Owlhouse

Merry Christmas Eve

2008-12-24T08:23:00.000-08:00

It's snowing here. Again. For about the 7th time in a week and a half. We have about a foot, with something between one-half and four inches predicted for today. Our buses haven't run since last Wednesday. Really.

Day one: It snowed all day. Big beautiful flakes that Ukiah fell in love with. "This the snow I've always wanted," he explained. We ran giggling through alleys to friends' houses, played at the playground and of course, sledded to our hearts content.

Day two: More snow and sledding. All fun and games until Aslin and Ukiah borrowed an inner tube from some friends and rather taking it down the hill into the pillowy nest of the now frozen wading pool, they plowed right into a basketball hoop post. Ukiah rolled, the tube popped, Aslin crashed and a crowd of adult-strangers pulled out phones, 911 on speed dail. Meanwhile, a crowd of child-strangers returned to sledding. Aslin's recovery was aided by hot chocolate at home.

Day three: Realize that there will be no Christmas gifts, for anyone, that don't come from within walking distance of the Owlhouse. Spend hours on lovely urban hike, note ice accumulation on side walks. Stop for afternoon wine and coffee before picking up as many groceries as can be carried down steep hills of ice.

Day Four: Bake fantastic ginger drops and almond cookies with intention of sharing with neighbors and possibly the mechanics who fixed the truck last week for no charge. (Truck does not handle snow, sorry mechanics. Maybe new year's cookies?) Loan wooden rail sled to neighbor who needs transportation.

Day 5: Wonder if it's too late to mail order gifts for assorted friends and family. Reality check, $15 priority shipping is too much for a t-shirt. No mail delivered for next two days. Get crafty. More sledding with improvised sled surfing. Cocktail hour with neighbors.

Day 6: Wonder if it might be time to shovel the steps and sidewalk. Wonder if we'll make it to Tacoma for Christmas. Wonder if the mail will come today. Walk to the international district then down town. Get a ride home with friend. Spend more than an hour traveling approximately 26 blocks by car. Appreciate quality catching up time, no longer hold so much frustration about lack of buses.

Day 7: Finally mail a handful of cards. Sparkly little penguin cards bringing cheer to the holiday season. They'd have gone out earlier, but I wanted to include a picture of the kids. Of course, not having planned ahead, we didn't have a proper holiday photo. Not "proper" in having them dressed in complimentary outfits posing (naturally candid) in front of an evergreen tree, merely "proper" in that they are both smiling and in focus. You know how this story goes. I waited, sure that the right photo opportunity would present itself. Then, we would find addresses for friends we'd lost touch with and send wonderful best wishes/catching up greeting cards, complete with lovely photo of the ever talented/interesting/charming children. I forgot, remembering only occasionally and always at the least opportune moments.

So, we looked back at the year's photos- thinking a collage of sorts, delived as a pdf file, might make up for the lack of planning. Pictures of spring and summer camping are sweet- the beach, the river, the campfires... The kids dressed up for the B and A's wedding ... The kung fu performance...

My personal favorites of the year include the box series, accordion evening and choir concerts ...

In the end, we didn't find the perfect photographic expression of our year and the formatting of the would be e-card would not cooperate. So, we walked through snow to the drug store to print wallet-size copies of this gem...

Ukiah and Aslin in Santa's chair at the Christmas tree farm.

And if you didn't receive a sweet parade of penguins sliding down a snowy hill, please know it's solely due to our complete disorganization. Love and wishes for the new year!!

we miss you

2008-09-23T20:24:00.000-07:00

Um. It's been a while. We were going to call, write, tell you we were running late. But things come up. School, jobs, moves, seasons, pets, whatnot.

But we're never stopped thinking of you, dear owlhouseblog. We wonder if you'll have us back? Nothing serious, no commitment, maybe we should just test the waters?

sufferage

2008-02-14T08:15:00.000-08:00

This is what democracy looks like.
Dozens of classic yellow post-it notes tracking votes or maybe pledges. A woman with a baby on her back ticks names off a sign in sheet. She writes, scratches, counts and writes again. One sticky on top another, lining the ones, tens, hundreds columns. She counts in her head, on her fingers. It's Obama 4:1 and the baby doesn't cry.

But what about experience? And all that was swept under the rug? It's the health care plan. Remember the economic boom, budget surplus? Who can beat McCain?We're ready for change. The end of the war. Pro choice. Tell me why.

My neighbors talk. Argue. Implore. I look for the 6 who held who held our precinct for last election cycle. Are they glad to have our company? Do they puzzle why we left them, alone, to determine the second WBush challenger? Do they fault us, blame themselves?

There'd be more conversation. Maybe answers and surely tears. But the elementary school is filled. Beyond capacity. In violation of fire codes. The line outside circles the block. We're running out of sign in sheets. There aren't enough chairs. The babies will grow tired and the sticky won't hold my vote to the clip board forever. We've exceeded the space allocated our democracy. After pledging the flag, naming a candidate, and possibly making a donation to the party, we are welcome to leave.

I drag my feet. It's a flawed system of broken pencils and too few volunteers. A charming, near hypnotic chaos with errors more personal, more public, more likely to be corrected, than those of the machines,.

(I suppose lack of timeliness is just one of the issues preventing my successful career in journalism. Happy Valentine's Day!)

lincoln...devo

2008-02-11T08:19:00.000-08:00

We haven't visited Lincoln: The Constitution and the Civil War at MOHAI, but Brad's thinking of taking the kids to living history day this Saturday. And we've all been learning a bit more about the war between the states. Aslin's learned to pronounce "Ulysses" and Ukiah finds it ironic that it was the northern republicans who advocated emancipation. We've been reading about the underlying labor and class struggles, the proposal that Union draftees could opt out of service for a $300 fee, and the power of individual states.

Our day would have continued with readings of the Gettysburg Address, but the Devo dvd couldn't be renewed. And I just paid $34 to clear our library fines. So, we turned our attention to August 17, 1980, the Phoenix Theatre in Petaluma, CA for lessons in the genius that is DEVO. The republicans were an entirely different breed by then- frightening, angering and motivating art-school kids across the nation.

I sing just a little too loud and we pause Jocko Homo for philosophical discussion on the evolution/de-evolution of society, government, industry and culture.
And today, I love homeschooling.

Freedom of Choice
by Devo
A victim of collision on the open sea
Nobody ever said that life was free
Sank, swam, go down with the ship
But use your freedom of choice

Ill say it again in the land of the free
Use your freedom of choice
Your freedom of choice

In ancient rome there was a poem
About a dog who found two bones
He picked at one
He licked the other
He went in circles
He dropped dead

Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom of choice!

Then if you got it you dont want it
Seems to be the rule of thumb
Dont be tricked by what you see
You got two ways to go

Ill say it again in the land of the free
Use your freedom of choice
Freedom of choice...

Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom from choice
Is what you want

today on craigslist

2008-02-09T22:12:00.000-08:00

Winterlake Lodge

Ten hour days, six days a week, June-October.
I think I could do it.
Do you suppose they'd welcome the kids too?

buddy-up

2008-02-09T07:14:00.000-08:00

Polls in all but Alaska were closed Super Tuesday when I over overheard Aslin on the phone with my mom.

"I think they should buddy-up."

She went on with her wise words, no doubt exciting my mom with her political insight on the potential of a Clinton/Obama, Obama/Clinton ticket.

Ukiah's holding judgment, unsure who might make the better leader, but assuring all that Obama is an impressive speaker. Aslin chimes in that she shook his hand.

We'll take them to caucus with us today. I'll excuse myself a little early and head for an equally lively event, the bride wrangler dress summit.

It's no help with the dress questions, but the fine folks at Fuse walk you right through the caucus process. Thanks to the homeschool folks for continuing to share great resources.

big ideas

2008-02-06T20:48:00.000-08:00

Aslin- Empathic Clown
Nora- Motivational Lipstick
Brad- Alien Vacation
Ukiah- Sport-Utility Vacuum

Three cheers for Cheap Ass Games!

With Monolopy money, Pokemon and Magic counters, pennies and nickels, and the ability to lobby endlessly, we've been enjoying our newest game. The day I draw "organic" and "paradise" in the same hand, is the day I invest heavily and bring in the 12-sided die.

that's better

2008-02-04T20:17:00.000-08:00

Shelved between roughly 3 dozen cookbooks, file folders marked with chocolate finger prints and olive oil gather dust. It's not because the magazine clippings and hand copied recipes are disorganized, never alphabetized into a binder, that I ignore their content.

Maybe I'd find an identical cookie recipe in our ancient copy of Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book, but I bypass what I vaguely remember as tried and true as well as the would be better ifs. I know I should, I make mental notes to, teach my kids to- but I rarely make notes in the margins of my own cookbook. And since I don't remember if adding an extra 1/2 cup water or using roasted rather then fresh garlic would have improved the recipe, I trust the stories and suggestions of strangers.

"Perfect texture."

"We took these to a party and then ate the rest for breakfast. Easy and delicious"

"These were exactly what a snickerdoodle should be. I substituted 3 tsp baking powder for the cream of tartar and baking soda, and they still turned out beautifully - great texture. I'll probably add a bit of vanilla when I make them again."

Thanks RecipeZaar.

note to self

2008-02-03T20:02:00.001-08:00

When thinking of making snickerdoodles, really wanting homemade cookies and the extra warmth the oven provides, cream of tartar is essential.

When neither you nor your neighbors have any, do not attempt to satisfy the cookie urge with leftover beets. Even chioggias disappoint.

Update-
With a little notice, the baking fairy at flour power can meet all sweet tooth needs!

eggplant plus

2008-01-21T08:51:00.000-08:00

Tofu Robot loves eggplant.

And we love Uwajimaya for the rice noodles, smoked tofu, lychee ice cream, tea cup collection, and Kinokuniya Bookstore. Here, we found the books for Ukiah's Japanese class and the t-shirt for Brad's birthday.

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In unrelated news, I have a special appreciation for the state patrol officer who last week assured me that it was fine to ignore the "park closed" sign. We'd driven an hour plus, into the Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest, only to find a rope denying access to the Hyak snow park. An unexpected complication for the dozen of us who meticulously checked avalanche reports, chain requirements and hot chocolate availability before heading out for a day of sledding.

"You won't ticket us?" I asked.
"I won't. Doesn't make sense that it's closed," he answered, pulling the shovel from his trunk.

He went to help dig out an suv and we found parking in a lot maintained to suit the skills and tires of us city folk.

beer of the day

2008-01-19T22:38:00.000-08:00

Brad and I found ourselves with a rare moment alone together and opted for conversation over a beer. Or two. And because it appears I'm unable to find time for a meaningful post, let me comment on the greatness of Big Time's Lift Ticket winter brew. Of course you could appreciate the amber goodness on site at the brewery but that brings you uncomfortably close to the jock/frat boy element that dominates the U-district. Rather, we suggest the Fiddler's Inn, where seasonal brews are advertised on a handwritten list delivered to your small, not too sticky table. It's a working man's bar; decent menu, heavy wooden seats, muted sports on screen behind the bar, and a waitress who may or may not be interested in serving you. If only it were walking distance.
Further inspiration for advancing the homebrew efforts...

pen pal

2008-01-15T08:12:00.000-08:00

Make that 8 teeth MIA.

"Tooth Fairy
Only the tooth fairy may open this. If you are not the tooth fairy, DO NOT OPEN!"

It was left on my pillow, where after she turns the heat down and brushes her full set of teeth, Aslin's fairy, my alter ego, lies reading until she falls asleep.

"Dear Tooth Fairy,
I was hoping to get a good amount of money. The pain I got from that tooth was unbearable. I know you're not rich and you might think I'm being greedy, but that tooth was horrible. And now I'm missing 8 teeth. I can't chew much, so I need some extra credit this time. All I'm trying to say is that tooth hurt ALOT and I would like more than I usually get."

A stick-figure head, wide-mouthed and one-toothed, looks towards a speech bubble. "Please..."

website of the day

2008-01-09T21:10:00.001-08:00

For Lucy Pringle, it's all about the crop circles.

Including Hello Kitty.

"hey tooth fairy!

2008-01-08T12:44:00.000-08:00

Don't forget to come see me tonight. Please!!!
Thank you so much Miss Fairy.
<3
Aslin"

The note showed up on my dresser about a month ago, after the tooth fairy stood Aslin up for the second night in a row. It was still there last night, joining forces with Aslin's 10pm question, "Do you think the tooth fairy will be too busy tonight?" and her 10:30 showing of the tooth at tuck-in time.

Thankfully, the fairy on call had no contractual disputes and arrived, cash in hand, to buy the 7th tooth Aslin had lost in the past 4 months.

before the sun sets

2008-01-04T16:02:00.000-08:00

go look at the mountains. It's a striking view east from 19th avenue. Clear impressions of rock and snow meeting all along the range.

Less clear? Why I ever agreed to work weekends.

lemon meringue soda

2008-01-02T18:33:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Mark, Ukiah and Aslin can argue the essence of Jones Soda's Christmas tree flavor.

Ukiah- "It tastes exactly like a Christmas tree."
Aslin- "Tree. Plain. Old. Tree."
Ukiah- "No, it's dirt and pine."
Aslin- "Just tree. Bark with some leaf."
and on and on and on

Common ground in a sample from the dessert pack...

Aslin- "I think the lemon meringue pie is pretty good."
Ukiah- "Yeah, lemon-y, not too sweet. Good."

cheers!

2008-01-01T15:28:00.000-08:00

Ukiah and I fell asleep on couch before 11, he exhausted by coughing, me drowsy after half Gale's Christmas Ale. DDR continued and apparently a new song was unlocked. I woke to watch the stuttering of Space Needle fireworks and am sure an effort was made, but don't remember what we toasted. The night ended with Dawn's intellectual and pragmatic dissection of Brad's and my decade old debate- what is butt rock? Share your opinion below or here (note- #7 is entirely wrong.)

After lentils for prosperity and the lighting of the Buddha, we at the owlhouse raised glasses of sparkling cider.
TO- monkeys; peace, love and understanding; Will Smith; inspiration and action; Bruce Springsteen; moving forward; smart people; hard work and fun; and you.

Our love and wishes for the new year.

that's not "church"

2008-01-01T15:26:00.000-08:00

(story under construction)

48 days

2007-12-28T17:26:00.001-08:00

It's the 3rd day of Kwanzaa and Christmas merchandise is 50% off. Holiday retail sales were not as dismal as predicted, but it appears there wasn't any "growth." And that's what it's all about. Drug stores and boutiques have pushed Santa aside introducing Valentine's cards as snowman and reindeer replacements. It appears the potential profit of kitch and cards celebrating New Years, Cuban Liberation Day, Al Hijra, Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, Candlemas, and Chinese New Year have yet to be fully recognized.
You have 48 days to pick the perfect Valentine card. Plenty of time to come up with something better than a dusty rose photo topped with

I love you for the person you are

in ornate non-union print shop calligraphy.

In other would-be sweet news that we found depressing, today, the shelter has no pet rats.

Hot chocolate + almond late + an hour out of the wind and rain = consolation.

cafe bella

You know what they say about pictures

2007-12-26T09:43:00.001-08:00

In September, December held promise of down time. Lingering coughs, experiments in employment and a surprise trip to the ocean devoured every possibility of surplus time. So, we're considering sending New Year's or possibly Valentine's cards and wouldn't have it any other way.

We trust the pictures to tell the story. Consider it an Encyclopedia Brown/choose-your-own adventure type plot and feel free to write your ending.

S to the 4th power

2007-12-04T22:59:00.000-08:00

Snow
Samarya
Show
Sea

Before live model Father Frost, a santa-type- regal in blue, took his pose at the drawing jam, the snow began. The pirates and nudes and musicians held series of short poses, we observed or exited quickly, quietly. We weren't official event photographers, so didn't document Ukiah's charcoal sketched wings or Aslin's print making process. Soap-making filled the multi-media studio with evergreen then chocolate, a combination inspiring to the camera. Snap shots out the window only.

We missed the snowballs but had plenty of time in the slush. Ukiah, Aslin and Brad hiked through the dark to meet me at Samarya's holiday party/fundraiser where sparkling cider ran short but the chocolates lasted all night. I tried to look nonchalant when Aslin pulled first one, then two of my raffle tickets. We haven't been to the Volunteer Park Cafe and will happily add it to our next conservatory visit.

"Can new people join next quarter?" Aslin asked, no doubt hoping another girl or two will join her drama class. Of course that would mean Queen Aslin would have to share the female roles in the end-of the-season performance showcase. I especially appreciated the inventive use of character props in the kids' adaptation of the picture book, My Lucky Day.

Snow turned to rain and eventually, a little water in the basement. The kids and I braved the elements again, bussing to the aquarium where the diver in the Washington Waters exhibit assured us she, swimming in 120,000 gallons of water, was drier in her suit than those of us waiting to watch the octopus feeding. The speech for school groups included discussion of the territorial disputes between the wolf eel and the octopus. Behind us, away from the preschool ears, other aquarium folk described the method the octopus uses to stun his prey. I shuttered at the eye removal and joined the kids at the touch tank.

winter wonderland

2007-11-30T14:58:00.001-08:00

I've been thinking of Tucson. Or Maui. Or Greece. Somewhere a little warmer. Well, it's part cold, part wanderlust that has me thinking of other places. Topped by a bigger part that wishes to visit with friends. So, I'm torn between conspiring to travel- how 'bout a month in Alaska next summer? And really rooting here, where there's a new pea patch a block away and winter cupcakes are just up the hill.

Working parking for the Field Cup Tournament last weekend gave me plenty of time to consider the possibility of Mexico in February and also, I think, gave my cough and sore throat some staying power.

So I didn't ice skate. Ukiah and Aslin, who hadn't skated in years, held the wall for a few laps before finding balance and eventually speed. Ukiah lie down to make ice angles, Aslin learned to do turns and someone named the little walker Sherman.

