "off to the pokey" (Wesley loved that term, much more fun than jail) which was the plastic box on its side behind the animals. In reality, of course, the driver stayed with his car but the jail idea was much more interesting. Wesley used a very firm voice to reprimand the poor driver.

But Wesley did other things as well. He swam a lot.

He tried fins for the first time - and was unimpressed.

He was more pleased with the snorkel gear once he realized how much more he could see of the turtle design on the bottom of the pool.

All in all, we had a wonderful time relaxing in the sun. Wesley took a "submarine ride' - a glass bottom boat with a submarine-type top, the Sugar Cane Train, climbed on the magnificent banyan tree in Lahina, visited the aquarium, ate lots of shave ice and more fresh pineapple than he had ever had in the past and enjoyed the time with his parents and grandma.  I loved every second.

I leave tomorrow for a week in California - I am going to the 50th reunion of my 8th grade class. Yep, I haven't seen most of these folks since I was 14 and can't wait to catch up. I attended a small Catholic elementary school - you know the scene -  the nuns, 50 kids to a class that stayed together for all 8 years. It should be lots of fun.

More when I return.

Musings on the Bus

It's Autumn in Portland and spectacular weather continues. Still no rain and only a few gray days but even on these the sun came out by late morning. From today's paper I learned that this has been the driest summer in almost 100 years so I have been swooning about something not quite normal. I remain delighted, however, because I know gray skies and drizzle are not far away.

My bus ride to my volunteer job at the down town library last Saturday was unusual - it was full, jammed full. I only got a seat because another white-haired woman moved over and pointed to a now empty seat next to her. People were standing in the aisles, chattering, laughing, almost boisterous. What was going on in downtown Portland? Still not sure. The marathon was coming - but on Sunday. Fashion Week has started but much of that is on Swann Island, to the north of the city. . .  and I know, I know. After my ribbing of Portland Couture in an earlier blog entry how can a Fashion Week exist here? Well, there is a Portland style that is based on what I mocked but is much edgier with an interesting use of textiles and designs. It certainly is a "look" and, if you are like me and watch Project Runway, you know it probably includes more designers from Portland than any other similarly sized city. Who knew? Whatever was going on, down town Portland was one happening place as I walked up to Starbucks, grabbed a latte and made it to the library right when it opened at 10. Oh how very very Portland I have become.

I have taken the bus quite a bit in the past few weeks - extra slots of volunteering at the library and needing to get to my daughter's house while my car was at a garage. What makes it so easy is the app for my iPhone. I type in where I am/where I want to go and it quickly gives me 3 options with maps for each route showing all the stops. Each arrival is shown in real time (as opposed to scheduled time) and it tells me exactly how to get to the appropriate bus stop from where I am standing (how many yards to walk and in which direction). If there are any problems on a specific bus line that affects arrival time, the app lists them by stops. When I left the library at noon I saw that the next #33 bus was 6 minutes away (a 5 minute walk from the library) so was delighted that I was in my house by 12:25.  So easy - no driving and no finding/paying for a parking space.

So Autumn is on its way. The leaves are in the beginning stages of turning yellow and red. Most Portlanders have added a light jacket but, interestingly, few hoodies are in sight. Just no need yet. Yesterday, while on the bus to Stephanie's house, a grocery bag carried by a young woman swung over onto me when the bus braked. She apologized for her errant potato chips and canned tomatoes.  I laughed, dismissed it, and we started chatting. I commented on the beautiful weather. She smiled, paused and then said softly, "Yes, it is beautiful but I am missing our usual weather. I like scarves and hats and gloves. I can't wait to put them back on again." She is not the first to express this. Two book lovers at the library said similar things. I am not quite there yet but will hopefully be more accepting when the sun disappears.

