Week #1 of My Summer Adventure: The Family Wedding

It was wonderful, of course.  The bride was beautiful, the groom was smitten, the mothers cried, the bridesmaids strutted, the ducks quacked, the sun shone, the garden was heavy with blooms – what not to love? The entire process was a lot of fun.

I arrived at my brother’s house in Redwood City, the house where I grew up, last Monday, June 25^th, and immediately plunged into wedding plans. We discussed what had already been done, drew up lists of remaining tasks and reviewed what had worked at previous family weddings in the garden. My mantra? What does the bride want and how can we facilitate it? Jessica, my nephew’s beautiful fiancée, quietly beamed as she described how she hoped the day would unfold – and, for the most part, it did. The week flew by as we crossed items off our lists. It was fun to be back in Redwood City. I think the last time I spent a week there was before my own marriage in 1971. The city has changed quite a bit!

The only unfortunate part is that, as families expand, the number of relatives grow while available garden space remains the same. Oh how I wish we could have either squeezed more people in or had fewer relatives so that a greater percentage could attend. It just doesn’t seem quite right when all cannot share the day. I guess this will become even more of a problem as we age and generations fill in below us. On the other hand, what a nice commentary it is that life is so full of people we love that all cannot fit into one space. 

I was happy to be the go-to person on the big day. My sibs had done the same for me, 6 years before, when my daughter was married in the garden. I wanted Carroll and Melinda to have the same experience – to have as few responsibilities as possible on the actual day. Didn’t quite happen that way – we were all up early setting up tables, pinning swaths of tulle to the pergola, filling buckets with ice, moving chairs. We corralled the ducks and chickens into their coops – although the ducks, swimming on their small pond, were delightfully visible to guests. But by 4, when guests began to arrive, all was as it should be in the garden.

I look back on the day with joy but, let me add, my feet do not. Oooohhhhhh they hurt by the end of the evening. I bet I walked several miles as I moved back and forth among the bartender, DJ, caterers, photographer and guests. And that does not include the mileage on the feet of my other sibs (and in-laws) who stepped in to help as well. It would not have gone as well without all their work. The only significant mistake I made was forgetting to move the decorated cart with the cake to its correct place after the ceremony and, by the time I remembered, there was no path available between the tables. My son insisted it could be done – and he was partly right. He made it half way – and there the cart stood until the cake was cut. Everyone laughed as we watched it move, inch by inch, through the crowd.

Now, here’s the sad part – I didn’t have time to take photos – not a single one – so thanks Melinda and Melissa for sending me these two. I would like one or two of the garden and one of the cake (or the happy ducks!) so anyone who attended the wedding and has some photos can you email them to me?

Paul and Jessica exchanging vows.

Paul and Jessica Collins!

Still waiting for a photo of Paul and Jessica's cake - this is Stephanie and Dan's cake but in the same wrought iron cart.

For sentimental reasons - here are Stephanie and Dan at their wedding 6 years ago.

As Carroll shared with guests, our parents moved into this house in July of 1952, 60 years ago this summer. In that time 5 of us have celebrated our marriages in the garden – my older sister, my older brother, me, my daughter and now my nephew Paul (Carroll’s youngest son) and his new wife, Jessica.  Okay, the first marriage didn’t survive but the magic of the garden has worked well on the next 3 and, I am sure, will bless Jessica and Paul.

Early Monday morning I packed up my car and drove to Pacific Grove for a week with friends - on to the next stage of my summer adventures.

I'm BAAAACCCCKKKKK (for a visit!

I am back in California for a 2 month visit. Had a great 12-hour, one-day road trip down with my sister, Mary. We laughed a lot as we drove through light rain, overcast skies and breaking sunlight. The trees changed after we passed Mt Shasta; we lost pines and gained oaks. I didn't catch sight of the view I have most missed - scattered oaks tucked into folds of golden hills - until we neared Sacramento. Oh how I have missed that view! It was wonderful to see California hillsides glowing in the late afternoon sun.

We celebrated our entry into California by stopping at an In-N-Out Burger near Vallejo. I do love those hamburgers.  An hour later we were in Novato, tired but happy to have finished the trip.  Thank you, Pattie, for the wonderful bed that awaited. I am grateful I have a stake in two states - and both Oregon and California are so magnificent.

Friday, my last day with Wesley, was poignant. I didn't want to make a big deal about it but I am going to be gone for 2 months and I am really going to miss him. When I arrived at preschool, he was napping with all the other 2 and 3 year olds. They had had a busy day and he, according to his teacher, was really tired. I waited in the 4-year old room, looking up each time the door opened - would it be him? One by one others wandered in until, finally, it was Wesley. Clearly, he had just awakened. His hair was plastered against one side of his head and he was a bit groggy. When he spotted me he whimpered, "Gramma" and climbed into my lap. I held him close enjoying the feel of him in my arms as he slowly woke up. About 5 minutes into the "snuggle" I realized something had changed. One leg of my jeans was suddenly wet and that unique smell of urine floated up to my nose - Wesley had had an "accident" and I was the lucky recipient. I say lucky because my beloved Armenian uncle, Uncle Lev, had told me many years ago that it is good luck to have a baby pee on you - so how lucky I was, sitting there, with a wet boy in my lap.

Eventually we changed his clothes and off we went. Once at home he picked out some favorite books that we read sitting on my front steps, chatting with neighbors who walked by. We watered plants and then I had a surprise -  I showed him the early birthday gift I had received from his Aunt Mary and Uncle Colin the night before.  Here it is:

Yes, I am now the proud owner of Candy Land. But it gets better - it is a 1955 edition - the one that I played with when I was young and the one my children used.

