A Stroll Through Our 'Hood

I've been drooling over karigee's Paris set on flickr. My internet friend is on her first trip to Paris, and she's a brilliant photographer, and her musings on life, art and all things cultural tickle my fancy. And my fancy? Is not easily tickled. My fancy is a big ol' snob.

I have no idea what that means.

AAAAAnyhoooo. Up before the crack this morning, I was oogling her photos, and while the sun was rising I thought, "Hey. Here's what you do. Go out and see the blue sky this morning. Take a walk, take some pictures. Find the beauty here in the 'Couve."

No easy task. Not that it's not beautiful here in the Northwest - it is. But our little hood? Is a bit run down. Worse for wear. But perhaps if I see it through the lens I can turn that shabby to chic! (My Pollyanna tendencies notwithstanding, I do love rust!)

So, while there are no golden statues in my neighborhood, I managed to find a few things that made me happy.

I have found that if you are having trouble seeing things, you need to look up. Or down. Just change perspective somehow. I don't mean just finding the beauty, but really seeing. It's a good way to get your bearings.

So I looked up. And hello, Spring. I see you just around the corner.




The Red Red Robin is here.


The corner of Grand Blvd. & Mill Plain is perhaps one of the most uninspiring corners on earth, save for the fact that on this corner you can get a) cheap gas, b) GREAT pizza, c) a quickie lube at Minit Man. Well, you used to be able to do c), but my favorite oil changer has disappeared, poof, and it hasn't been opened for months. This morning, I was pining for him just a little bit. I don't know where to go now to get the oil changed in my car. Well, there are dozens of places I can think of off the top of my head, but nowhere to discuss bluegrass music, and I'm pretty sure Jiffylube & Oilcan Henry's won't let JH go down into the pit to gaze lovingly up at the underbelly of our car. I miss you, Minit Man.








Further down the block you start to believe that collars don't get any bluer than this little patch of the 'Couve:





Inviting, no?

But make it to the end of the block, and here is the pot of gold at the end of the rusty rainbow: Paper Tiger Coffee Co. They roast onsite, they have a brilliant selection of books to read, the owners are lovely and you can chat and discuss and muse and wonder to your hearts content, all while sipping the most perfect cappuccino this side of the Atlantic.


As always though, the best part of any journey, large or small, is coming home:
The neighbor's flowering plum is getting ready to bloom, which makes me want to work in my garden.


And peeking in our window, I spy one of our sweet cats on the bookshelf, and my boy in his robe, playing Wii on a sunny Saturday morning.


It's not Paris. Only Paris is Paris. But still, how sweet it is.

A Nook of One's Own

With Christmas behind us, I continued to Feng our Shui. We moved the tree out of the corner of the room, but I didn't want to put back all the mismatched boxes, and DEAR GOD THE TOYS, so I decided to try to make a cozy space for the boy. Of course, since the advent of the Wii, I despaired of ever getting him to play with anything else, but over the past couple days something miraculous has happened: while helping me clean his room, he's discovered some old toys. He thought it was okay for me to move his Thomas Trains (really? Nine is too old for Thomas?! Okay.... sniff...) into a less accessible spot, but he was having a blast playing with his airplanes, busses and cars. We had this ugly white shelf downstairs, so I moved it up, put a runner and a lamp on it, and threw some old pillows I found at goodwill in the corner. I got some cool recycled magazine baskets at TJ Maxx, filled them with some legos, some paper and art supplies, some cars and planes, and the boy was so excited to have a cozy little nook all to himself. There's a little empty spot there for a few more books, so who knows - maybe he'll even READ!

Bonus: The cats love it!

You CAN Go Home Again

I spent so much of my growing up time tapping my foot, waiting to blow the small town dust off my britches, and then spent the NEXT twenty years looking over my shoulder heaving a sigh of relief that I HAD escaped. Last weekend, I roadtripped with my sister and Joe-Henry back to the old stompin' grounds to hang with my brother, his daughter and her sweet family, and to catch up on the lives of friends, some of whom I hadn't seen in at least 30 years. And I realized how much I had missed it - this town where I grew up. It seems more beautiful to me each time I visit.

