Starting at 3:30, you'll see the running joke we've had at the Hogabooms these last few days. Nels even referenced this the other night when we made tamales together. One of my favorite things about having children is that they can make me laugh like no one else can.

Labels: film, hilarity

Waitressing again today. I could get used to it. If I'm going to work now and then out of the home I've asked Ralph not to stay in the house and muss it up while I'm gone. He did a great job today. Currently: making up a rice pilau, off to spend time with my lady friends.

Ralph and I made fun of, but secretly listened to, Fleet Foxes. Now we can't get enough of it (esp. the self-titled album). Ralph tells me to do myself a favor and don't do an image search on the band. He and I do depart on the new Weepies album, Happiness. "It sounds like those bad Christian bands you used to listen to," I tell him. "That's part of the appeal," he replies.

Labels: music, paying gig, Ralph

My dad, my mom, and I - on a beautiful evening. Robin, one of the most dear and sweet citizens of Hoquiam, took this picture from our August 5th National Night Out. This was back when I could sweetly live in the moment and savor it. It's been a week since my father died and I haven't had many sweet moments, although my husband and my children have been creeping into my heart in these ways lately. P.S. I stole some pain pills and take them now and then. Maybe that's what the "sweet" feeling is.

My friends Shannon and Abi called me today on separate occasions. Just to hear their voices and live a little with them was a little slice of heaven. I miss Abi terribly, terribly. She and I used to spend just about every day together and we could giggle together without tiring.

My brother, mother and I are on these tiny remote islands. We are mostly friendly to one another. I feel some hostilities, though. Not really against each other - I don't think. But since we're in the know of how much it hurts we don't have to pretend we're having a good time, either. Talk talk talk then, total silence while we miss my father so devastatingly much. Then talk some more I guess, because what else is there to do?

It was horrid and rainy today but we had a good time; I took the kids out on the bike and picked up Sophie's new bike and hooked it up (her front tire in the Freeloader like this) to take it home. I also had lunch at the Deli. Which always makes me feel better. And I saw Terry, the bike guy. And I met Matt, the cutest bike boy ever. By "cutest bike boy" I don't mean crush-cute, I mean he's probably young enough to be my son, and he welds bikes together, and he was shy and sweet a little like my brother. It's so rainy and lame bike-wise here, so it's great to meet another enthusiast.

Labels: bike, friends, garden, newness, sorrows, X

Today I worked at the eatery I was first employed at over seventeen years ago. It was a welcome break - very hard work, though. My children were coincidentally on a zoo trip with friends so I was almost a single gal for a few hours. This evening I got home (two and a half hours later than I'd originally thought I would) and unzipped my boots and stripped down to my slip and ran a bath - like a regular waitress.

While waiting tables today three men I knew from town unexpectedly consoled me regarding my father's loss. I wonder if my mom relates to my feeling of faking it, of floating through life looking "normal", feeling like a half-ghost. On one hand I am able to graciously accept their condolences and hear their remembrances - and in this case, record their food orders without pad and pen - and on the other hand I'm a broken person who isn't about to talk about how I really feel - not to strangers and yeah, sometimes I don't really feel like talking about it to friends or family, either.

Tonight when I got home a friend - herself recently widowed - brought us some home-cooked food. I told her thank you, for so many reasons but one being that it feels like the rest of the world will move on and I will somehow never do so. My friend said, "It never gets better," and - herself a very reserved person - began to cry. She waved and smiled and left as fast as she could. We're at my mother's house now reheating the delicious food and waiting to share it with a friend. The kindness of this food is appreciated, as is

when I got home tonight I also found out that a friend (who wished to remain anonymous) paid off the remaining balance on Sophie's bike at the bike shop. I found this out because my sister also bought me a bike-related gift the same day.

All in all, an overwhelming (bad and good) last twelve hours.

Labels: bike, tenderness, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

I'd been wanting to take an embroidery class for a couple years now, and last night I sat in on my first session. Brazilian embroidery, actually - it was the only class available. (My girlfriend Abbi - an avid embroidery artist - called today and she and I had a giggle over this concept since our experience of "Brazilian" when used as an adjective includes mostly vain cosmetic pursuits). I was a good three decades younger than the next-youngest class member. So as sometimes happens these wise (and wizened) ladies clearly thought I couldn't hold my own with hoop and needle. Of course, I rocked that bitch, now for my efforts enjoying a square of fabric embellished with a pack of froofy flowers (ideas, anyone?). I also got a great recipe for bacon broccoli raisin salad and talked about the thermostat a lot (just kidding about all that, I'm feeling like a jerk).