Can you see it in this photo?  It has the same design, the same path, the same drawings, the same thick cards and the same plastic gingerbread men. I had read reviews on Amazon that complained about the newer versions with thin cards and playing pieces that fall over - but not in this set. Colin found the real thing. Mary and I immediately played one game (I won and did not cheat - did NOT stack the cards in my favor) and then on Friday Wesley and I played two games (he won one, I won the other) but I realized he is too young. He was just as happy going backwards on the path as going forwards. Didn't quite grasp the goal of the game but did enjoy matching the candy cards to their places on the map. I put it away for a later time.

He then helped me clean the basement. When I had suggested, in front of preschool classmates, that we might clean the basement, one boy said that monsters live there. Wesley thought about it and then answered, quite seriously, that the only possible monster in my basement was my Christmas tree, sitting in its bag. When we finally went down to the basement, he pointed to the tree and said that it was a very funny monster and that was it. He enjoyed helping me sweep and get things a bit more organized.

Stephanie joined us for dinner but, all too soon, it was time for them to go home. I hugged him tight and waved goodbye. I am glad I will see him  at the family wedding next weekend.

After he left I finished packing the car - everything fit - and was able to leave early Saturday morning.

I look forward to these next weeks - what an adventure - Redwood City, Pacific Grove, Yosemite, Africa, but am also looking forward to getting back to Portland in August. My heart belongs with the wee one.

I'm Closing In

Look at my desk. It's empty. The huge stack of paperwork related to my To Do list? Gone. It's in the mail, filed away, or tossed because it's no longer needed. I can't believe it. It's done. Okay, okay, there is one itty bitty thing left - the actual packing - but even that is now possible. My room, however, is a disaster. 5 big bags, pushed here and there, labeled Wedding, Yosemite, Africa - Safari, Africa - Capetown, Common To All Parts of the Trip fill the room. I can't get to my blinds to open them so the room is pretty dark unless the lights are on. Most of the bags are at least half full. I'm waiting to do a last load of laundry - but it is definitely doable. I WILL be able to leave Saturday morning. Of course, with the mounting excitement about all the wonderful things happening in my near future, I am also treasuring each minute with Wesley, my kitty cat and the joys of my life here with Stephanie, Dan, Mary, Colin, Lynne, John and my neighbors including all the kids and chickens across the street.

Yesterday Wesley and I cleaned the refrigerator - had to toss all the stuff that won't survive til August. I felt a bit like Tom Sawyer as I described the joys of refrigerator cleaning to the wee one on our way home from preschool. By the time we pulled into my driveway he could hardly wait to get started. Is this manipulation of the highest order or wisdom? Not sure but we DID have fun. I put two paper grocery bags on the floor in front of the refrigerator and he played Bagger-At-The-Grocery-Store and packed into them all the things that could survive my time away. I handled the icky stuff - into the garbage or recycling. Once all the food was gone, he watched, fascinated, as I took out the shelves and drawers. What he liked most was leaning into the empty refrigerator to wash down the inside walls. We took turns - he'd make a swipe, I'd follow up with support. In the process we searched down every bit of whatever-shouldn't-be-there on the walls and wiped it away. He liked using clean towels to sop up all the excess rinse water - both in the refrigerator and on the floor. His enthusiastic scrubbing meant that there was, indeed, a small lake beneath our feet.

Then we had the delight of washing the shelves and drawers. Water play is always fun and I was able to both convince him not to add all the rubber duckies from the bathroom to the sink and to let me handle the glass parts of the shelves (although I did let him pour a big mug full of water down each side to rinse them). He happily helped me wash the plastic parts. When it was all reinstalled we stood and looked, with great satisfaction, at what we had done. Then we put the food back. He decided to turn the butter compartment into his own special place to store the yogurts he likes.  He carefully pointed the pictures on the cartons toward him so that he can easily pick out his favorite of the moment. This is the kind of thing that would have driven me a bit mad when I was a mother. We stored butter in the butter compartment, it's where it was best placed. I needed to find things quickly. What would have happened if both children decided they each wanted a space in the refrigerator? Or worse, the same space? Today, almost 40 years later, who cares? My life is small, my obligations few, and the refrigerator is much larger than I need. I can deal with placing butter elsewhere. Let him have his special space.

There it is - note the butter, on its own, on the shelf beneath.

Today we tackled his room upstairs. The best part of the room for him, I think, is the under-the-eaves attic storage space. He likes to play there - especially if flashlights are involved. I have to lean down to get in and move around, not him. I let him decide where we should store the winter things like the space heaters (there was actually very little free space but he got to make the decisions). Then we cleaned his room. He would spray the "magic" - the cleaning product - on the dishcloth and I would rub - until he wanted to rub and then we would exchange roles. He likes the concept of vacuuming but not the actual noise so he jumped on his bed while I vacuumed sections of the floor or rug. We wiped down everything. While we cleaned the framed photographs we discussed the pictures of his Mommy when she was little. We laughed about the funny one of her showing the contents of her 4-year old mouth full of chocolate pudding. I showed him photos of my parents, my husband (his Grampa Gary who was his Mommy's Daddy and who we miss), etc.  So many generations. One wonders what his little mind makes of it all.

So what plans do I have for child labor tomorrow and Thursday?  Why the living room and basement, of course. He loves the basement so it should be fun. It is just creepy enough to make it kind of interesting but not scary. . .  and so different from upstairs. Quite satisfying.

So I move forward to a Saturday departure. Thank goodness child welfare folks aren't out watching what I am doing. Whoops, I forgot about Jennifer - if you are reading this, Jenn, it's all a lie.

ACHHHHH! Sunshine. Who Knew?

It is sunny in Portland. The sky is deep blue - not a shade of gray to be seen. Fluffy clouds float by. I am in shock - this is not usual. Well, to be fair, I have experienced bright sunshine in the past but it is rare and is sandwiched between dramatic shifts of weather within single days - overcast and gray in the morning, sun breaking briefly through followed by a short light rainfall, then a return to gray and gloomy - and it has been like this since last November. So today (and yesterday) have been startling. Beautiful and warm. How warm? Today it hit the low 80s. I know that summers are supposed to be glorious in Portland (and can get quite hot) so guess I am getting the first inklings. Looking ahead? It will soon return to the 60s and we will have rain on Monday and Tuesday but the latter half of the week is going to be gorgeous, in the mid 80s. Oh my goodness. Sun . . . in Portland.

