tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66300102024-03-13T11:54:15.100-07:00Heavy Duty PowerShe can turn a drop of water into an ocean.Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.comBlogger347125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-62599062440050346212010-02-04T22:51:00.000-08:002010-02-04T22:52:34.576-08:00Deja vuHey, remember when <a href="http://heavydutypower.blogspot.com/2008/02/two-weeks-ago.html">this happened?</a> Exactly two years later--literally within one week of the precise date--Chloe the codependent German Shepherd, age almost 6, tore the ACL in her other back knee. <br />
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Chloe's second staggeringly expensive ACL surgery, this time on her left leg, was a week ago. It means we'll be eating rice and beans for the 8 months it will take us to pay the animal hospital back, of course. They were very strict about the repayment period--they made us leave monthly postdated checks! I didn't know anyone still did that!<br />
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Looking on the bright side: um, at least we already had the crate and a toddler-gate to keep her downstairs!<br />
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I do try to keep my chin up, anyway, so that I don't obsess about the budget. I try not to feel incredibly guilty for spending literally my last dimes on my dog's bionic knee instead of, you know, donations to Haiti relief or something more imperative. The thought does cross my mind--isn't this an awfully selfish, first-world kind of thing to do, rack up debt and pinch pennies for a pet? A pet that doesn't even lay eggs or give milk, the lazy thing.<br />
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It is selfish, really. But then Chloe, lying on the floor next to my feet, rests her head on the arch of my foot and heaves a big sigh as her big brown eyes start to droop closed. And it turns out I'm not sorry to have made that choice, after all.Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-48483633109912963142009-12-09T21:04:00.000-08:002009-12-09T22:02:11.884-08:00Elliott Bay Book CompanyAbout a month ago, on a cloudy Saturday, I was bored and broke and cranky at home. I knew I had only a few hours that afternoon to pull myself out of this funk before the Sunday night blues set in, but I was restless and listless at the same time. "Self," I said, "we need a vacation. We can't afford a vacation, but surely we can do better than this." So I put on a hat and the suede jacket I'd just picked up at the thrift store, a jacket that makes me feel like pretending to be an English professor (I swear I even stand up straighter when I wear it), and headed out like a homing pigeon to a place I could find books.<br /><br />Back in July, the first leg of Seattle's light rail system started service between downtown and the airport. The Spouse and I had been looking forward to this for years: in 2007 we bought our first house just blocks from one of the light rail stations in south Seattle. For almost 3 years we watched the construction progress, literally right out our front window: the road widened, the lights improved, the tracks laid, the stations built. And now we are lucky enough to be able to stroll to the station and zip away on a light rail train.<br /><br />I love it because I am fond of trains, of course--but I also love the way it's opened up the city to me a little more. Yes, I could always have chosen to take a bus downtown. But the bus only ran every half an hour, and was notoriously unreliable, and took much longer to run the same distance. Now that the trains are running, I've started making more trips downtown for fun. In particular, when I discovered that Elliott Bay Book Company was only a few blocks from the Pioneer Square station, I started revisiting that grandly cozy bookstore again after years of neglecting it.<br /><br />So that's where I pointed myself, that gloomy Saturday. I watched Seattle glide by out the enormous window of the light rail car, daydreaming about longer trips and feeling my mood lighten at the thought. When the train plunged into the tunnel below Beacon Hill, I craned my neck to gawk again at the lovely, luminous glass sea creatures suspended above the station platform. I tried to spot new details on the murals along the warehouses along the tracks in the SoDo area. And even the wet walk uphill to the Central library was suddenly just part of the fun, a damp interlude in my miniature getaway.<br /><br />The library seduced me, as always, to stay longer than I'd intended. I had one book to pick up, but of course I found myself wandering up the book spiral, a scribbled list of Dewey Decimal numbers in hand. John Barry's <i>The Great Influenza</i> was checked in, and I pounced on it. One of Cherie Priest's earlier books was available, too. And I made a side trip to the children's section for a book by Sylvia Cassedy, having just re-read my copy of her book <i>Behind the Attic Wall</i> for the first time since probably 1988. (It's a strangely bizarre, otherwordly, sad story; I had forgotten everything except the sadness, which is what vaguely kept me from picking it up again, I think. I'm glad I held onto it all these years, anyway.)