Next project: PANDA WATCH! On Sophie's backpack.

* for you, Jen.

Labels: sewing, skills

I'd just fallen asleep last night when I woke with a start. I was gasping, I was dying, dreaming that my father couldn't have air. I still can see him in those last horrible minutes. I was so calm and loving to him and my mother but the memory haunts me. It really torments me that I may have nursed him incorrectly, may have made mistakes. I will never know. I will always worry about that.

It's true that I feel terrible. Every day feels a tiny bit worse. I know that this is impermanent, and soon I won't feel as bad. Right now, I want time to myself. I want to also be able to experience my kids and have a small break from my workload. I want to cook in my kitchen and sit down for a while then go lay down on my bed and listen to my children's voices. I don't want to wake up to a messy house (which was unfortunately my reality today). I want to move a little more slowly.

A dear friend suggested I make a list of things that would make my life easier during this time. The term "profiteering" came to mind. But the truth is, this is a hard time for me, and I do want help. I made a list up of what would nurture me now. If anyone reading has felt they'd like to do more, they can do so.

The gift of housekeeping / housekeep hired help. This is the thing I need most.
Childcare (fun dates for my kids, hopefully that involve some exercise)
Red lipstick from Besame
Fabric (for me or my mom). If I sew something from it I will remember who gave it every time I wear it and be glad.
Cut flowers (not flower arrangements) or houseplants
A pair of Doc Martens (brown would be nice, but I don't care too much) for my bike-riding, rainy season coming up. I am a UK size 6.

I worry about bike riding in the rain a lot. This is my fixation, that does not seem related to my father's passing but is nevertheless with me.

Cooking, and being with my kids in a non-stressed environment, is comforting to me. Tonight I look forward to making dinner, something I planned yesterday.

My mom's address is 603 M Street, Hoquiam WA 98550.

Mine is 330 Eklund Avenue Hoquiam WA 98550.

Labels: ayudame

(Click on the image to find a larger size)

My text was complimented expressly by the mortician yesterday. My mom, aunt, and uncle all reviewed it and only made small edits. I'm proud of this because it's hard to sum up a life in 300-some words.

Oh and, "the family requests donations be sent to the ACS" - that's my mom, not me. I don't request that. I am not a big cancer-hater. I request flowers, or just saying something, or thinking of us. Especially in a couple weeks where everyone else has moved on and we haven't.

Labels: the Ghost of Christmas Bastard, writing

A few days ago I asked my mother for a loan to buy my children raingear for the winter. This year, rather than being huddled in the zippered confines of the bike trailer, they'll be out in the elements with me on the Xtracycle.

I'm sort of dreading the rain and wind, but nevertheless committed to our non-car dependent lifestyle.

Now I need to get myself updated, too.

Labels: bike, HQX, weather, X

Last night when I was caring for my father as everyone slept I felt this cynical laughter in my mind when I thought, I am on as many drugs as he is right now! Of course this was not at all accurate. It was true I had taken some of his oxycodone because I'd been feeling terrible, terrible, almost panicky terrible, and I'd taken some of my cough medicine because my cough was getting worse and worse as the night progressed. I got through last night in the best way I could, and I was a damn good nurse to him, and at 5:30 AM I was ragged and felt I wasn't serving him best so I woke my mother.

Tonight, though, despite a pharmacopoeia no longer needed by our patient, and wine in the kitchen, I'm coping au naturel. It is terribly hard but I would be kidding myself to think it would in any way be easier to attempt to deaden myself. I am alone and awake. My daughter, son, and mother are sleeping (my mother and daughter, in the same bed, sweetly). My husband is gone, vanished, I don't know where he is but I will assume he is taking care of himself for the night. My brother is on his way from Portland.

Am I trying to grieve at 1 AM in some noble, lone wolf way or is it my worry for loved ones, my incredible ability to caretake for others, that I won't sleep until I know my brother is safe in the house? Based of what I've seen over the last few days I'd vote a thousand to one Yes. Caretaking makes me laugh because even when I find I am skilled at it, I can't truly do more than be present and loving. The pain is up to them.