I remember ice skating at recess in first grade. Mostly, I remember trying to tie my skates and being scared of the big kids who were so much faster than me. My elementary school, unlike the winter wonderland in the Center House, was not in a gravity-impaired alternate universe. Or maybe this teeter-totter is just frozen in the weighted, but up position. Waiting for the house to open for Peter Pan, we continued our I-Spy investigation of the Country Christmas Village. Aslin spotted the homeless men and the $10 horses. Ukiah saw a fallen skater, possibly with broken leg and the hot air balloon anchored by a single man. We all spotted a cat, lying in the snow- poisoned by the man with an outstretched hand hovering above him? Brad noted the gulch with a discarded wagon wheel and I spied a blacksmith with no goggles or protective gear, surely an OSHA violation.

Under tank-top, tee-shirt, long-sleeve, sweater-coat-and scarf, I'm cold. I sometimes feel cheated by the discomfort without benefit of romantic winter snow. A perceived climate betrayal that layered with hints of wanderlust finds me re-inventing our lives in other, warmer, colder or more charming places. But as the city's display master-story tellers make clear, under the idyllic presentation of life, it's the flaws that sustain our attention. And sometimes, like Peter Pan or the doll watching the miniature Victorian brass band, a person's head is disproportionate with the rest of their body, let alone the rest of their world.

sold

2007-11-29T21:15:00.000-08:00

Twenty-eight dollars cash or forty-two in credit? Decisions, decisions.
We said good-bye to a few juvenile readers, duplicate copies of Choke and Eargon and opted for credit.

Last week, craigslist introduced us to the new owners of the too-large chair, a couple from Renton. He liked the chime and the miniature tea set on the table behind.

I collected a lil'somthin from Gypsy Trader for clothes I don't remember. They're not a clothing store anymore, lost most their business when the Fremont bridge was closed. So now they do some home decor, but mostly, it's about the cafe.

We're considering separating ourselves from a too-small sleeping bag and have taken steps towards letting go of a couple dozen albums. Classics like TSOL's- Revenge, The Ventures'- Walk Don't Run, and No Nuclear War by Peter Tosh.

I really shouldn't talk about it, should not re sort the box headed for Goodwill.

I'm organizing, cleaning, possibly inventorying. Making sense of, plans for the next phase of Seattle life. The books aren't shelved alphabetically, but for now, there's a clear distinction between the short stories, medical science, and history.

And speaking of books and history, seems like a good time to post another well-intentioned yet incomplete booklist that's been kicking around the draft file for months.

NORA--
Reading Lolita in Tehran, Azar Nafisi
New Buffalo: Journals from a Taos Commune, Arthur Kopecky;
Ironweed, William Kennedy
Case Histories, Kate Atkinson
13 Stories, Eudora Welty
Walden, Henry David Thoreau
Between, Georgia Joshilyn Jackson
Lies My Teacher Told Me, James Loewen
Under the Banner of Heaven, Jon Krakauer

BRAD--
The Bear Comes Home, Rafi Zabor
The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho
All the Pretty Horses, Cormac Mccarthy
Into the Wild, Jon Krakauer
Dreams of My Father: Stories of Race and Inheritance, Barack Obama
Founding Brothers, the Revolutionary Generation, Joseph Ellis
Fledgling, Octavia E. Butler

ASLIN--
The Black Stallion, Walter Farley
Ivy and Bean, Barrows & Blackwell;
A Dog Called Kitty, Bill Wallace
Sixth Grade Secrets, Louis Sacher
A Wrinkle in Time, Madeleine L'engle
Calvin and Hobbes;
School Rumble
Tithe, A Modern Fairytale, Holly Black

UKIAH--
The Sirens of Titan, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
Why Don't Penguins Feet Freeze?
Stuck in Neutral, Terry Trueman
Shredderman, Wendelin Van Draanen
The Library Card, Jerry Spinelli
Eldest, Christopher Paolini
Greatest Mysteries of the Unexplained, Holland & Doncaster
Java for Dummies, Barry Burd
Megatokyo, Fred Gallagher

shared by multiple owlhouse residents--
Appetite for Life, Julia Child
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, Sherman Alexie
Fat Kid Rules the World, K.L. Going
Collected Stories of Carson McCullers
The King's Fifth, Scott O'Dell
Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Jeff Kinney
Eragon, Christopher Paolini
Full Metal Alchemist
Ninjas, Piranhas, and Galileo, Greg Leitich Smith

In case you're looking for Holiday gift suggestions, we recommend most of the above.

tip-toeing towards rats

2007-11-22T09:04:00.000-08:00

A man in a dark wool trench coat and starched sky dress shirt hooked a leash to the cocker spaniel's coller. Past the outdoor doggie gym, away from the noise of 15th Avenue. No cell phone, no cigarette, just a young man in patent shoes walking a dog who looks and jumps and calls like Tawney. She's been neutered and it will be another week before she is cleared to fetch or climb through tires. The man's (cashmere?) checkered scarf compliments the dog's golden hair and both blow in the wind. All the dogs need walking, twice a day.

An older woman, close cropped silver hair highlighting her diamond studs, sits on the floor. Wrapped in a small pen, legs tucked at a not uncomfortable 45 degree angle, the socializer sits an inch or two away from the litter box. Jeffery Eugenides Middlesex lies open, upside down, across her thigh. She picks it up a half dozen times, likely rereading the same two paragraphs for an hour. A red-eyed, white rabbit sniffs, retreats, sniffs and paws his the bald spots along his back.

We came for the rats. The Rat Pack boys and girls keep separate apartments, a dwarf hamster centered between them. The girls, slightly smaller, nose over one another to reach us. Aslin's in, pinky finger from each hand offered for exploration. I follow with one shy knuckle, Ukiah eventually joins us. The trio of boys, interested initially, move on to climbing the walls before we've fulfilled our visiting need. Ukiah and I watch the little guy, the one with only 3 feet and half a tail while Aslin returns to the girls. Maybe we'll need two cages too.

We left the shelter with our adoption application and volunteer information. I'm not quite ready for pet rodents, and have some concerns about Cutie's relationship with our potential new pets, but am keeping the words of a stranger in mind.

"Don't worry about it too much," he looked me in the eye, and I think would have held the bus door open for us if it weren't automatic. Charmed and confused, I watched him climb the stairs and settle on the back seat of the 2. From the sidewalk, I gave a muted wave and rushed to join the kids in a 4-block fight with the wind. We bought mini-doughnuts to share with our new group, a treat to mark the end of the library scavenger hunt. I didn't worry about transfats or sugar and am trying not too be concerned with the lack of parental excitement over our group offering.

I hate ABC

2007-11-18T09:03:00.000-08:00

It wasn't too much of a surprise when they didn't cover the Women's World Cup. But they didn't even pretend, didn't list games on their schedule and then opt to air ignorant blowhard Fred Thompson instead. But this morning, they made changes to their scheduling line-up, pushing the MLS championship to ESPN 2.

Who knew my disgust with corporate media could reach new heights?

Shell

2007-11-17T18:05:00.000-08:00

went on a little holiday. In past visits with preschoolers, he's backed himself into corners, gotten stuck behind book shelves, narrowly avoided tricycle wheels, peed on the floor and impressed everyone with his climbing and speed. This month, he ventured out with out us and has been complimented as a fantastic guest, which may have something to do with the extra care and attention of his hosts at King St. Thank you!

In his absence, a bookshelf took up residence. Great space for the nearly two boxes of book we mailed home from Cambria and Tucson; problematic as shell will have to relocate a little farther from the heat vent. As a fellow cold-blooded creature concerned with his health and comfort, I turned to the ever trusty Craigslist. In the free section, not far from home, a terrarium with lights and a heating pad was listed. The catch?

"No cracks, but haunted with mischievous and cruel ghosts."

So, I'm wondering...
Is the haunting of all the equipment, or just the terrarium?
Is the heating pad safe? Electrically sound? Could we smudge it?
Do ghosts inhabit objects, or just space?
Is it a human, reptile or amphibian ghost?
I didn't email my questions to the person who placed the ad.

Sure, we could go the pet store, spend money and get a new heating pad. But that is likely to end in hours of rodent "window shopping" holding and negotiation. Aslin's ready, pet rats are still a topic of debate for the rest of us.

Maybe we'll move the bookshelf.

In unrelated pet news, a predictable coup has ended with Cutie as master of Ukiah's new beanbag cushion.

Piper (cute, charming, well-behaved Piper!) and his type are considered thugs by some in Montlake.

coyote

2007-11-15T09:45:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty sure that was not a dog running down my street at 6:30 this morning.
About a month ago, I saw a raccoon, lounging like the Cheshire cat in the one tree adjacent the Safeway parking lot.
Not too uncommon, but a coyote?!?

fortunate

2007-11-12T11:00:00.001-08:00

Before we ordered vegan Mongolian beef, before I dumped a cup of tea, before we noticed that our table cloth had doubled as a napkin for earlier patrons, the women across the room cracked their fortune cookies.

"You will soon follow your heart's desire." The dark-haired woman crumpled her fate, pronouncing it "lame."

Four pots of tea later, Aslin arrived at the same fortune, finding it lame only for its lack of originality. She's inherited my tendency to collect the conversations of others and looks to the empty table where an hour earlier, her would-be destiny was discarded.

Fortune cookie superstition has us debating the proper procedure for the reading of fortunes. Split the cookie, eat half, read, finish cookie. No, read the fortune before eating any cookie. NO, don't even look at the fortune before finishing the cookie.

Ukiah- "You will meet someone famous."
Brad- "You will enjoy good health and financial independence."
Nora- "You will welcome many people with your smile."
Aslin- following you heart's desire? not lame.

I pocket the forecasts for an art project I would have finished years ago, except that I occassionally misplace my fortune reservoir and have to start over.

In the past month, we've been blessed by visits with butterflies. (A word of caution for the birds, the Heliconiidae of the long wing family, is brightly colored to warn you of their terrible, bitter taste.) Thanks to craigslist, we've got two new-used exercise balls ideal for video game seating. Plus, as a pirate and newspaper zombie/samurai/guy the kids picked up a ton'o candy trick-or-treating.

With the homeschool group, they helped NorthWest Harvest package a literal ton of chocolate and learned this bit of Seattle candy trivia-
FR edrick
A nd
N elson
G ift
O f
S weetness

And let's not forget the marvel that is pumpkin beer. Thanks to the brewers at Elysian for hosting us, and letting us take the empty pumpkin keg for pumpkin-cauliflower soup.

2 truths and a lie

2007-10-06T13:35:00.000-07:00

Our game repertoire is expanding. In between singing the rainbow song and practicing kneeing against an enormous soccer ball, I'm learning to Wake up Fred and play Battleship at work. Ukiah and the homeschool teens spent half an hour silently arranging themselves according to their birthdays. Expanding his terms of endearment vocabulary, Brad won a few hands of Quao. And after last week's drama class, Aslin taught us what could be a fabulous party game or a unique communication style, 2 Truths and a Lie.

Aslin

I'm learning how to knit.

I'm trying to read all the books in the house.

I hate Kelly Clarkson.

Brad

This werewolf is headed to Germany to promote cobweb sales.

I was driving through Madison Valley when the brakes gave out.

I'm not giving up the green chair.

Ukiah

I don't like socks.

I'm learning to use a zambato.

I like clay toasters.

Nora

My hands froze selling Liberty and Scarlet O'Hara apples at the market.

I'm taking a break from Earl Grey tea.

I haven't heard any squirrels on the roof in days.

been there, done that, would do it all again

2007-10-02T11:40:00.001-07:00

This incomplete list of trip favorites use to live in the side bar. She graciously moved to a post knowing that no matter how painful, it's time for the Owlhouse to move forward.

Cape Disappointment- Long Beach Peninsula, WA

Saturday Market- Eugene, OR

Crater Lake, Oregon

Barack Obama, 2008

Cowboy Poets- Elko, NV

Gilgal Sculpture Garden- SLC, Utah

Lazy Lizard- Moab, Utah

Mesa Verde, Colorado

Carver Brewing- Durango, CO

Taos Pueblo, NM

Georgia O'Keeffe Museum- Santa Fe, NM

White Sands, NM

Chiricahua Mts, AZ

Bisbee- Bisbee, AZ

Desert Museum - Tucson, AZ

Sonora Co-housing - Tucson, AZ

Sam's Family Spa -Desert Hot Springs, CA

Ghetty Museum - Los Angles, CA

Camp Ocean Pines - Cambria, CA

Pipestone Vineyards - Paso Robles, CA

Sacramento Valley School - Sacramento, CA

Guemes Island - Washington

Lake Okanagan - Kelowna, British Columbia

Lake Louise - Banff, British Columbia

Kaslo- Kaslo, British Columbia

Kamloops Farmer's Market - Kamloops, British Columbia

Touchstone Farm - Mayerthorpe, Alberta

Gaetz Lake Sanctuary- Red Deer, Alberta

Local Currancy - Calgary, Alberta

Tyrrell Dinosaur Museum - Drumheller (Badlands), Alberta

Glacier National Park - Montana

Coeur d'Alene Library - Idaho

Grand Coulee Dam -Coulee, WA

appropriate use of cheese cloth

2007-09-23T23:11:00.001-07:00

"Do you have any cheese cloth?"
"That depends, are you going to use it make cheese, or adulterate it in some way?"
"Adulterate. But in a positive way."

It was three weeks ago when I paid way too much for u-pick blackberries only to come home and make a dreaded phone call turning down an inspiring job. Taking the misfortunes in stride, I headed to liquor store. Turns out a fifth of vodka is about 2 1/2 cups. To double the recipe I'd need 4, so I took a second walk up to 23rd and Union, wondering if I should avoid eye contact with the clerk who sold me my first bottle just a half-hour earlier.

I can't find my sewing kit. My guess is that it and the cheese cloth I remember packing away, are at the bottom of the closet I can't bring myself to dig through. Not until the hall is free of the bed frame and dresser and Goodwill box. No rush now that the man at Kitchen Basics approved our use of the cloth.

Yesterday, after a morning of soccer with toddlers, an almond latte followed by a sunny afternoon in the dahlia garden and climbing the camels at Volunteer Park, we strained the berries and toasted the birthday Joan Jett and I share.

Blackberry Liqueur

1 pt Fresh blackberries
2 1/2 c Vodka
1 Vanilla bean
1/4 ts Whole allspice
1/2 c Sugar syrup (2part sugar/1part water, boil, cool)

Select full colored and plump berries. DO NOT wash until ready to use as water causes mold to form. Rinse berries and place in a mixing bowl, lightly crushing to release flavor.
Add vodka, vanilla bean, and allspice. Stir and store in bottle in cool dark place for 3 weeks.
Strain mixture through dampened cheese cloth, squeezing as much juice
as possible.
Pour back in bottle adding sugar syrup to taste (1/3 to 1/2 cup
per pint) and age another 3-5 weeks.
Yield: 1 pint plus.

celebrate, matey!

2007-09-19T08:46:00.000-07:00

Today be Aslin`s birthday. She`s been countin' th' days an' be thrilled t' finally b 11. Yesterday, at Izilla, she spent a bit o' her cat sittin' treasure on a gift fer herself. A new lanky cat. Mashimaro. Marshmellow. "Because three of her paws are white and the rest of it is the color of a toasted marshmellow, and, she's just cute and fluffy."

(We're still looking for a Japanese language class for Ukiah. In the meantime, he's teaching Aslin what he knows.)

Also celebrated today, International Talk Like a Pirate Day.

elf + elf =

2007-09-18T21:09:00.000-07:00

Fool.

Yesterday, after a very wet hike near Olallie State Park, we made tea and settled in for some arithmetic from the Wayside School.

After experimenting with our own spelling/algebra rules, we solved the first chapter, including:

stays + say = trust
dell + ewe = woods
seed + iced = spice

(each letter represents a different number between 0 and 9)

second breakfast

2007-09-15T22:47:00.002-07:00

Home fries at the Crocodile Cafe are fresh cut red potatoes, not too greasy. The cinnamon french toast has the slightest hint of nutmeg. For some, it's hang-over food. For us, it's an almost clean table with a view of the Sunday morning puddles and people of 2nd/Blanchard and second breakfast. Today it includes free samples of Izzy Essque sodas. Mandarin is light on sugar/calories, soft on flavor.

The tables are full, there's a shortage of soy milk, the coffee is fresh and a steady stream of two-headed dolls, re-crafted vintage wear and beaded jewelry are making their way into the cafe. I heard a rumor that I Heart Rummage was on hiatus, but we didn't cross paths with it in our time on the road. Anyway, it and its hand-crafted pillows and lemon verbena soap are back. With a vengeance. As displayed by our super-fantastic new Ninja pint glasses. Thanks Miss Val!

blog o' the day

2007-09-13T21:25:00.000-07:00

We turned here when the cookbooks failed. Because what else goes so well with tomatoes from the garden?

Note: the garbanzos cook up well even if you're tired, a little nervous about your new job and forget to soak them over-night. A day long bath works just fine. Which is especially important now that Aslin is down one of her finest chewing teeth.

we heart plums

2007-09-12T07:17:00.000-07:00

Most of us, anyway.
I exhausted my usual plum resources last week with the first batch of plum sauce. At the park, hillside trees hold their branches just out of reach. Until we return with milk crates. Ukiah and I stack them in various combinations, knowing the incline is too steep, but figuring the mud should give traction to the boxes. Still, as is always the case in fruit picking, the best plums are just beyond reach.

Down the ally, a single tree offers what could make a dozen coffee cakes. The neighbor says she "can't possibly eat them all" and from the fruit-littered pavement, it seems as though she's not even trying. So Aslin and I carried over the step stool, scratched ourselves climbing the tree, lost our footing sanding on top the fence, felt a bug in our eye, and eventually brought out the 8-foot ladder.

Plum Sauce

In a medium pot, combine-

5-6 garlic cloves, minced fine
1/2 ounce fresh ginger, minced
1 small onion, minced
3/4 cup brown sugar
2 cups water
2 teaspoons sesame oil
1/8 cup soy sauce
1 teaspoon crushed dried chilies
3 lbs plums, pitted & chopped
1 lemon, juice of, fresh

Bring to a boil, simmer for 30 minutes

Strain, returning liquid to pot

Mix
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 tablespoon water
Add to solids and blend/process until smooth

Return plum puree to pot, simmer until thickened

Serve with noodles, spring rolls, rice, tofu, stir fry
I suggest freezing or canning some extra, cause plum season is just about over

Ukiah generously donates his share of the family plum treasury to Shell, who enjoys them in a salad with fresh kale and earthworms from the garden.

