Story Time at Rosings Park

Every day, it’s the same thing.

The alarm goes off at 5:30. Kris hits snooze.

The alarm goes off at 5:39. Kris pulls herself awake and heads downstairs for a shower. I pull of my C-PAP mask, roll over, grab my laptop, and then set it on my belly. While Kris is getting ready, I’m doing my morning stats.

Each day, I log the same numbers from Get Rich Slowly. I have a spreadsheet containing traffic, subscriber, link, and revenue information. It’s a little anal-retentive perhaps, but it’s probably no surprise to most of you. I also process e-mail and then check to be sure there are no fires to be put out. (Believe it or not, sometimes there are.)

At about 6:05, I put away the laptop, grab some clothes, and tromp downstairs. I brush my teeth, etc. as Kris gets out of the shower. At 6:10, I get into the tub and begin to soak. I don’t have as long as I’d like (and in the winter, I never get as warm as I want) — I need to be out of the house at 6:25, which means I need to be out of the tube at 6:20.

Some days — like today — Kris throws a monkey wrench into things. Some days — like today — she begins to talk to me about work. At 6:18.

Kris is a good storyteller, and I like to hear about all her little friends, but her stories are not short. In fact, they’re always quite long. I’d rather she told them to me in the evening, as we’re eating dinner. “I’m tired when I come home,” she said tonight when I mentioned this.

I understand. But when she starts telling me stories about work at 6:18 am, my heart sinks. I want to be a good husband and listen, but I also don’t want to be late for work. If I’m on time every day during a pay period, I get a $50 bonus. If I’m not, I don’t. And when Kris begins to tell a story at 6:18, I know it’s going to be a near thing.

Things get even worse when she slips into lethargy mode. She’ll go through periods where she hits the snooze button twice. Or when she won’t get into the shower until 6:04. When I come down to take my turn, she’ll have only just begun.

When this sort of thing begins to happen on a regular basis, I practice social engineering. Before she gets home from work, I go through the house and set back every clock by three minutes. (I can’t set them back any further or it’s too obvious. Though not as obvious as writing a blog entry about it.) This usually helps mitigate the problem, though it never quite solves it.

Ah, the strange dynamics of the husband-wife relationship.

The Hottest Party

Over the past month, Kris has developed a new hobby: dancing. She sort of mocked my obsession with Dance Dance Revolution at first, but it didn’t take long for her to push me aside and take over as Queen of the Dance.

As with other things we enjoy, we’ve become evangelists for this game. This is strange, I know, since it’s been around for year. But it’s new to us, and new to most of our friends. Now when we have company over, they’re generally required to dance for their supper.

Here, for example, are Nikki and Celeste just learning to play:

Poor Nikki has the lousy pad in that video, and it slips and slides beneath her. (Since then we’ve added a carpet pad, which prevents potentially dangerous spills.) At the end of our last book group discussion, we dragged people to dance. A formal dinner party is no excuse — even then we put our guests to the test.

Pierre and Mike get their groove on (photo by Amy Jo)

Rhonda reports that she is now stuck on the same song I am. In “groove circuit” mode, you’re able to unlock new venues and songs. But the difficulty level makes a mind-boggling leap with the song “Super Samurai” (or whatever it’s called) comes along. Kris and I have been practicing other songs, working from Basic level to Difficult. Each song is rated by a number of “bombs”. “Super Samurai” has six bombs — we’re able to do songs with four bombs.

I guess we’ll just have to dance some more.

Thanksgiving in Bend

My Thanksgiving was a little strange.

This was the first year that most of the family made a road trip to get together. My brother Tony moved his family to Bend in the middle of 2006, and it was their turn to host things. Early Thursday morning, Kris and I picked up Tiffany and then Mom, and we drove through Silverton, Stayton, Sisters, and on to an early turkey dinner.

I felt fine starting the trip, but I did a dumb thing: I drank 16 oz. of orange juice for breakfast. Orange juice is basically sugar water, or at least that’s how my body responds to it. Within half an hour, I was a very groggy J.D. In fact, I was a very groggy J.D. for the rest of they day.

Tony and Kamie live in the same housing development as Kamie’s parents (“River Rim”, though there’s no river in sight). But David and Merre are in the midst of a nine-month swing across the U.S., selling horse cookies. Because their house is huge, the Roth family took it over to celebrate Thanksgiving.