Visitors who came in to the library today reacted in several ways. We assured the tourists among them that this is typical weather for Portland (most knew enough to know we were kidding) but it was the response from locals that most amused me. One laughingly put up his arm to protect his eyes from the sudden onslaught of the sun, another assured me that he was looking forward to the return of rain later in the week (again with a wink and a smile), another warned, "Well, just wait a minute." It was charming (and so unexpected) to see sun dresses in downtown Portland. And, get ready, no hoodies.  Well, there were a few die-hards, but most people were hoodie-less. Just too hot.

I came straight home today (yes, working diligently on my To Do List - 31 down, 11 to go), no stopping to play in the downtown area. Am glad I did because of the sight that greeted me as I turned the corner onto my street. I know there are lots of kids on my block (let's see, I can quickly count 8 below the age of 10 in the houses immediately surrounding me) and they were all out playing in the sunshine. Scooters whizzed by, a group of parents were blowing huge bubbles that children raced to pop, chalk drawings decorated the sidewalks (my favorites were the door mats carefully drawn in chalk on the street in front of each of the houses), and parents had dragged chairs to sit on lawns to watch the kids who played nearby. Thankfully, not a lot of cars drive down this street so it is a relatively safe place to play but I automatically look twice, make that 4 times, before I move out from my driveway onto the street. Today, make that 10 times.

Stephanie and Dan dropped Wesley off at 4 - I am keeping him overnight. Have to squeeze in every opportunity before leaving a week from today for an almost 2-month absence. He immediately wanted to go across the street to visit the neighbor who has chickens in her back yard. Yesterday, when we visited, only 3 of the chickens were out. He wanted to see the 4th, the one that often hides. Today we were in luck. Opie was strutting around in her magnificent plumage and Wesley watched delighted. They also have a beautiful garden and invited us to pick raspberries. Wesley loves berries more than just about anything and soon had a slightly stained mouth from popping them in as fast as he and I could pick them. It is interesting to watch him interact with the neighbor children. He is almost the youngest - by about a year - which is significant when you are closing in on 3. He is often reticent; holds my hand tightly. However, now that we are outside more, he is getting to know the kids and was interested in more interaction. I am sorry that I will be leaving so soon, it would be nice to further this along.

So, who knew? Bright sun and blue skies in Portland. I can attest that it even happened two days in a row. Although I am looking forward to my time in California and my trip to Africa I am also sorry that I will miss most of the Portland summer experience.

Tomorrow will be a bit cooler but I will be inside - working hard, working hard. Have now laid out which tasks need to be completed in each of the remaining days and I am driven to meet my deadlines.

Bless the upcoming days of rain - it will help me focus.  Hmmm, I think I am becoming a true Portlander.

Moving On

I have finally started on my To Do list. It has 42 items - some small (make an appointment for the cat), some huge (pack for California), some a bit odd (buy a deflated soccer ball for the school I am visiting in Zimbabwe), some quite unpleasant (get yellow fever shots), and some complicated (is it wise to change my specific health coverage plan before the upcoming due date?). To help the process along, I put the list on the refrig with a yellow marker nearby so I can cross off items as I complete them. This gives both satisfaction and keeps me going. As of this minute, 10 items are yellow - okay, okay, you're right, I did the easy ones. The cat has an appointment.

I continue, however, to find excuses to do other things. Last Saturday, for example, if I had been truly responsible, I would have come straight home from my library shift to work on the list but it didn't end up that way. Nope - and I couldn't help myself. The "attractive nuisance" that distracted me from doing the right thing was at the foot of the library steps. In fact, to avoid it was extremely difficult. Police and horses and children by the gazillions stood in my way. And anyway, who can say no to a parade? Especially the 100th running of the Portland Annual Rose Festival Parade? Come on, no one is that strong.

Actually, to be quite truthful, I am not a parade person. I find them long, tedious, and "been there, done that." In addition, I am spoiled in that Pacific Grove has 2 absolutely perfect parades (according to my skewed criteria). So perfect that I try hard not to miss either one - and this from a parade naysayer. The first is in September, The Butterfly Parade, that welcomes the monarch butterflies back to Pacific Grove. It is incredibly cute. Every child, from preschool through elementary, participates (there are only 2 small elementary schools so we are not talking a lot of kids). The children walk with their classes in costumes designed by their teachers. Well, the kindergarteners are always the butterflies and the 5th graders always wear Indian costumes their parents make for a social studies unit but the other grades vary from year to year although we usually see a lot of sea animals. The children are darling, the midde and high school bands add the necessary prance-along-with-the-kids music, the whole thing is over in less than an hour, the crowd is enthusiastic - a perfect parade.

It may be topped, however, by the annual Pet Parade in July. In this one, anyone with a pet is welcome to join in. It's short - once the people at the front hit the end of the second block the whole parade makes a U-turn and walks back to the starting point - 20 minutes max. There's no music, just the noise of the pets and the spectators cheering them on. And it's fun. Lots and lots of dogs but others make their appearance as well, many held in arms, some represented by stuffed animals. Costumes are popular - both for pets and owners. A favorite memory is the child who pulled a wagon with her fish bowl tucked carefully inside. This is home grown and very hard to beat.

So, now I am in Portland. This is not the REALLY big time but it is certainly bigger time. Not the Rose Parade in Pasadena but also not teeny Pacific Grove. And it was, surprisingly for me, lots and lots of fun. I first got an inkling of it when my bus was re-routed. I had no idea the parade's path took it right along the front of the library. It didn't reach us until almost 11:30 (we were near the end of the route) but participants had not lost their enthusiasm by the time they reached our vantage point. The horses still high stepped it, the floats floated (well, I was amused when the people behind one float helped push it when it hit the small rise in front of the library), the gorgeous roses still had life in them, the music was lusty - it was all as it should be.