Real World

2007-09-06T12:57:00.001-07:00

At what point is it acceptable to swear in public? To/at your children's doctor?

A couple of guys joined us at the back of the bus last week. Not entirely sober at 10am but friendly. "Look at the little man," the one on the aisle gestured to Ukiah. And they looked at Ukiah, apparently charmed by his "training to be a little man" posture. "Hey, you gonna be a lawyer?" Ukiah shook is head, politely. "No, really. What you gonna be? Cause if you a lawyer you ain't never gonna lose a case. I feel sorry for that district attorney, cause if you just smile, it's all over. You got a good smile, little man. How many cavities you got?"

Aslin pretended to sleep as Ukiah graciously nodded, smiled, met a high-five and turned to me for reassurance. "No cavities."

"See that?" the aisle man asked his window friend. "See, you got somebody who loves you. You know that? I want you to know..." Window man was unsuccessful in getting his friend to shut up or leave the nice kid alone. Aisle man continued, "Your mamma take a baseball bat to the back of the head for you." He smiled at me, approval of my parenting. "I'm not trying to be graphic, but she'd move right in at get hit for you... I'm just trying to tell you how much love you got...You guys all right..."

The unlikely family-support workers left the bus a few blocks before us.

More highlights from our recent weeks in the real world-

A cross city walk from Belltown to Seattle Center, to Pike Place, to the International District, to a different bus to Ranier, where we walked to collect the truck from the shop.
Meeting Rasta the rooster
Cat sitting Suri
Evaluating diversity in gaming and the Army's presence at PAX
Pickin berries, apples, flowers and feeding goats
Suffering through the "worst game of capture the flag ever"
Turning down a dream job
Helping Grandma move furniture, boxes and files
Reserving a dozen manga titles at the library
Cooking pizza, stuffed peppers and plum sauce
A bike ride to the dog park
Mowing the neighbor's yard
Hosting a veteran of the 1st Gulf War, learning of his recently discovered uranium bone-poisoning
Inventorying the My Little Pony and Magic card collections
And a bad encounter with the doctor

This whole resumption of normal has proven challenging, especially as we opted not to return to our routines. Brad's making bloody ducks and severed limbs. My new job comes with Sounders tickets but with out a classroom. We're experiencing a prolonged/delayed broken heart in Clearwater's move out of town. I miss preschool and we all miss the staff discount on groceries. In two weeks Dawn and Kalin will move next door. And we've already eaten more than half our winter supply of blueberries.

Adding to the challenge and self-doubt of putting our lives back together, "well child" check-ups that included the question, "how long are you going to protect them from the real world?" Height, weight, blood pressure, spine check and "That's not a judgment, I respect home and alternative schooling, but why don't you just put them out there?"

I've been wondering what shape our lil' blog might take as we resume a settled life, not especially anxious to join the masses of family stories already floating around. In part because writing with our names attached, means censoring to protect the subjects and/or audience. And partly because with out the built-in drama of the trip of lifetime, what could there possibly be to say? Then I remembered that scenes from the real, day-to-day lives of ordinary people make some of my favorite stories.

So, I confirmed with the doctor that I did feel judged, not at all supported. I listed a half dozen of the kids' real world engagements and kindly told him, "don't fucking push me on this." My eloquent response would have sounded a little something like "I can talk educational philosophy and developmental psychology for hours, probably weeks and surely the rest of my life. You've only got about 5 minutes, so listen to the kids' lungs, answer their questions and offer me some resources, if you'd like." I think he heard my message even in its abbreviated form.

For the record, Ukiah's 5'3, Aslin 5'1.75. Both appear healthy despite my unwillingness to allow them to participate in the real world. Maybe because I'd take a bat to the head for either of them. I'm not trying to be graphic.

sooner or later

2007-08-30T23:27:00.000-07:00

We're hoping to get back to the blog soonish. Where else could we recount today's Metro bus incident?

As soon as the bills are sorted, resumes sent, van cabinets unpacked, new car insurance policy set, classes registered for, winter peas planted, Goodwill run made, bad haircut corrected, turtle sunned, friends visited, and blackberries picked...

Priorities

2007-08-22T21:08:00.000-07:00

The homecoming "to do" list is lengthy, growing daily. We have managed to pay the house insurance, sort toys and go for Vietnamese food. Visiting our parents was fantastic, Ukaih's adjusting to the library construction- requesting holds at another branch, and we spent the afternoon with a man who left Sudan at age 5, spent 16 years in a refugee camp in Kenya, and on his fourth day in the US, joined us for a walk to the lake. Buttercup is about 75% unpacked. We adults each have a job interview this week. The kids have a new cat-sitting gig. We love having our own washing machine.

Between visiting with friends and sorting clothes now too small for the kids, we've seen a play, been wowed by examples of New Zealand's early childhood education practices and harvested enough tomatoes for a decent taco salad. In other words, we're thriving in the midst of uncertainty. It could be that yoga, television, soccer and cocktail parties are helping us through...

We weren't here to experience the unusual weather patterns this winter. No flooding or extended power outages for us in the southwest. Are atypical patterns the new norm, or have we forgotten- does it usually rain for multiple days in August? Does the temperature generally top out in the mid-70's? I'm a little worried that it's already sweater-season for me, but it means great blueberries into late August!

We spent about two hours at Mercer Slough Blueberry Farm, sampling high and low bush varieties, limiting our interactions with spiders. Assuming we can find a kitchen scale, we'd like to do a little math project. What's your best guess on the number of blueberries in 18.25 pounds? Cost per berry at $1.25/pound? Inquiring minds want to know. And not just because we're jobless and working with a tight budget.

The plan is to make freezer jam in the morning, before haircuts or a trip to Value Village. We won't be following the recipe that calls for a can of blueberry pie filling and box of raspberry Jello. We're going the old fashioned route, pectin and lemon juice. Unless someone has a more inspired suggestion?

A favorite come pumpkin season, South 47 Farm has organic, u-pick, thornless blackberries. Between resume writing, filing tax returns and thanking our long list of travel hosts, we hope to pick at least 10 pounds next week.

transitions

2007-08-18T20:54:00.001-07:00

We're home(!)- mourning the loss of our neighborhood chocolate shop and thrilled with the addition of corn to the back garden. Change takes time, and apparently a year is enough for subtle and significant differences. We're working to acclimate, finding our way the the relocated farmer's market and learning Shell's new menu.

Adjusting to the new hive of townhomes at the end of the our street and Cutie's expanded physique should be fairly smooth transitions. The growing stable of Owlhouse bicycles, moderate. Putting all the other aspects of normal life back together could prove more complicated. The prospect of finding jobs, making school decisions and having housemates become neighbors, challenging. A whole new round of adventures. Possibly recorded here. So many decisions.

It's been a busy couple days, not particularly dedicated to unpacking. We'll be around for a while. There's always next week.

on the cape

2007-08-15T11:55:00.000-07:00

Brad tells stories of childhood trips to the beach, tales of rain and wet dogs. Sometimes misery. Usually redemption. "If you tough out the crappy days, the heavy mist and rains, you always get the fantastic day. Clear sky, gorgeous sun. Usually." Lucky us, camping space and a dry day all in one. Aside from the wind carrying sand shards across our feet, occasionally into our eyes, Cape Disappointment couldn't have been more perfect.

Lewis, Clark and company's experience was a bit different. After 18 months navigating westward along rivers, through the wild, they hit the Pacific in November, 1805. After being trapped by a 6-day storm in Dismal Nitch, the party continued an unsuccessful attempt to find an appropriate site for winter camp. Eventually, an unprecedented vote of all party members led the captains back across the Columbia to a "most eligable" spot along the Netul River.

From the beach, the call of ships transitioning from the Columbia to the sea cuts across the surf, distracting Aslin from her wave hoping only momentarily.

Barnacles hang onto the bottom few feet of the rock walls. Inland a couple hundred feet, Sitka spruce have taken root in the seastack has-beens, moss masking any trace of barnacle colonies. We recommend shoes for climbing either.

Without a guide, you could watch the waves for an hour, and still be unsure the movement of the tide. The best castle sand is found mid range, where the natural water content allows a solid base, and keeps the towers from crumbling before their time.
The beach gods are with us, sending only stray waves to challenge the moat's structural integrity, carrying the bulk of the threat out to sea.
They've been through it all before, the grains. We suspect they lived to the fullest before the eventual crash and crush.

Tomorrow, we'll find our own dear Owlhouse still standing.

home is where the fog lives

2007-08-13T10:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, on one of the Oregon coast's last remaining quiet beaches, we stumbled across the ruins of an elaborate sand village. Today, we plan to build our own along the Washington coast.

5 trillion gallons

2007-08-12T15:32:00.000-07:00

of the bluest water ever. No rivers feed into or flow from Crater Lake. Yet. But geology has a way of shifting over time. Less than 8,000 years ago, Mt. Mazama stood tall in the Cascade range. After about a week of intense volcanic activity, it collapsed in on itself, leaving a caldera marked by steep and even walls. Centuries of precipitation collect, building the 7th deepest lake in the world, 1,943 feet.

The 2,600 mile 37 Pacific Crest Trail includes a 37 mile stretch through the park. In 3 separate hikes, we managed about 7 of those miles. The lake itself sits close to 900 feet below the rim, making the only "legal" (non-injury inducing) access an extremely steep mile hike along a pumice-dust trail. Swimming is allowed, but at a cozy sub-60 degrees, even Aslin limited her experience to toe-dipping.

Annie Creek, fed by springs throughout the canyon, is even more refreshing at 35 degrees. The well insulated Dipper, a chubby little blue-grey bird, seems immune to the chill, pecking through the rocks for caddisfly.

In the wake of Mt. Mazama's collapse, continued volcanic venting formed "fossil fumaroles," vertical columns where hot ash melded with solid rock. A series of 100-foot tall spires stand defiant where the surrounding cliffs have eroded.

Time at the lake and wandering the surrounding meadow and forest were a welcome change of pace after our travel through the southwest. Aslin earned her 6th(?) Jr. Ranger badge and between videos, interpretive trials and camp fire talks we took advantage of a dozen edu-tainment offerings. We are less appreciative of Xanterra, the private company managing the campground in partnership with the park. Apparently concessions are nothing new at the park, one of its original advocates quickly went on to aggressively market and supply gear to visitors, but I haven't seen an operation quite like this. The company that manages the lodge and on-site restaurant is either less capable of or less interested in caring for the camp sites. Sure, no soap and overflowing trash in the restroom is bad, but a lack of policy against collecting fire wood leads to a deficiency more problematic than that or the ridiculously slow site payment procedures.

We didn't come for the run like our neighbor in E-18. Have you seen the Oregon quarter? I can't picture it, but it inspired the man from New Jersey. He packed his tent for air travel and slept on the freezing (literally) ground the night before his second marathon. And speaking of quarters, our supply went towards showers and we were on our way to the ocean before we remembered our intention to get change and return to the camp store for pressed pennies. Bummer. Looks like we'll need to schedule a return. Maybe in the spring, when there's still plenty of snow on the ground.

pacific

2007-08-11T21:22:00.001-07:00

We made it to the ocean. A quick walk on the beach before dark and Aslin said, "ahhh. Smell the memories."

ranchlands

2007-08-07T16:59:00.001-07:00

Is it Montana that has the tourist slogan about a Big Sky? Because that's what I'd say about Nevada. Northwest Nevada, anyway. Last fall, the 800 acres at Touchstone amazed us, an expanse we could spend seasons exploring. The ranches along hwy 80 stretch endlessly, unimaginably vast. We met a herd on the move, stretched across miles of hwy 140. Nine female buckaroos to the one cowboy I counted.

If you're under 12 or over 65, you can fish the Dufurrena ponds for rainbow or cutthroat trout. You can't swim in the ponds, no matter your age. So, about 10 years ago, volunteers dug a swimming hole at Sheldon National Wildlife Refuge. The pool's fed by a warm spring and Aslin assures us it's quite comfortable. Courtesy of the Civilian Conservation Corps, rustic showers are a welcome addition in the dust of high-desert Virgin Valley campground.

Nine hundred square miles of wild habitat and the local feral burros seem to have chosen the area surrounding the camp for their nightlife scene. The fist time I woke, it took a minute for me to realize that the character from my book hadn't found her way to the van to give birth. The kids were breathing ok. There weren't any bears. Just donkeys, singing a call and response of several verses across the top of the van.

Between the frogs, burros and some guy who decided to cruise the area around 6am, it was a night of broken sleep. We carried our morning coffee up the hill, maybe 6,000 ft in elevation. Round, Catnip, Fishcreek and Badger Mountains share a line along the horizon, the mark of an ancient lake. Petroglyphs and petrified logs tell more of the past. It's pronghorn deer and fire opal territory. At seven pounds/per person, we could haul out 28 pounds of gemstones. Assuming we find them lying on the open ground. I suppose it's for the best that we leave empty handed. We don't really want to add to Buttercup's load.

communication

2007-08-05T18:53:00.000-07:00

It's routine. "Double-tall americano, please." Barista follow-up questions can go one of two ways- room for cream? or so, coffee with hot water? The kids at Cowboy Joe know their way around the espresso machine. A local art show, photos of rodeo highlights and downfalls, cattle in the basin complete the western feel. Hang your jacket on the horseshoe rack, the patio out back is glowing warm before 9am.

Along Idaho St., the visitor center at Sherman's Station was closed. The windows of the school were cloudy, but we could see through a crack in the creamery door. I called it the livery, but Aslin wondered why a farm would have a library. Down the road at the NE Nevada Museum, also closed, outdoor exhibits gave clear definitions of stage coaches and mud coaches. An original Pony Express cabin was brought to the property a decade ago. The job announcement stated clearly that "young, skinny, wiry" riders, preferably orphans, could earn $25/week if they'd risk their lives daily as riders on the path from Missouri to California.

At the park, a church group held a bingo fundraiser. We rushed the old-school swing-set. Long chains suspended from a steel frame, primary colors chipping away. A toddler in church clothes ran through the puddle surrounding the merry-go-round. "Mom....mom..." Aslin didn't finish, didn't need to. The flop and cry said it all. Getting tricky on the swings, she somehow flipped forward only to land backward- thankfully clearing the cement buffer that would never meet today's playground codes.

A flyered telephone pole told us of the event. We decided Oregon could wait, and stuck around another day to hear what Barack Obama had to say to the rural communities. Aslin found her breath and we rested before heading to the convention center.

Aslin- "I like. I'm never gonna wash my hand again because he shook it. He said about health care that everyone should have it. He said something about the war not really solving anything. People mostly, I think they really like him and appreciate and admire the way he thinks and makes decisions. He's good at doing speechs and answering questions- seems kind, I was listening and I know that he he is. Well, in my opinion. I like him."

Ukiah- "It seems like he went out of his way to go to a relatively small town- seems like most people would skip that I guess. But it seems important to visit different parts of the country.

He said we spent 200 something million a day in Iraq, but we could use that money on different things- like special education and health care. Somebody asked how he's going to improve medicare. He said that it doesn't make any sense for people who make a billion, or even a million dollars to pay half as much tax as everybody else. There is money for health care and we should work more on disease prevention.

He said that thing about Volvo driving, latte drinking liberals. Something about mining, I don't remember. I thought he totally did not look 35, he looked younger- or maybe it's just because George Bush looks like he's 200. He seemed really smart, supported a lot of things I would support. I think another funny thing he said is that sometimes he thinks people are here because he's so wonderful- but his wife reminds him that not it. They care about the issues.

We had to wait 70 minutes, but it was worth it. I thought the people in front of me were obnoxious- the woman had a big hair-do and was taking a lot of pictures."

The local democrats had their work cut out for them. Overhearing the network of volunteers and rural liberals, the turn out was much larger than expected. Which is encouraging. The audience heard soundbites on all the key domestic issues. Meaningful soundbites. An understanding of immigration and interest to continue learning about water rights and mining. "If Canada were paying $100/hr, we'd be headed to that border." "I haven't signed onto the ___ mining bill, but the law dates to 1872, it probably needs some updates."

Senator Obama wants to bring "common sense and fact" to the White House, to be rid of ideology. He noted that individual citizens don't have federal lobbyists and that the in No Child Left Behind, the "money's been left behind." It was a town hall style meeting, and Obama was comfortable talking to the people. The conversation centered on domestic issues- education, health care, environment, jobs, with the Senator sounding interested and competent on all fronts.

I'd have preferred if he'd closed with his acknowledgement that "change takes time." That as president, he "can't suddenly make everybody's life better, automatically." That we have a mutual responsibility to each other and that we have to overcome our cynicism. "I'll be a president who believes in the constitution." But no. The final words were along the lines that "no president can guarantee that there won't be a need for war." I'm reminding myself of his emphatic belief that "this war should not have been authorized, should not have been waged." Trying to comfort myself with my belief in his 90 minutes of advocacy for early childhood education, wind power, labor unions, national health care, civil liberties and diplomacy. The Senator knows we have to talk and listen to one another, communicate. "In democracy, we have to compromise." I know he's right, I'm just tired, disgusted with what now passes as compromise.

reasons to yodel

2007-08-04T21:21:00.000-07:00

Sparkly. Glittering. Shadowed by low-cast clouds. The same clouds that convinced us to head west, skipping Antelope Island. Past the Morton Salt plant, the Bonneville Salt Flats show signs of aging. Cracks deep into the upper crust. Brad read of the concerns of decreasing salt levels. Not worry for the fly or pufferfish habitat, but fear the racing will suffer.

Before the visitor center, Nevada welcomes travelers with a pair of conjoined casinos. We took the highway under the skybridge and were advised that there were no accommodations in the area. Heart concert and some sort of centennial celebration have Wendover booked solid. Both sides.

If we'd known Elko was home to the Cowboy Poetry Gathering we might have headed here intentionally. Following last night's $10 gambling loss a hash-browns/four-cups-of-coffee breakfast in the casino coffee shop set us right for the day. We toured the library and laundromat. No slots machines at the former, a Maytag free corner dedicated to the sport in the latter.