The food was good, and the conversation too. But I was groggy. I felt totally out of step with the rest of the group. To make matters worse, I had a glass of wine, and then a little Scotch. Two drinks in three hours isn’t enough to get anyone intoxicated, but the additional sugar made me woozier yet. I went upstairs and drowsed off for a while. Then I went to bed early.

Despite feeling so lousy, I had a fun time.

This was the first I’ve ever really had a chance to know my neice Emily since she’s had a personality. I like her. I think she’s rather witty for a girl of nearly two. (A girl who does not speak.) I thought it was hilarious that she ate constantly the entire time we were there. She never stopped.

I also found myself enamored with T.J., the cockatoo who lives in the house. He and I became fast friends.

On our drive home, we made the traditional Sno-Cap stop in Sisters for burgers and fries. During both days of the road trip, we listened to the audio version of The Golden Compass, about which more later.

So, it was a strange holiday for me — I was in a mental fog, I was in a strange house, and things just seemed out of sync. But it was fun.

Weekend Getaway

When Mac and Pam called to invite us to spend the weekend at a family beach house, we jumped at the chance. It’s been a long time since we’ve been able to get away and relax. It’s been an even longer time since we did so with the Proffitt-Smiths.

Kris and I had intended to leave early on Friday afternoon, but various delays — including a disastrous “short cut” through Tigard/Sherwood/McMinnville — found us just three minutes ahead of Mac and Pam on the highway to Lincoln City. Our hosts humored me by agreeing to meet for dinner at Mo’s, an Oregon landmark.

Mo’s is where I first learned to eat clam chowder. It was the summer after my senior year in high school, and somebody — perhaps Stan Oyer, though I cannot recall exactly — convinced me to give the stuff a try. I liked it. It tasted like Dad’s potato soup. I have many fond memories of the place. I haven’t been to Mo’s for many, many years, however, and I must confess the place is disappointing. The chowder is average at best. I did enjoy my chicken-fried steak, but that’s mainly because the breading was crispy and delicious. (Sometimes I just get in a chicken-fried steak mood, you know?)

After dinner we stopped for ice cream before heading the beach house belonging to Mac’s aunt. After the Liam and Megan went to bed, the four adults spent some time chatting. Very nice.

On Saturday, we spent a lot of time on the beach. I made use of my little camera’s video capabilities:

I spent some time wading in the cold, cold ocean waters. My toes and legs were numb! In the afternoon, we watched the Oregon Ducks defeat the USC Trojans 24-17, and then spent some more time on the beach.

I would have liked to stay one more night, but Kris and I decided we needed to get things done on Sunday, so we drove home. Instead of heading home through Salem, I decided to head north. But in Tillamook, I had a moment of doubt: drive to Forest Grove on Highway 6 or head north to Highway 26? I made a Bad Choice, heading north. After an extra hour of driving, we finally cut over to 26 on Highway 53, a nasty, twisty little road. We arrived home an hour later than we should have.

We did some yard work on Sunday, though my efforts were cut short when I managed to mow over the metal edging around Kris’ rose garden. The mower blade cut into the edging and then bent as it tried to continue spinning. Ugh.

In the evening, we joined the MNF group at Jeremy and Jennifer’s for pumpkin carving. Kris and I were both out of sorts, though; we were both beginning to come down with colds. We woke this morning feeling crummier, so we both stayed home from work. Kris has slept most of the day. I’ve spent a lot of my day in the bathtub (surprise!) reading Gone With the Wind.

In all, it was a relaxing weekend. Just what I needed!

A Weekend of Food and Friends

After several weeks of being rather non-social, Kris and I spent a lot of time with friends this weekend.

Thursday

On Thursday, I drove to Salem to have lunch with Mackenzie. Though both of us are feeling heavy, and we believe we should start watching our weight, we opted to eat at The Great Wall, my favorite Chinese buffet. I love that place. While we ate, we brainstormed possible collaborations.

I’m interested in having Mac help me revive Money Hacks, a companion site to Get Rich Slowly. Mac surprised me, however, by suggesting a site that I’ve had on the back-burner for some time: Get Fit Slowly. I’d planned to launch a site with that name on January 1st, but was worried I wouldn’t have time with all my other projects. But with Mac as a partner, I think it has a far better chance at succeeding. I’m excited about working with him on this.