So many images from today I wish I could write them all out as much as possible, let them loose in a torrent. Indeed I am glad that my writings here are my journal and it is my right to do so. I can remember the gratitude I felt seeing the mortician and his assistant, or helper, or whatever he was, when they arrived. They were in suits with ties and the whole kit and had a very swanky bag to transport my father's remains (the stretcher was a bit short, though). Here's what I liked about them: they were so present, calm, not at all condescending, they were unafraid.

The little dog Tuck, his silhouette at the open front door as his companion is taken away.

When my father died... well, I can remember every detail but I won't write about it. Something happened later that I can write about. See, apparently I'm a washer, cleaner, tidying and making beds and doing dishes. This afternoon I had washed my father's clothes and bedding and when I opened the dryer I found the shirt just last night in the wee hours I'd helped him into, and the shirt before that I spent time with him on Thursday when he ate his last bit of food, a plum. The washcloth I'd used on his forehead, I'd found that on my own last night, and it gave him comfort. The shirt was hard for me. Just minutes ago I held it against a beating heart. I was hurt to see it again, inconsiderate, mute. I miss him so much it feels unbearable in a way so very uncommunicable to others.

After he was out of the house I wrote his obituary. What pressure, especially since I consider myself a writer! I had to laugh I hadn't started it sooner; but I didn't let myself worry too very much about it either.

Labels: grief, writing

After last night I wasn't sure I could get through another night of staying up for my father, of spelling my mother so she could sleep. It was a hard night, mostly because I had to be up, and helpful, and compassionate, the whole night, sometimes more often than once an hour.

Maybe my father knew this, how tired we were. But maybe not, because I don't think he passed away on anyone's schedule but his own.

But I'm getting ahead of myself a bit. My father died today at home at 3:35 PM. My mom and I were with him up to the end.

The hardest thing I've had to do today was call my brother and tell him our father had passed. There have been other very hard things, too.

Every person who's read here, who's talked to me, who's sent us food, who's thought of us but didn't know what to say. You were holding my mother and father and I up today. I was bolstered by your presence.

Labels: goodbye

It's 3:35 AM and I owe an immeasurable debt to hospice nurse Corina. There is simply no greater comfort, medical knowledge, and support I could have been given when I called to ask for advice regarding my father's breathing difficulties and resultant anxiety.

Yes, I should be sleeping; I'm not. My mother, however, is. This is a huge blessing, as is the family I am surrounded by - all sleeping, too. I only have a few hours to go and maybe I'll get some sleep, too.

Labels: death, gratitude, illness

A friend takes my children for a few hours this afternoon while I go to my parents' unencumbered by their rascally selves. This is a good thing because my mother is very underslept and there's nothing for it, really. After some medication my father falls into a deep but brief sleep and I serve my mother some soup I made up; we sit in her kitchen and talk.

It is a good talk. We discuss friends, betrayals, a memorial service. She tells me she's worried for me because there's so much of me I get from him. Our flexibility and abilities in living our lives, our "intellectual..." she trails off (what did she mean?). She cites us both as intuitive about "people's bullshit". I have always thought this as true about my father to an extreme degree. I have often trusted his intuition. I haven't thought much about mine. It is interesting hearing her compare us and I wish I'd have really marked down all she said. But I was thinking about helping her through this conversation. How sad she has to see her own children hurt, to worry for us even now.

For all the help and ease the hospice group is supposed to provide, my mother is still on the phone a lot coordinating things. I watch her try to concentrate (mispronouncing "albuterol" worse and worse with each repetition on the phone). I watch my dad breathe. He looks like he's climbing a mountain! So does she! He is so thin his ribcage protrudes and rounds out his body, his flesh fallen away. His pantlegs are rolled up to expose his calves (I realize something I too do to my pajamas when sleeping) and the skin on his calves is smooth and pale and unflawed.

A few minutes after our lunch he stirs and awakens. He never gets more than a couple hours stretch at a time. He sees me and his eyes open wide, his arms pop up and out for a hug. I immediately hug him as naturally as if this was something we did all the time (we didn't). "I love you daughter," he says. I tell him I love him too. I hug him too. I feel some of my self-consciousness evaporate, because I'd been hugging him more, mostly unsure if it was appreciated.