<br /><br />Books safely in backpack, I strode back down the hill toward Pioneer Square, where I ducked into the Cherry Street Coffee House to use up the balance on a gift card. It was my first time at that location, and the cozy basement sitting room proved to be the perfect accompaniment to my rainy day excursion. I ordered my coffee and sat in the dim, quiet downstairs across from the fireplace, reading about influenza, with only a few people scattered at other tables.<br /><br />When my coffee was gone, it was time to visit my final destination before I took a train back south. Elliott Bay Book Company's warmth welcomed me in from the drizzle, and I browsed happily there for awhile, heedless of the time--the true mark of a vacation. I ended up with an updated day planner for 2010, a postcard for a friend who moved away a few years ago, and a far more contented outlook than I'd started the day with.<br /><br />I learned today that the bookstore is <a href="http://slog.thestranger.com/slog/archives/2009/12/09/elliott-bay-book-company-is-moving-to-capitol-hill">moving from their Pioneer Square location to Capitol Hill </a>early next year, citing their declining business in the last few years. Though I'm glad they're only moving and not closing, I have to admit to a twinge of disappointment at losing such a convenient and delightful "vacation" destination of the last few months. I'm sure I'll still make the trip to their new location whenever I can--and I hope lots more people can spend lots more money there than I can afford to. But I'll always harbor the fond memory of my desperate in-town Saturday excursions to EBBC these last few months, and the way my visits there always seemed to put my head back on correctly again. Here's to a few more of those before the move--and to many, many more years of EBBC, wherever in Seattle they may go.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SyCCeQdIOoI/AAAAAAAAATw/PCEgy-OVLtw/s1600-h/elliottbayout.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SyCCeQdIOoI/AAAAAAAAATw/PCEgy-OVLtw/s320/elliottbayout.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413470208424163970" /></a>Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-30742498734818994552009-12-08T21:10:00.000-08:002009-12-08T21:19:53.878-08:00Day: late. Dollar: short.Yes, a day late and (always) a dollar short, as me auld dad always says.<br /><br />Nevertheless, here I am for another Holidailies!<br /><br />It's been bitterly cold in Seattle this week. Didn't get above freezing today, nor (I think) yesterday, and they say it'll be down to 16 degrees tonight. Even on nights like these in our old house, the single overworked gas furnace in the hallway is turned down low, because otherwise I feel like we're burning cash all through the night. We have a down comforter and two warm bodies, and the Scrooge McDuck in my brain says that's all we should need to survive the night. To be fair, it is generally more than warm enough that way. It does make getting out of the cozy bed and stepping out onto the cold hardwood the next morning an exercise in gumption, though.<br /><br />The Spouse and I try to be firm about keeping the dog off the bed, but let me tell you, on these cold nights when we first slip into bed, the sheets still cold, we urge her up onto the bed to help warm us up. That's right: she's our own personal <i>fur</i>nace.Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-6068618554372769022009-05-13T20:19:00.000-07:002009-05-13T20:23:54.021-07:00Recent Fantasies1. Deserts.<br />2. Disappearance.<br />3. Defection.<br />4. Disengagement.<br />5. Debuts.<br />6. Deliverance.Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-63150509443529722032009-02-10T20:46:00.000-08:002009-02-27T20:46:49.697-08:00Grace in small things: ten1. Two-stamp Tuesdays at Fuel Coffee.<br />2. Co-workers who treat me like a competent, knowledgeable professional.<br />3. Sleet pellets bouncing off the ground in a quiet susurration.<br />4. Tight-clenched prickly pine cones which, when brought into a warm office, unfurl and collapse to spill into individual seeds across a windowsill.<br />5. Wool yarn that allows itself to be spit-felt together, eliminating all but two loose ends to be woven in at the end of a large project.Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-77622901205376387862009-02-04T20:44:00.000-08:002009-02-27T20:47:09.544-08:00Grace in small things: nine1. Eating beef tacos with onions and cilantro from the neighborhood taco bus.<br />2. Uprooting ridiculously long ivy vines at a neglected edge of the house.<br />3. Finding, beneath the ivy, an ancient rotting wooden planter in which a rose bush is still stubbornly growing.<br />4. Learning (slowly, slowly learning) how to knit an entrelac headband.<br />5. Having paid sick leave available so I could give in to my sore throat, call in sick, and sleep an extra three hours this morning.<br />6. (Bonus grace!) Remembering how to code the break at the end of each list item so the list looks right!Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-32783027751198092202009-01-26T22:01:00.000-08:002009-01-26T22:08:12.500-08:00Grace in Small Things: eight1. Tealights burning inside large vases.<br />2. The hollow echo that the heels of my brand-new thrift store shoes made as I passed an open garage on my walk at lunchtime today.<br />3. A wild romp outside on the hill with Chloe the codependent German Shepherd as the sun set on this cold day.<br />4. The hearty scent of cooked garlic and onions and spices that was drifting out of a neighbor's house as Chloe and I walked home from our romp.