On Thursday evening — my belly still stuffed — we headed to Gino’s with Paul and Amy Jo. We seem to do this once a week lately. It’s fun. I ordered the clams, of course, and a cheese platter. But I was so full from The Great Wall, that I couldn’t even finish the clams! When the cheese platter came, I thought I’d explode.

Friday

On Friday afternoon, we stopped by Rejuvenation to look at furniture for the living room. I sat in a number of chairs, and fell in love with the much-too-expensive Stickley pieces. Now begins my quest to find similar furniture for less. (Look for more on the furniture quest in coming entries.)

In the evening, we visited Marcela, Pierre, and their children for a wonderful dinner. We have them over about once a year; they have us over about once a year. Though we don’t see them often, I always love these meals. Marcela and Pierre are intelligent, witty, and fine cooks. Their kids are very precocious. On Friday, Ella was telling me all about the money she’d saved. It was great stuff. But by the time I remembered to run to my car for the camera, she’d become a little shy. Still, here’s a couple of minutes of my conversation with her. Louis is providing background commentary.

For dinner, Marcela had prepared a pork roast, mashed potatoes, and more. It was delicious. Pierre, being French, always has a great selection of wine. In particular, I’m fascinated by his ability to pick sparkling wines that aren’t too flowery. I always think of champagne as a light drink, something sort of girlie. But Pierre has a talent for choosing sparkling wines that work well as aperitifs. This time he served a Domaine Ste. Michelle Blanc de Noirs. “This is like pop!” I exclaimed, and it was. It was great. He also recommended the Blanc de Blanc from the same winery. (Another winner from the past was a Roderer Estate Anderson Valley Brut.)

Saturday

Saturday found us double-booked. We spent the day doing chores. In the late afternoon, Mac and Pam and the kids came up for dinner. We prepared salmon with lemon/caper/mustard butter using fish from our neighbor, John, who is newly returned from his summer in Alaska. (John is also our primary source for grapes, especially the Concords, which I love.) It was great to chat with the Proffitt-Smiths, and to see the now-beefy Liam.

After they’d left, we darted up to Portland to join Courtney’s 40th birthday celebration at Bluehour, one of Portland’s hippest restaurants. We’d never been before, but knew it was swanky. Apparently it’s swankier than we had imagined. I felt severely under-dressed, but my discomfort faded after I began to chat with Andrew. I felt like we had a nice talk, something we don’t get very often anymore. Because Kris and I had already eaten, we didn’t have much. Perhaps it was because we didn’t order an entree, but I wasn’t impressed. Bluehour is expensive, but the food was decidedly mediocre. It was nothing special. I’d rather go to Gino’s almost every time. (In fact, we spent as much for just a little food at Bluehour as we might spend for an entire meal at Gino’s.)

Sunday

Now we’re enjoying a lazy Sunday. I have a lot of writing to do. Kris is reading the book group selection for the month: Oscar Wilde’s Picture of Dorian Grey.

It’s been a lovely weekend, actually. Very nice, indeed. But this weekend is just the beginning. We have a lot of social engagements in the coming weeks, too. In fact, I think every weekend in October is booked, as well as many in November and December.

Rain Ghost

“Do you think it’ll rain” — Dad, whenever it rained heavily

It’s pouring outside. The autumnal Oregon rainfall set in two or three weeks early this year, taking away the last few days of September, and making early October swampish.

Right now the rain is roaring down in torrents outside my office window. Whenever it rains like this — whenever it is stormy — I’m reminded of my father. He loved this weather. All my strong memories of stormy days revolve around him.

I remember working with him outside in the rain, building things, digging things, burning things. I remember driving with him in the rain. I remember how he especially loved a stormy day at the beach.

At various points throughout his life, he owned a boat. In his final years, he kept this boat tied up in Astoria. I’m convinced that the only reason he did this was so that he could have a place to enjoy the storms of autumn, winter, and spring.

Dad has been dead more than twelve years now, and I don’t think of him on a daily basis. But there are certain things — songs, smells, occurrences — that will freeze me in my tracks, as if his presence were palpable. Stormy weather always does this. Always.

Reunions

Saturday we drove down to Shedd, south of Corvallis, for a gathering of the Noah Roth clan.