We get a delivery for another machine that will help give him better air. He can't talk for very long without pausing for breath. The technician is showing us tubes and switches and his voice hushes a bit in deference, probably thinking my mom and I are about to cry, or very sad. But I'm not thinking about the machine or the air or even feeling terrible. What is stuck in my mind, and what lends me to flush with tears, is how very, very much my father looked like an infant, in the way he held up his arms and asked me near.

I am so honored I get to see him this way, I get to see his "baby" self, his true self. He's dying but he's also crystallizing in my mind. Never have I been more sure of who he is in my life, and where he dwells. Never have I seen him so clearly; in some way he is not diminished but augmented. I see him even in this form as more beautiful, more pure, more himself. My time with him renders his physical changes as less shocking, and not horrible, but simply amazing. It is hard to watch him suffer, yes. Very hard. But it is also amazing to see a person stripped further, yet still so very much a person.

When he's awake and feeling better I enjoy his humor, his conversation. He eats a plum, the first and only thing he's eaten so far today. He eats the dripping fruit with relish but clumsily, beset by an inability to finish the job - yes, like a first plum tasted by an infant. He prefers fresh water and says it tastes "horrible" after an hour. I am so pleased to fill his water glass, to provide him compazine for his nausea. I hope, hope so much, that until the last I can give him something, some assistance.

Life is messy, and funny. Standing in the kitchen doorway the dog quickly turns about on the carpet and shits on the floor before I can intervene. I laugh and clean the mess; disgusting. My dad says, "It's Thursday - just put it in the trash and it will be taken tomorrow." His mind is still remarkably clear even with medicine and naps; he recites his physician's phone number to assist in a pharmacy phone call. "You're going to miss my memory banks," he tells my mother, with an almost smug knowledge that yes, we've always known his memory so much better than the rest of ours; a gift really.

I leave to pick up my children, and a prescription. I will return to stay the night and give my mother a full night's rest - or that is the hope anyway, for what our plans these days are worth.

Labels: death, graz, illness, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

This morning while brushing my teeth I discovered a small, irate monster dwelling in my breast: guilt. I'd heard of so-called "survivor's guilt" but until that moment didn't realize I'd been mired in it.

It's useless to try to describe, even though I love to write, I love to come to a point or make a point and feel well-expressed. It's simple: I feel guilt. I feel guilt no matter how hard I work, how correctly I conduct myself, and especially when I'm not over-working, when I know I could be doing more or better. I feel guilt sometimes (but not always) when I'm going about my business - when I'm telling my mother I'm taking an embroidery class next Monday. What right do I have to make plans, to rub the point in further that I have a life to move on to while my father does not?

I visit my parents this afternoon after the girls I babysat have been picked up by their mother. My mom tentatively feels me out for coming back over at 3:30 to sit with my father while she gets her hair done. I support my mom having time away so much that I'd probably do just about anything to help her acquire it.

So this means instead of coming home and letting my kids play with the new toy I bought them (yay pizza!) while I lie down or take a bath or even sew a little, instead I will come home and take care of my children's needs quickly then bike back over there and sit with my father and watch him struggle to breathe. This is a decidedly less pleasant affair than watching someone struggle to breathe who is going to recover. This is watching someone over a period of days slowly be strangled, but there's a lot of free time to say stupid things like, "Can I get you a cup of coffee?" but mostly just sit and feel so completely ineffectual and feel like it's your fault. True story.

When you are supporting people who are experiencing a loss people will tell you "it must mean so much to them" and "they know you are there and it gives them peace", but I have no particular knowledge that in any way my presence, my hugs, my deliveries of food or juice or water, my talk, my silence, my prayers do any good at all. I know they comfort my mother; she tells me this. I know in no way if I help my father, at all.

If I wasn't pressed for time I'd write more: that the idea of "help" is selfish (there is very little I can do), the idea of "guilt" is selfish (it's all about me!). The concept of being present, while your loved one suffers and dies, is all I can do, and sometimes it's hard to do even that.

Break time is over. Time to get going back.