5 Signs of Autumn

1. School busses are out and about.  Love their very specific, immediately identifiable, intense color.

2. Some of the tables set up outside of restaurants have been removed and stored until next sumer. This was one of the biggest surprises when I returned from Africa. All these tables I had never seen before had suddenly sprouted up all over the city. Who knew that Portland would be full of outdoor seating for the glorious summer months?

3. It is getting dark earlier. Gone is dusk at 9 - now it's closer to 7 - and with the end of day light saving in sight, it will soon be 4:30 or 5.

4. Neighborhood gardens are going to seed - the veggies and summer flowers are either gone or are on their last legs.  These have been a delight on neighborhood walks - in the spaces between the sidewalks and street or full-on blasts of color in front yards.

5. We had the annual neighborhood block party and it was much fun. The two ends of my street were blocked off by cones and neighbors placed several tables and lots of chairs in the middle (right in front of my house - so convenient). Those who lived on the west side brought desserts, those on the east brought side dishes. Barbecues were ready so we could toss on meat to cook. It was lots of fun. I met neighbors from the two far ends while gobs of neighborhood children ran up and down in ever changing groups. There are so many young ones on this block - I counted 14 under the age of 10. Most evenings, as I walk down the street, I find toy guns, laser light beams and plastic swords tossed on lawns waiting to be picked up the next time the posse passes.

So, all is well up here in my corner of the Northwest. It is supposed to finally rain this coming Saturday. My goodness. But, guess what? I'll be in Maui! Stephanie and Dan (and Wesley) invited me to join them for a week in heaven and I am looking forward to it. So, unlike the Portlanders I leave behind, I will get one additional week of sun with the added bonus of tropical breezes - and banana kahlua coladas. Can't wait.

Summer's End

It was an amazing summer but I have discovered that I missed something wonderful while I was away from Portland - get ready, you may not believe this - fabulous weather. Yes, reread that sentence - I am actually using the words fabulous, weather and Portland in the same sentence, something I never thought would happen. Apparently (unknown to me given that I moved here late last September) Portland has beautiful summers. The overcast gray skies have given way to bright, clear, dry, sunny weather. According to natives this miracle begins right after July 4 and continues through September, maybe into early October if we are lucky. I left in mid June so missed a lot of it but oh I am enjoying it since my return. Yep, I am stating for all the world to see - at this moment Portland has fabulous weather. Who knew?

I realize that I have not had good summer weather since my childhood. I grew up in Redwood City, CA. Its slogan, "Climate Best by Government Test," is accurate - it has great weather. I, unfortunately, didn't appreciate it; took it for granted. After we married, Gary and I moved to Connecticut, a beautiful state, absolutely charming, with gorgeous Autumns, but oh do you pay for it in summertime. It is HOT, sticky-hot, breathlessly-hot. You wear the humidity and - here is the true horror - it can stay sticky-hot all night long.

Then I moved back to California, to Pacific Grove (their motto - "Butterfly Town USA" - monarch butterflies winter there), where Monterey Bay meets the Pacific Ocean. It has unusual weather - no extreme heat or cold. It is in the 60s much of the year but that can make for some odd summer weather. Sometimes it is perfection - 75 degrees with a very slight ocean breeze - but it is often overcast and foggy and it can last for days. I don't joke when I say that I used my fireplace as often in summer as in winter and evenings are ALWAYS chilly from the ocean breeze.

I had become so used to the horror of New England and the oddity of Pacific Grove weathers that I forgot how truly lovely summer heat can be. I would describe heat here in Portland (get ready - "The City that Works" - and, for the most part, it does) as soft and, thankfully, quite dry. No humidity, not a drop of it. No glare because of all the trees. It is absolutely lovely during the day and, thank you all the gods above, it cools down at night. I guess I also love it because I know gray skies are not far away but, until then, I intend to enjoy every minute of this beautiful weather.