When I was a boy, the extended family would gather at Grandma and Grandpa’s house on regular basis. It was easier then. The three siblings (and their families) lived within an hour’s drive. I remember summer afternoons whiled away on the farm — which was a quarter mile down the road from our trailer house — in the company of all my cousins. Those were magical times.

As we grew older, and as people began to die, the extended family gathered less and less often. For a decade, we didn’t get together at all. About six years ago, however, we all came together one day in late fall for a potluck meal at Tammy’s house. Since then, we’ve met at least once a year, sometimes more. Last year, Kris and I hosted the family reunion. This year my cousin Scott held a pig roast.

Kris attends these gatherings with a bit of trepidation. She doesn’t know anyone, and the family culture is foreign to her. Most of my Aunt Virginia’s family — which makes up the bulk of attendees — is conservative Mennonite or some variation thereof. But Kris had a good time on Saturday: she talked with Uncle Stan about family history, she played volleyball, and helped eat pig and ice cream.

Here’s what a Mennonite family reunion looks like circa 2007. It’s not much different than it looked circa 1977. (This video was taken with my spiffy new ultra-compact digital camera.)

As we were preparing to leave, Kris decided that she needed some plums. The ladder wasn’t handy, but that’s okay — Scott had a forklift ready to go:

“That was fun,” Kris said, as we left the reunion.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” I said. “This gathering was perfect. It’s just like I remember the gatherings from my youth. This is what it feels like to get together with family.”

“I guess everyone’s getting more comfortable with me,” she said. “And maybe I’m getting more comfortable with them.”

Whatever the case, I’m glad that Kris had a good time. I look forward to next year’s reunion, wherever that might be.

In the evening, we drove from Shedd to south Salem for dinner with Mac and Pam. It’s been a long time — years — since we had a nice meal with just the Proffitt-Smiths. It was great to do so again.

We toured their house, looking at all the work they’re doing, both inside and out. Inside, they’re currently remodeling the master suite. The project has been going on for months. As those of you who have done (or are doing) remodeling projects of your own will understand, they’re tired of sleeping in the living room.

Outside, Mac has been ripping up and chopping back the overgrown hedges. Pam has been working to turn one field into a productive garden — it’s come a long way from just last year! They have seven chickens now.

As the others prepared dinner, I sat and read to Megan (whom I’ve dubbed “Lulu”). She wanted to hear about the animals of Hawaii, and about counting, and about a mouse who turned into a tiger.

I was hoping I’d get to see her in a fit of rage:

Luck was against me, however.

It was a lovely evening, a perfect end to a lovely day.

Reunions

Saturday we drove down to Shedd, south of Corvallis, for a gathering of the Noah Roth clan.

Here’s what a Mennonite family reunion looks like circa 2007. It’s not much different than it looked circa 1977. (This video was taken with my spiffy new ultra-compact digital camera.)

As we were preparing to leave, Kris decided that she needed some plums. The ladder wasn’t handy, but that’s okay — Scott had a forklift ready to go:

“That was fun,” Kris said, as we left the reunion.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” I said. “This gathering was perfect. It’s just like I remember the gatherings from my youth. This is what it feels like to get together with family.”

“I guess everyone’s getting more comfortable with me,” she said. “And maybe I’m getting more comfortable with them.”

Whatever the case, I’m glad that Kris had a good time. I look forward to next year’s reunion, wherever that might be.

As the others prepared dinner, I sat and read to Megan (whom I’ve dubbed “Lulu”). She wanted to hear about the animals of Hawaii, and about counting, and about a mouse who turned into a tiger.

I was hoping I’d get to see her in a fit of rage:

Luck was against me, however.

It was a lovely evening, a perfect end to a lovely day.

Toto Has Two Daddies

For years, Toto has been the butt of many jokes among my friends. Her insistent meow and often cranky demeanor have prompted many — including Kris — to dismiss her as a bitchy old cat.

While there’s a grain of truth to that, she’s secretly a sweetheart. She’s a needy little thing. She loves to cuddle. Kris is her favorite companion, whether in bed at night or on the couch in front of the television. But she also loves it when I’m sitting in the parlor reading. For over a decade, she’s climbed onto my lap, stood on her hind legs, and done what I call “ear-diving”: she purrs and purrs while burrowing her slobbery nose into my ear. Yuck.