Labels: babysitting, cancer, illness, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

Me: "You mean potatoes."
Ralph: "What did I say?"
Me: "Tomatoes."
Ralph: "Oh."
[ brief pause ]
Ralph: "I have to be honest, I started that sentence then just put my mind on autopilot and started thinking about Dee Synder."*

Nels (taunting his sister): "I'm going to eat your brain... And then I'll have TWO brains!"

Me (watching an acquaintance bike by): "You know, Terry is the closest I've come to having a crush on another man in ten years."**
Ralph: "Yeah, well. He has those Billy qualities." (Billy being my brother)
Me: "What? No he doesn't!"
Ralph: "Yeah, they're cut from the same... musty old bolt of cloth... in the back of Clevengers, or something." (P.S. Ralph's voice cracked halfway through, thinking he was so funny).

Ralph: "God, that frosting is so good. You must have made it out of buttered angels or something."***

*Yes, this guy (and don't think it wasn't hard for me to settle on a Dee Snyder image to link to). And no, I didn't ask Ralph why.

** This is a surprise to exactly no one as I regularly make my feelings clear for our local bike mechanic.

*** This was actually said a few minutes later, at home, but it made me laugh and I had to share.

Labels: Nels, pwnage, Ralph

Are we dying, or are we really living?

Last night we had a very small gathering which was only in part about my mother's birthday. I made a cake; or rather, I made the best frosting ever, and fucked up the cake on eighteen levels, and Ralph saved the day with his amazing cake re-animator skills, and it turned out an *awesome* cake. We dressed the kids up nice and packed up the birthday gift and homemade card and headed to meet family.

My father's brother and sister had arrived in town to stay at my parents' house hours after the piano has been moved and minutes after an adjustable bed (complete with oscillating air mattress to forestall bedsores), wheelchair, and oxygen tank had been installed. My mother hadn't been happy at first when it dawned on her my dad wasn't well enough to go out to dinner (the original plan). So after a talk with me on the phone she decided to pick up dinner. Now I'm in the living room talking to my aunt and uncle, the kids crawling on everyone, Ralph fixing my aunt and I a cocktail, and my mother nervously chopping up a salad. She's feeling glad for my family's help yet somehow "responsible" for everyone's food, good time, and happiness. P.S. her influence is something I struggle with daily - being a hostess, but not taking on The Weight Of The World by doing so, either.

My dad sits quietly. Sometimes his head is in his hands. Sometimes he smiles. He joins in the conversation then sinks away. We ask if he needs more medicine. After he has a coughing fit that lasts a while, Nels approaches his knee gravely and tells him to drink his water.

After dinner the kids are absolutely obsessed with the electric bed that's not in the living room. I tell them after dinner, wash hands, let us make it up, then you can get in. In tucking in sheets and sorting out pillows I realize I am making up my own father's deathbed. Sometimes I get these dramatic sentences, they pop in my head. But it doesn't need to feel bad. Why not a deathbed? I remember us making up my bed for my son's delivery, at home. This was an occasion too of worries, of expectation, of the unknown. The more time I spend at my parents' home the more similar and deep the experiences of birth and death seem to me. It's not even as simple as one event is joyous and the other sad, although I know so many see it that way.

The kids are in the bed, giggling. Nels says he's "dying", sticks his tongue out, dramatically falls back in bed. Sophie manifests a convincing consumptive cough. Ralph ministers to them by pouring out "medicine" (Diet Coke!) in a teaspoon. They love this. They cuddle-wrestle. My mother moves the bed into different positions. Nels snaps to this concept and when my mother leaves he immediately finds and operates the bed control. She returns, scolds him. He is banished from the bed for the evening.

This morning my mom arrives on the bike to deliver some leftover baked sweets that came into her life. People bring food to her home and it is appreciated, so very much, although I think people (including myself) may be bringing a few too many sweets - at least in the days when it's just my mom and dad in the house. But food doesn't go to waste around here. For instance, I made her a pie last week from fresh-picked berries (actually I made three, gave them to various and sundry) and she was able to take it to church and share it, something I knew gave her satisfaction.

I don't mean to go on about food. My mother's mood this morning is almost elated, girlish. She has somehow escaped hostess duties for a little bit of exercise, a drop-in visit bearing gifts. She hugs the children and cuddles the youngest chick before revealing what's probably really got her happy: "David slept really well tonight," she tells me (they had both slept poorly the night before). "He only woke up coughing once and I gave him some oxygen. I think that bed really helped."