Favorite memories?

An unusual Grand Marshall - yes, it was Pachy, the elephant born at the Oregon Zoo who turned 50 this year. Packy is one adored animal here in Portland. Naturally he couldn't make the walk so they had a replica.  The crowd cheered and cheered.

And, of course, if you have an elephant (even a replica) you need a pooper scooper to follow - this one is called PoopLandia with a drawing of the iconic Portlandia statue turned into Pachy.

This was my absolute favorite. In front of this group of flight attendants (who you can barely see - squint hard) was the Alaska Airlines float - beautiful - showing Alaskan animals, etc. but the crowd gave even stronger applause to the flight attendants who followed behind. They did wonderful marching routines with their apparatus - no, not batons, not flags, look really close - yep, carry-on bags.  It was hysterical. They marched, flipped those bags, circled, all in synchronization. The crowd roared its approval.

My sister, Mary, suggested that, next year, we volunteer in the wee hours of the morning to help finish up the floats. I suggested we join this group instead. It will take much more practice but these, by age, are my peeps. And look at them strut! I look better in silver than in gold so the trim on their outfits will match my coloring, I can learn the baton strut, etc.  . . . . Well, maybe that float idea is better.

I loved how enthusiastically the crowd got into the mood - including elephant ear toppers. This woman shared the library steps with me.

When I had reached my fill (about 90 minutes into the parade) I wandered down to my rescheduled bus but stopped at a deli to grab a sandwich.  Yep, parade spirit was there too.

Pachy was everywhere.

I did enjoy the humor of it all.  I love that Portland does NOT take itself seriously. The bus ride home was full of parade goers carrying sleepy children, folding chairs, and smiles.

Okay, now back to more serious stuff - 32 items on my list still to go.  I CAN do it - as long as parades and such don't get in my way.  Oh, the mind is willing but the flesh is so very weak.  

Procrastination

I am so very good at it. One of the most common reasons I do housework is to avoid a task I find even ickier - and that includes just about everything on my current To Do list. Anything - dishes, laundry, pulling weeds - all are better than dealing with that list. My house, unfortunately, is immaculate; the laundry is done; and Wesley and I worked on the garden yesterday so I am getting a bit desperate. Hmmm, it's time to write a blog entry. Yes, that's the ticket. Unfortunately, I purposely placed my To Do list on my desk, right behind my laptop - I can see the top of it in my peripheral vision - however I find that I am quite able to look straight ahead. I do not see it.

This is not a new phenomenon. In college I wrote most of my papers the day before each was due - just kept putting it off, putting it off. When teaching, I justified procrastinating long term lesson plans by saying, "I don't know how much they will actually absorb in each lesson; I need to remain flexible so I can do next what is best." Yea, right. And a good book can detour me from just about anything that needs be done.

The pesky To Do list is long - I leave in a few weeks for a trip to California and from there on to Africa. I know, not great planning. When initially thinking about my trips to France and Africa I didn't realize they would be so close to each other but I find that, when opportunities present themselves, it is best to just close your eyes and jump in. But, in this case, I face a mess of a packing job.  Let's see:

1.  A family wedding in the Bay Area (the 5th in the garden of my family home - including mine and my daughter's). Got to look nice.
2.  A week in Pacific Grove where it could be foggy and cold. Need to add cold weather stuff.
3.  A week camping at Yosemite - may be scorching hot and I have to prepare one dinner for about 40 people. This means significant camping gear.
4.  3 weeks in southern Africa where it will be winter. Staying at animal parks - so need to plan for a rugged lifestyle - but also spending a week in Cape Town where such clothing won't work. By the way, the most interesting notification (other than the need for yellow fever shots and malaria meds) was that some of the nations we will be visiting do not allow civilian use of camouflage. Drat, there goes my whole wardrobe plan!

How does one pack for such variety? At least I am driving to California which makes it easier.

The camping gear is the challenge.  I am not sure where it all is - at my cousin's house in Marin (I will be there before Yosemite so can look in her garage)? At my son's place in Oakland? At Goodwill? If it's in the attic of my home that is rented in Pacific Grove - well, that's pointless. Couldn't get to it even if I asked to be let in to look. As I remember, the small attic space is crammed with my stuff.

I think I will have to count on the kindness of family members who will be at Yosemite with me.

Thankfully family members up here in Portland will look after my house, my plants and my cat so I can leave with more ease. However, I will truly miss my time with my grandson, daughter and son-in-law. They will be at the wedding so I will get some time with them but it will be a while before I am back to my regular schedule.

Okay, so now I have whined about packing - is there ANYTHING else I can do to avoid the list that I can still see in my peripheral vision? Shouldn't I be a bit more mature and face facts? It won't go away and the longer I put it off the worse it will be as I try to jam all the remaining tasks into the days before departure.

Hmm, I think my cat needs brushing.   

Really???

I know there are big problems out there. Starvation in Africa and Asia . . .  and in too many homes in America. Unemployment that is way too high in most of the nation including right here in Oregon. Medical costs that continue to soar. I get it, I get it. I know my problems are itty bitty in light of what much of the world continues to face BUT given that I have the cold from hell - when everything that comes up is grayish green - did I have to get Pink Eye at the same time? REALLY? So add to the picture of hacking, coughing and sneezing one squinty, oozy, crusty, reddish eye and one that is rushing to match its neighbor. Ah, yes, the total package is uber attractive.

I have had one unseemly idea. Can I make money off this? What about offering myself (for a fee, mind you) as a replacement Stand-In-Liner? I will take your place and move you quickly to the front of whatever line you need to stand in. For example, need tickets for some great show? No problem. I'll take your place, start coughing/hacking, rub my infected pink eyes, slowly turn toward others in line and then wait to see what happens. People will flee. I don't suspect this, by the way, I know it. How? This morning I watched people respond to my presence while waiting to see my doctor. It was not pretty.