Behind a web of orange safety netting announcing the sidewalk closure, The Western Folklife Center pulled us in for LL Griffen's Something a Cowboy Knows. A series of portraits that invite faith in ranching life. Capturing the crows-feet of modern cowboys, she leads us to the past. Mad Jack Hanks and the others hold the history of the Bosque, Irish, Paiute and Mexican vaqueros. And the anglicized buckaroos they became.

We dedicated the afternoon to soaking in details of riding skirts and educating ourselves on the advantages of hemp reatas. (They doesn't stretch or rot.) An explanation accompanies a turn of the century photo I'd have taken for a water wheel. Beef wheels, a pre-refrigeration solution to keeping meat fresh for the ranch kitchen. Whole cows were prepared, wrapped in heavy cloth, wet, and raised high above ground. A leverage system allowing cooks, often Chinese, to lower the animal, cutting away the day's dinner supply. Who knew?

A video presentation, Why the Cowboy Sings, opens with cattle calls. Long and short notes, grunts. Calls across the octaves, direct the herds through the seasons. There's a rhythm, a rhyme to the commands, a distinct voice from everyone who "cowboys for a living." The narrator tells us city folks, "You can trust a horse more than a human... A horse will teach you preservation..."

We'd like to order beers and sasperilla, think it over. But the Pioneer Bar is closed. Except in for a week in January when the folklorists, singers, artists, poets, the cowboys, keep it open. 24 hours a day.

Cottonwood

2007-08-02T19:51:00.000-07:00

It could be that salt-licks are too expensive. Or the neighbors just don’t care about the moose. Maybe they do care, or would, but no one’s found time to visit the family cabin in ages. Maybe no one ever planed to visit the tax-shelter, err, cabin. Maybe once the construction currently carving up the mountain results in the planned 12-lot subdivision- retired doctors embracing their mountain-man side will build houses and bring more salt licks into Big Cottonwood Canyon. In the meantime, Avis and Jim seem to have the only yard serving the moose population.

Our new friends know a little something about hospitality. For 25 years, they ran the Silver Fork Lodge, 11 miles into the canyon, a short trip from Brighton or Solitude. Hospitality is a good cup of coffee served with a slice of homemade pie, not serving as the public restroom for anyone too timid for the outhouses in the mountain’s parks. There was no sewer in those days. And given extra precautions called for in the watershed, septic was especially complicated.

The lodge is in different hands these days. It’s added a back deck, full liquor license and along with the ski resorts, A & J and the rest of the neighbors, an elaborate sewer system.

Behind the lodge a quarter mile, we can hear the creek from A & J’s living room window, teasing. Not calling to be played in. This is Salt Lake City’s water. They own it all. Don’t even think of harvesting your own rainwater. No lawns allowed. Dogs by special permit. It's a hikers paradise, with aspen groves brightening the trail even as rain clouds threaten. Or, you can fish Lake Solitude. But do not put your hands in the water. No body parts. And don’t tell the lone Forest Service employee that you didn’t see the signs. He’s suppose to be part of a team, but with approximately half our tax dollars now going to the war on Iraq and other military spending, there’s no money for managing our federal lands and resources. So lend the country a hand. Stop your littering and carry a map you can read. Resist the photo-op and do not set your toddler on the back of a moose. We don’t have the money to pay for the public’s lack of common sense- let alone to invest in outdoor-education. We'll leave that to the non-profits.

The salt-lick sits by a wheelbarrow. Part of the construction effort, a puzzle without benefit of precisely cut pieces. Canyon development has spit up a slew of rocks, plenty to finish the patio. Eventually. Come spring, late spring after the winter’s 10-12 feet of snow melts, the geranium and tea rose will return. And the moose will be back for their mineral supplements.

We left the Mickey Mouse shaped mine dump, Tin Tin books and summer-apple sauce. We are trying to put thoughts of wintering in a snowy area out of mind. We’re on the home stretch, by way of Nevada.

14 + 1:20

2007-07-30T21:21:00.000-07:00

Ukiah celebrated his birthday today. Aslin made a point of reminding him that technically, he wasn't 14 until 8:05pm. In turn, since we marked the wrong occasion, he invited us to celebrate again next week, likely with more strawberry shortcake. Should a unicycle find its way into his near future, it could be an event worthy of raspberry shortcake.

We're 8,000 feet in the mountains collecting stories on the politics of ski resorts, improving our watershed educations and enjoying good company. It's dial-up land, so envision cabins, creeks, wildflowers, vacant chair-lifts, granite, spruce and aspen.

(happy birthday Lia!)

the best part of waking up

2007-07-25T10:39:00.000-07:00

is the sound of rain filtering through the deck floor and splashing to the patio outside my window. Real rain. Not the warm drops that evaporate as soon as the sun considers dismissing the clouds. Real rain. Enough to wash the scent of heat from the asphalt and form pools in the joints where tree branches meet their trunks. Two hours of real rain.

"Isn't it great?!" the rest of us nod in agreement with Ukaih, carry the camera to the neighbor's garden and feel a little home-sick.

It's been a double apricot season for us- Tucson in May and here in Orem a couple weeks ago. If we're lucky, we'll have peaches before our Saturday departure. Unless of course the city's chemical defense against the Japanese beetles has poisoned the fruit. Add to the list...

Advising against vegetable gardening until 2010 because pesticide use has contaminated soil and ground water while endangering beneficial insects - crazy

Horticulture and gardening programs for inmates and their communities- not crazy

Wicket, #2 on the "cute" list

2007-07-23T12:45:00.001-07:00

"I know what the cutest Lego Star Wars guys are.
1- Jawa
2- Ewok
Last is the pig face guy. Oh ya, George Washington."

After breakfast the computer wasn't available. Kyle, six, couldn't play his game yet. With no one else playing, he couldn't even watch, listen or advise. Only one remaining option. We heard about battles and levels and character hair-styles. I read the paper, Brad read his book and we continued our string of conversations on the Founders and the Constitution. Kyle sat between us with announcements of his favorite characters. The true identity of the pig-face guy remains unclear. We're also not sure where Kyle got his song about David Lee Roth.

in the dark

2007-07-21T11:50:00.000-07:00

A triathlete, photochoreographer and Gillian Welsh share a common bond. Each was introduced to a group of teens as part of the Orem Public Library's Teen Read Hidden Treasure program. Ukiah and Aslin agree, the triathlete was, um, a really, like, um, bad, kind of like, um, not good public speaker. Aside from that, we've been really impressed with the library. The library's four wings are set over a green courtyard, with an enclosed bridge joining A/B with C/D. There's a stage for readings and a magical glass window along the west wall. An open design highlights the geometric steel beam architecture. Shelved in the 941.5s- a few Disney and Calvin and Hobbes books. No manga. No librarians familiar with manga. It's a first in the dozens of libraries we've visited. Thoughtfully confused, Ukiah settled in with a Tin Tin collection.

Across 7 continually busy lanes of traffic, the natural foods store is not an easy walk from the library. Tofu dogs, fruit, snacks and kombucha. We carried our short list into a darkened store. Is this a first time power-outage at Harvest Fresh, or just another example of the deficient management/organization we've recognized at every visit to the store. It's a 100 degrees out, way too hot for kick-ball, and no one's moving to insulate the open freezers. Brad stressed, knowing the speciality cheese has about a 20 minute life span in the warmer temperature. He fights the urge to find cardboard and cover the meat cooler and we all wonder why five employees, management included, stand chatting about chocolate in the supplement section. At the register, the cashier asks us the prices of each item.
Cookies- $3.23; Nectarines- $.99/pound, Grapefruit- 2/$1, Hot Dog Buns- $2.69. We run up and down the isles, the floor staff thinks about sweeping. No one greets customers at the door with a pen and paper and request that they record prices.
"$28.63. Does that sound right to you, for what you bought?" Our cashier works with a little calculator and apologizes for the lack of receipt. "If you have any problems with what you buy... I don't know. Bring it back maybe."
We did get a complimentary Utah Truffle on our way out the door. Milk chocolate mint.

Good call on the plan to grill, power's out at the house too. Not on scale with New York's aging infrastructure, but it seems a sub-surface explosion is to blame here too.

The drive to a BYU men's soccer game put us back in air conditioned comfort. Less comfortable were the Cascade Surge who ran a defense-only game from the kick-off. I'm no fan of a 2-3-5 line-up, and it clearly wasn't working for the Salem, Oregon team. The Cougars scored early, ensuring my support of the visiting underdog. In front of me, the family of a home-town mid-fielder adhered to the University standard as stated before the game. "Sportsmanship" on the part of the fans kept foul language out of the stands, replaced by yells of "What the Dickens?" and "Oh my Goodness." Until a particularly unfavorable call by the Hispanic referee. "Are you even watching, Carlos?!" And from across the stands, "Go back to where you came from." I put my powerful evil eye to work and am kicking myself for not letting my well-practiced wicked words answer the dim-witted "what?" of the fan below me. Final score, 2-0 and no moral victory.

After an hour recapping game highlights and processing the ignorance of certain fans, we joined the monster crowd at Barnes and Noble. A spot-on Professor Snape headed the line, powered face looking fabulously sallow after untold hours of waiting. Past the lightening scared-foreheads, in and out of wand range, we headed round to the back of the building with the rest of the gold wrist-banded "PP"-ers. Troops of fans read, snacked and sought victory in impromptu Potter-trivia challenges. By a quarter after midnight, the first books made their way around to us at the end of the line. The "I'm gonna read you all the last page...." joke got old but didn't end, even with line-waiting friends told the pranksters to "stop being gay." Bystanders observations that Walmart had no line did little to convince the B-and-N crowd to abandon the company of their fellow fans. Tortured not by care of Harry's final Hogwarts days but by the ambiance of sitting in the dark by a dumpster, the kids took turns walking to the front, reporting on those who now held the book.
"An old lady was too busy laughing to worry about trapping me between her and a moving truck..."
1:25am and Lia had the Deathly Hallows in hand.

Across the parking lot, readers lined up at Sconecutters 24-hour "scones and fries" drive-thru. I think we'll make strawberry scones this weekend.

a few hours in line

2007-07-21T00:39:00.000-07:00

and we got the new Harry Potter book. And we're tired. Some of us grumpy.

vortex cannon

2007-07-14T09:55:00.001-07:00

Mahonri Young, 1877-1957, sculpted the likeness of Brigham Young based solely on his mother's description. Stories, not photographs or sketches, informed his vision of the grandfather who died the year he was born. A "social realist," Mahonri's art often depicted common laborers, the less noble characters of society. Breaking with such attachment to the value of realism, the BYU powers that be altered Mahonri's portrayal of Brigham Young. After years of advocating against beards and the hippie culture/ideals they represented, in 1969 BYU president Wilkinson moved toward strict dress and grooming codes as part of the university's Honor Code system. By 1971, failure to cut hair or shave could result in suspension with out notice. So, of course, the statue of Mr. Young had to be converted.
(note chisel marks under the chin)

Our chauffeured tour of the BYU campus also included drive-bys of the historic library and new fitness facility.

The Eyring science building has an indoor courtyard that doubles as a mini-science center, with hands-on activities from a number of fields. Light and prism experiments are difficult to see for the under 5-foot crowd, but the space density investigation is easily accessible. Except that it is impossible to lift the 4-inch round of neutron star. After reaching for a hologram dollar and toying with the movement of cat-tails in the wind, the kids discovered the vortex cannon. Angled just so, a well placed shot can reach an unsuspecting parent 100 yards away.

A quick trip through the BYU Museum of Art, where an exhibit of European ballet advertisements and portraits compared divas over generations, was followed by inspection of a reflection pond and eventually, a trip to the Creamery. University agriculture and food science programs team-up to produce a few signature flavors, including the carbonated "sparkle" ice cream.

Finally, the Bean Museum. Home to "Shasta" the liger born at Salt Lake's Hogle Zoo in 1948, a tiny two headed snake and a 22,000 specimen mammal collection. Donald Cox, proud member of the Safari Club, seems to be responsible for most of the wildlife collection , prompting the following conversation:

early 20's guy- "Nice, donated after illegal hunting, I'm sure."

early 20's girl- "Yeah, but a lot are just deer, they reproduce really often."

guy- "Rinos don't."

girl- "That's just what we think because we don't see them every day. But they're not endangered or anything. Africa's a pretty big country, I'm sure they're fine."

The Museum is free and open to the public. We didn't view many of the two-million insects on display, but were most taken with the long-neck Gerenuk of east-Africa, the dozens of tiny Asian and African deer, the long-haired Takin of China and the Alaskan Moose.

a list

2007-07-11T07:42:00.001-07:00

"How is your visit...
Do you think we're all crazy then?"

The neighbor wasn't referencing the "Free Sno-cone" stand her son had set up in the driveway. (In this weather, we all know icy treats are worth a dollar. 50-cents, minimum.) Five years she's been in Utah and her family won't visit. It's not just the expense of traveling from Europe, it's the religion. And she asked again, "So, what do you think of us Mormons, we're not so nuts are we?"

A series of impressions, noticeably void of philosophy or theology.

easily accessible neighborhood parks where soccer and basketballs wait for use by all- not crazy

green lawns in the desert, woman arrested for not watering- crazy

pancake breakfast in the park- not crazy

fireworks/rockets for sale in grocery store, no age requirement- crazy

beautiful city pools and water parks- not crazy

lack of sidewalks and coffee shops- crazy

extensive library offerings including weekday programs for teens- not crazy

Turns out it's a community much like most others.
Green apple sno-cones are better than expected too. And the mountains are stunning.

atrocious grocery, pt 4

2007-07-08T19:12:00.000-07:00

Most disturbing of our pizza mishaps was not the confusion in doubling the recipe. Was that two cups of water? Really, six more cups of flour?

Not the rotten cheese sprinkled over a beautiful pie before we detected the smell.

Not the large pizza baked to perfection, pulled from the oven only to slide, topping side down, to the carpeted floor.

Most distressing was a dairy case encounter with mock-cheese.

Good Day Pizza Topping
shredded imitation mozzarella cheese
Albertsons
Orem, UT
Albertsons preferred-card price, $5.99/ 32 oz.

It's worth noting, this is not a vegan product, nor free of common allergens. It claims to be cholesterol-free. Is that possible when partially hydrogenated oil is the second ingredient? Inquiring minds want to know but Good Day appears to have no web presence.

If only I had a picture to document our eventual triumph in the world of home-made pizza. With real cheese.

worth getting out of the car

2007-07-06T08:24:00.000-07:00

July 4th is prime season for outdoor recreation. Raft traffic on the Provo River was heavy. Parking lots flowed on to the highway. Further up the mountain the crowds thinned some, our roadside views of Robert Redford land mostly unobstructed. Sundance is as dreamy as you might suspect- meadows and cabins and forests of pine and aspen. We trust starry-eyed accounts of the renowned outdoor theater and wouldn't mind visiting for the wine festival. If only the the preserve were looking for WWOOFers we might work our way into symphony tickets. Alas.

On up the road into the Uinta National Forest we "ohh-ed" and "aww-ed" at distant patches of snow. Aslin and her cousin were reluctant to leave the car. One because parade marching with a saxophone is exhausting, the other because she doesn't like hiking, never has enough energy for it and isn't strong enough. "I don't want to complain, so you shouldn't ask me to do it," she reasoned. (This despite last week's rock climbing determination and love.)

A mile up the American Fork Canyon, we hit First Falls, not ideal for climbing or wading, but perfect for throwing rocks if you didn't want to hike in the first place.

Still miles from Timpanogos Summit, we hit the second falls and a wonderland of moss. A two-second toe test of water temperature relayed alpine frosts and kept Aslin and I balancing on the rocks.

Downhill, easier than up, allowed for the possibility that the hike wasn't so bad after all. Our first cactus-free hike in about 5 months.

SLC potpourri

2007-07-05T12:05:00.000-07:00

Peanuts in the shell

Walt Disney

Taking out the garbage

School Prayer

1-4, in that order. Ukiah's ranking for his hand of selections from Personal Preference's categories: food and drink, people, activities, and potpourri. Predicting none of his preferences correctly, I didn't move ahead on the board.

In Orem, outside SLC, we've spent days playing games, digging in sand, swimming at the neighborhood pool, meeting friends, and talking, talking, talking with my step sister and the cousins.

Our first tour of Provo, a failed quest for a coffee shop, ended in mall theater with Shrek the Third followed by a lobby photo op with the Simpson's. Yesterday, we missed the 7am dedication of the neighbor's new flag, despite an invitation complete with delivery of a dozen doughnuts, but made our second trip to Provo for the Freedom Parade. Lia's marching band was near the end, providing plenty of time to people watch and listen.

Young mom to younger children, "Look, it's the soldiers with their guns! (squeal) They have army trucks and shoot, shoot, shoot to keep us safe!"

"These colors don't run" stretched across a family of t-shirts in front of us.

The blond and bloated local news team waved from a jeep and the city of Lindon worked to lure us to their Celebration Days with a promise of "sugar and spice and everything nice" as demonstrated by girls waving from a purple float with a unicorn.

From sun drenched blankets set across the street from Cleo's White Moments, home of wedding and baptism gowns, we sympathized with the high school color guard marching in turquoise dresses worn over long black pants and sleeves. The herd of lamas, several bagpipe bands, a giant Garfield balloon and the Wicked Witch of the West brought the displays of military propaganda to an almost tolerable ratio. Lia's band, slated last due to a cross-town rivalry(?), was fantastic. More impressive then the Red Cross stretch-Hummer and at least as entertaining as the Kentucky Fried Chicken float.

The sound of the closing cannon was a sharp reminder of the multiple meaning of "freedom". We miss the nude cyclists of Seattle's Solstice parade and can't help but think next year's Provo parade would be much livelier if campaigning politicians were advised to demonstrate their commitment to freedom by either bicycling the entire parade route, replacing their star-spangled shirts and ties with body paint or limiting the scope of corporate infiltration of the event.

Our Fourth was rounded out by an afternoon hike deserving of it's own blog post and evening fireworks in the cul-de-sac and a brilliant hill top view of BYU's Stadium of Fire.