Life (death) will get difficult again. But last night our family gathering - interrupted with a welcome and sweet visit from two friends bringing, yes, pies and singing two-part "Happy Birthday" - wasn't co-opted by maudlin experiences of sickness and dying, even as we were in the presence of such and indeed had gathered because of it.

Labels: cancer, death, family life, food, Grazdma, illness, tenderness, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

Today in my inbox I received a newsletter from Naomi Aldort:

"It is fine to find ways to nurture yourself away from your child. But, when not available, enjoy the ride. If you knew how close the end of this period is, maybe it would be easier to relax and enjoy each moment. Discover that time for yourself, is time with your child. Being with your child is the way your nurture yourself; it is a treat available for a fleeting moment; it is the gift you chose to give to yourself by bringing this child/ren into your life.

Being with the joys of mothering now is fulfilling. Fearing that you are missing something (or needing a clean house) is painful. When the children become independent, you will find that your interests have changed anyway, or that you can pick them up further than where you left them. These former skills may or may not be relevant to you any more. Life moves only forward. Attaching to the past hurts and separates us from the happy moment of now and now and now. Without the wish to do something else, you love the moment fully and peacefully. Enjoy it. Like the rest of life, it is a passing ride that gives no second chance."

Today I accidentally lived my life this way. I was out on the bike with the kids from 11:00 in the morning to 3:30 in the afternoon. We went to the bank then the market where we bought my mother* a bouquet of local sweat peas, a pie, our farm eggs. We had lunch in our favorite deli and went to my parents' to visit and do chores. We dug potatoes. We went to the store for supplies to make a birthday cake for my mother. We walked our garden. We bought her gift and had it wrapped. I was in parallel with my children. I waited on their schedule and timeline as I would a guest. I didn't snap or order around. Well, not as much as I usually do. They in response were agreeable, helpful, and took excellent care of our groceries and packages. Ralph was home almost before I knew it as our birthday cake was ready to be assembled.

The days I am very busy with my family and with my parents. Daily I visit them, cook for them, listen to my mom, and I talk a lot too. I sit in their living room. We go long stretches not saying much, then the conversation will liven up around something frivolous (the movie I saw last night), or something less so (this week my dad was classified hospice and has had oxygen, intense pain meds, and inhaler, a bed and wheelchair delivered). I mop the floors, do the dishes, wipe the counters. I listen as my children run around in the garden. Eventually we go and I say goodbye and tell them when we'll be coming back.

* It's her birthday! 59 years old.

Labels: family life, FOO, garden, Nels, Sophie

Yesterday afternoon Jasmine, the kids and I went on one of our favorite nature walks, out at Bowerman Basin in Hoquiam.


I cannot take a decent picture to save my life. P.S. I never once felt in the slightest bit self-conscious about this until Flickr. Thanks, internet!


One reason I like this image is that Nels looks like he's all hair, which is sort of how he looks all the time to me.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table and I'm crying again. I think I have dried snot on my jeans from crying earlier today. My shirt is dusted with flour from helping Ralph cook dinner, my children are in the bath, my life is "perfect", and I'm so worn out because somehow life is also so very, very hard for me lately.

I did OK for part of the evening but actually, at about 3 PM part of me thought about drinking all my heavy-duty cough syrup (still got that cough - yay!) and slipping into a coma. Life was just too much suck, and the thing is, it was all my own fault. Let's be clear, the cough syrup fantasy was definitely coming from the not-really-going-to-do-it place (after all, I do need smaller doses of it on a nightly basis), but it was also a pretty deep, stagnant mire of suffering and despair. A few years ago I had a friend relate a similar episode in her life after watching the film Love Actually (P.S., blarf!), so I know if she's reading this she relates.

Instead of drinking cough syrup, I did another first. Depression eating. No, really, first time. I mean I've mis-eaten out of boredom or social anxiety (grabbing at pretzels when I'm at a party and don't yet know anyone), but never literally ate something as a deliberate and hopeless effort to make myself feel psychologically better. I found an appropriate instrument to do so: my husband's recently acquired stash of Cherry Garcia ice cream. Turns out that is one good fucking ice cream. While dishing up I got the most ludicrous phone scam call ever ("...calling from a business in nearby Ocean... Shores," the young man nervously mispronounces in a thick, unrecognizable accent), and in my trademark way I was deliberately polite and courteous throughout the call which itself is an excellent exercise. Putting down the phone and I really did feel better, freed up. By then it was four PM and I'd muscled through the housework (devastating amounts of laundry today) and my kids were somehow behaving and I sat down with the bowl of ice cream and a great re-read of a book. And I staved off existential despair at least until Ralph got home.