It's not the horrid visual that creates the rush to escape my presence. It's the sounds. Not my speaking voice - that's the usual husky of a heavily congested person. If it weren't accompanied by other sounds, it might even be a bit sexy but not when one is in the presence of The Cough. My cough is disturbing. It's low, deep, raspy, bronchial - it sounds like pieces of my lungs are coming up with each cough. People stop in their tracks, turn to gape and then quickly move away. Unfortunately for me, it's not new. No, it started in Hiroshima in 1983. It really did. I was one of 13 teachers representing American education on a 3-week trip sponsored by the Japanese government. I visited lots of schools and factories, met many teachers and government officials, toured temples and monuments and ended up representing the larger group of 100 teachers from the US, Canada, Australia, New Zealand and Indonesia as I laid a wreath at the memorial at ground zero at Hiroshima. A few hours later I started the cough that now accompanies every cold I get. Yep, Hiroshima. Interesting, eh?,

And of course, the cough made its appearance this morning in the waiting room. What was kind of amusing was the room's response when the receptionist asked why I was there. Everyone, I am sure, assumed the cold brought me in given that I sounded at death's door. So, when I answered, "I need medicine for Pink Eye" - well the whole room turned to stare. I wanted to stand, curtsy and say, "Yep, not just the cold from hell, everybody, I have second reason for you to avoid me." I mean, don't you get kind of itchy when you hear someone has Pink Eye? I certainly do. I pull out sponges and start wiping down anything the person could have POSSIBLY touched - in the past year.

Well, to make to make this too-long story a bit shorter, the doctor saw me, started to write my prescription when I suddenly coughed. Her eyes shot up, "Wait a minute, I need to listen to that." I breathed deeply while she moved a stethoscope around my back. I assured her it was no big deal - just the usual. She seemed a bit surprised that pneumonia hadn't spread throughout my system. Even so, she wants me to come back in a week. We'll see what happens - at least the Pink Eye should be gone by then.  By the way, if I were anywhere near you in the past few days, get out those bleach wipes and start scrubbing.

May Blues

I forgot to take Airborne and am suffering for it. I suspect that some horrid person on one of the 3 flights from France shared their germs with me. My head is pounding, my nose is running, sneezes erupt violently and a room-clearing cough explodes about every 30 seconds or so. Quite attractive.

I am annoyed and exhausted. I made it to the library for my volunteer shift this morning (lots of medication made it possible) but dragged myself back to the bus for the ride home. Not fun. France was definitely worth it but fie on that fellow passenger.

Wesley may have picked it up from me so, right now, I am keeping my distance.

When we are together Wesley and I are having fun. Because I was gone for several weeks he now will say, soon after we get home each afternoon, "You know, Gramma, what we haven't done in AGES?"  Then he will list a book or puzzle or toy we haven't played with since I went to France. Yesterday it was 2 games - one with a white board and one with a jar of different size dice. He loves to hold a fistful of markers and make a big multi-colored spaghetti-like pattern on the white board. He then, with delight, takes the school-size board eraser and whoosh - the colors disappear. Most satisfying. With the dice, I roll them out and ask him to find a pattern ("See if you can pick out all the yellow dice and the itty bitty brown one before I count to 8"). He happily finds the patterns. He will then identify a pattern for me to find. He is now getting a bit more sophisticated. I have started asking if he can make all the dice of one color show the same number facing up. This is harder. He used to enjoy doing jig saw puzzles one by one. Now he likes to overturn them all on the bed, mix the pieces up and then figure out which pieces go with which puzzle.

Because it continues to rain quite a bit (I know, surprise! Rain in Portland - well, actually it is POURING right now with loud thunder and lightning. Welcome, Memorial Day Weekend!) we have not yet gone back to the park near his preschool. The slides don't work well if they are damp. I look forward to hitting those slides, swings and climbing bars when it dries up a bit. I think I am also ready to take a big step. In an earlier entry I admitted that I really hated Candy Land - such bad memories of playing it in the past. Well, I feel obliged to admit to another beloved child's entertainment that I don't like. Get ready - when I usually say this author's name, other mothers/grandmothers clutch their hearts and declare their undying love for the books - here goes, Richard Scarry. In my memory it took FOREVER to get through a book because each page had so many pictures on it. I preferred books that were quicker reads. However, with my new attitude about the joys of grandmotherhood, I am wondering if I might enjoy them now? Why do I care how long each page takes? I have time.

So, today I looked through the children's section of the used books at the gift store of the library where I volunteer. Each month, if I work 4 days, I can select a used book as a thank you and one book was owed me. I looked through both shelves of children's books but no Richard Scarry. Proof, I guess, of how they are loved. Either no one is willing to donate them or they are so beat up from frequent perusals they are tossed rather than donated. Interesting. I just might have to actually buy one. Now, which one? Do any of you have suggestions? Lee and Stephanie certainly had lots of them. I guess I can go to Amazon and check out titles. I suspect ones my kids liked will pop out. Should I also chance buying Candy Land? Maybe my new attitude will even work with that. Ohhhhhh, that's asking a lot. That negativity is much more profound than the one directed at Richard Scarry.

I'll let you know if I buy either and will also let you know the results. I suspect Wesley will love the books and, drat, probably Candy Land as well.

Home Again

I am back in Portland after a bit more than 2 weeks in France.  It was wonderful, every second.  What I can't believe is that I did not gain a single ounce of weight while eating every single thing in sight. God bless the French active life - I am now a true believer.  I know I walked a lot but look at what I ate:

This was a mushroom fricassee with a salad - don't you love the presentation?

Two of our desserts at the Musée d’Orsay.  It was tough, but someone had to eat them.  We did.

Fig stuffed with foie gras - I know, can I be more politically incorrect?  It was deliciously succulent but at the price of a poor goose being force fed.  They tried to tell us that it didn't bother the geese but I find that impossible to believe.  If we are judged by how we treat our animals, I must give it up.  