Earlier this week, we connected with Seattle friends for what we later recognized was an inspiring "reason to return home" type-visit. Our whirl-wind tour of SLC hosted by former-resident Bryan, opened at Salt Lake Roasting Company . After veggie lasagna, apricot torte and fantastic coffee roasted on-site, we headed to a city gem. Gilgal Gardens is a backyard showcase of the faith and ego inspired folk art of Thomas Child. In 1945 he began work on the 13 sculptures that "give physical form to his deep-felt beliefs." The garden, a secret treasure loved by high-school kids from across the county, recently saved from demolition, was preserved as a park in 2000.

Our tour continued with a stop at the weeping tree of heroine park and a walk through Temple Square. The Salt Lake Temple is a site to behold, fantastic architecture with details depicting the phases of the moon set amongst green lawns, fountains and symmetrical gardens. The visitor's centers offer education on the history of the Church of Jesus Christ of Later Day Saints and glimpses of westward expansion in the pioneer days. Greeters and tour guides wear name tags with the flags of the countries of origin- Italy, Australia, Mexico, Kenya. In the universal Jesus round room, we heard the words of the son-of-God in german and english.

If you're looking for dinner, the Rio Grande Cafe, housed in a historic train station (?), has impressive restrooms and an unreliable juke box. Vegetarians be advised, the rice, beans and enchilada sauce are made with chicken and/or lard. Ukiah highly recommends the guacamole burrito and Aslin appreciates the root beer refills. A drawing and caption version of the game telephone kept us at the table an extra hour and still we didn't hear Aslin's musical selection. Sweet Home Alabama. Amanda deserves a refund.

An ice cream night cap at Squirrel Brother's turned into dessert-theater in the parking lot as an unknown teen insisted his friends, including the employee with an arm cast, fight him. They declined. Adding insult to injury, they took his keys, insisting that they couldn't let him drive in that mood.

$76 billion

2007-07-01T22:32:00.000-07:00

is up for grabs in this year's Farm Bill.

That's 76 billion- with a "B"

So even if we grant Charles Schwab a half-million for his private duck-hunting club "rice farm" and pay Scottie Pippen and Ken Lay to manage their "conservation lands," there should be plenty left to invest in sustainable farming methods and operations.

As much as I'd like to write about the importance of impeaching our criminal vice president, this week I'm banging my head on the wall for a different cause.

This past year, we Owlhouse-ians picked green beans in the freezing rains, evil eyed carrot-eating deer, harvested thousands of pounds of potatoes, planted cucumber seeds to the second knuckle and sheltered berries from sun and storm. The farmers we worked with are land stewards, cultural historians, nutritionists, inventors, musicians, educators and healers. Not to mention they're responsible for some of the best food we've ever eaten. Chews Wise has a terrific post outlining the proposed investment in organic farming. You don't have to have goat-milking experience to recognize the importance of federal support for organic practices.

At Mulch Blog, The Environmental Working Group will keep you up to date. Organic Farming Research Foundation has everything else you need to know.

So sign the petition already.

It's not them, it's us

2007-06-28T19:23:00.001-07:00

Arches is popular with the mountain bike crowd, but we recommend it for boldering. Concern of dusty butts or twisted ankles could not slow our scrambling. Aslin, in a skirt, prompted comment from a teen boy far below. "Do you see that little girl?!?" He would not let his daughter climb "up there." Clearly, he's never had a daughter to try and stop. Overhearing, Brad assured him of her experience and self-confidence plus her mother's assistance if needed. Half an hour later, the boy was asking us for the best footing up, calling to his friend that he would rate the climb a "4". Aside from the heat, we give a solid 9.5.

We didn't hike to the historic ranger station/tea room a few miles from Lake Louise. And we were just 5 hours from Yosemite when the transmission failed. The Grand Canyon is one the 7 wonders of the modern world, but we missed it. Along with Havasu Falls where life may have originated. Everywhere we go, everyone we meet has a suggestion. Not just a passive, "if you're going this way..." but a firm belief in a site that should not be missed. And we respect these opinions. To that point that we're keeping a journal on destinations for future trips.

But it's a big country. With big western states. It might be an entirely different adventure in a another car, but it's not. And our '84 Westy isn't the only member of our party who doesn't take well to the heat. By noon it's too hot to climb rocks that haven't been shaded since the evening before. So, we're doing what we can. And that's all right with us. Because we plan to travel in the future.

On the other hand, we did meet some women from Georgia who told of the bluegrass festival at Tulluride. And we have fond memories of the two weeks we sang Pete Seeger songs along with Mendel. And before that, we spent a couple afternoons trying toanswer Fabian's questions about our branches of government, specifically the question of Bush's re-election. Then there was the time we helped Gene orient a "juvenile delinquent" for his community service project. Experiences we'd never find recommended in a travel book and couldn't have been directed to, even by locals. Please recognize this as a convoluted justification for our missing the surely magnificent, Canyonlands.

(look closely)

This time around, we needed elevation, the water and cool that come with it. Little did we know that cool becomes cold some time after 10 pm. Not Joshua Tree in February cold, but freezing none the less. It seems unrelated, but Scofield Reservoir is home to about 3 billion prairie dogs. The kind of critter who was cute before we learned the potential nightmare of rodents in the van. With no door handle, we opt to keep the slider open as much as possible. We left the four inch gap to watch dragonflies at the wetlands and would have been back sooner if we hadn't lost shoes in the stinking, tar-pit, quick-mud around the lake. This gap comes to mind as I wake every 15 minutes, freezing to the soundtrack of all-night semi-truck traffic. A plague-ridden critter could be hiding in the van, looking for granola. The 9am sun finally brought comfort.

I'm not sure anyone (Luther?)specifically recommended Utah's Manti-La Sal Mountains, but we appreciate them all the same. Serene lakes, flowing streams, and a dozen shades of green have me considering taking up fishing.

hot hot hot

2007-06-27T08:46:00.000-07:00

At Arches, we met some travelers who just left 113 degree Phoenix. Which makes us sympathize with our Tucson friends...

Here in Moab, it's closer to 100. The freezer at The Lazy Lizard Hostel is ancient. Our ice cream liquefied but still made decent root beer floats. Rotary Park on Mill Creek has shade trees and green grass to bring the temperature down a bit. An array of outdoor instruments by FreeNotes makes it even cooler.

Another source of inspiration to carry home with us.

hovenweep +

2007-06-26T08:11:00.000-07:00

Cortez is more than the sad story we shared earlier. There's a charming Saturday morning farmers market, great coffee at the Spruce Tree House and easy access to rivers and rocks, some of our favorite natural wonders. Thanks to Micheal, Rani and Griffen for sharing their home and great travel tips.

Back roads out of Cortez took us through farm and range land, where a couple of renegade/entrepreneurs have planted vineyards. In her kitchen/tasting room, we chatted with Ruth Guy. Water rights, the neighbor's habit of dumping his tractor oil and the "kiss of death" that comes with labeling your wine organic and their hope to grow sustainably with out being marginalized. We recommend the Riesling and Cabernet Franc.

Of the ruin sites in the four-corners area, Hovenweep remains the only excavated site. At Little Ruin Canyon, we camped with the host, rangers, ravens and lizards. The 11 sites still standing in and around the canyon feel like a neighborhood. Everywhere you turn, another 700 year old building. Square tower sits alone on the canyon floor, as if directing the the seep and run off waters. Above, the sage and juniper grow from patches of dark earth, the only mesa top soil I've seen that actually looks farm-able. The larger Hovenweep site extended for miles, with clusters of D-shaped, oval and right-angled structures. Best estimates show the community thriving for 20 years before traveling south.

"It's kind of an unappealing name for a town. Don't you think?" Checking the map a few days earlier, Ukiah commented on Blanding, Utah. I defended it too soon. From our tour of the highway and a few side streets, it seems to be an aging mobile home community with more recent cookie-cutter with brick facade garage in-fill. To be fair, we only passed through the town. Appreciated the outdoor sculpture garden, but didn't even pay the $6/family fee to look inside Edge of the Cedars State Park/Museum.

We didn't stop for Hole in the Rock and its road-side attraction "zoo"- but the sheer size of Wilson Arch had us pulling over along side tourists from at least six states. Past the mountain of trash at the edge of the pull-out, red rock aims for the sky. Along side a German family, we climbed, crawled and scooted our way the the hollow. Ukiah swore the view from the other side was not to be missed. With bare feet on hot rock, I passed him the camera.

FYI- Thinking of relocating? Please don't consider the new subdivision seizing this immediate area. Sure, from your traditional stucco southwest style or modern-rustic log cabin you'd have a geologic wonder for a back yard, but...

versions of history

2007-06-23T15:26:00.000-07:00

The Hohokum, Mogollon, and Anasazi. Before our time in the southwest, we weren't familiar with these ancestral people. Traveling through Arizona, New Mexico and Colorado, we've collected the stories told by art books, park rangers, catholic priests, native elders, anthropologists, historians and hippies. It's an incomplete education. Some claim the disappearance of the ancients. That drought or depleted resources or war lead to their demise. That by about 1300, the basketmakers and potters and farmers and hunters who migrated through and eventually settled the area, vanished.

Wait. Not true. They moved south, away from agriculture in a return to hunting and gathering. There were no Anasazi anyway. That's a Navajo word- something akin to "others" or "enemy". Why should people who showed up just before the Spanish name the Puebloan ancestors? Puebloan? Those are Hopi and Zuni ancestors, not just Puebloan.

The cliff dwellers are some of "the most peaceful people ever to walk the earth." But there is some evidence of cannibalism. And, for the record, they're "alcove communities" not cliff dwellings.

The carvings along Petroglyph Trail are interpreted as a linear story, the histories of the people who made them is anything but.

For now, the certainties tell us that approximately 800 years ago, some 50,000 people lived in the greater 4-Corners area. Climate, threat, advancing architectural skills, the Creator- something- led them to take residence in the alcove beneath the mesas.

Some lived in single family units while others lived in communities with streets and 100+ rooms.

The round, sunken kiva structures were ceremonial, not typical family units.

Windows and doors were aligned to allow for the light of specific stars or planets.

Planted above the cliffs, dry farmed (non-irrigated) corn, beans and squash comprised 70% of the food sources with 15% gathered and the rest hunted.

Water from the mesa top took 20-30 years to filter through layers of canyon sandstone, eventually delivering up to 6 gallons/minute to alcove seep springs.

There are about 600 dwellings at Mesa Verde. We had access to three, saw more across the canyons and are awed by the presence of the rest. The sites have been protected by the federal government for 101 years. Not long enough to stop the Swedish archaeologist who exported dozens of artifacts or locals who used dynamite to remove walls blocking their access to pottery. There's speculation that ranchers may have pulled juniper beams from the roofs, for firewood.

For all the unknowns, Mesa Verde remains spectacular. Grounding.

the 100 pictures

2007-06-21T17:10:00.001-07:00

we took at Mesa Verde do not capture the ingenuity, architecture, power or history of the cliff dwellings or their people. They can't answer our questions of society, nature, spiritually and where they intersect. Still, I can't imagine our images from inside Cliff Palace and Balcony House or cross-canyon views of other alcove communities will gather much dust.

We're hoping for an early start tomorrow, a visit to Spruce Tree House, fingers in the steep springs, time to breathe and consider.

continental x4

2007-06-20T08:23:00.001-07:00

Past the earthships, deep into the dry mesa lands, lies a different sort of "off the grid" community. The houses are built of old dryers, crates and partially buried cars. Scrap materials from who knows where. Inside information tells of a division "out there"- artists on one side and gun-toting, tattooed-face bikers on the other. If we go out, we might be invited to visit with someone. But we should be careful. And we probably shouldn't try to take the Volkswagon out, unless we have 4-wheel drive. We don't. That would require a Syncro and surely even more repairs than a standard Westy. So north we go, though Carson National Forest, a majestic back drop for our drive-time entertainment tale of witches, scholars and other worlds.

On our way towards Pagosa Springs, the town claiming the largest, deepest, hottest spring in world, we took Buttercup across the Continental Divide for a fourth time. Unfortunately the renowned spring is fenced against trespassers, preserving the source for an expanding resort community. If there are undeveloped pools up in the hills, the town isn't telling. Centuries ago, the Spanish battled the Natives for control of the spring's healing waters. We made space for a man with a 7-11 cup, collecting water from a tiny river-side spring. If I hadn't been watching the rafters while explaining to Aslin that we were not going to the theater across the street and watch Shrek, I might have asked if he planned to drink the sulfer-smelling water.

Past the archaeological site at Chimney Rocks we toured the privileged town of Durango. Set below the mountains along a river with a historic rail line running though, Durango's well aware of it's position in the western-town hierarchy. Historic buildings, successful mining, an art community, wind-powered brewery, the bed and breakfasts here might out number the residents. Just outside town, we camped at Lightner Creek where a 24 acre camp ground is for sale. Priced just under three million.

Three cheers for the 1,100 residents of Mancos! Residents of this mainly dirt road community sponsor an annual Renaissance festival and a fantastic bakery. Vegetarian, wheat-free and organic meals and treats are available at The Absolute Bakery and Cafe, across the street from the river.

Outside the charming river-rail town of Dolores, where the single grocery store stocks bulk grains and local produce, we've camped out with another great family. We really appreciate the wisdom of their ranger years and lessons they've shared of the Anasazi people, lands and ruins. We're currently praying that we have not passed on Ecoli or cryptosporidium or any other contaminated well water germs we may have picked up. (We were fine when we arrived, and three of us still are... fingers crossed.)

I'm feeling better at the moment. All most well enough to write the sad story of Cortez. Legend has it a well drilled in the center of town found no water. And a century ago town officials opted to pass on the rail option for fear of introducing "liberal elements" to the area. Eventually, The McPhee Dam and Reservoir Project, aimed at bringing more water to town, sparked a 7-year archeology project, uncovering 1600 sites in the immediate area. At the Anasazi Heritage Center, we visited two.

H2O

2007-06-16T04:59:00.000-07:00

It seems like you'd feel the effects of drinking bad water pretty quickly, say within 24 hours. So we should be in the clear. It was Thursday afternoon, a few hours before the community pot-luck, when Jeremiah mentioned that flooding of the acequia brought water in to the well-house, contaminating the water. He'd never found animals or their droppings in the house and thought we should be fine. Just wanted to inform us.

Much of our work here at New Buffalo has been dedicated to building the two wonders of the composting world. Thursday morning, in the shadow of the first pile, the walls of the second collapsed as we tried to square it. Wood chips. Their thirst requires endless time with the hose. Time which could be spent shoveling manure and bringing over the next wet bale of straw. I went to the acequia for buckets of water. There'd been some trouble and plenty of talk about the water. Water rights are a hot topic, a point of conflict that has sprouted books and major motion pictures. Here, the acequia didn't start running the day it should have. The ditch walls need repair. No, the ditch needs widening. The water flooded a corner of the greenhouse. A break in the wall creates a wetland for a young grove of drought tolerant trees. Yesterday's wall retrofit protects the adobe that sits five feet from the irrigation ditch, on lower ground. Maybe we should turn the water off. No, better to let it run over the land. If we don't use it, they'll take it away. The people in Seco will be really mad if we just let the water go back to the river, wasted. Five-gallons at a time, carefully, I pull water from the channel to the compost until it's time for planting.

Following Machei's lead, we planted cucumber and squash in a double square pattern, gardening French-intensive style. Until we noticed water flowing into the sunflower bed. We grab shovels. Our work to contain the too rapid current is interrupted by down-stream David of the straw bale mansion. Do we know that we're creating too much dirt in the water, hurting his fish pond? The acequia gate isn't supposed to be open all the way. He gestures, laughs angrily. Our ditches aren't fully operational. For thirty minutes he talks as the three of us who know nothing of the water system continue shoveling. He, semi-long term resident now being negatively impacted by too much water, doesn't go up the hill and correct the flow himself. We later learn that a day earlier he told Aslin and the Buffalo girls they couldn't play on his trampoline. Because even if they did play with his kids, it wouldn't be in their hearts.

Plenty of characters around. We hiked to some hot springs along the Rio Grande with a kinder, more interesting person. Between wild roses and river willow, carefully avoiding nettles, we walked along the Rio Hondo, eyes open for petroglyphs. A waterfall, not there when we walked a couple days ago and never before seen by the locals we accompanied, thundered down the cliff. Could it be the mismanaged water? Five of us worked our way across the branches littering the base of the falls. One of us, who against advice opted not to wear shoes, lost his right flip flop. Had we known it was another two-miles to the springs, we'd have turned back. The warm pool was swarmed by little green flies, the cool by mosquitoes. We relaxed none the less, resting before the steep path of lava rock up from the gorge followed by a long walk home.

We'd given in to our need for rest and were headed for a shade tree when Manzie thumbed a ride from three fisherman. Seven of us piled in the back of their pick-up, counting our blessings. A fine story to narrate over dinner shared with the family who welcomed us here.

It's been great. Thanks to Nyna, Machei, Madrone, Manzie, Magnolia, and all at New Buffalo.

Vices

2007-06-11T17:33:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure what the Virgin Mary has to say the topic; didn't ask when we visited the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi and the oldest representation of the Madonna in the US. The statue came to Santa Fe from Spain in 1625, was saved during a Pueblo revolt against the mission in the 1680's, and over the years has been called the Queen and Patroness of the ancient kingdom of New Mexico, Our Lady of the Rosary and La Conquistadora. (So now we've seen the oldest Marian shrine and that with the highest number of representations of Mary.)

After hours exploring the city- church and grounds, plaza and antique car show, library and countless gallery windows, we began a quest for the refreshments that would see us through the evening- ice cream and coffee. A little deli advertised both- Haagan Dazs and espresso but disappointed with their selection and clientele. Another tour round the city center and we found a well-pulled, single, iced americano at the Father Sky-Mother Earth Gallery where we shared an enlightening political/history conversation with a guy who recommended a gelato shop back across the plaza. We passed on the black sesame and strawberry-habenero in favor of lemon-basil, raspberry and the classic vanilla. Thumbs up for the shop I can't name. It's across the street from the library, several blocks from Georgia O'Keeffe's Grey Blue and Black- Pink Circle. Still processing O'Keeffe's blue sky as seen through pelvic bones, we would have bypassed the Museum of Fine Arts if it we're for the busker. "It's free and we have snacks. Let me say it again, it's free and we have snacks." She pointed the way to the cheese and grapes and we did an abriviated tour of the How the West is One exhibit.

