29th

I am two weeks behind but I will not forget this annual tradition of giving thanks.  Before I started, I read last year's thanks. I didn't remember how last year's birthday was spent, so reading the words back made me smile.  Digging in the dirt and soaking up the sunshine, I appreciate those words more than ever.  This year it rained hard.  I had school and then played hooky to buy some tomatoes.  Not much changed, except everything.  This year I went back to school, quit my horrible job, had surgery on a bum knee but that was nothing compared to K's surgery to his wrist, babies were born all around us, dogs stayed healthy, new friendships were formed, and roots started to grow.  Still, last year's list remains as ever important in my heart. 

29 things I am grateful for:

1. A husband who strives, loves, pranks, and makes me laugh.

2. Dogs who poke their blonde heads out from the back seat.

3.  And are warm from the sunshine.

4. Crisp stationary.

5. Babies who hide peas in their sleeves.

6. Being able to bend my knee all the way.

7. Gardening barefoot. 

8. Learning to write technically again.

9. Falling back in love with my career. 

10. A family who continues to nurture, cheer on, and help me achieve my dreams.

11. Caramel macchiatos.

12. Date night in.

13. Date night out.

14. Physical strength.

15. Good, though not very personable, orthopedic surgeons.

16. Showtime documentaries.

17. Red velvet cupcakes.

18. Parrot tulips.

19.  Friends who drop off care packages complete with baby hugs. 

20. Baking bread from scratch. 

21. Daily deer sightings.

22.  K getting into grad school.

23.  Sitting on the beach while the dogs run and chomp on shells. 

24. This blog and all that it allows me to do. 

25. Tomatillo salsa from Trader Joe's

26. Staying up way too late talking in bed. 

27. Keeping tomatoes in the laundry room to give them a fighting chance. 

28.   Seeing the end in sight but enjoying the time while its here.

29. Knowing next year is going to be even better.

Kentucky Derby Fundraiser

We are fortunate enough to have ambitious friends because it means we get to throw parties.  If I had more of a life, but I don't right now because I'm thisclose to finishing my degree, I would throw parties.  Just throw parties and maybe it would make people want to celebrate more or just be happier in life.  Some people work to live or work to play, I think I'll end up working to make a difference in the health care world and also so I can buy flowers and new vases. 

We have a friend who is running for a political position and so it was just a natural reason to have a party.  Let me briefly tell you how many boring political events we have been to: all of them. Patriotic colors ad nauseum and no understanding of mood lighting or the need for music in the background.  It is almost painful.  I think these type of events are a missed opportunity to infuse some life into the picture.  Why not throw a theme into the mix every once and awhile?  For God's sake, at least make sure the food is decent. 


Anyways, here is our Kentucky Derby Fundraiser.  Complete with spray-painted gold horses, fancy hats, and chicken and waffles on a stick. 

 

 

 

 

 

Let's focus on the food for a minute. 

Don't expect any recipes on this post because nothing came from a recipe.  Chicken and waffles was simply chicken skewered and dipped in waffle batter with a drizzle of honey on top.  The hot browns consisted of toasted bread, horseradish mustard, topped with turkey, cheese, bacon, and tomato.  The pea salad included peas (what!), radishes, goat cheese, and a lemon vinaigrette.  The pork was roasted the day ahead and a red pepper puree with paprika, garlic powder, olive oil, and vinegar added on top. 

I am a horrible baker so every dessert was store bought and arranged on a nice plate.  Not pictured were powdered doughnut holes and chocolates. These all were a big hit, despite the simplicity. 

I can't promise I'll have more time for parties any time soon.  But, watch out when I do! 

Gold trophies from Oriental Trading, mint julep vases found at Safeway (I know!), horses from Joann Fabrics, and ribbons were a huge score from Misty Meadows Antiques in Gig Harbor, who just so happened to go to an estate sale of a women who use to compete in horse competitions!

Spring List!

To get me out of the post-op funk, allow me to write my annual Spring List.  You can view past list here and here and here.


