Unsystematic Deliberations

Last week I had to extend my unemployment benefits; a first for me. It was a bit de-settling. I am thankful for the nice employment office lady who handled my situation with dignity and even gave an encouraging remark, "Dear, you are not alone and it will work out." I have been unemployed for six months. 182.5 days. Weird.

The electricity went kaput at the house today. I took a shower in the dark, but the water was warm. In light of having no kilowattage juice, I ran away to Jim and Patty's coffee shop, with a brief detour to see Robert's chicken coop.

Tomorrow I am going to Salt Lake City, UT to see my parents, an aunt and uncle, as well as dear friends Matt and Suzanne. I am extremely excited for a change of scenery, good company and to play with many, many tools.

Yesterday I listened to Zach's boss explain his hypothesis that global warming was an effect of a large number of older, female humpback whales having hot flashes. I really like his boss.

This morning I partook in a vicious kickboxing class. I really, really like that class.

The Little Things

The minor things of a day can cultivate sweet, fun memories. Today was one of those days.

BD purchased a chord organ. Why? He secretly harbors aspirations to be invited to the Mt. Angel Abbey organ concert next year; not to play on their majestic, heavenly organ but to show the masses the magnificence of a squatty, mini organ. He is always the trend setter.

While BD found his unique chord organ, I found two vintage chairs that begged to be brought home and put on the porch. With excitement, Zach and I cleaned and rearranged our porch in the sunshine. Now I feel as though we are sitting on a balcony overlooking the Tuscany landscape.

Boys

In the Name of Scouting

Telephones are dangerous contraptions. With one ring so much can change; news of a death, the pizza man is lost, Zach found our favorite pasta sauce, adventures can be hatched, etc. Last night Robert called.

Today we perused Champoeg (pronounced in a southern twang as 'Sh-aaaaaaam-poo-egg') Park on two wheels.

This was my first visit to this Oregon State Park and I was thoroughly impressed. It has a fabulous, smooth bike path, disc golf course, camping, Willamette River views and tons of wildlife. The visitor center is informational and is currently hosting an interactive exhibit in relation to Oregon's 150 birthday.

This trip was taken in the name of 'scouting' for our life group who is looking at an overnight trip late October. The yurts are amazing.

As we rode, the crispness of fall danced along in the breeze. Fall is a season that I go into adamantly hating, yet succumb to its nostalgia and coziness.

It was a good day to spend on the bike meandering along the prairie.

The Visitor

During July we recieved the news that Zach's mom, Susan, would be visiting in September as a late birthday present. We were excited, though shelved the excitement because that was so far away.

Susan has come and gone. Stupid time warp of huge sucking proportions.

Covered Bridges, Ho!

As soon as Susan stepped off the airport curb into the CRV, it was a whirlwind of activities. Friday afternoon we headed down the I-5 corridor to Cottage Grove's covered bridges loop. It was a great trip (minus the 26 motorcycle pile up); the bridge loop was nice and concise and the bridges were quite varied in architecture.

I became enthralled with Lake Dorena, especially since we drove the eastern side at sunset.

We finished our evening with a stop at Stacy's Covered Bridge Restaurant for dinner.

VEGFEST/Saturday Market

Saturday morning dawned drizzly and gray. Our initial plan was to go to Oktoberfest, but that got scratched before the oatmeal was finished. Instead, we headed to VegFest at the convention center with the Tos.

It was a taste testers dream--hundreds of booths serving their vegetarian/vegan fare. Some tasted yummy; others tasted like cardboard.

We came home with loot and free coupons.

After our fill, we parted ways. The Tos went home and we headed to Saturday Market since the skies had cleared.

Beer, Brats, and Monk Sightings

Sunday was a perfect day. Blue skies and breezes beckoned us south to Mt. Angel. The Oktoberfest was in full swing and it was a doozy. Over fifty food vendors lined the streets, cushioned by tuba bands, accordian wielding weird men, and beer gardens. The crowd was lively and hungry.

Later in the afternoon we meandered our way to Mt. Angel Abbey. We enjoyed the organ concert, and my personal highlight of the day was actually seeing a monk. They really do exist!

Life Resumes

Tonight was a one those nights that makes my soul awaken, twirl, pitter patter along, then take a sweeping bow. Our life group reconvened.

Under a vibrant sky and within the breezes of the trees, we laughed, ate, and reconnected.

The year to come is quite unknown, but for this night all seemed right in the world.

T-I-M-B-E-R-S

The serenity of Hideaway Lake quickly faded into the buzzing beehive of PGE Park. Zach had arm wrestled a coworker out of two tickets for the final Timbers game of regular season. He has a deep love for soccer and has loved being able rally behind a local team. I have lived vicariously through his jaunts to the stadium until last night.

Hand in hand we melded into the hysteria of the Timbers Army.

The chants were hysterical, the field work quite interesting, and (as always with me in a stadium) I ended up wearing more beer than I drink. I don't drink.

I loved the mayhem of the army. I loved when the Timbers scored the partying lasted for a minimum of seven minutes. Who knows what could have happened in those seven minutes!

I really enjoyed the rousing edition of "You Are My Sunshine" around the eighty-third minute, especially since I knew the ringleader. I have a new appreciation for Chris.

At the final whistle the Timbers had won and we had completed a fabulous evening.

Running Away

The initial shock of the no-go Mali move has passed and the deeply guarded gem of hope has gurgled to the surface in the form of despair. It is not the version of despair requiring ashes and sackclothes, but the niggling notion of being lost, undirected, reckless, and useless. Even through our apathy we had been quite eager for the opportunity and now we are having to deal with the unfulfilled expectation.