"I'm not sure I can handle a hostel," Ukiah warned us. After camping a few nights in the hard wind, the comfort of a hostle, if it's anything like the horrid Eugene hostle, is nothing to look forward to. To our relief, the Mercedes shrine/SF hostel surpassed our expectation. Three meals culled from Whole Foods and Trader Joe's rejects, a gift of Channel sun glasses for Aslin, directions to hot springs and an multiple cups of J Garcia cherry tea made for an entertaining stay.

It's no small miracle to find a brewery that does root beer. Eske brewpub in Taos isn't concerned with sugar ruining their lines for future beer production. It's not quite as spicy as the kids would like and we found the chili beer a bit muted too. The vegetarian green-chili stew carried the flavor of the afternoon, a recipe we'd like to recreate. A second mixed review, Cafe Tazza serves a fine short americano with an unfortunate double shot of attitude. And since I left my brand-spanking new sun hat, I have to go back. At least they serve Cafe Vita, helping me feel at home!

Arroyo Seco is home to Taos Cow, maker of a remarkable version of a standard flavor. Strawberry. Aslin opted for a berry-malt-oreo cone and Brad and I recommend the cafe ole- with a touch of cinnamon and chocolate. Sitting by the river, we ate, played and considered how similar this little town feels to Makawao, Maui.

The Rio Grande doesn't serve coffee, beer or frozen treats. We love it all the same.

Driving through the earthship community, we saw all too many Range Rovers parked next to the tire and earth walls. And then there was the stretch Hummer. Really. Passive solar, water harvesting, grey-water reclaiming and it we found ourselves in the midst of an upper-class subdivision. Word from the inside tells a story of concerns with tires leaching energy and potential toxins while the developer borrowed against homes with out informing buyers. If you'd like to learn more for yourself, a half-hour consultation is available for $100. The bubble was burst but reblown in meeting a home owner/builder who took 8 years to build a hybrid-ship. A spectacular kitchen that I'm sure could brew fine coffee.

here we go again.

2007-06-10T22:11:00.000-07:00

Yet another fantastic place we could easily see ourselves spending a stretch of time. It seems that beauty and friendship are around every corner. Reports on the garden, earthships, ice cream and --New Buffalo tomorrow.

touring new mexico

2007-06-07T14:12:00.000-07:00

North of Ruidoso Downs, we made a quick stop in Capitan, home of Smokey the Bear. I thought this fire or the carbon of a similar forest incident was behind the Valley of Fire. Nope, lava flow dates to well over a thousand years before the little cub was rescued.

Driving into a thunderstorm towards an unknown destination can cause clenched fists. Which was all for the best as gale force winds aimed to transform Buttercup into the hot air balloon she's always dreamed of becoming.

Two personal recommendations, a listing in the tourist book and it's the Owl Bar and Cafe. We had to stop. It's a diner of another era, small-boothed, wood and dollar paneled with an eight item menu. The green chili burgers are the attraction. The grilled cheese, not available with the home stewed chillies, are not. Our waitress unloaded a week's worth of stories. The credit card machine is down. Last time this happened, they lost power and the boss made them stay 3 hours past closing. The same boss who just earlier today called her "stupid"- you see what she has to put up with?

Kenny warned that the house was dirty, that the place was a mess. First in an email, next over the phone. This fact wasn't mentioned a couple weeks ago when we were initially arranging to visit. Over the historic rail tracks, across the Rio Grande, a few miles down a distressing dirt road, past the remains of ranches long divided, along a pile of trash not burned, and into the Saltcedar . Kenny says they were brought in for erosion control, maybe in the late teens? The wispy flowers require more water than the Bureau of Land Management would like to share with the first welcome immigrant, now invasive species. The first official letters came years ago, when Kenny and his 7 acres were still housing an old ranch hand who at 85, had been turned off the land he worked for half a century by the heirs of a long established estate. These are pueblita lands. In an empty Folgers plastic-gallon, Kenny's collected shards. Concave bits of pottery, decorated in black and white. The ghosts of the silver and turquoise mining days are alive and well, booms carry over the sands. Letters from the BLM spell an alternate plan for the area. No more amature archeology or small scale farming. The Rio will flood someday, and it'd be in everyone's best interest to guide the flood waters away from the city. With the cedars removed, the land should return to it's swamp form, closer resembling it's pre-dam state. So maybe this threat of removal contributes to Kenny's allowance of the "mess".

The government hasn't moved in yet. This spot just north of Socorro is still home to chickens, a small garden, budding orchard, an old bottle-filled Blazer perfect for target practice, and free-range peacocks. One loud peacock who calls in the night, lonely for his mate and/or the egg his neighbor duck is fostering. Insects hold a collective memory of this former wetland and after decades in the desert, continue to refuse relocation.

Old Route 66 runs through downtown Albuquerque. We fed the meter $2.05 and took a few hours to explore. At the downtown library Aslin read Oddly Normal and we found that high speed internet does not mean the same thing to all people. JC's NY Pizza offers a "Joey's bag of doughnuts" calzone, ricotta, mozzarella, pepperoni and mushrooms or, as we selected, a double slice lunch special.

Last night we settled just outside Santa Fe where Friday nights offer free museum hours. Two words. Georgia O'keeffe. Assuming we survive another night of New Mexico winds searching for their long lost ocean, we'll head into town tomorrow.

10,886 to go

2007-06-06T11:41:00.000-07:00

Ruidoso Downs, 5/28-6/4

At the intersection of playing in the mud and sustainable building, just off Hwy 70, lies the base of a compressed-earth-block shop. In India, Habitat for Humanity uses a manual press to form the bricks. Here, Luther's used a mechanized version, built by a conservitive father-son team and powered by a bio-diesel tractor, to form over 3,000 block so far. Brad and Luther set the first line of bricks, 114. When all is said and done, the truces will be hoisted onto the 11,000 brick structure.

Surprisingly, Aslin didn’t opt for a swim in the Rio Ruidoso. Luther and Amanda have a great little spot along the river. If the neighbor kids don’t chop any more willow, I’m predicting a hammock sanctuary by fall.

Lesson of the week- Basil germinates with a satisfying quickness. The pollinator blend from Seeds of Change may take a little longer. Ideally, the borage, millet and butterfly weed will ease the hummingbird’s nectar habit. Extra bonus if the seeds step into a cover crop role, defending young apple trees from horehound and the ever pesky thistle. Safe from deer and dogs, the radishes are raising themselves from the ground. A dense patch of baby cabbage makes a strong case against planting in strong New Mexico winds. Walls of water shield a tomato crop sure to encourage more of Luther’s hand made ravioli. There’s a good chance we’ll meet this garden again, in a few years when the asparagus has settled in.

It’s a little overcast. Nothing ominous like yesterday’s break from 80-degree weather that delivered hail to the fragile celery starts, but the blue sky is broken, shading sections of the hills on either side of us. So ends our week at Ruidoso Downs’ Blue Tube Farm and (recently fenced!) dog park. Or as we like to call it, our second Craig’s List Miracle.

Many thanks to Luther, Amanda and the animals for agreeing to host us months later than expected!

Lost and Found

2007-06-03T16:01:00.000-07:00

And while we're making lists...

Lost
3 flip flops- Idaho/Cambria,California(?)
1 wool blanket- Millet, Alberta
2 rings- Coeur d'Alene, Idaho
1 jar of Ukiah's special chili powder- Carstairs, AB
1 New Mexico map- (Arizona?)
2 stainless bowls- parking lot, Idaho
2 socks (not a pair)- laundromat, California
1 soccer ball- Cambria, California
1 skateboard- Tucson, Arizona
1 necklace- hotel, California
1 water bottle- California (?)
1 Bonsai potato- Tuscon, Arizona
1 sweater- Stone Curves, Tucson, Arizona
1 glass measuring cup- ?
1 tea cup- Alamogordo, New Mexico
2 bags parsnips and beets- Lake Okanagan, BC
1 DS game, Metroid Prime- Sacramento, CA
1 mechanical pencil- (?)

Lost and Found
10 cords (camera, ipod, computer, phone, game boy... ) and 1 very precious coffee pot- Mayerthorpe, Alberta
1 atlas- Ruidoso Downs, New Mexico
--keys, wallets, lip balm, sun screen, books, clothes box lid, bottle opener, glasses, hats and gloves, watch
----sleep, appetite, hope, confidence, fear, sense of humor

Found
friends, pretty rocks, books, amaryllis bulbs, recipes, copper charm, tee shirts, Mr. Deity, skills, cat toy, inspiration, poison oak remedies, beautiful landscapes...

Lincoln National Forest, New Mexico

A few months of reading

2007-06-02T22:21:00.001-07:00

A version of this book list, has been sitting in a draft file, waiting patiently to be linked to the larger world.

It's a source of debate, but the L and A homestead library likely outweighs the Wolf oven that baked this morning's cinnamon rolls. A collection of bird books, 10 feet of well-used cook books, a growing department of construction/engineering/design titles and double-shelved rows of fiction indicate many things. Most importantly, it looks as though a visit to Ruidoso Downs will result in the quadrupling of our own must read book list. (Proper inspiration to bring this list to light!)

nora-
Little House on a Small Planet, Shay Salomon
How to be Good and A Long Way Down, Nick Hornby
The Distinguished Guest, Sue Miller
Women in the Material World, Faith D'Aluisio & Peter Menzel
The Math Instinct: Why You're a Mathematical Genius (Along with Lobsters, Birds, Cats, and Dogs), Keith Delvin
Total Yoga, Tara Fraser
Waxwings, Jonathan Raban
Jesus Land, Julia Scheeres
The Homework Myth: Why Our Children Get Too Much of a Bad Thing, Alfie Kohn
Babbitt, Sinclair Lewis
Healing Wise, Susan Weed

brad-
Snobbery, Joseph Epstein
Fish Lips, Andy Lochrie
Bait and Switch and Nickled and Dimed Barbara Ehrenreich
Global Woman: Nannies, Maids and Sex Workers in the New Economy, Barbara Ehrenreich and Arlie Hochschild
Assassination Vacation, Sara Vowell
The Man in the High Castle, Philip K. Dick
Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides
Kitchen Confidential, Anthony Bourdain
Time and Again, Jack Finney
Dark Imaginings, Robert Boyer

ukiah-
Rolling Stone
Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy, Restaurant At the End of the Universe, Life, the Universe & Everything, and So Long, and Thanks for all the Fish; Douglas Adams
Antarctica, Peter Lerangis
Abarat, Clive Barker
Dark Lord of Derkholm, Diana Wynne Jones

aslin-
Pinky Pyeand Ginger Pye, Eleanor Estes
Stone Soup magazine
The Cat Lady, Damien Graves
Ella Enchanted, Gail Carson Levine
Misty of Chincoteague, Marguerite Henry
Witch,Elizabeth Lenhard
BFG and The Witches, Roald Dahl

Enjoyed by two or more members of the owlhouse-
Criminal, Ed Brubaker & Sean Phillips
The Giver, Lois Lowry
Milkweed, Jerry Spinelli
The Stupidest Angel: A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror, Christopher Moore
NeverWhere, Neil Gaiman
Sisters Grimm #01: The Fairy-Tale Detectives, Michael Buckley
Anthills of the Savannah, Chinua Achebe
The Westing Game, Ellen Raskin
The Squirrel Mother, Megan Kelso
Let's Go Roadtripping USA on a Budget
Fast Food Nation, Eric Schlosser
Ishmael, Daniel Quinn
Sagas of the Canadian West, Frank Anderson

This trip's earlier reads have not been linked, but selections will be personally reviewed upon request!

Yeee haw!

2007-05-31T13:13:00.000-07:00

Welcome to real cowboy country. We're driving down the road near the Billy the Kid Casino when Nora says we should go check it out.
That big casino? Ok then. Upon entering however we are easily distracted by the horse race track. We are surprised to find standing is free, and watch a few races. Tractors prepare the race course to be trampled on as a truck drives the starting gate to the appropriate place. We stand so close to the course that Aslin and I are splattered with dirt as the horses charge past us. The horses we bet on, Back by Fact and Show me the Policy, (the only woman jockey, #8, pink) get 2nd and 3rd place - That's bad luck.

A friendly lizard apparently knew its way back to where it was found, it walked on my hand the whole way. We looked in the field guide and think it might be a tiger salamander.
-Ukiah

I just met 4 of the greatest dogs ever, Tycho, Anise, Ouzel, and Brie. Tycho and Anise are boys and Ouzel and Brie are girls. Anise is the oldest. Tycho and Ouzel are about the same age and Brie is HUGE but she is just a puppy (the youngest). When Brie is done drinking she will come and drool on you (I know what you are thinking, that's nasty, and yes it is). Anise loves to lie right up on the back door, blocking the dog door is his way of controlling the other dogs. Tycho is a cutie for sure and we love him. We took the dogs for a walk and he got really exited and tried to bite off his leash. Last but not least, Ouzel is the most hyper of all the dogs. On our walk she could run forever! The dogs are all one big bucket of fun.

Aside from the dogs, Luther is a great cook he can make the best french bread, from scratch. Amanda is a wonderful veterinarian she can really do her job, I know because I went to work with her. Plus she is really good at teamwork, working with other people to shave dogs, do surgery and clean teeth. by-Aslin

white sands

2007-05-28T08:59:00.000-07:00

If you're looking to film a snow/desert segment for your upcoming feature film, we suggest White Sands National Monument. In the Tulorosa Basin, low between the San Andres and Sacrament mountains, Lake Lucero collects spring run-off and monsoon tides. No rivers run from the lake. Slow evaporation and ground absorption allow for an unusual mineral concentration. Seasonally the lake recedes, exposing selenite crystals to substantial southwest winds. Gypsym sands blow through the basin, moving the 275 square miles (largest white sand dune int he world!) of dunes up to 30 feet annually.

Near the end of the eight mile park drive, a recreation area is dedicated to sledding, trampling, rolling, writing and angel making.

In the nature study area, where no sleds are allowed, a few plant-types have adapted to life in the sands. A rosemary-mint does wonders to counter the sand's slight urine scent. The soaptree yucca works to out pace the ever moving sands, elongating its leaves by more than a foot per year. The desert cottonwood can survive if even a few of its leaves remain above ground. These plants may thrive even when their first 30 feet are buried. As the parabolic and transverse dunes move on, the newly exposed yucca will collapse while the fibrous roots of other plants will hold a mound of sand, creating a landscape of green-topped mushrooms.

Racing up and down the dunes, self-generating breezes were a great relief from the mid-day heat.

King of the hill, Ukiah practices handstands and wonders why we only get one day in this magical kingdom. Off trail hiking and back "woods" camping are allowed. Another for our must return list.

Brad watched the clouds on the horizon, wondered if it might rain. Aslin, studying for her junior ranger badge, quoted the safety procedures. "If you see lightening, get off the dunes. If you can't, curl into a ball, not touching anything, keeping your knees to your chest." At the first marker, we heard thunder. Half-way through our short hike, Ukiah finally saw lightening first hand. Laughing, running, fearing, mesmerized, the end of the hike found us surrounded by storm clouds on three sides.

Observations on the missile range surrounding the sands, the noticeable decrease in road-kill along that section of hwy 70, the blinding yellow Oklahoma Hummer heavy with drycleaning, the unremarkable Rio
Grande at Los Cruces, the dramatic increase in southern accents- another time.

Off to Ruidoso Downs...

"Best hike ever!"

2007-05-27T17:03:00.000-07:00

Aslin's words. "You know I'm usually complaining by this far into a hike."

The rest of us confirm on both counts, Echo Canyon in the Chiricahua Mts is possibly the greatest day (morning) hike ever and she usually is complaining by the end of the second mile.

Before the hike details, you should know that we didn't make it out of Tucson with out one final visit with our mechanic, the moonlight voice of Liberty Radio. Marvel of the modern world, air conditioning, kept us cool the the Tucson city limit. I graciously thanked and declined the border patrol agent's (quicker to the scene than highway patrol) offer of water. Freedom fighter Mike was rock solid confident that the van wasn't actually overheating, that it was safe to drive into the shop. We were on the road again before my panic/despair mode even kicked in.

Eventually we made it to the campground- 24 sites in a wilderness area of 11,985 acres. Heading into Memorial Day Weekend, we failed our good intentions to arrive early, but still managed to find a beautiful (though excessively bug-filled) site.

From our base at Bonita Creek, dry except for a few hours a year, we hiked through the alligator junipers along a trail built by Franklin D. Roosevelt's Tree Army. The Civilian Conservation Corp's long abandon bake ovens stand alone at the edge of a meadow. Grateful for a distraction from blood hungry mosquitoes, we searched the tree canopy for the power-tool buzzing cicada. A mile away, at Faraway Ranch, we heard stories of Swedish immigrants and Buffalo soldiers.

The first sold fraudulent stories of battles with the Apache to guests looking for authentic an cowboy experience. The later, after securing watering holes from Apache who never attacked, built a 10-foot monument to President Garfield, who as a senator, worked to secure equal pay for African-American soldiers.

Reacquainted with our tent, we managed our earliest pack ever. Packed, fed and on the road to the trial head at 8:51.

Past the Sea Captain and China boy, Echo Canyon brings us up close and personal to formations whose names have not been published.

"It's like the rocks got too hot, they made bubbles and then, pop," Aslin.

Just past Ukiah's "pancakes,"

through the keyhole, the canyon floor comes into view.

Sure, it's called a "canyon" hike, but the view from Massai point doesn't predict the bird songs and the oak forcing it's way up from a boulder.

A friend suggested that the rock formations of the Chiricahua's rival those of the Grand Canyon. A don't have that point of comparison, but as Ukaih said, "amazingly beautious."

if at first you don't succeed

2007-05-23T20:10:00.001-07:00

try, try again.
David took multiple shots of us in our new let there be light lamps. Regrettably, Brad thought the entire photo session was dedicated to mad scientist impressions. With any luck, er, I mean, with sound mechanical repair, our multiple attempts to get Buttercup back on the road will prove far more successful.