We packed baseball gloves and ice cold pops and I took my camera. I burned some cd's for the road, and both coming and going we sang and soaked in the gorgeous scenery. The Columbia Gorge is one of the most beautiful places on earth, and just outside the Dalles, we saw a herd of Big Horn sheep grazing the narrow rock wall above us. There was no stopping to take pictures, the road was too narrow, but suffice to say that we were all in awe. I did manage to get some pics once we hit the Palouse, but mostly the camera was used to take shots of sweet Isaac, my nieces two year old boy.

Joe-Henry fell in love with Isaac, and although they'd met before, Isaac is more mobile and talkative now, and Joe-Henry really relished being like an older brother. It's a role he'd be very, very good at, and I loved seeing him have the opportunity to be a good role model. He also wore out all of our arms playing catch, and one evening he was just so close to driving me crazy that my brother suggested a drive. I took my camera, and we went up to a big ball field and while Joe-Henry and my brother and sister played and JH ran and ran and ran, I managed to get some shots of the most amazing sunset I've ever seen. The hills surrounding the valley I grew up in are so luscious and voluptuous. I never saw them that way before, but this time they just took my breath away.








We played a killer game of Monopoly, and now I'm convinced that my fairly quiet, sweet brother has a secret cave of money somewhere. He truly has a killer instinct at that game, and should he ever decide to do so, he'd be an EXCELLENT land baron! We also laughed so hard we all leaked from somewhere. Drooling, weeping, peeing - we did it all. My stomach hurt the next day from laughing so hard.

Our last night there, Joe-henry and my sister watched Isaac while my brother went to his Fantasy Football meeting and I went to have dinner with friends I hadn't seen in forever. These were the people that started me on the path to the Theater, people that even all these years later I feel completely comfortable with and truly love being around. We met doing Babes In Arms at Lewiston Civic Theater in 1977, and even though the years have taken us all in different directions, it took no time at all to feel as though no time had passed. It filled up my heart to the brim and over just to sit around the table and tell stories and laugh. My fondest hope is that it won't be another 30 years before I see them again!








Coming home that night, I was swinging on a star, and I guess Joe-Henry was a big help to my sister, because as you can see, Isaac pooped out before his mom came to get him!



We made the drive back the next day, taking our time stopping to stretch and take in the charms of the small farm towns along the way, marveling at the changes in the scenery, what with the wind turbines and the millions of wineries populating what used to be miles and miles of nothing.





But the best part of going away is always coming home, and my husband, who should win some sort of prize just for being a sexy kilt-wearing beast, surprised me by painting the dining room while we were gone. He had two whole days to himself, and he chose one of those days to do something he knew would make me smile. I love that man to the moon and back again.





And now the countdown to our next trip begins. Less than a month to go, then SCOTLAND! My traveling shoes are so happy.

Where I Live

The place I live in is very, very wet much of the year. There are some fearful, ignorant people here. There isn't a roaring nightlife.

But there is this: When the sun comes out, you walk out blinking your eyes, amazed at the beauty. Spring here comes just in the nick of time. Winters aren't Minnesota cold, but they are stuckinthebasementdarkcolddamp. Grey. Wet.

And they seem to go. on. for. ever.

So it's like Mother Nature throws you a lifeline when you see first the heather, then the crocus, then the tulip. By the time the dogwood blooms and the lilacs, people are out of their minds digging in the dirt filled with hope for summer tomatoes, and the promise of roses.

On my way to the recycling center, a place I'd never been, I found myself driving an old road, driving past industry, hitting some farmland, then when I pulled into the drive that would take me to my destination, I saw a deer - grown, but still spotted, dancing across a field. I saw a heron bigger than a pelican flying low over the wetland, and when I came racing back to my house to grab the boy so we could go out on that road together, a bald eagle flew over my house.