It is wonderful to be back with Wesley. He turned 3 at the end of August and, as always, I am fascinated with his growth (and how much I missed while I was gone). He is becoming lanky; the few remaining bits of baby fat are quickly disappearing and, I must admit, I miss those plump elbows and knees! But I love watching him run and jump in his brand new shoes (just in time for the new pre-school year) and demonstrate his developing physical skills. Today he showed me how he could walk along a path of raised bricks in his front yard. You all remember the stance: arms held out to provide balance, eyes cast down to monitor feet, tongue caught in teeth - all while looking up to wave me away,"I don't need help, Grandma, I don't!"

And language development - it continues to fascinate me. He likes words. When he hears a new one he will ask me what it means but, more often than not, figures out its meaning from the context of the sentence. He quickly adds new words or phrases to his vocabulary. "It's a mystery, Grandma" is used to describe anything he doesn't understand. "No, Grandma, it's not a jack, it's a stabilizer," when we look at drawings of trucks in his books. What I most enjoy, however, is that he is starting to use his Spanish (he goes to a bilingual day care) and he rolls his r's! You know - perrrrrrrrrro.

When he was first learning to talk he mixed the two languages together ("We have to wash our manos", "Bye, Grandma, hasta la vista", "More uvas, please"). Later, he kept them completely separate (he would sing the ABCs in Spanish after he sang them in English, would say all the colors in Spanish OR English). Now he likes to throw in a bit of Spanish for fun. I'll ask him if he can say something in Spanish and, if he can, he happily shares it. What is obvious to me is that he now understands that he is learning two different languages at the same time. He knows two words for the same thing - water and aqua, uvas and grapes and so on. What a gift his parents have given him. I think about how I struggled when learning French and Italian - and have terrible accents to boot. This is the way to do it. Learn while you are young.

What are the latest games we play? Right now he is really into trains, trucks, and airplanes. When we get home from preschool we set up a little airport area on the living room floor and then add roads and train tracks and a tin box to serve as a repair facility. I am in charge of the repairs. He sends me cars (or planes or helicopters or train cars) that supposedly need repair, I "fix" them and then he takes them back into play. He uses his wood car carrier to move the vehicles back and forth. He "flies" the planes to Hawaii or Colorado or Texas - all different destinations around the room. I told him I flew in a helicopter in Africa so I am often the person in his helicopter as he flies it over to the chair seat.

Thankfully he also still loves to sit with me and read a good book. I absolutely love all the new 3-year old behaviors but also know that I need a good snuggle fix at least once a day and the book reading provides it. So, I am quite content while playing air traffic controller and enjoying every second of the weather here in Portland.  Again, who knew????

Ah, Africa

I have been home for almost a month - it's time to get back to life in Portland. I must admit, however, that my mind still strays to Africa. So, here it is, final thoughts about my trip.

Our Guides and Staff:

James 

I realize I never mentioned James in earlier entries and that isn't right. He was the Overseas Adventure Travel guide who stayed with us the entire time we were on safari. We met new guides and staff at each of the four safari camps but James was a constant and what a constant he was. He is a true gentleman with all this connotes. He is kind, knowledgable, honest, thoughtful and honorable. He is from Zimbabwe and taught us much about life in a nation that is governed by a long-term dictator. Well, he had to be careful - he shared his thoughts while we were still in Zambia. As he said, "In Zimbabwe, you never know who may be listening."

He is proud of the beauty and traditional culture of his homeland. This enthusiasm was palpable when we stayed at our camp in Zimbabwe and our two days at Victoria Falls. He grinned when we got wet from the mist while looking at the falls (as he helped us put jackets and ponchos on over our clothes). He shared stories of his family that illustrated traditional Zimbabwean culture. He worked with us to make our visit at the Zimbabwean school and village as meaningful as possible.