Sure, Mike has his doubts on global warming coupled with a theory on some sort of new communism he's dubbed common-ism, but he'd like to have coffee and discuss our differences. Because that's what Americans do. And this particular libertarian-American seemed to have gone through our car wearing a head lamp of his own. Mike replaced the air filter "for free", doesn't know why anyone would replace just the left tie-rod, and triple checked the fans. The van has a "good aura" and he doesn't even believe in these things. He charged the a/c with F-12 anyway, just to be safe. A mile-a-minute talker, real words, I don't detect fasttalk.

"It's no good having a nice mechanic." He once had a guy from out of state cancel payment on a $4,500 engine rebuild. There's a 200 gallon aquarium in the office. "Need someone to get the job done." Blew a water pump in the outside LA back in what- '93? There should never be televisions in the lobby, they stress people out. Just tranquil fish. He knows what it's like to be stranded. Made a vow to always give priority to water pumps. "You need someone mean to go in, tell you what's going on. What it takes to fix it." At 20-minutes past closing and an off duty mechanic checks the temperature in the tropical tank, says good night to the platy and zebra danios.

Mike and his wife would love to come to Seattle. If we make it home, I'll happily take them for coffee.

there are worse things

2007-05-23T10:36:00.000-07:00

Like, say, peacekeepers profiting in gun trade.

Or, engaging in war on fraudulent intelligence, with no regard for history only to leave troops entirely unprepared.

And allowing non-organic hops in "organic" beer.

Then there's the carcinogenic soda industry and new evidence on the link between pesticides and Parkinson's disease.

So clearly, life complicated by our demanding little miss Buttercup, is on the low end of things that are wrong in the world. And while many are overwhelmed when confronted with the pain and injustice in the world, I am optimistic. Cynically optimistic, but hopeful none the less. I marvel at our accomplishment in spite of it all.

In a former life, Chris was a travel agent. With a few clicks, she found us $95 seats out of Phoenix. We passed. The cash cushion is wearing quite thin, but we'll press on. One way to Seattle out of Denver can't be that much more. With any luck, we'll be on the road tomorrow.

because

2007-05-22T21:58:00.000-07:00

no one wants to end the day on a sad note.

Tomorrow's another day.

(Anyone with "I told you so" comments or thoughts,
should not share them.
Words of encouragement and/or standing job offers in Seattle
are most welcome.)

the good news

2007-05-22T15:15:00.000-07:00

- the pump probably only started leaking in the last 100 miles. Not really good news, now is it? But that's not all... every new water pump loves the company of a brand new thermostat. Oh. And. That hose. Way in the back. It appears to be cracked.

I've concluded that Buttercup loves Canada but struggles here in the states. Whose idea was this anyway?

I'm going to watch a movie and ignore the realities. Head in the sand.

No. nononononono....

2007-05-22T11:15:00.000-07:00

The cooler's half packed, last of the laundry in the dryer. When what to our wondering eyes should appear? A few drops of liquid under the van.

Maybe the oil pan wasn't secured after the oil change. No, it's good.
Looks like the water pump is beginning to fail. Just as we're ready to head into the wild for camping in the Chiricahuas on our way to New Mexico. We've had two days of goodbyes, our final pot-luck and now this.

We can't help but feel just a little ill.
What do you suppose it costs to fly the 4 of us home?

kitten blogging- pt 2

2007-05-21T12:23:00.001-07:00

They're back. Resident-stray Skinny Kitty moved her babes when they were just about a week old. With the 90 degree weather, no water, neighborhood cat fights aplenty, we all feared the worst. Then three days ago, SK and her family were sitting on the neighbors back porch, healthier than anyone would have predicted.

"Rescuing" the kittens included separating them from their mom, bringing them into the home. Their first night was spent huddled in the back of a cat carrier, spitting kitten hisses as we looked in. Within a day, the fluffiest most outgoing of the bunch was wrestling a cat string and teaching herself to use the litter box. Her siblings watch.

Our dear crazy cat lady has a call in to a feral cat expert with 20 felines of her own. The big questions-
How long might it take stray kittens to transition to domestic life?
How can we catch Skinny Kitty and should she be reintroduced to her kids?

Fuel for philosophical discussion as we clean the van, mend clothes and pack books for the next leg of this here adventure of ours.

morning quote

2007-05-19T11:11:00.000-07:00

"I like the grasshoppers so much better than the ants. It's in their best interest to get out of my way, not climb on and bite me. Plus they're kind of cute" -- Ukiah

Today we'll be looking into herbal and homeopathic insect repellents. Garlic and B vitamins are not enough.

mid-thought news-roundup

2007-05-17T13:31:00.000-07:00

Hugo Chavez has been accused of "using [Venezuela's] state oil company to funnel billions of dollars to his social projects."
"His." I could be generous and suppose that Wall Street Journal reporter, Jose de Cordoba meant Venezuelan social projects, rather than a health care system or farm established solely for use by the President. But this appears not to have been a verbal stumble for de Cordoba. In today's article, Farms are Latest Target in Venezuelan Upheaval, he goes on to state that land reform is possible because by 2005, Mr. Chavez "controlled the courts as well as congress..." The socialist reforms undertaken by the Chavez government make use of "rhetoric" that "smacks of the 1960's..." "Some Chavez initiatives recall disastrous past experiments with collective agriculture, such as... the Cuban revolution, which helped turn one of Latin America's richest lands into one of its poorest."

Venezuelan Coffee Farm

Millions of acres, 8.8, have been reclaimed for agricultural use by the poor. Less than half the distributed land was owned by the state. Micro-lending programs have been corrupted. Food production appears to be down. Too bad de Cordoba "reports" with such bias and ignorance of history politics and economics that his writings on the challenges of the nation's current revolutionary undertakings can not be taken with any confidence.

While the front page gives gallery space to the dangerous faults of returning land and trusting food production to the masses under a socialist system, today's WSJ page D-1 gives us a rosy version of the same story, under our very own capitalist system. For Sale: Condo w/ Chicken Coop, by Sara Schaefer Munoz shines light on a growing trend among housing developers. "Forget the golf course community," she tells us. The demand wasn't necessarily quick access to the gentleman's game. It was about living in a green community, where outdoor space and views are protected. Condos and new homes are being built around existing farms, or in conjunction with new agricultural developments.

So, a developer in southwest Florida constructs a 17,000 acre housing community surrounded by "73,000 acres including a nature preservation and a cattle farm" and the WSJ states that "for city folks, moving to a farm can require some adjustment." When the democratically elected leader of Venezuela offers a free 2-year farm voc-tech program for urban poor, the WSJ considers it a "hodgepodge of Marxism, 'ancestral' Venezuelan farming methods and Cuban fertilizing techniques."

Are we clear now? Spend between $200,000 and million on a home with access (hands on or off) to an organic farm in Florida, and you're part of a pioneering, eco-friendly revolution. Start a farming cooperative under the leadership of a Latin American president working to end decades of corporate pillage and massive absentee landownership, and you're destined for (continued) poverty if not starvation.

(The Wall St. Journal arrives at the house every morning courtesy of a plethora of airline miles not eligible for use on actual flights.)

We're planning to head out on Monday, so I'm working overtime to meet my news junkie need. Other stories making their way through my mind-

» The F-16 flare drop over south Jersey. Not only is the story of note, but the comments at this site have been fantastic.

» James Comey's testimony before the Senate Judiciary Committee is notable as much for its content as for his candor and humility. Never, in a million years, would I have trusted John Ashcroft as the last line of defense for our constitution. Suppose history shows him as our last principled attorney general.

» US investors are finally just saying no to profiteering in war-torn Sudan. I'm overly optimistic in wishing that some of that pulled capitol would be directed, even "funneled" into social programs in the region.

» Christopher Hitchens is unapologetic in his lack of remorse for the recently deceased Jerry Falwell. This on the heels of Richard Dawkins' "...you're an atheist about all those Gods, some of us just take it one God further..." debate with Steven Colbert.

sunscreen

2007-05-15T21:41:00.000-07:00

The dinner dishes are long done, ice cream has been served. The bunnies are out for the night, parakeets resting. At 10:00pm and 86 degrees, it's a good news/bad news situation, the Tucson temperature.

On the plus side, apricots are ripe. Marscapone tart perfect. Apples, figs, grapes and the citrus family are making strides, led by rapidly maturing pomegranates. Laundry on the line dries faster than a pizza can be delivered.

Bad news is, herbs a half-day with out water wilt beyond recognition. Harmless, burn-free, radiant floor sidewalk hours are limited from 10p-8:30am.

Teaming up to help us walk the fine line- sandals and sunscreen. This week's challenges include finding a perfect sunscreen for my face and distracting Aslin from her summer-shoe quest.

Another Goodwill visit had me considering an "atrocious shoe" post. I took this photo as Aslin tried on a pair of shorts. They fit, I hung the rejects on the rack and Aslin described her need for new sandals. One of her pairs is dirty, the sole wearing down. From all the cast-off shoes in Tucson, she picked up the metallic mock-instocks, suggesting they would make good replacement shoes. No. "I love these," she rubbed the patriotic slip-ons, leaving me to wonder/shudder. Continuing down the aisle, she made multiple attempts to show me that heels really are sandals. Repeat after me, no. No heels with with real fur, zippers, fake fur, beads, or orange Muppet fur. No.

We have a date to shop for funky shoes on our return home. I promised.

Last week ended with a rude awakening. Zia's Daily Moisture Screen, SPF 15, contains parabens. So off to Wild Oats for an afternoon of label reading.

Until now, I've been a huge fan of Aubry products. Given their long history and commitment to organic sourcing, I assumed. I'd have preferred to sample. It wasn't an option but the HABA clerk encouraged me to give it a try. WO does offer a satisfaction guarantee, she assured. For the record, Green Tea & Ginkgo Moisturizer, SPF 15 , is more heavily scented than a new issue of Vogue Magazine. On many key points, the lotion scored well- light and creamy, easily absorbed, did not melt into my eyes. It's unwelcome floral notes have a longer life-span than its UV protection. My feelings of guilt for returning it were quite short lived.

Next up, Alba Botanica's new mineral suncreen, chemical-free, SPF 10. Relatively inexpensive, fragrance free, now if only it would blend into your skin. Another long time favorite, Alba, needs to understand that not everyone looks their best with milky bluish-hue. (Alba Sport, SPF 30 and Daily Moisture, SPF 16 are Owlhouse staples, but do not meet the standard of a facial sunscreen.)

Turning to MyChelle. On the shelf, Sun Shield, SPF 28 looked especially attractive under a sale sticker. We have a winner. Unscented, blends well, and following an afternoon of swimming and monkey-in-the-middle, MyChelle's eye irritation was slight. Plus, any company making a honeydew cleanser deserves our support.

Need more info on sunscreen and ingredients?

emmer rye

2007-05-13T17:03:00.000-07:00

The mystical grain I couldn't remember. A paper published in 1972, on the comparative evolution of cereal and a passover quiz are among the few google hits.

True or False- According to Mishnah, matzoh could be made from wheat, barley, emmer, rye and oats.

You may be interested to note that the quiz distinguishes between emmer and rye, opening a natural connection to the evolution article.

So. The scone, I'm sorry to report, fell far short of the scone of my memory. The tomatoes, greens, B & D's early trip to another bakery, and my brief encounter with the intriguing scone-selling character more than made up for it. A gift, complete with Warren Buffett tribute followed by a walk to the apricot tree, and I've over come the let down entirely.

Peace, love and promise to all you mamas, this and every day.

pre-emptive justification

2007-05-12T16:30:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow morning, I'm going to spend $5 on a scone.
It means I'll talk with the nutty woman who denounces, from under her green, plastic-fringe palm, the evils of grains. All grain except that which her baked goods are made from.
It's not kamut or amaranth but some other near-forgotten grain with a lineage unbroken since the birth of the fertile crescent.
She'll offer me the energy bar, a fermented apricot square made from the recipe that sustained the Swedes through the coldest of winters.
"Washington," she'll say, and my attention will abandon the peppers roasting in the stall behind me; I'll focus on her eyes, wondering what kind of sunscreen she wears.

Pointing past the fountain, towards fields in the Cascade foothills, she'll chatter.
Fond words of the wold's only raw, vegan bakery where they roast the mystery grain.
And if I ask about the $7 biscotti, she'll tell of sorting gems and invite me to a drum circle. She got distracted, forgot the biscotti. She'll go get me one, she's happy to. It will take a half-hour, which would suggest the bakery is in Arizona, not Washington, but I can't be sure. She'll leave her stand at the market, if I want a hazelnut biscotti.

But I don't. Just a maple scone made of a grain I can't remember.

I have a soft spot for cut zinnias and potted herbs.
A scenario that finds me sitting sideways in the corner of the couch, accompanied by dark chocolate, a glass of wine and a good book tops my relaxation list.
I rarely pooh-pooh kind words on my parenting (witnessed by my extraordinary children) sealed in a card.
Fluffy or heart-felt, I won't shy away from acknowledgment of my role as a mother. Tomorrow, or any other day. From the bandwagon, I'll channel thanks and admiration to the mothers I know, recognition of their strength and beauty.

In the morning, I'll walk the market, eating half my scone, noticing the mothers. They'll help their children choose lettuce and pull the stroller a few inches back from the tomato table. One mother will carry a baguette for brunch with her son while another reminds her daughter to hold the eggs with two hands. I'll marvel at the heat of 10am, regret the lack of local fruit available and wink. Or think of winking. A code of solidarity with mothers.

Home with my half scone, I'll curl up with a cup of tea and the news. I'll read of Darfur after signing an e-petition against mandatory pasteurization of almonds. Honor killings, profiteering in public education. And war. Our war that has yet to solicit my health or assets, asking instead for my complacency.

Tomorrow morning, belly full, I'll think of Julia "Disarm, disarm. The sword of murder is not the balance of justice..." Ward Howe. Her faith in me. In all us mothers. I'll spend a moment on the absurdity of misunderstandings. The difference of confusion on the origins of a scone and falsified documents offered as justification for war.

if you have an opinion on wyoming,

2007-05-10T23:21:00.000-07:00

please share with the group.

We dug out the maps today, an attempt to make our departure plans a little more concrete. After sketching a rough travel route, circling possible stops and refering to my calender for some semblance of a time-line, I sent emails to New Mexico, Colorado, Utah and one in Oregon. Feeling quite accomplished, I turned my attention to cooking dinner, internet fishing and an attempt at a game of xeri complicated by a lack of complete instructions.

A touch more white wine, pinch of salt and I pulled the beans from the heat. Today's 97 degrees were no match for my lifetime of conditioning. I cleared the atlas, notebooks and earphones (our day's sprawl) from the living room, upstairs to the bedroom, convinced I'd need a sweater for our potluck picnic. The ceiling fan ushered reality my way. Plenty warm, even in the evening. So I skipped the sweater search and dedicated the two bonus-minutes to reviewing our freshly charted course through the southwest.

That's when it hit me. I've never been to Wyoming. Aside from Yellowstone, there appear to be rivers and the possibility of mouse-free camping. Plus, this could give Ukiah and Aslin some context for my seemingly inexplicable Yogi bear impressions. "Hey there BooBoo, what's in the pic-a-nic basket today?" Of course from there, it's really just a hop, skip and jump to the Dakotas. Next thing you know, my superb plan 'o the afternoon is facing more significant questioning than Alberto Gonzalez on his 437th day of testimony before congress.

atrocious grocery, pt 3

2007-05-08T16:13:00.000-07:00

The plant inside the dirty glass doors has a sign resting on its soil. "No cigarettes or trash in plant." Not specific enough. There's a fast food cup and mis-matched napkin.

The Stone-Grant Asian Market is a brick and mortar store, the centerpiece of a shopping development mostly abandon. Nestled by empty storefronts, it and a smoke shop are the lone inhabitants of the once modern mall. With its in-house butcher counter, it was surely touted as "convenient for the modern housewife."

We came for the tofu. Fresh, frozen, fried, marinated, canned- they have it all. Vacuum-sealed pickled mustard greens or durian popsicles? No thank you. Partly in response to our culturally acquired tastes and partly for concern of the not-so-thin layer of dust and grime colonizing the market's inventory.

Much has been written on the politics of food availability and cost in economically disadvantaged neighborhoods. The formula seems to fit this market as well. A small flock of whole, frozen ducks suffer freezer burn. Ice crystals an inch thick coat dis-colored ribs. Packages of noodles are split and taped closed, the onions are soft and sprouting. Competing for today's atrocious grocery recognition are three common "food" products- aerosol cheese, canned meat loaf and a marshmallow shortbread "treat". Our winner, the Gamesa/Frito-Lay cookies, have not yet expired.

Arcoiris- high fructose corn syrup, enriched flour, coconut, sugar, vegetable shortening, hydrogenated oils.

For those with allergy concerns- this product may contain soy, milk, wheat, and nuts

(side note- anyone into the ghost theory of digital photo orbs? Are these cookies haunted or is that just a reflection from florescent light reflecting off an asbestos floor?)

we heart film!

2007-05-07T16:04:00.000-07:00

Thanks to library cards in California and an extended stay in Tucson, we've seen many more movies than one might expect on a road trip. Of course if we'd known our pace would be so relaxed, allowing for dozens of movie nights, we might have started a process for reviewing movies. We could have used a four-thumb system and Ukiah's inevitable career as a critic could be funding this trip by now. Alas.

Our profile page is constantly calling for revision. The interests and favorite music of these four people tend to shift depending on climate, dinner plans, general irritability and most recent trip to the ocean/favorite on-line forum/gelato shop. Our hand was forced when we had to make space for a particularly crazy, magic-themed film, The Prestige with David Bowie (and other big names).

One of us suffers from "deficient movie-memory syndrome" and tends to rent/borrow the same films over and over, only to realize 39 minutes into the show, that the other members of the family were correct. We have seen this before. So, rather than delete the old list, I'm saving it here. If you wonder how I can in good conscience spit the list into a post with out even bothering to link to the reviews of others, please know that I'm alleviating feelings of guilt/laziness by offering a personalized review of any of the entertainment gems below. By someone who remembers the film in question. Feel free to ask.