Our usual breakfasts were fresh croissants or equally wonderful pastries with coffee followed by 3-course lunches (out) then dinners (mostly at home) composed of lots of cheese, wine, bread, foie gras, tapenades, fruit and more pastries. Amazing. I am grateful for both the wonderful food and the walking that kept all those calories at bay.

France was simply wonderful.  My cousin Loretta and I flew first to Belgium where our good friend Sabine picked us up. It was almost unreal that, less than 24 hours after boarding a plane in Portland, we were floating down a river along the Belgian/France border in a canal boat with Sabine's friends toasting each other with Kir Royal's (bring 'em on - delicious). We visited with Sabine and her family for the next 2 days. Her daughter owns a cheese business and did we ever profit. We must have had 12 different cheeses during our 2-day visit and then Sabine, bless her, packed all the left overs for us to take to Paris. One of my favorite memories of that train trip is the rich aroma wafting up from one of the stinkier cheeses. It was quite strong but I figured other riders were an audience that understood both what it was and how lucky we were to have it.

Once in Paris we connected with another cousin, Bonnie, my sister-in-law, Melinda and a good friend, Sue. The five of us were together for the next 2 weeks - first in Paris and then in Sarlat, in the Périgord/Dordogne region.

Paris was magnificent, no surprise. What wonderful memories as we revisited places we loved (Musée d’Orsay, Cluny, Left Bank neighborhoods, Ile St Louis) and explored areas new to us.  Fun shopping - we all got scarves (it seems like everyone wears a scarf in France - men and women alike), purses and  shoes.

A sidewalk cafe on Ile St Louis in Paris

The Cluny Museum of Medieval Art

The restaurant at the Musée d’Orsay - I felt like I was eating at Versailles

Our apartment was right across from the Eiffel Tower - literally about 100 steps gave us an unobstructed view. It was on the second floor of an old building on Rue de Suffren, between a restaurant and a patisserie. The apartment had 2 bedrooms, a pull-out sofa in the living room and a very modern kitchen and bath. It was perfect for our needs. In visits from the past I have walked by the tall doorways that let into French apartment houses and wondered about life behind those doors. This time, I had a key. I felt very Parisian.

This trip we did not use the Metro. Instead we bought multi-day tickets for the Bato-Bus - a boat that makes 8 stops along the Seine at destinations that beautifully matched where we wanted to go. We would stroll under the Eiffel Tower, board the boat from the quay, and then sail to our destination. I think I most appreciated it on the way home each day. Sometimes we were on the boat for 45 minutes before it got back to the Eiffel Tower - 45 minutes of chit chat about our day, people-watching, views of the gorgeous Parisian buildings floating by - lovely way to travel if time is not of critical importance.  Those of you who have been to Paris, think Bateaux Mouches - but smaller with no upper deck.

We picked up our rental car outside of Paris and drove 6 hours to Sarlat, a world away, where we were plunged into the Middle Ages. The house we rented was part of the ancient wall that once surrounded the city (most of it is gone, just bits remain - including the wall of our living room/back bedrooms).  The historic center has been beautifully preserved and I loved walking through it. It was small enough that we quickly learned the alleyways that never seemed to go in straight lines.  Much more interesting that way.

Melinda adds the necessary scale to a Medieval alleyway.

What I most loved about our ancient house (I figure it was at least 800 years old) was the shutters on the windows. They were just what you imagined a medieval house would have. Large with heavy iron work that propped them open or closed them tight.  I loved throwing open my bedroom shutters each morning.  Such a satisfactory experience.

This is our terrace that backs on the ancient wall.  The open shutters led to the living room, the closed shutters above were Bonnie's bedroom window. Melinda's tiny shutter was above, on the top floor, not visible here. She and Sue had perfect medieval rooms up at the top of the house - exposed stone walls and wood beams spanning the open space up to the roof. Thankfully, the house had modern bathrooms (3 of them) and kitchen.

The Sarlat region is famous for several foods - fois gras, walnuts, tobacco and truffles. It also has a market that is considered among the best in France. We arrived the night before the Saturday market so our first morning in Sarlat was spent walking among all the food booths and shops - amazing.

The cheeses - YUM!

Glacé fruit

How does one choose?  We ate lots of 'em.

Urgh!  I forget what this is called - it's a nougat.  I know someone reading this will tell me.

We used Sarlat as our base to drive around the surrounding area. We visited medieval and Renaissance towns, churches, castles and a chateau in the Périgord, sailed down the Dordogne River to view towns tucked into the hills, visited the model of the Lascaux cave, toured an ancient mill (and shared a drink with the mill keeper in his upstairs rooms), and ate and ate and ate.   

Sarlat in the day time

Sarlat at night

One of the best experiences of the trip was the opportunity to share meals with French friends in their homes. I know the average tourist doesn't get this experience and we were grateful for it. Loretta and I spent time with Sabine and her family at her home in Northern France (just a few miles from the Belgian border) and the 5 of us spent time with some of Sue's French friends she met in Petaluma through the Master Gardener program. The first, Bernadette, had a fascinating home about 20 minutes from Sarlat. The kitchen was ancient (although updated and modernized). Her son built the rest of the house around the kitchen - a modern addition that perfectly matched the style of the kitchen. It was exquisite. We ate lunch on the covered porch that overlooked her magnificent gardens that included wide meadows filled with wild flowers, an ancient grotto (we were very close to the caves at Lascaux), and unexpected small gardens with seats and tables tucked into nooks and crannies of her land. One of my favorite memories is her "laboratory" where she concocts elixirs from the plants on her land and from her wanderings in France and Spain. It was in her cellar - dark, dirt walls, with wood shelves tucked under beams supporting the house - talk about the Middle Ages. I told the others afterwards that Bernadette would have been considered a witch back then! She gave us tastes of the elixirs - heavenly - and then gave each of us a small bottle and another bottle of honey from her bees to take home (and, yes, I got them through customs).