<br />5. Stovetop stuffing.Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-39026863004504749962009-01-21T14:45:00.001-08:002009-01-21T15:02:25.502-08:00Grace in Small Things: seven1. Sasha Obama's playful thumbs-up to Barack Obama after he was sworn in as the President of the United States yesterday.*<br />2. The Q-size crochet hook that is allowing me to crochet a blanket within a week's time, using yarn I've had on hand for about 5 years.<br />3. The sensation of flying while looking out from the I-5 bridge over the thick fog that blanketed Seattle on Sunday.<br />4. Tiny grey-green crabs scattering for cover on a rocky beach when their sheltering boulder was turned over.<br />5. A productive trip to Value Village on Saturday which resulted in new shoes, a beautiful handbag, small decorative shelves, and ten brand-new picture frames.<br /><br /><i>*I wanted to list "President Barack Obama," but let's be honest: that's no small thing. It's the most incredible moment of grace in politics in my adult life, if not my lifetime. Let all those who do justice and love mercy say "Amen!"</i>Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-70315298828571055762009-01-07T22:19:00.001-08:002009-01-07T22:22:11.169-08:00If those two can do it...Oh, this is adorable. I am shamelessly going to post it here for my own future reference.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cBtFTF2ii7U&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cBtFTF2ii7U&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-33573674609631719832009-01-07T20:38:00.000-08:002009-01-11T15:36:32.195-08:002008 BooksI seem to have fallen dismayingly short of reading 50 books in 2008, although I have the nagging feeling that I read a book or two during the summer that I forgot to document. (This always seems to happen...ah well.) Plus, not everything that I re-read is on this list--just <i>Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell</i>, because it took me so long to get through it again. Still, I read (and re-read) some excellent books last year.<br /><br />Favorites: <i>Neverwhere</i>, Robin Hobb's <i>Liveship Traders</i> series, <i>Whipping Girl, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Un Lun Dun</i> (which I loved utterly, and which made me want to get back into good young adult fiction--and then the excellent <i>The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian</i> redoubled that desire), and <i>Empire Falls,</i> which technically bridged the gap into 2009. <i>The Other Boleyn Girl</i> was on my grandma's bookshelf; I read it over a couple of days while I was staying with her before Christmas, and liked it more than I expected to, enough that I would check out Philippa Gregory's other books too.<br /><br />1. Neverwhere<br />2. The Subtle Knife [re-read]<br />3. The Ladies of Grace Adieu<br />4. Shade's Children<br />5. Harpy's Flight<br />6. Shaman's Crossing<br />7. Forest Mage<br />8. Pride and Prejudice<br />9. Ship of Magic<br />10. Solstice Wood<br />11. Onion Girl<br />12. Mad Ship<br />13. Ship of Destiny<br />14. Renegade's Magic<br />15. The Dragonbone Chair<br />16. The Stone of Farewell<br />17. To Green Angel Tower<br />18. The Gypsy<br />19. Shapechangers<br />20. The Song of Homana<br />21. Shadowmarch<br />22. A Game of Thrones<br />23. Whipping Girl: A Transsexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity<br />24. Sophie's World<br />25. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time<br />26. Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell [re-read]<br />27. Un Lun Dun<br />28. What is the What<br />29. She's Not There: A Life in Two Genders<br />30. Small Wonder<br />31. Magic Hour<br />32. The Other Boleyn Girl<br />33. Empire Falls<br />34. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time IndianThelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-4127491120414007412009-01-06T19:18:00.000-08:002009-01-06T20:14:54.888-08:00Grace in small and big thingsLast Tuesday morning was a bummer. I had something that needed to be sent overnight to Olympia. After some minor adventures getting the thing prepared in the first place, I went up to the postal shop near work. Their sign said they open at 9, but their door was still locked at 9:10, so I gave up and drove to the post office.<br /><br />Halfway through my wait in line, it occurred to me that I needed a copy of the document before I sent it. I crossed my fingers that the post office would make a copy for me, and stayed in line. When after a long wait I reached the counter, I asked hopefully. Would the post office make a copy for me? No, most certainly not.<br /><br />I trekked out and retraced my drive back to the postal shop. No parking, though. I drove in an ever-wider circle around nearby blocks, finally finding an open spot several blocks away. The slush still frozen on the sidewalks made for a tedious struggle back to the postal shop.<br /><br />Now open (and with a copy machine too), the shop took care of my petty mailing needs at last, an hour after I'd set out on what I supposed would be a quick errand.<br /><br />Photocopy in hand, I tucked my wallet into the pocket of my jacket and headed back toward the car. About halfway back, I stuck my hand in my coat pocket to get my keys. There were the keys, but wait--where was the wallet?