** PLEASE NOTE-**
list includes all films seen, not necessarily recommended

Nacho Libre
Walk the Line
Strangers with Candy
Oliver Twist
Miracle on 34th St.
Tallageda Nights
Pirates of the Caribbean
Motorcycle Diaries
Transamerica
Paradise Now
Ray
1 Hour Photo
Tsotsi
Cafe Lumiere
Iron Jawed Angles
Man on the Train
Spellbound
Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe
Up and Down
Battlestar Galactia
Who Killed the Electric Car?
Chinatown
Off the Map
Lord of the Rings trilogy
The Pursuit of Happyness
Jesus Camp
Bubba Ho-Tep
Weeds- season 1
Mr. Deity
Aquamarine
The Prestige
Night at the Museum
The Illusionist

kartchner and kubla khan

2007-05-05T20:47:00.000-07:00

Last week, as we were loading furniture on a hand truck, the clouds rolled in. Thunder in the distance. Hail on the open boxes labeled "kitchen" and "upstairs bath."

An hour south of Tucson, the remains of the same storm are taking their time, seeping through the limestone, exposing traces of iron. It's a theory anyway; underground, precious drops of water build conulites on the driest days of desert summer. Some hundreds of thousands of years ago a geological shift rocked the hills from their foundation, creating underground craters. Reservoirs that feed the caves.

In 1974, a couple of young, trespassing, cavers found a sinkhole at the base of the Whetstone Mountains. Belly crawling through a one-foot opening, they smelled success. A scent so powerful, Gary Tenen and Randy Tufts knew they were on to something. Only a cavern of significant size, with at least moderate air-flow, could house a bat colony capable of such a stench. After four years of exploration and mapping, the two approached the property owners with news of their find.

Rewind 330 million years, and the arid lands of Kartchner Caverns were a shallow inland sea. Shell fragments and creature remains contributed to layers of sediment, eventually hardening into limestone. Eons passed, mountains rose, rainwater penetrated cracks in the stone. Climate change escorted the desert, ground water levels fell and the caverns were born. 200,000 years of drips and condensation later, Kratchner remains a living cave. Home of the Arizona's crowned column, the 58 foot tall Kubla Khan, named for the mythological ruler of the Samuel Taylor Coleridge poem.

At the park gate, again at the discovery center and before boarding the tram, the Kartchner staff ran us through the long list of "no's":
foods, drinks, tobacco, gum, bags, sun glasses, jackets tired around waists, backpacks, strollers, binoculars, crutches...
Our ranger tried to soften the "don'ts" with humor, but a cave enterence complete with 4 air-locked steel doors, paints a clear picture. Pristine caves are a rare find; the rangers and researchers are not fooling around. I want to pet the shelfstones and wonder, would a soda straws break with just a flick of the finger? He describes the moonmilk as "tacky, like cream cheese" and I'm tempted to squeeze it through my fingers. A series of half-domes form "popcorn" on the ceiling and "fried eggs" stalagmites rise from the floor. Not long after breakfast, and far from hungry, I'm curious what a small grain of coral pipe might taste like. Well intentioned and semi-sensible, I am, with my inquisitive nature and greasy fingerprints, the reason Tenen and Tufts kept discovery of the cave hushed for 14 years.

It's a sensory experience; the impenetrable black of the "research-only" tunnels , condensation at 95% wraps my skin, the still of earth's hollows in my ears. Photos are off limits, a sudden flash could potentially startle a visitor who could lose her balance and reach to steady herself on a drapery. The cave might recover, in 100,000 years. Our elbows and eye lashes, finger prints and clothes lint are hazards. Above a mound of 45,000 year old guano, the cave ceiling is scratched, darkened. No canopy or coralloids. The bats gave up this roost 40,000 years before the birth of Buddha, Muhammad or Jesus, and cave-life has yet to recover.

Under that rough exterior, below the the desert landscape's thorns and needles, it's seems a very fragile earth.

full house+full house=

2007-05-02T22:59:00.000-07:00

(not Olsen quadruplets)

WARNING- do not play tricks on the movers. Their physical and emotional environments may be fragile. Provoking may lead to evil eye and/or recruitment for heavy lifting.

Moving is an exercise in patience, restraint, humor, reflection and fore arm development. It's official. We, the temporary guests of the former residents of 545 are now the guests of the new residents of 527.

Yesterday was dedicated to furniture disassembly, stair navigation, finger and toe protection, re-assembly, placement, feng shui adjustments, and keeping at least some comments to myself. Because by late afternoon, no one wants to hear that the bookshelf might fit better in the other room but only if we swap the chairs and carry the other rug up from the basement.

You are, no doubt, familiar with the routine. For entertainment and mathematical value, let me see if I can illuminate some of the complications of this particular move.
**household A (that's us) will move to house B.
**household B will move to Mozambique, leaving a house full o'stuff.
**C will move into the newly vacant A home, leaving behind a passive aggressive, or possibly misunderstood housemate who will not be part of our story.

House A, a two bedroom + basement, accommodates approximately 5 beds, 2 1/2 couches, 3 desks, 2 steamer trunks, a full collection of kitchen ware, 6 pets (of the bird, rabbit, & cat variety), 8 lamps, 600 pounds of books, a $2,000 Lego investment, and multiple junk drawer and basket habitats for rubber bands, chop-sticks, band aids, semi-precious ear rings, photos of holidays gone by and vitamin samples. In other words, A is a fully established household with refrigerator magnets of it's own.

House B, a four bedroom + basement, provides lodging for a complete dining set, 2 tastefully overstuffed chairs, 6 filing cabinets, 100 selections of art (including a bathroom with 16 pieces of wall art), 4 very tall bar stools, 9 shelves, 3 bike tire pumps, a dozen pillows, 3 dressers, and all the counter top appliances you might expect of a well developed residence.

I've been checking in with Mr. Meyer now and then which may have aided my pre-move calculation. I estimated A+B= Not Pretty. But moving is not about approximates, so we followed the procedure, showing our work along the way. Sure enough, we proved that A+B equals something well beyond the parameters of a single household. We've reached maximum condiment levels, exceeded our capacity for household cleaning products, and can serve as the towel-window for summer pool season.

Along comes C. Maybe C is in the suffering a mustard shortage. Maybe the former housemate (making an unexpected appearance here) demanded extreme move-out cleaning, leaving C short glass and multi-surface cleansers. Muffin tins. Maybe she'll need to borrow some for a couple of years.

**note- The variables of this equation include- primary residents absent from both A and C; semi-strangers organizing your kitchen; a massage studio (featuring daily appointments) located in B; kid help; reluctant pets; relatives visiting from out of state; house-sitting across town the day after moving in; a 7'x4' desk; neighbors who comment on every other wagon load o' stuff; the gas shut off (no stove/hot water); consensus/sighs/arm wrestling for deciding vote on placement of key furnishings.

Tomorrow brings round two of the little stuff' the candles, dusting cloths and photo albums. We'll color coordinate floor coverings, sort trinket filled shoe boxes and search high and low for the missing can opener or tea pot.

gratutious blogging

2007-04-28T23:24:00.001-07:00

We haven't had much news to share. Chris went to Scotland. It's almost official moving day. Skinny kitty moved her babies. One of us is considering shaving his/her head. The bites of tiny red ants hurt. Really hurt. Jon Stewart is amazingly intelligent and quite diplomatic and Bill Moyers appears to have a journalist-crush on him. We're looking at permaculture volunteer-study options in Colorado and Oregon. A pint-size liquid nitrogen bottle costs $500. Randall L. Tobias, the deputy secretary of state responsible for U.S. foreign aid (including limiting funds to organizations who don't follow the administration's "abstinence only" preachings)- resigned amid the growing White House-prostitution scandal. It costs $1,200 to ship a 60 pound box from Tucson to Mozambique via UPS. And, I accidentally bought a chicken tamale at the farmer's market today.

By our standards, any of these could be blog-worthy stories. But this was going to be a road-trip travel-blog. Please enjoy this random selection of photos as we reconsider our mission here at owlhouse blog.

Sid finds refreshment, far from the reach of Diana's claws.

Brad's living room fashion show, inspired by a pre-move closet-cleaning and recent viewing of Zoolander.

Ukiah in David's Thai hat, worn on our inaugural trip to Sam's Club where people stared as we confirmed, first-hand, the evils of globalization.

Aslin bought 14 raffle tickets (to help fund a mormon baby adoption), won four times, and was one of the last to leave the dance floor.

Another fine specimen from David's international house of hats. And me, serving as a model for all those that believe salad should be finger food.

Well that was fast. Consideration complete. Turns out the blog can be related to any aspect of the lives of owlhouse residents or alumni. Peanut and Buddy confirmed the terms and conditions according to our bylaws. Stay-tuned for stories that may or may not involve travel.

did I mention the bellydancing?

2007-04-26T12:59:00.000-07:00

No? Well the story just isn't the same with out the visuals and the photos from the evening didn't turn out so well.

In other half-way news, I just caught part of the democrat's debate and the Alaskan in me sprung to life. Mike Gravel, I didn't even know he was in the running. (Ok, I didn't even know much of anything about him.) I'll be looking into his brand of crazy.

Here

2007-04-22T17:37:00.000-07:00

What
has happened
makes

the world.
Live
on the edge,

looking.

---- Robert Creely

In honor of Earth Day and National Poetry Month.

Also considered for today's post, Some Trees, Preparing for Occupation and The Sunlight on the Garden.

proper tourists

2007-04-19T16:34:00.000-07:00

I have yet to hear anyone say anything positive about Tombstone, so let me be the first. Keeping in mind that I love history and campy drama and can usually tell the difference, I found a friendly town, colorful history, plenty to do without big money and a miniature horse. There are three, possibly four companies that produce gunfight shows, some comedies, some "historical" reenactments. Much to Aslin's disappointment, we didn't catch the Clanton Clan v. Wyatt Earp/"Doc" Holliday showdown or the OK Corral incident.

We did duck into the Bird Cage Theatre and the courthouse studying up on Ed Schieffelin, the wandering miner who first came to Arizona with the US Calvary. He gave up scouting with troops from Ft. Hauchua, striking out on his own. Schieffelin was warned that in this Chiricahua Apache's land, all he'd find was his "tombstone". From 1877-1886, $19 million of silver ore was mined from the hills of the aptly named town.

In the early 1880's, before the mine floods of 1886, Tombstone was known for lawlessness, liquor, wealth, vaudeville and serious theater. "China Mary" headed a well established Chinatown and Thanksgiving 1887 at the Maison Doree Restaurant included Pate Financiere and Buffalo Tongue. The Boothill Cemetery (and Jewish Memorial)- 1878-1884, gives a clear impression of boom, hardship and bust that was
Tombstone. Rodriguez, Kee, Rosenthal are buried among the unknown, infamous,"Two Cowboys- drowned," and those "shot four times," "lynched," "stabbed," and "found in abandon mine."

Our day continued another hour down Hwy 80 to Bisbee, an incredible town rich with copper, art, architecture, and narrow one way streets. I wish it was all Buddha and Sailor Moon folk art, but Bisbee has a painful labor history and I'm sure is in need of ongoing environmental clean-up. We plan to spend a few days in the area in early May, so look forward to more public art photos. I saw Chairman Mao, larger-than-life, on a utility box. Really.

(Notice anything special about this adventure? That's right, we made it there and back with no mechanical mishaps! Knock wood.)

apolitical lizards

2007-04-17T20:50:00.000-07:00

This is not a post about the Dept of Justice, Iraq and funding the war,
Don Imus, our next president or Paul Wolfowitz and the World Bank saga. I generally have no shortage of words for these topics, but we all know they've been well covered by online journalists and in blogs of every sort.

On the other hand, there seems to be a shortage of lizard blogs. Maybe because they are so difficult to capture on film. I hear them rustling under the iris or whitethorn acacia and from the corner of my eye, I catch them running from brittlebush cover to the mesquites, where they blend with the bark. Tohono Chul Park is another story. Earless and horned lizards stared us down from the middle of the path, retreating only at the sound of the camera's zoom lens. An iguana gave a nod from under the agave. Magnificent as the barrio, Moroccan and zen gardens were, my appreciation was hampered by the fact that I read more political than lizard blogs. Peace to the friends and families of the Virginia Tech students. Curses to a president who addresses the campus with no call for gun control or improving our mental health care systems.

Also under represented in blogworld- sycamore trees. This beauty offered comfort beyond shade.

maybe they know each other

2007-04-15T18:43:00.000-07:00

I've been wearing Ukiah's shoes- Keen sandals. One, because I seem to have lost my flip-flops (somewhere in California?) and two because he finds shoes completely unnecessary. I've also been wearing the same pair of pants at least 4 days a week since December. Aside from the fading and the button I had to replace, and considering I bought them at Value Village, they've held up pretty well. I pushed them a step too far at Mt. Lemmon. A jagged boulder too far, really, and they split a couple inches at the right hip. My sewing kit is an Altoids box, no maroon thread. Grey stitches it is. And that would have been fine, gotten me through another four months if needed. Except that in helping some friends move, we had to make a stop at the Goodwill today.

We unloaded a desk, chairs, Halloween decorations, a tripod and asked for a receipt.

Nothing, nothing, nothing. And by nothing I mean nothing practical that will fit in the Rubbermaid box Aslin and I share as our dresser. A light, layered turquoise and black skirt has me considering sending a package home, briefly. The racks show every sign of resistance to segregation- refusing to be organized by size, color, style. But this particular store is unscented- none of the bug-bomb odor that so often oppresses thrift store air. I skim the aisles for greens and browns. The occasional orange catches my eye.

Ahead of me at the register, a 5-foot tall Hispanic woman rotates one of the thick gold chains on her neck. She pulls bags of plastic toys from her cart and tucks a short stray hair behind her ear. Gold and beaded bracelets slide half way to her elbow.

"Those are nice earrings," the cashier comments, brushing her own bleached bangs to the side.

The Goodwill shopper takes out her left earring, a dazzling rectangle stud. Cubic zirconia? She hands it across the counter, nods and waits for the accepting hand.

"Yes, very nice," the cashier approves, smiling one chipped tooth through painted thin lips, she offers to return the earring.

"For you. Muy bonita, si?" The Grandmother removes the second stud.

"Really?" No pause. "Gracias!" A Caucasian, very mid-west, three-syllabled 'gra-see-ass'. Ms. Nebraska leans into the counter, a single arm hug and kiss on the cheek.

"Si. Nuevo, for you. Is no problem," The woman admires as the employee guides the pair into the first of her three ear holes.

Ms. Nebraska rings the final bag of toys while Grandma writes a check.

"Can I see your ID?" She records the birthdate of her benefactor and together they double bag a collection of Happy Meal prizes.

I left with pair of cords (a different shade of maroon), olive green shorts and the mystery of apparent strangers sharing earrings. $6.98.

Never underestimate the power of a cookie

2007-04-13T08:51:00.000-07:00

A call to action from Greenpeace.

"Last year alone, well over 1000 whales died for profit....In May of this year, the International Whaling Commission will meet on U.S. soil, to discuss the fate of the whales...What better way to sweeten up the Bush Administration than a weekend of Bake Sales to Save the Whales?"

That's right. A nationwide bakesale is scheduled for the weekend of April 28-29. From cookie cutters to a list of open kitchens, Greenpeace has organized all the tools you'll need to get involved. So, make your own or buy cookies here!

Thanks to worsted witch for bringing this to our attention.

*

kittens

2007-04-12T13:22:00.001-07:00

Your cute animal fix of the day...

It seems as though Skinny Kitty, the resident stray, has been sticking around for a good reason. Her babies were discovered tucked away in the bottom drawer of a weathered dresser on the neighbor's back porch. The kittens, eyes still closed, seem healthy and comfortable, well tended by their "wild" teenage mother. Looking for a new pet?
Peta's words of wisdom.

Sky Islands

2007-04-11T16:01:00.000-07:00

She's back (making very few disconcerting noises) and today, she climbed 9,000 feet without breaking a sweat. Go Buttercup!

The Catalina Highway, officially known as General Hitchcock Highway, has been compared to a trip from Mexico to Canada. From the saguaro-loving lowlands of the Tucson basin, to the mixed-conifer forest at the peak of Mt. Lemmon, the road is just under 30 miles long.

Aslin had to give up her Mad Libs leadership, directing her full attention out the window in an attempt to ward off the queasy-stomach syndrome brought on by 10 miles of switchbacks.

At 5,500 feet, we stopped at Middle Bear Canyon for a quick romp through the pines. That's right, pine cone dropping evergreens unlike we've seen or smelled since we left Camp Ocean Pines. Ahhh. "I know this air," Aslin inhales and spots a young oak.

Further up, the picnic tables at Loma Linda overlook a mountain side recovering from a massive fire. In less than an hour, we felt the temperature drop 20 degrees. The jackets and sweaters we usually keep in the van have vanished in the Tucson heat, and Ukiah sat eating pita and hummus, shivering.

We heard there was pie at the top. Pie and fondue. Genuine "Swiss Fondue" with apples, broccoli or bread. But it's the pie we heard about. Not so much that it was extraordinary, just that it was there. Sure enough, at the end of the road, just past ski valley , the Mt. Lemmon Cafe serves up $6.95/slice pie. A'la mode, $8.95. The paper menus were greasy, the seating in and outdoor- sticky, the pies in disposable tins wrapped with foil. Did my shallow pockets and rotten first impression mean keep us from experiencing the greatest pie in the world? It doesn't really look like it, but we'll let you know.

Rock scrambling Green Mountain on the way back down, we passed the "Do not sled" signs and Aslin hoped for a bear sighting. Someone had a party up where the Rockies meet the Sierra Madre Mountains. Between the broken glass, my loss of footing and the deceptive "easy" looking peeks and crevices, I wished I'd found the pocket 1st aid kit before we left the house. What goes up, must come down. Though not always along the same path.

The sky island visit was a nostalgic review of our life on the road, familiar at every stop. And as Ukiah was quick to point out, "so relaxing compared to our last hike."