Zach analyzes; I run away.

With Gerty strapped to the CRV and armed with a new paddling book, I headed into the wild. Hideaway Lake was the ultimate destination, but I was content to meander along Highway 224.

Pavement turned into narrower pavement, which turned into pavement with a touch of gravel, then culminated with a pure gravel road. After an hour of deciphering forest road signs, I arrived at the lake. I was met by a lone fisherman reclining on a rock beside his truck. He dipped his head in acknowledgement, pointed me in the direction of the lake, and became enamored with Gerty. What size was she? How much did she weigh? Where had she gone? Questions mingled with tales of his own time in a canoe and the unique water gems he had found along the way.

After a quick portage, Gerty and I began our meandering around the six acre lake. Pristine. Serene. Dragonflies skipped along the surface. Birds called into the wild. I was alone.

In the middle was an oasis of weather faded logs. It appeared to have been a raft, with the redefined purpose of providing a means for a boater to tie up and drift. I did. Armed with a book and cheese sandwich, I spent a solid hour or more enjoying the serenity.

Too soon I had to dry dock, load and head back to the bustling metropolis. The jaunt did not solve problems, give clear direction, nor did I discover a genie in a bottle. Nonetheless, I felt refreshed and reminded that there is a lot of Oregon yet to discover.

Summer Tendrils

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!

With thy turned-up pantaloons,

And thy merry whistled tunes;

With thy red lip, redder still

Kissed by strawberries on the hill;

With the sunshine on thy face,

Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace;

From my heart I give thee joy,—

I was once a barefoot (tom)boy!

Outward sunshine, inward joy:

Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

Poem excerpt from The Barefoot Boy by John Greenleaf Whittier

Our Story

Once upon a time in a foreign land, a handsome prince met the love of his life is a weird, awkward, roundabout way. After many giggles, chats, festivities, arguments, and trips the handsome prince took the plunge.

The bar wench was ecstatic.

Four months later they were hitched.

Six years later, the couple is still weird, happy, adventurous, wild, a little older and in love.

We would like to thank the Dahlia Festival for articulating our relationship so well in such a witty way.

Urban Camping

The carnage was a bit overwhelming. Just a few hours previous the fire pit was lit, the s'mores were being devoured, games were underway, and laughter rang through the backyard. The torrential rain descended at 3am.

Thanks to the brilliant planning of Joel and Lisa, we observed the soaked world from the comforts of the cozy house over a plate of pancakes and eggs compliments of Jono.

It was a great way to start the Labor Day weekend!

The Callous Named Rejection

For the past six months we have been in application mode for a position in Mali, West Africa. It has been six months of ups and downs, excitement, anger, hope, pain, and curiosity. The process has gone slower than hoped and our excitement has waned.

However, when we received the notice of an actual interview for Wednesday we regained a tinge of excitement; Zach more so than I. Unfortunately, a trait I have acquired in my many months of unemployment has been a callous towards rejection. After a few hundred rejection letters, wayward interviews, and thousands of resumes into the oblivion of file 13, I have come to expect the answer of 'no'.

On Wednesday we dutifully did our hour and a half interview; answering questions, clarifying answers, and defining why we wanted to be the Guesthouse Managers in Mali. Our allotted time was ending and the interviewer asked, "I see that you have student loans but I do not see an actual figure. How much do you owe in student loans?"

Zach looked at me, rolled his eyes and replied, "That is odd considering I have given the figure three different times. We owe...."

The interviewer's tone changed, there was a hushed conference with her counterpart, and she said, "We are going to put you on hold, confer and then get back to you. Don't hang up."

The elevator music commenced. I looked at Zach and said, "We are done." During the entire process we had been assured that ****** was an organization that worked with individuals/couples who had school debt; we had not kept our loans a secret.

Five minutes later, the voice reappeared and apologized that no one had explained the standard procedure in regards to student loans. Zach and I were pissed and the interviewer knew she was in an awkward position. The call ended.

After six months, our hopes were dashed. Honestly, we are at a loss as what to feel at the moment. I think anger has been the prominent emotion, due to that we would have never started the process if the student loan procedure had been communicated to us. But, now comes the greatest question of all, "What's next?"

Jeez, who knows.

Walk. Stretch. Sit. Repeat.

The delirium made an appearance at 4:32am while I laced up my tennis shoes once again. Kari was minutes from her final leg, and somewhere in the middle of the Cascades Terri was taking her final steps. Kari and I looked at each other acknowledging the sweaty clothes, frazzled hair, and exhaustive eyes. I broke the silence, "Why the hell do we do this to ourselves?!"

Kari shrugged her shoulders and responded, "I don't know."

I retorted, "We forget this part come sign up time."

For the second year, I signed up my tennis shoes, legs, and crazy hip flexers to be part of the epic Portland to Coast/Hood to Coast relay. It is dubbed the "mother of all relays" and once again after 127 miles, I agree.

For 29 hours Josie and the Pussycats pounded the pavement, placing one painful foot in front of another. We laughed at other team names. We noticed van decorations. We ate a lot of hummus and carrots. We reeked of sweat. We stretched. We waited. We gazed at majestic countryside. We shook our fists at the rain.

However, when Christi rounded that final bend and we walked across the finish line as a team, I realized why we do the mother of all relays: We are demented and we love the thrill of being a piece in something unique.

I love this event! However, it does take at least six months to recuperate in all areas; just in time to sign up for 2010.