I was reading the original Spring List tonight, from back in the day when the Spring List was teeny, doable, and had no history.  I picked six things.  I did those six things.  Much different from last year when I did probably nothing.  A simpler time when every other word was the boyfriend, Kelle Hampton (blogging idol, you know), and so many words were in quotations.  As if I was talking to someone.  The List was not so much about Spring things, but about tasks that would get me out of the shadow of Winter and into a kind of freshness.  I guess. 


The Spring List circa 2010 did lead to the most epic NSYNC harmonizing road-trip of all time with "the boyfriend" now "husband".  But, I digress. 



My point is, I'm keeping it small this year.  I'm on the mend, money is tight, and I barely have time to type this.  So, here it is, my Spring List of 2014. 

1. Turn this into something beautiful and functional

2. Take her on a hike and spend every minute telling her to stop whining. Then reach the top of the trail head and revel in her puppy joy.

3. Spend some time getting healthy. Ice or no ice. 

4. Get back to writing by a) reading about things that inspire me; b) experience things that are worth writing about; and c) writing. 

5. Spend a weekend outside, covered in dirt, happy, sweaty, pulling green stuff out of the ground and putting different green stuff into it. 

Things change but time continues to fly by.  I laugh at my old lists--at the style of presentation and the awkward ambition to cross everything off. That's perfectly fine though---we have to remember how we started to appreciate what we've done since. 

Ice

 

I have nothing prolific to say except that I have spent the last few weeks in this position or teeter-tottering my way on two feet.  Surgery was successful and surprisingly positive from the doctor's perspective.  Bittersweet Symphony played overhead when I entered the OR and I thought it was just the weirdest, almost out-of-body experience.  The nurse who took care of me is an acquaintance and says after, I asked immediately if I could go now.  Little I remember, except that it was fast and for a while painless, the worst being the IV in my hand. 

 

For now, the out-of-body continues.  Though the knee is functional and I threw the crutches to the side after two days, part of it is numb. A pin-prick numbness that is also painful with the slightest touch.  All of it is swollen.  The rest of my body feels sluggish and underutilized.  I long to participate and work up a sweat.  The doctor tells me "you will become a swimmer" and running is not a good idea.  He, my family, the physical therapist, everyone says to slow down, take it easy, relax.  But no.  I want to thrive! to explore! to conquer! to kneel at least. 

 

The doctor rents out an ice machine in the form of a cooler connected to a motor, connected to tubing, which wraps around the knee and circulates fresh ice water.  It hums quietly.  I should use it three times a day.  But, I'm restless.  Tired of laying around, instead interested in strengthening muscles and picking up the pace.  Yet, here I am, icing. 

 

Oso

Twelve years ago, many of us crammed into a van, drove for awhile, fell asleep on each other, and woke up to green grass, tall trees, and blue sky.  I don't remember the pop-up tents, any meal we shared, or how long we stayed.  The things I do remember are the conversations, the laughter, the sparks from the fire, and the river.  Nestled behind a row of steady evergreens, the river seemed to appear out of nowhere.  The rocks smooth and the current just fast enough to loose a flip flop if not careful.  I remember the rocks and I remember the water.  I remember wanting to sleep on the riverbank the first night, to wake up and only see the earth.  The camp ground was small, accommodating enough for only our group.  The couple who owned the land lived there too, renting out the property for camping adventures.  A bit of hospitality even in the wilderness. 

We joked that we were in the middle of nowhere, though most of the group lived in far more remote locations.  Oso, to teenagers who never heard of the name, became "oh-so-faraway".  I forgot this little play on words, even forgot the town's name in the first 24 hours of hearing about the disaster.  Then, it all surged back to me--the tan shoulders, the smiling faces, the constant warmed sunshine, and the riverbank.  The memory far away perhaps, but the town is a day trip close.  We purge so much from our consciousness, even the good stuff. 


I ache for Oso, for those who are lost, for those who have lost.  I ache for my state, my home, for those who are in the trenches digging, for those who want to do more but can't.  Houses gone, farms gone, families gone, life gone. 

