that's not "church"

(story under construction)

sold

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

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.

Shell

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.

Priorities

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.

5 trillion gallons

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.

Cottonwood

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.

a list

"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.

SLC potpourri

• 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.

versions of history

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.

continental x4

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.