So I packed us up and away we went. We drove out to a local lake and discovered more beauty, and fantastic views of Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Adams, and Mt. Hood. It was breathtaking. There were all kinds of people there - it was like Sunday Afternoon on the Island of Grand Jatte.



There was a crew regatta, and kids playing, and couples, and friends, and families. There was laughing and squabbling and yelling (some of it by my son who insisted on playing Indiana Jones as he runs from the natives screaming "START THE PLANE!"), and it was so nice to be a part of it, and to have my camera.

You can check out some of the photos on Flickr, but here are just a couple:







So, yeah. Hello Spring. So glad you're here.

The Heart of my Home

Mrs. G at Derfwad Manor recently shared with readers the favorite spots in her home. She also asked readers to ponder their favorite spots, their home's hearts. It was hard for me to come up with, because I love my old house. It was difficult to love at first, because of the lack of closet space, and the ginormous closets that we had moved from, but slowly, slowly our house is becoming a home. Because of the people in it, and the people who pass through.

I have never, ever been a tidy person. My role in life is to make other people feel better about their cleaning habits. The cat food on the floor? The grungy hair at the base of the bathroom sink? The dishes that are more of a sink sculpture? Yeah, so what. I cook balanced meals, I pay attention to my family, I read books and listen to music. I do laundry, I mow the lawn and water the roses, and I decorate with things that I love.

Here is a tour of my favorite places in my house:

This is what you see when you walk in to casa McQ. There is no formal entryway, just slambamthankyoumaam, where would you like to go? The living room to the left? The dining room to the right? The kitchen through that little cubby there? How bout the basement? (Trust me - unless you like cat poo, you probably don't want to go there right now)



The mirror at the end of the hallway was once hanging over an old radio console from the forties in my parent's house. If I stand in front of it long enough, I can see my mom getting ready to go out somehwere.



If you happen to love knickknacks, and a good mystery, then you'll love our bookcases. They are stuffed with all kinds of books, and little bits of evidence that we live here and love each other.




Joe-Henry made this little pinch pot in art class. It has all the picks in it from the five million guitars that share our space. The yellow one with the handprint? Got those made for his Daddio. That's JH's actual handprint of his hand with two big fingers. Love it. So much.


In our living room is this gigantic chair. It's got stains all over it. And cat hair. But I got it for a song on Craigslist, it matches our sofa, and it's the comfiest, coziest chair on the planet. Ask anyone who has had the pleasure of draping over it.



Our bedroom. It has little feng and absolutely no shui, but it's comfy as all get out. This bed is where bad dreams go to die, and visions of sugarplums take flight. And stuff.



But the real heart of our home? It's summed up by this saying that hangs over the cutaway to our kitchen in our dining room.



Without my guys and the people who pass through our humble abode, this would just be a house. They make it home.

That's the tour. Thanks for stopping by. You've made the place a little sweeter for your presence.

going home

We've been on a little vacation. We came to Carpinteria, CA to visit Joe-Henry's Grandma and Grandpa (and assorted other family and friends), and bask in the weather. Well, I don't want to say too much, because I know how cold it's been in other parts of the country, but...

This weather has been perfect. And this light. The February light in Central California is spectacular. The colors are so vibrant it's like being on mushrooms (not that I'd know anything about that, Joe-Henry, if you happen to read this later in your teen years, say, and are wondering why you can't do drugs because your mom did), and the air smelled like Eucalyptus and the ocean and campfires.

It's always hard to leave. Joe-Henry has such a bond with his Grandparents, and they love him dearly, and I always feel like the Nazi in "Sophie's Choice". But I know we'll see them again soon. And believe it or not, I'm looking forward to home.
Even though at home, there is rain, and laundry and runny cat poop, there is also our little family unit. My hardworking husband, who came down for only two days and went back early to go to work; our diabetic cat and the other one, the one that sounds like Darth Vader and shits on the rug; and there's our little Grandma house that catches the light like a crystal hanging in a window; there is our routine - school, volunteer work, my life.

I'm grateful for all of it. The vacation, and the return trip. Home.