<br /><br />I swore in a whisper for some reason and turned to retrace my steps at a run, scanning the ground for my wallet. It had <i>just</i> been in my hand mere moments before; it must have fallen out of my pocket when I shoved it in. Surely there hadn't been time for anyone to snatch it--<br /><br />"Wait!" a woman's voice jerked my attention up. She stooped over at the intersection half a block ahead of me, where I had just been. "You dropped this!" Straightening up, she held up her coffee cup in one hand, my wallet in the other.<br /><br />I thanked her with passionate relief. "I saw you through the window of the coffee shop," she said, "and I thought, 'What's that she just dropped?' So I just came running out after you."<br /><br />After thanking her again, I started back for the car, wallet securely in hand. When I got there, while I was I unlocked the door a car horn beeped nearby. "Ma'am! Ma'am!" a woman passenger called from a passing vehicle, the driver slowing to a stop just behind me. "Did you get the thing you dropped back there?" she asked with great concern. I assured her that I had, and thanked her for checking.<br /><br />She waved, satisfied, and her car pulled away.<br /><br />I can be a little cynical about people. To have two separate folks running after me to reunite me with my dropped wallet, on a day otherwise full of frustration, was a nice bit of evidence for the way it's also possible <a href="http://slacktivist.typepad.com/slacktivist/2008/12/clean-shoes.html">for us to all look out for each other</a>.Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-34893071212383986952009-01-05T22:27:00.000-08:002009-01-05T22:37:38.268-08:00Grace in small things: six1. The sleek cleanliness of a wooden floor in the ten minutes between the time it's cleaned and the time someone tracks in a new smattering of fir needles.<br /><br />2. The single snowflake that fell on my cheek last night, which made me catch my breath and hold very still as if it might flit away like a butterfly.<br /><br />3. The Mae Ploy yellow curry paste I used for the first time last night to make a perfect, delicious meal of vegetables in yellow curry coconut sauce over rice.<br /><br />4. The seemingly everlasting nature of the enormous tin of cocoa I bought at Costco last year.<br /><br />5. The silkiness of the <a href="http://knitty.com/ISSUEwinter08/PATTpoinsettia.php">cowl</a> (my first) I finished knitting on Saturday. I am still unconvinced of the utility of a cowl / neckwarmer, but this particular garment is certainly delicious against my skin.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SWL71wAIdLI/AAAAAAAAARw/QJw14p3Qvwc/s1600-h/DSCN5448.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 275px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SWL71wAIdLI/AAAAAAAAARw/QJw14p3Qvwc/s320/DSCN5448.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288065813323478194" /></a>Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-51665243251670654812009-01-04T22:05:00.000-08:002009-01-04T22:21:14.615-08:00BracketsThis is weird: for two years in a row, now, I have both put up Christmas decorations and taken them back down again on snowy days. I've only lived here for a dozen years, but I feel like this is unusual. OR! Maybe it's like I always suspected, and Ballard's geography was cheating me out of snow all those winters.<br /><br />This evening I packed away the ornaments and the lights as the snow began to fall again. This snowfall isn't expected to last like the last one--it's supposed to turn to rain by midnight or so--but we have a solid 2 inches on the ground now at 10:00. I'm just happy to see it, however short-lived it may be. I love watching the layer of white slowly sift in over the mud. The three of us took a little family walk down the block, Chloe snorfling about at the end of her leash. Then I took her alone up Chief Sealth Trail a ways, enjoying the way the snow-covered fields reflect so much light that the whole trail is visible, dusk-like.Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-47223542603692039212009-01-01T22:32:00.000-08:002009-01-01T22:42:11.320-08:00Welcome 2009I have a good feeling about this year. There's nothing concrete to substantiate this optimism, really (aside from the enormous relief and excitement I feel about the new President taking office on January 20th). In fact I'll be celebrating my thirtieth birthday this spring, and that's stereotypically one of those somewhat dreaded benchmarks--crossing over from the footloose and carefree twenties, right?<br /><br />But everyone I know who is older than 30, without exception, has assured me that they enjoy their 30's more than their 20's. And those that are older than 40 are adamant that their 40's are better than either. And those above 50 say something similar about that decade, so...well. Apparently my friends and loved ones are all either sunny optimists, or chronic liars.<br /><br />Anyway, I'm not dreading it. And I'm looking forward to 2009. I kicked it off by celebrating with some folks who were once new acquaintances, and are more and more becoming old friends. 2009 rang in with dancing and hugging, fireworks and champagne in the rain. May new old friends, and old new friends, never be forgotten; may the good cheer that began 2009 seep down through all the months ahead.<br /><br />Really, I have a good feeling about this year.Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-22232880045658214722008-12-29T22:31:00.000-08:002008-12-29T22:41:30.165-08:00Grace in small things: five1. Being grown-up enough to initiate an amicable parting from the four noisy employees of [nameless-large-environmental-organization] who sat behind me for the 9 hours it took my Amtrak train to get from Seattle to Portland on December 20th.<br /><br />2. Finding a box full of free cheese-and-cracker packets in the bistro car of my Amtrak train to stave off hunger during the 9 hours my train sat motionless, locked, and apparently abandoned at the Portland station on the night of December 20th.<br /><br />3. Encountering a sympathetic Amtrak bistro car steward who gave passengers free hot cocoa on the morning of December 21st (since I had only brought enough cash to pay for meals during a 7-hour trip, not one three times that long).<br /><br />4. Snickering at the snarky commentary made by the two teenaged girls across the aisle from me during our epic 21-hour train ride from Seattle to Eugene.<br /><br />5. Realizing that even having an Amtrak train delayed by 14 hours and abandoned by all Amtrak staff overnight is preferable to being stuck in an airport for several days.Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-73256372290603681292008-12-20T09:18:00.000-08:002008-12-20T12:14:49.154-08:00O TannenbaumThursday I mentioned that I had a chance to put up the <a href="http://heavydutypower.blogspot.com/2007/12/oh-christmas-wire-oh-christmas-wire.html">Christmas "tree" I created last year</a>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SU0qSojpBqI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/iwnrL59s860/s1600-h/DSCN5390.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SU0qSojpBqI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/iwnrL59s860/s320/DSCN5390.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281924437588379298" /></a><br /><br />When I was growing up, one of our holiday traditions was a growing collection of ornaments for each of us kids. Every Christmas we would get an ornament or two from our parents and grandparents. Usually our name and the year got written or taped somewhere hidden on each ornament. Our ornaments were stored with all of the other Christmas decorations in a grand old wooden chest, painted green, which had been in the family for two or three generations. The chest was stored away in my parents' bedroom through the rest of the year, only brought out when it was time to decorate the Christmas tree.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SU0vHpViVrI/AAAAAAAAARE/3xN_bLNbABw/s1600-h/DSCN5393.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SU0vHpViVrI/AAAAAAAAARE/3xN_bLNbABw/s200/DSCN5393.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281929746377234098" /></a><br /><i>This ornament always makes me think of my sister. Oddly, the smaller girl's smile reminds me of my mom's.</i><br /><br />I can still recall the exact piney scent that wafted out when the chest was opened each December, the slightly musty smell of old tinsel and holiday candles and garlands. My mom and dad would untangle the knotted strands of Christmas lights and wind them carefully around the tree. Mom always made sure the last light on the strand got tucked into the hand of the angel that topped the tree, so that light had to be yellow or white for extra realism.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SU0vH5fjTUI/AAAAAAAAARM/936QxJu3OCE/s1600-h/DSCN5394.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SU0vH5fjTUI/AAAAAAAAARM/936QxJu3OCE/s200/DSCN5394.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281929750714207554" /></a><br /><i>This is one of my oldest ornaments, a figurine from the Nutcracker from long before I ever saw the Nutcracker ballet.</i><br /><br />Finally, when the lights were arranged evenly, the ornamentation could begin. Mom would open tiny boxes and unwind tissue paper to reveal the little treasures we only saw this one month per year. We oohed as each familiar ornament was presented, as delighted as if they were brand new.<br /><br />The three of us had to take turns hanging our ornaments, although as the eldest I had the advantage of a slightly larger collection. A lot of thought had to go into tree placement: the sturdiest twigs should be saved for the heaviest ornaments, but who could remember whether there were more heavy ornaments to come? My sister and I had several nearly identical ornaments, and those had to be spaced far apart on the tree for visual variety. And although nobody could really see the back of the tree, some things still had to be hung there so the tree didn't look lopsided.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SU0vIIenSxI/AAAAAAAAARU/M3XMneCD-a0/s1600-h/DSCN5397.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SU0vIIenSxI/AAAAAAAAARU/M3XMneCD-a0/s200/DSCN5397.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281929754736806674" /></a><br /><i>A middle-school favorite, this elaborate tiny clock was a gift from my Gran.</i><br /><br />When I graduated from high school, my ornaments remained at my parents' house, and the same ritual was repeated every year when I went home for Christmas. When I finished college, though, it was deemed time that I take my ornaments for my own house. My sister took hers shortly thereafter when she got married, and my brother followed suit a few years later.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SU0vIqrM7OI/AAAAAAAAARc/kA0jP1DhDYE/s1600-h/DSCN5396.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SU0vIqrM7OI/AAAAAAAAARc/kA0jP1DhDYE/s200/DSCN5396.