Jean-Paul and Marie-Helene were the other Master Gardener friends we visited.  Their house was about 200 years old and on a large piece of property close to Bernadette's. They used to live in Paris but bought this house 20 years ago as a second home and now live here permanently.  

Jean-Paul and Marie-Helene's house

This is the main house.  They told us that it is so hot in the summer that they use this addition (in photo below) with a separate kitchen and covered porch for preparing and eating meals.

After visiting 4 small towns in the area, we spent a wonderful late afternoon with Jean-Paul and Marie-Helene.  We toured their gardens and bee hives then sat under a tree for aperitifs.

Although aperitifs was the original invitation, once there, they asked us to stay for dinner. We ate at their long wood table in the kitchen of the main house. Marie-Helene is an excellent chef (she smiled modestly while Bernadette and Jean-Paul described her creations) and whipped up a wonderful meal. It wasn't complicated but absolutely delicious. I wish I had photographed it (or rather photographed it well - all of these photos are from my phone camera with all of its limitations).

- First course:  Sliced duck and sausages from Avignon - beautifully presented.  The meat slices were intricately rolled on the platter. It was art.
- Second course:  an omelette of eggs (from the neighbor's chickens) and cepes (a local mushroom that the region is famous for) and salad
- Cheese course - 5 cheeses.  My favorite was the one in little balls with honey in the centers
- Dessert - lightly sweetened yogurt with perfect strawberries and cream
- And of course wine.  At the end they gave us some cherries that were marinated in an elixir and then some Armagnac.

I looked around the table at these wonderful new friends who had been so hospitable and thanked my lucky stars that I was sitting there. Our language abilities varied greatly. Some spoke no English or French, some spoke a bit of the other language, a few were fluent. Whatever, we made ourselves understood and had a wonderful time.

So, when I review this amazing trip I have several thoughts:

1. Traveling with 5 women was lots of fun.  We focused on important things - beautiful towns, fun shopping, great food - especially sweets, wine and cappuccinos. We didn't always stick together. 2 of us might go somewhere while the other 3 did something else. Some would go out while others stayed in.  Whenever someone went out, however, they usually brought back something heavenly (food or wine) from their explorations to add to dinner. It was all low key and delightful.  We meshed well.

2.  Renting an apartment and a house was so much easier than staying at hotels.  We had kitchens and washers/dryers - and used them.  It was also cheaper.  Thank you, Melinda, for all your advance planning.

3.  As wonderful as were the things we saw, I also treasure the time spent with our French friends.  Being with them offered unique opportunities to understand issues of importance to the French, exchange viewpoints, and laugh a lot.  I loved experiencing their homes and gardens.  It is also fun to explore towns with locals - they know everything and are happy to share it.

4.  I have never eaten so well - and gained nothing in weight.  Alleleuia.

5.  French wine - YUM!  We drank lots and lots of it.

This is what we drank at home in Sarlat - not to be confused with what we drank

 at restaurants or had in Paris.

6.  I loved the contrast of Paris as Haussman reconstructed it in the mid 1800s (the tall buildings, wonderful rooftops, wide boulevards) and the medieval feelings of Sarlat and surrounding towns.  Both were magnificent.

A medieval cloister

An overlook in a town near Sarlat

Dordogne town seen from our boat

The moat (long since dry) at Chateau de Losse - I mean - Medieval?!?!?!

7  The kindness of strangers. I am continually astounded by the unexpected kindness of strangers that I have experienced world-wide. It is why I go out of my way to help when I notice someone with an accent who appears to be facing a challenge of some kind here in the U.S.. I want to repay what I have received. On this trip strangers helped me in airports, in Paris and in the Périgord.  I am grateful.

The trip home was exhausting.  We left Sarlat at 4:30 am and, this time, the GPS did us wrong. An hour into the trip, when we should have been half way to Toulouse, we were lost in the back roads of the Périgord - pitch black, no houses, no sense of a highway. When the GPS suggested we turn into what looked like a gravel path we balked, pulled out a map and eventually found our way to Toulouse - but just in time.  A quick flight to Madrid and then a mad rush to our connection. We thought 90 minutes was enough time for the layover forgetting that flights to the US require an extra security check. The Madrid airport was large, modern, and in our case, badly marked for our gate but we eventually made it. 11 hours later, we landed at Dallas and then had a long wait to get through the immigration/passport line, through customs and then another race to our gates. This time the layover was almost 3 hours but Dallas always confounds! I waved goodbye to the others and went to my gate for Portland and finally slept on that final 4 hour leg.  In bed 28 hours after getting up in Sarlat.

I remembered why I was here in Portland when Wesley greeted me the next day.  He ran to me, jumped in my arms and snuggled in. He wouldn't look at me, just snuggled, fitting his head under my chin. When he finally got down so he could walk into my house, he waited until I sat and then immediately climbed back onto my lap and snuggled some more. We had missed each other.

Now, 3 days later, I can tell you that Wesley believes that France is a bit of heaven. He can't believe the many interesting things that have come into my house from France. There is the new chicken on my kitchen table that bobs a bit when you touch it. I told Wesley that the chicken doesn't say, "hello" like American chickens,  but "bon jour." He is fascinated. We have read his new books (they are in French, but he doesn't know I am translating - badly mind you - but translating), and he was most excited about a new book that has lots of stickers.  Then there are the tiger slippers I brought him in Paris - they fit perfectly, and the small cushion from the Cluny Museum that shows a reproduction of a rabbit from one of their marvelous tapestries. He used it as his pillow when he spent the night on Sunday. And finally, he loves to stare at the mechanism while turning the handle on the tiny music box that plays La Vie En Rose. I told him that it reminds me of Paris and we hum along together.  Yesterday, he told me that someday he will go to Colorado and then on to France (loved the combination) and that I could go with him. "What a great idea," I said. "Let's go."  I'm ready whenever he is. Well, maybe his parents would like to come along too.