We’ve had people babysit Toto before. Nobody’s ever really bonded with her the way that I have. I’ve always called her my familiar. (That’s to be expected, of course. I’ve known her literally all her life, ever since she was a few hours old.) In fact, nobody’s bonded with her at all. Until now.

While we were in London, Dublin, and New York, our friends Paul and Amy Jo stayed out our house. For the first week of their visit, Toto apparently lived in a cardboard box underneath Kris’ computer desk. This was completely random. But eventually she must have decided that Mom and Dad had left for good, and that these new people were to be here parents. She ventured forth and made herself acquainted with Paul and Amy Jo. Especially with Paul.

Paul decided that she loves when Paul is sitting in the parlor reading. She climbs into his lap, stands on her hind legs, and ear-dives. She thinks he’s pretty darn cool.

Lazy photo taken with my laptop’s built-in camera

We’ve been back nearly two weeks now, and it’s been interesting to watch Toto’s reaction. She’s almost like a changed cat. While I wouldn’t call her friendly, she’s less cranky than she used to be. Also, she loves to be outside. When she was younger, she always wanted to be outside, but ever since Tintin died, she’s preferred the indoors. Here at Rosings Park, especially, she hasn’t been interested in outside. But now she is. She asks to go out first thing in the morning. She asks to go out before we go to bed. She’s discovered the joys of sitting in the grass, staring at nothing.

It’s funny to watch her interact with me and Paul, too. She loves us both, and often she has to choose. She’ll come hobbling downstairs (she’s old, remember), meowing her gravelly little meow, saunter into the parlor, and stop in her tracks because she has to make a choice: Dad One or Dad Two? Dad One or Dad Two?

It’s kind of fun to have Toto back to something of her old self. I only wonder how long it will last…

Lost Post

Last night I wrote a long entry about how tired I am, about how I’ve been run ragged the past couple of weeks by nonstop social engagements. I wrote that I wasn’t going to do anything for the next ten days except for two things already scheduled: Writers Guild this Wednesday and book group on Sunday.

I made a list of all the things I’ve had to neglect because I’ve been too busy. I described how I feel like I’m on the edge, not wholly here.

I spent an hour writing this entry, but I did not save it. Obviously, my computer crashed. A hard crash on a Mac is unusual. This is the third time I’ve had one one this machine since I got it six months ago. But they do happen. And they’re never fun.

The computer crashed because while I was writing that lost entry, I was also creating a short video to post on YouTube:

Those are the MNF kids frolicking at our house last night. In the first clip, they’re eating dinner in the library, mere feet from my precious comics. In the second clip, they’re burning off energy. One of the adults suggested they run around the house, so they are. In the next couple clips, they’re descending on our raspberries like a flock of hungry birds. In the penultimate clip, a couple of the kids are digging in the dirt around Kris’ tomatoes with my weedpopper. And in the last clip, Isabel is attempting to climb onto a chair while Jeff and Emily watch.

These clips are from my new camera. It’s probably no surprise that I’m overanalyzing our upcoming trip to Europe. I’m overthinking everything, and I know it. I had grand plans of taking a carry-on suitcase and a backpack, and not checking any luggage, until Rhonda said, “Aren’t you going to shave?” Drat. I’m still going to take just those two bags, but I’ll have to check the suitcase.

I’ve made a list of things to include in the suitcase, and I’ve begun to acquire those that I don’t yet have. I’m going to use my upcoming backpacking trip as a dry run: I want to be sure I’ve learned to pack light.

Anyhow — one of my new purchases for the trip was a digital camera. I decided I don’t want to lug my SLR equipment around England and Ireland, so I researched digital cameras that met my requirements: ultra-compact with wide-angle lens. There were only two cameras from which to choose: Canon Powershot SD800 IS and the Panasonic DMC-FX01.

Both of these get good reviews, but are not without flaws. The Panasonic is well-made and attractive, but its image quality is sub-par. The Canon, on the other hand, has excellent image quality, but feels like a piece of cheap plastic. Ultimately I chose the Canon. I’ve had it for a few days now, and I must say that I’m pleased with the choice. It really does feel poorly made, but it produces great images. Plus, it’s easy to produce short video clips. (I actually think I could take video up to ten minutes in length, but so far I’ve confined myself to short 30-second clips.)

This video ability pleases me more than you know. Look for more YouTube clips in the future!