The humanity is beautiful.  Lines of volunteers.  Local grocery stores and thrift shops giving.  Large corporations donating and their employees promising to match. Churches opening their doors and not filling a room because neighbors are packing their houses tonight.  It is devastatingly beautiful.  We are once again, in tragedy, reminded to give more, love more, do more for our community and those around us.  

I cannot be in Oso tonight, I may only be able to contribute monetarily and be of no other use.  But, I can sit here and send my heart to them and wake up tomorrow willing to make my community better.  Everyday should be spent building up my neighbors and showing them that I want to help.  We should be in solidarity as a state, as a nation, and show Oso that we are here.  For each green and blue flag that waves in every town after victory, so should there be even more signs of support in tragedy.   

Someday, I know the grass will glimmer in the sun and the water will run crystal clear. I am certain that joy will return to the towns and communities will rebuild.  For this I know, someday I will again dip my feet in the current and this time offer a prayer.   I don't blame them for living under a mountain.  I would have slept on the riverbank every night. 

We Saw, We Ate: an Instagram Post

Like promised, here is a recap of my weekend in Seattle.  A friend and I just needed to get away.  Desperately.  We were tired of the "this side of the water" bullshit and were in need of some culture.  Don't get me wrong, I love living where I live.  But, I really love living where I live because it is a short ferry ride to the city. 

This post is sub-titled, I love Loulay.

Loulay was her idea, and I tried to pay her back with Tom Douglas the next day. 

Gorgeous, happening, generous--we dined on clams and sunchoke cakes and I decided right then and there that the only way to drink water with your dinner is after it has been poured from a glass bottle.

And then it happened, we met the chef in the hat.  He kissed our cheeks and I wondered why a bingo card of Seattle chefs has never been invented.  I'd have two squares already. 

They do the greatest thing at Loulay--leave a little notebook behind with the check so you and your guests can leave a little love behind.

The rest of the weekend, I will show in photos.  They speak for themselves. 

 

Ok, except this one.  Cauliflower soup from Seatown.  AMAZING. 

 

We went back to Loulay Saturday night.  Sat at the bar with the cutest bartenders with swirly mustaches.  How very Seattle. 

When I got home, I recited everything we ate and drank that weekend.  A success.  I swiped a few coasters from the bar--reminders on the coffee table that culture is something you take with you. 

It Rains

Welcome to March, the shittiest, grayest of months.  The days promising to become longer, filled with daylight, yet the clouds cover the blue.  March is a horrible month to move to Washington.  March is too cold to plant anything decent, but not cold enough to layer properly.  It's long and it's a bothersome. 

But, it is the start of Spring.  Blue skies do eventually appear and I do a little dance every time a flower pokes it's head through the damp soil.  March sucks, but it has a purpose.  It's here to make you want to open the windows and let the Spring air in, but its cold air forces you to remember how great that will feel.  Everything should be appreciated in its own time.  Yesterday I put up Easter decorations, despite my husband's concerned look.  It is very much too early.  I should slow down and enjoy shamrocks before they become passé.  No doubt I will get tired of Easter egg window clings in a few weeks, or not even notice them at all.  Just like the pat-pat-pat on the roof top--it will soon be few and far between. 

Next week I will have surgery on a knee who has aged far faster than the rest of my body.  A simple dislocation on Valentine's Day 1999, when my brother and I goofed around and produced the loudest, horrendous grinding pop known to man, has been quite painful the last few weeks.  You are 28? the ortho doc asks.  I pretend I can't read black and white pictures on the screen.  Where did the last 15 years go? I wonder.  Maybe I shouldn't have played tennis or became a nurse.  Did I treat my body like I should have or did it become something I acknowledged then forgot about?  The surgery should be simple, like the original injury.  I look forward to the downtime and binging on television shows and sleep. 

However, I know I need to be present in the next 15.  Take the next couple of months to rehab, as shitty and miserable as it will be, and to be patient with each step.  March is the worst month in Washington, but transition isn't always a bad thing. 




On a side note, how cute are these two deer, munching on the flowers which I have reserved a dance with?   

 

They don't even notice the rain.  You could even argue the fluffy one is enjoying it.