Godfrey

If I had to pick a favorite guide from the four camps, Godfrey is my choice, hands down. He enthusiastically taught us about life on the savanna - the animals, their behaviors, what their tracks teach and so on. For example, here he is illustrating uses of elephant dung. Who knew that, if you are on the savanna and have run out of water, you can squeeze fresh elephant dung (believe me, it is EVERYWHERE) and drink the brown liquid that oozes out? Yes, bless those herbivore elephants - no bacteria from digested meat - so it is safe. And, in case you are interested, if the brown liquid has a slightly sweet taste, it is from a female elephant. 

I did not test either theory.

The other way you can use elephant dung is to distract tsetse flies. All you have to do is put a chunk of the dung in a container, light it, and voila, no flies. Our vans had containers attached to their fenders for this purpose and we used them two afternoons when flies were present. No smell by the way (was it from female elephants?).

I wonder if it would work on mosquitoes here at home? If one lived near a zoo . . . .

These guides taught us local history, flora and fauna. The pod in the above photo was heavy - do not stand under these tree unless wearing head gear!

The first and last jobs of our guides at each camp was  to pick us up and return us to the landing strip where we would fly to the next camp. Here Godfrey is getting ready to send us off. Note the security color of his vest. He is dressed for his job of greeting the plane and chasing animals off the landing strip before our plane lands or takes off - another possible career path for me with my own yellow jacket!

In addition to guides, the staff at each camp worked hard to make our stay enjoyable. They cooked our meals, tucked that lovely hot water bottle in our beds at night, served us drinks in the evening, met us with damp washcloths when we returned from animal viewing drives and entertained us. They were all wonderful.

The Land:
What can I say? It surpassed all expectations. I thought I knew what the savanna would look like but nothing prepared me for the reality. The grasslands, water holes, scrub forests, termite mounds, rivers, channels of the Okavanga Delta - all amazing.

Elephants gather at a water hole in the early morning - it was cold.

  

In the heat of the afternoon even the elephants take a break. 

Yes, they are resting, not dead!

The incredible termite mounds.

Sunset on the Chobe River in Botswana

Just after sunset in Zimbabwe

Early evening on the Lufupa River in Zambia

The Animals:

Baboons

I haven't shared much about baboons other than that you don't want to get their dung on the soles of your shoes - the smell will NOT come out - but they were the animals who first taught me to stop, listen and carefully look at the land in front of me. What I discovered is that, when you look carefully, there are far more animals in a vista than initially thought. 

Here is what happened. My tent cabin at Chobe (our first safari camp) was perched on a hill that sloped down to the river, with scrub forest between our tent and the river. On my first afternoon at camp I sat on the stairs leading down to the path to the main lodge. When I spotted a baboon, I called to my cousin to come join me. As we watched we realized that there were actually lots of baboons cavorting in front of us - you just had to take the time to see them. Their color so closely matched the colors of the scrub forest that they weren't initially visible but, once we carefully looked, we saw mothers with babies, silly adolescents playing with each other and some posturing by adult males. Ah, the benefits of taking time to slow down and watch what is around you.

Baboons discussing life on the savanna.

Giraffes

There is something about giraffes. How can one animal look both so outrageously odd and, at the same time, graceful? I never ceased to catch my breath when we suddenly came upon giraffes. They are gangly when the move, their ears are funny, their whole shape is awkward and yet, there is just something so appealing about giraffes.

Lions

They ARE majestic as they roam the savanna. I think my heart stopped each time 
we closed in on these regal animals. So sleek, so gorgeous, so deadly. 

Wart hogs

They made me laugh - but I was also appreciative of those tusks when I stepped out of my tent cabin at the Lufupa River in Zambia one afternoon and saw four of them approaching my front steps. They were, perhaps, 3 feet away. I ran inside, slammed the door - and then peeked out the window to watch them as they passed by on their way to the river.


The Elephants

I love elephants. I love the wisdom in their eyes. I treasure the times when elephants strolled right past our van and made eye contact. They greatly please me. 

But oh, the damage they do. This is just one tree after elephants have passed by. Multiply it throughout the scrub forest and you can get an idea of the extent of the damage.