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281929763916410082" /></a><br /><i>This is another of the oldest ornaments in my collection. I love these older wooden ones.</i><br /><br />Now each winter when I take them out and hang my ornaments, alone, I am a little overwhelmed with the sense of glad nostalgia that wafts out of the box with them. These are some of the few things that I have known my entire life. Bringing them out of their tissue-paper wrappings and boxes is like greeting old friends. I can't decorate my own "tree" without hearing echoes of small squabbles with my sister and brother, seeing little ghosts reverently placing their pretties on a tree, and smelling that musty, piney old chest. It's honestly the only time that I ever miss being a kid, lost in the annual excitement of decorating for Christmas.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SU0xI19c5qI/AAAAAAAAARk/fym43vZIbDI/s1600-h/DSCN5409.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SU0xI19c5qI/AAAAAAAAARk/fym43vZIbDI/s200/DSCN5409.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281931965969000098" /></a><br /><i>Christmas lights on the windowsill with an unusual Seattle snowfall in the background outside.</i>Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-24128503790157900042008-12-19T21:14:00.000-08:002008-12-19T22:14:48.366-08:00Open Letter Without ApologyTo the woman I bumped into downtown this evening around 7:15, who gasped in audible terror at my touch:<br /><br />I had been running for two blocks when my path crossed yours, my friend. You couldn't have known, but I had stood outside waiting for a bus for an hour and a half earlier in the afternoon. My toes had gone numb, my fingers were cold even inside their mittens, and my nose had nearly developed its own tiny icicle. When I left work this evening I was dreading the chance of repeating the experience to get back home, so when I saw my bus pulling away just as I turned the corner to the bus stop, I could not allow it to escape me.<br /><br />I trotted awkwardly down the iced-over sidewalk after the departing bus. The right combination of traffic lights would let me catch the bus at its next stop in three blocks. The bus was still in view, so I ran across the first cross street as my pedestrian signal changed. Clumsily, I galloped on down 3rd. Most people kept to the ice-free sidewalk next to the buildings, so I veered precariously onto the icy outer walkway several times to pass other pedestrians. Wheezing in the cold air, I crossed the second cross street with time to spare. My bus was stopped at the end of the block, and I did my best to speed up.<br /><br />It was at that moment, my friend, that you and your male companion ambled out onto the sidewalk. You were strolling slowly, your well-layered arms sticking out at angles, much like those of the little brother in the movie <i>A Christmas Story</i>. My bus was still stopped, but its line of boarders was shrinking. You and your companion spread out to meander past other folks. A small gap between you and another walker presented itself. I darted through, and I bumped your elbow as I did so.<br /><br />You sucked in air like a drowning person, like somebody in a <a href="http://www.komonews.com/news/36458659.html">bus about to crash through a guardrail onto a freeway below</a>, like a seer of ghosts and demons and woe. Your enormous lungs seemed capable of inhaling more air than the cold city contained in all its core. Perhaps you were terrified, dear lady, of the clear threat I presented in my slacks and wool jacket. I do stand an imposing five-foot-six, while you were but a diminutive five-foot-five, so I understand your fright at my looming height. Or maybe you saw only the paper bag in my hand, full of leftover snacks, and panicked at the thought that I might bludgeon you to death with a Wheat Thin and a cookie.<br /><br />In any case, your desperate gasp lasted so long you may not have heard me cry, "Excuse me!" as I passed. But in case you missed what followed, I want you to know this: with barely a second to spare, I caught up to my bus. I boarded and sat wheezing, my lungs aching from the cold. Oh, my voluminously-lunged friend, my haste in our encounter had rewarded my joints with a blessed reprieve from another long wait in the cold.<br /><br />And so you see why I am not even slightly sorry for bumping into your own elbow joint in order to do so. Your overly dramatic inhalation was wholly without result. I am free of remorse, my friend. Free of remorse--and warm.<br /><br />Ta, and happy holidays,<br /><br />ThelThelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-61469330517090332432008-12-18T15:09:00.000-08:002008-12-18T15:17:26.367-08:00Snow dayI went to bed last night cynical. Seattle had sat in the hole of the "snow doughnut" all day yesterday, and I tried not to believe the forecasters' insistence that snow would arrive in town overnight.<br /><br />This morning I woke up before the alarm when Chloe the timid German Shepherd started pacing in agitation, perhaps because of the brief loud thunder that hadn't awakened me. As we woke up, Mr. Thel looked out the window and gasped. "Oh wow!"<br /><br />I squinted suspiciously. "You're full of it." I peeked through the blinds and hey, look at that white stuff!<br /><br />My supervisor called at 6:15 to notify me that our office would be closed today, so I had a lovely unexpected day off to finally put up my "tree." It was the perfect gift.