Labels: food, sorrows

Our trip to Portland this last weekend proved a nice episode. I took my daughter, my car, and my bike. The idyllic roadtrip feeling did not last because my bike was a bit wobbly on the car and I ditched it at our favorite li'l hippie bakery for Ralph to pick up. Despite this sense of fail the rest of the trip went well. We arrived at perfect weather, I didn't overdo it on the activities list, I made it to a dear friend's bachelor party (or actually, I made it to one part of three of said celebrations), and most fun, I saw loads of my brother and sister and we walked most everywhere.

I felt oddly disconnected from my daughter most of the weekend. This was because I spent a lot of time with my siblings who are grownups, and I tend to wish to relate to them in grownup fashion. In fact when I'm around grownups I'm sometimes not "present" for my children which means I start to miss them. Many other adults are amazing with my kids and very sweet, but the only real grownups who don't pull me off my kid-compass are Ralph and, to a slightly lesser extent, my mother, both of whom somehow integrate with me and the kids, and that's a good thing, and I appreciate it (best sentence ever for far too many commas).

I missed Nels and Ralph so much. Coming home to them was the most calming feeling.

Labels: birlo, jules, pdx, roadtrip, Sophie

I make playlists up all the time. Occasionally, I actually put them together, type up lyrics or song list, make some album art, and deliver them to friends and family. I'm working on one now and the theme allowed for inclusion of one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite albums of a favorite artist.

My dewy-eyed Disney-bride what has tried
Swapping your blood with formaldehyde?
Monsters?
Whiskey-plied voices cried fratricide
Jesus don't you know that you coulda died, shoulda died
With the monsters what talk, monsters what walk the earth

She's got red lipstick
And a bright pair of shoes
She's got knee high socks what to cover a bruise
She's got an old death kit she's been meaning to use
She's got blood in her eyes in her eyes for you
She's got blood in her eyes for you

Certain fads: stripes and plaids, singles ads
They run you hot and cold like a rheostat I mean a thermostat
So you bite on a towel, hope it won't hurt too bad

She says I like long walks and sci-fi movies
You're six foot tall and east coast bred
Some lonely night we can get together
And I'm gonna tie your wrists with leather
And drill a tiny hole into your head

I love having children that are six and four because they are increasingly in my world. Now they can read, they can perceive, they ask questions, and they like listening to my music in the car, loudly - just like me!

Nels is obsessed with the old Royal typewriter I have on my desk. We're in the process of getting it into typing shape, but it kind of works. Thus the discussion of "monsters" in the above song lead Nels to type "mosdr" - his own rendering of the word.

Labels: music, Nels

Tonight's chosen destination for National Night Out was the potluck at our Community Garden. I cooked up a panful of cornbread and large batch of vegetarian chili (made quite flavorful by the addition of my homemade berbere sauce) and carted this bounty down the path to join friends and acquaintances. People came, stayed, ate. The Crime Watch floated by. I talked with friends and my children laughed at river's edge blowing large bubbles with a couple policemen - adorable! Robin took photos. I hope she posts them. I like it when policemen do stuff.

I fell in love, absolutely in love, with Hoquiam's K-9 dog, a German Shepherd by the name of Enno. Of course, if I tried to abscond with that dog (and I briefly considered it) I would get bit badly by both dog and partner; it was clear this officer loved his canine companion very, very much. And my husband would probably demand I choose between himself and the dog. Honestly, though, it might be a hard choice. That dog was amazing.

My parents were there. My mother brought a beautiful batch of fresh-squeezed lemonade. We all watered our plots. My mom and I talked food and joked about flashing the Coast Guard boat that motored by. She is great company. My dad coughed and coughed and coughed. While my mom flitted about and tried to fetch things my father would eat I sat with him on a bench overlooking our muddy, lush riverfront. We talked for a while, then we didn't talk that much. I try to live in the moment. When I do, I feel the most acute sadness that our ways will be parted. This sadness is always fresh, always deeply felt. I don't want him to go. But I also feel so deeply satisfied he's here now. Even if we're not saying anything.