The Birds:

I must admit I have never paid much attention to birds but the birds of the savanna made me sit up and take note. Gorgeous. Exquisite - all shapes, sizes and calls.


The People of Africa:
Simply amazing - their resilience, their pride in their traditions and their beautiful children.

Dancing!
We all danced.  How can you not when gathered around a camp fire in the dark of night, looking up at the stars and the moon while drums beat and the staff sing?  You can't stay in your seats, you just have to get up and join in.

This is how we were met when we arrived in camp - it set the tone.

They danced.

We danced. We all danced.

Okay, so now my absolute favorites:

Favorite Animal - The elephants? No. The lions? Nope. The zebras? No. The leopards? Gorgeous, but no. The giraffes? Hmmmmm, no. Get ready . . .  Guinea Hens!

They absolutely cracked me up. I loved watching them flutter around, scurrying this way and that. When we would come upon groups of animals our eyes would first go to the elephants or the impalas or whatever but almost inevitably, if you looked around, you also saw a flock of guinea hens cavorting, playing follow the leader. Their colors were amazing - brown through deep blue, some with checkered feathers, others mottled, some with bright beaks.  What they had in common is that they were all charming. When you visit me in Portland you will see guinea hen trinkets tucked here and there in my house. When I see them, I smile.

Favorite Tree?  The Baobab

What magnificent trees. They seem almost other-worldly with incredibly thick trunks and branches that stretch out like arms. In summer, their leaves soften the view but it was winter. We got to see the see the basic structure of the trees without their leaves - and it was glorious. 

Again, we can compare photos - mine and Anna's.  This is mine of the Chobe River - if I had just moved the camera a bit to the left you would see the whole baobob tree.

These are Anna's photos from Kroger Park - a pre-trip that Pattie and I did not take. 

I love the top photo of the van driving between two baobao trees. 

The baobab tree in the bottom photo is over 1000 years old. 

By the way, how do you pronounce it? One version is "bough-bob", another "bay-o-bob" - take your pick.

Favorite Single Memory

This is hard - there were so many wonderful things that happened, but if I have to pick one, here it is.

One evening Pattie and I walked back to our tent cabin in Zambia, on the Lufupa River. It was dark so staff members accompanied us. We said goodnight to them and then slipped into our cabin and started to get ready for bed. We discovered that the staff, by mistake, had not put up the coverings over the screen windows on one side of our tent. This meant more cold air would come in during the night than if they had been covered. What a wonderful mistake it ended up to be. Once we turned off the lights we realized that, right outside, about 25 yards away, stood 8 hippos, who had come up from the river and were now munching savanna grasses in front of our tent. We quickly pushed the table aside and moved the two wicker chairs in front of the screen. We sat and watched in the dark, quietly, for perhaps an hour. The almost-full moon shone down and we could see the Southern Cross in the distant sky. We later went to sleep hearing their snorts and roars and munches.  

Thank you, Africa. 

Much thanks to my wonderful traveling companions

Onwards to Turkey next year.

And, finally, thanks to my wonderful cousin, Pattie (in the dark coat next to me). We have traveled together in Egypt, England, France, Alaska and Hawaii (and lots of other short trips in between) and will join the group in Turkey next year. Although almost 20 years younger than me (she was 5 at my wedding!) we have become best of friends and there is no better travel companion. She kept me going, was always ready for any adventure, and didn't even groan when I kept uttering Meryl Streep's opening line from Out of Africa ("I had a farm in Africa"). I tried to say it with the Danish accent Meryl adopted - let's see - "I haad a fahrm in Afreecah." It was not pretty, not even close to Meryl, but Pattie not only endured it but found it amusing. I would say it whenever Africa overcame me - which was often. It got so she would look around, suspect what was coming, and say, "It's okay, go ahead," and off I went. Now that's a true friend.

Almost all of the photos (all the good ones) from this entry are from Anna.  Thank you, friend!