<br /><br /><i>Chloe hates thunder, but loves the snow.</i><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SUrZkJy-EGI/AAAAAAAAAQk/H_EMqcg4nGE/s1600-h/PC181333.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SUrZkJy-EGI/AAAAAAAAAQk/H_EMqcg4nGE/s320/PC181333.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281272728173547618" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SUrZ58QgyQI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/Kl212CjK2dA/s1600-h/PC181332.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SUrZ58QgyQI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/Kl212CjK2dA/s320/PC181332.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281273102496483586" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SUrZkWzMItI/AAAAAAAAAQs/aeNg73UEBxM/s1600-h/PC181330.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/SUrZkWzMItI/AAAAAAAAAQs/aeNg73UEBxM/s320/PC181330.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281272731664130770" /></a>Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-19312734202920756392008-12-17T22:25:00.001-08:002008-12-17T22:30:52.897-08:00Grace in small things: four1. Chapstick.<br /><br />2. Conversations with unexpectedly kind people on the phone.<br /><br />3. A delicious free lunch at work.<br /><br />4. Free delicious leftovers from a lunch at work.<br /><br />5. A fresh haircut.Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-19160182345685220032008-12-15T15:10:00.000-08:002008-12-15T15:22:36.429-08:00Grace in small things: three1. Being able to breathe through my nose.<br /><br />2. The man with white hair who set up his battered upright piano at a corner outside Pike Place Market and plunked merrily away in the cold on Saturday afternoon.<br /><br />3. The puppylike glee which led Chloe to sprint and roll around in the field next to Chief Sealth Trail yesterday morning, a manic black blur against the bright white snow.<br /><br />4. Sky-blue hand-knitted mittens.<br /><br />5. Anticipating the train trip to Oregon on Saturday. Hooray for trains!Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-37473472789045763292008-12-14T22:22:00.000-08:002008-12-14T22:49:49.607-08:00Seattle snow adventuresWe went to bed last night while the snow was still falling thick outside--huge snowflakes illuminated in the glow of the streetlight, so many of them blowing sideways in the wind that we could hardly see the houses across MLK. When we awoke this morning, we had an inch or so of snow on our block, and the sheet of ice coating our street gleamed.<br /><br />It's not much by the standards of many wintry locales, but for Seattle it was stupendous. Any little thing seems more glorious, in this Pacific Northwest native's experience, when it takes place against an icy, snowy backdrop. So today I had two "adventures" in the snow:<br /><br />1. Having run out of time during our busy day yesterday, this morning my best-beloved and I still had some basic grocery needs. Eyeing the slick little hill of our street, we opted to walk to the grocery store, about a mile and a half round trip. We each wore a little backpack for hauling home our supplies. Sidewalks proved treacherous for most of the way, so we tramped along their margins in the snow where footing was more secure. Mittens and scarves proved useful, and wearing my bicycling headband under my knit cap helped keep my ears safe from the bitter wind that was blowing. We were out for about an hour in the cold, and although it was just a little jaunt, the setting made it feel like a true expedition.<br /><br />2. Coming home from work tonight I had two bus routes to choose from. I hopped on the first one that came along, forgetting that it was probably rerouted at the hill behind my house. Sure enough, the bus stopped short of its descent back into the valley. "This is it," the driver said; "they aren't sending us down that hill."<br /><br />We last three passengers disembarked and began trudging down the steep-ish hill. The roadway was clear and dry, while the sidewalk was frozen over; keeping an eye out for cars, I opted to walk in the street instead of skidding down the sidewalk. The newly waning moon loomed in the clear sky above us. We paused to let a couple of police cars go wailing and blazing up the hill past us to calls unknown.<br /><br />We all had made it about two blocks down the hill when we saw a different bus heading up our very hill. I grumbled under my breath about the apparent contradiction between drivers' attitudes, but I should have had more faith. The next thing I knew, the bus we had just left made the turn and headed downhill after us.<br /><br />When she caught up to us, she stopped and opened the door to let us back on. "I guess we can make it down after all!" she said. "They told me before just to stop at Cloverdale, but I saw that other bus coming up and I went, 'All right, I'm going to go get my people.'" Chains rattling all the way, the bus inched down the hill. The lovely driver let me off just a block from home, and I walked back to coziness and warm food waiting.Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-85849720227562357522008-12-13T23:30:00.000-08:002008-12-13T23:54:49.046-08:00GraceTonight we went to a friend's dinner party in Tacoma. There was much laughter and easy conversation with friends and brand-new acquaintances. As the twelve of us sat around the dinner table eating dessert, I looked at the faces around me, at these women whose decisions to live their lives with authenticity have taken more courage and grace than I can imagine or summon. These are some of my heroines, I realized: women who have been through the wringer and faced uncountable experiences of ugliness and discrimination, and who yet are able to be present with grace and joy, laughing and telling stories over an apple tart.<br /><br />After dinner we drove home through the falling snow that was just beginning to accumulate on the grass and trees, and I hoped I could look back someday and be satisfied that I had lived my life with that kind of grace and bravery--to be ready to name hatred for what it is when I see it; to be able to know and manifest my true, core self; to be willing to laugh as heartily as ever at the end of any day.<br /><br />Later we let Chloe out to snuffle, surprised, in the skiff of snow that had gathered in the yard. We watched the snow fall fast and heavy outside. The arctic chill was beginning to deepen, but we turned up the furnace and put an extra blanket on the bed. Maybe if I practice meeting this prosaic challenge with grace and good cheer, it will become easier to do the same with more serious challenges.Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-2510181421362690732008-12-11T22:11:00.000-08:002008-12-11T22:35:48.857-08:00Grace in small things: Two1. Once again being able to toss my heaviest hand-knit scarf around my neck.<br /><br />2. Lightly scented candles.<br /><br />3. Reconnecting with long-estranged friends over birthday drinks.<br /><br />4. Cilantro chive yogurt dip.<br /><br />5. Finding, deep in a pocket of my backpack, the tiny Obama flag that adorned one of the celebratory mini-muffins I ate on election night.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.schmutzie.com/2008/11/grace-in-small-things.html" title="365 Days of Grace in Small Things"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v491/schmutzie_pickles/buttons/seal-1.gif" style="border:0px;" /></a>Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-32603197596505526092008-12-10T21:55:00.000-08:002008-12-10T22:14:58.940-08:00Grace in small things: OneBecause I have been excreting truly impressive quantities of snot from my nose, and working two jobs, and only being at home between the hours of 10 p.m. and 7 a.m., I haven't been a consistent Holidailies contributor this year. Still, I remain determined to participate!<br /><br />Perhaps, if nothing else, I can join <a href="http://www.schmutzie.com/2008/11/grace-in-small-things.html">Schmutzie</a> in recognizing the grace in small things in my life during a season of challenges.<br /><br />1. Coming home late from a long day working two jobs to find fresh, hot, homemade chicken noodle soup ready.<br /><br />2. A large German Shepherd resting her triangle head on my foot.<br /><br />3. The bright red pocket-sized Moleskine 2009 weekly calendar that I bought last month is already improving my organizational skills.<br /><br />4. The plastic Avon figurines--Scamper Lily, Blossom, and Daisy Dreamer--that my siblings and I received for presents long ago. They each stood on a leaf-shaped base, which was perfect for tucking between your index and middle finger while you grasped a My Little Pony in the rest of your hand, so the doll could stand gracefully atop the horse while you galloped them through the wilderness of the back hallway.<br /><br />5. The childlike quiver of anticipation I get at the merest possibility of lowland snow.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.schmutzie.com/2008/11/grace-in-small-things.html" title="365 Days of Grace in Small Things"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v491/schmutzie_pickles/buttons/seal-1.gif" style="border:0px;" /></a>Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6630010.post-9378195561853682962008-12-07T22:21:00.000-08:002008-12-10T22:17:56.707-08:00Day 2I was looking forward to Holidailies. I'm working two jobs right now and only home for an hour in the evenings, but I figured that would just hone my speedy stream-of-consciousness writing. Everybody likes poorly constructed navel-gazing at the holidays, right? Plus, I rationalized, at least on the weekends I could construct nice long posts.<br /><br />Then I woke up yesterday morning with what felt like a tennis ball in my throat. A tennis ball covered in velcro. And phlegm. I managed, barely, to get out of the house for a little bit of gift shopping, and then I came home and pretty much collapsed for the day. I did a bit of knitting, but after an hour or so even that took too much effort.<br /><br />Today was pretty much the same way: all couch and blanket and whimpering. Man, I hate cold season. I'd had grand plans of putting up the Christmas "tree" and hanging ornaments this weekend. I suppose they can wait until next weekend.<br /><br />Since this is such a lame non-entry, here, have a picture from happier, healthier times. This was taken on one of our recent Port Angeles trips.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/STzA5-NYQsI/AAAAAAAAAM8/chGlc8YEgT4/s1600-h/DSCN5372.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__mgJ4PAaDX8/STzA5-NYQsI/AAAAAAAAAM8/chGlc8YEgT4/s320/DSCN5372.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277304965555569346" /></a>Thelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14422837771183645420noreply@blogger.com0