The French Tiger Slippers

A simply wonderful trip.  

Updates

I am feeling reflective - part of aging, you think??? So, a quick review of what has been happening re: earlier entries.

January:
Entry - Snow.
The winter ended up being much milder than I had thought might be the case.  Nothing like Connecticut winters, that's for sure. Yes, we had several snow falls but they never stuck around for more than a few hours - perfect snow, in my mind. It has rained a LOT but suspect this is typical. It seems like it has been gray most days since last December so when the sun pokes through, it is glorious. I can cope.

Entry - Stupidity.
Have not forgotten my keys since that day - the lanyard hanging around my neck may look rather odd but I don't care. And my thumb drive still works! Have needed to get to some of those photos and they all remain accessible. Amazing.

Entry -  My New Volunteer Assignment (at the place that gives emergency food/clothing to the poor)
At this point I do not think I will switch to direct involvement with the Food Bank (my original plan). I like helping out at this local non-profit. It's a few miles from my house in a somewhat trendy neighborhood - but on the straggly end of it. People start arriving about 9 - a half hour  before we open. All I do is answer the phones and am now an expert at answering basic questions. Although I will probably field 40-50 calls in my 5 hour time slot, some will take only a minute so I have lots of free time. I can't, however, get up and do something else because I need to be there if the phone rings. I bring a book and catch up on reading.

The 5-foot partition in front of my desk separates me from the client waiting area (either waiting to be interviewed or waiting to pick up their packets of food) so it makes direct engagements with clients difficult. However, while they fix their coffee, they can see me over the partition and will occasionally engage me in chat, especially when cookies or coffee run out. The extras are stored in my area.

I have enjoyed becoming part of the organization and now experience one of the surest signs of longevity - I understand comments that were cryptic in the past. I now know to whom they refer. Have also noted some organizational dysfunctions (as only a newcomer can) and am so very grateful that it is not my responsibility to fix them. Time to let younger ones get such experiences.

My second volunteer job at the main branch of the library is a lot of fun. I enjoy interacting with library patrons. We all love books. The library gift shop where I work on Saturday mornings sells used books that patrons have donated (along with notebooks, cards, other reading-related stuff). It means that a lot of discussions come up about books customers are thinking about purchasing, have read, or want to know more about. It's like talking about films - so interesting to exchange viewpoints. And, as stated in other blog entries, I enjoy being downtown. Each Saturday, when I leave the library, I go explore something new. Last Saturday it was the Museum of Contemporary Craft - an article in The Oregonian about the latest exhibit (the work of sculpture Betty Feves) intrigued me. I really enjoyed her work. It was inspiring - so inspiring that when the museum offered a table with bits of materials to play with, I sat down and composed my first piece of sculpture as a mature artist. I say mature because one of my Pacific Grove artist neighbors actually spent more than a year, every other week, helping me explore the possibilities of my developing ANY level of artistic expression.  I kindly label my style Primitive.  Here is an example:

No, God did NOT give me artistic talents but maybe sculpture could work.  Here is my creation, now sitting on my kitchen table, in front of the small cement planter box I dragged home from London:

Let's see - how would a museum describe it:

Title:  Cogito, Ergo Sum (Latin always impresses, and an historic reference as well - a winner of a title - although, in reality, he doesn't look like he is thinking - kind of empty headed - maybe waiting for the perfect wave?)

Media:  rock, clay, bead, torn snippet of cardboard

Height: 2.5 inches

Time to Create: 1 minute in thought (hence the title), 1 minute in execution

Now, the proper place to display this new work of art:

Near real art? 

Oh, my goodness, no.

Near candlesticks?

No, too overpowering.

Near something closer in size? 

 No, too scary.

Perhaps back on the table were Wesley can play with it?  

Yes, that's best.

Entry - The Devil and Me - about Comcast

It's all going fine.  One problem arose but Comcast solved it - after another $50, of course.

Entry - Urban Intrigue -  about my interaction at the bananas at Trader Joe's

Never heard another thing.  Assume the device I sold is working fine and I am used to all my new passwords.

February

Entry - Schondecken's Coffee Shop

I continue to enjoy experiencing coffee shops throughout my travels in Portland.  Am now something of a native - if I am out for any length of time I am walking with coffee in hand.

Entry - Running the Gauntlet of 4-Year Olds

Interesting thing has happened with the 4-year olds. I haven't been greeted as Milk Shake or Hot Dog, etc in quite a while. They sometimes ask me what my name is but with smiles on their faces and, when I don't respond, they drop it. Lovely. What they now do is run over to tell me what has been happening in their lives especially if it involves THEIR grandmothers.  I enjoy it.  They don't do this at a fever pitch so I am sure their teachers enjoy it more as well.

Entry - Portland Couture

It continues to amuse me.  As my sister, Mary, says, "You don't even have to ask which airline gate you are flying from. Just look for people dressed in the Portland style and you're probably right."  Quite true.

March

Entry - Driving in Portland

I remain "unhonked."

Entry - Big Boy Underpants

I continue to be intrigued with Wesley's language development. He likes words. When I say a word he doesn't know, he will ask me what it means.  His favorite right now is Rhododendron.  They are blooming everywhere and he likes to point them out - "Look, a pink rhododendren, oh there's a red rhododendron," etc.  I think he likes the sound of it rolling around in his mouth.  He also likes to repeat phrases that I have used.  A favorite, when he doesn't understand something, "It's a mystery, Gramma, it's a mystery." Perhaps his favorite expression (and it plays into a favorite activity) when ANYTHING is misplaced - a piece of silverware, a book, a doll - "Let's get the flashlight."  Apparently, one can only find something with flashlight in hand. And, by the way, potty training is going swimmingly. Accidents happen but, on the whole, he is doing well.

The rest are all recent enough that updates aren't needed. All in all, life is good and I am adjusting to the great northwest.