We left just before nine o'clock. My kids had spent a good solid half hour playing in a dirt pile so they were filthy. Horribly, horribly dirty. The bathroom, bathtub was muddy, I mean even the walls.

It was actually quite impressive.

Labels: community, geekery, HQX

I've been wanting a (small) chest freezer. This is in part because I have discovered using my freezer increases the quality and ease of cooking. For instance, it is only a slight amount more effort to prepare a large batch of food and freeze some than making a normal sized batch. This is also because I watched a movie called The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio and it has stayed with me in so very many ways.

So a while back my family took a night drive to a house to look at one that was offered for free. I had misgivings about the transaction which were soon validated. First, it was on a beautiful, lonely, and desolate stretch of road. And it was the creepiest and saddest house I've ever been in (think Blair Witch crossed with Silence of the Lambs and you're close). Mortified plywood porch and I thought I was going to fall through it. Our flashlight bounces off mildewed religious artifacts and jars of old preserves cloudy and abandoned on the dirty floors. I'm thinking how sad it is someone's life lived out here and now the house lay in a pile of waste and junk. So out in the garage we find the freezer. The top is rusty but, I'm still hopeful. I make a joke to Ralph about a body being inside and just as Ralph opens it I realize there very well may be meat in there (without power to preserve it) and - bam! sure enough, inches of absolute filth and rotted split-open turkey carcass (I hope) before I tell Ralph to drop the lid! Because he's still sitting there kind of looking at the contents. A split-second later and I am beset with the worst smell ever. I stagger outside and pull my shirt up over my nose but it isn't until I get home and shower that the smell finally leaves me. It was funny actually, the second I saw the violent shade of corrupted flesh I thought, "I immediately regret this decision!"

It was a beautiful drive. We also stopped at the 7-11 and got candy first. That's a rare choice for the Hogabooms. It's funny, we treat ourselves to lots of nice things. But candy and late-night adventures we need to do more often.

Labels: death, roadtrip

We went to a birthday party yesterday. Ralph filmed and cut a very quick video of the proceeds. I've been struck by his many little kiddo videos and how amazing it is to look back and watch them. If you know the kids in the films, you likely enjoy watching them. If you don't, you'll still really like the fast-motion post-pinata section.

Today after this-and-that chores and breakfast we went to my parent's house. While Ralph mowed their lawn I cooked custard (my dad loves it), made two loaves of egg bread, washed all my parents' bedding, and dusted the bedroom and grand piano. And we all had lunch and visited, of course. I started in on making jam out of the fresh blueberries we picked but sensed my mom was ready for me to exit her kitchen. A project to tackle tomorrow.

I felt so unbelievably satisfied when we left. It's not even that we did my parents "favors". I know my mom appreciated some of it. I don't really know what else. Sometimes I think they must like our company. But I don't even know how much they enjoy that. In fact I laugh to think I don't know, at all, what my parents care for. They are unwilling or afraid to tell me. Sometimes they tell me thank you (my mom far more than my father), but this is a language hard for my family.

It's not about them, it's about me being who I want to be, at least with the information I have.

Labels: FOO, food, gratitude

I had a friend who once told me that because of her dad's habits in childhood, she'd always get a positive, warm and fuzzy feeling from smelling beer on a man's breath. And sure enough, she ended up partnered with a beer-drinker and in fact drank a lot herself. For entirely coincidental reasons I had years ago decided I didn't want my children to smell alcohol on my breath night after night as I kiss them to sleep. Alcohol riddles my childhood; I don't want to be a slave to or obsessed with the eradication of it in my life, but until I sort all that out I really don't want my children to either.

But lest you think this was a long, meandering post about my triumph over alcoholic tendencies, you're wrong. Because this is about what my children likely associate with Love-Mommy, and what Nels just commented on this morning when he told me my breath smelled good: Coffee. I like coffee. I drink coffee. CoffeeCoffeeCoffee. I'm sick, slavish to it. I could probably not go a roadtrip without it unless it was after 6 PM or so (when I'm ready to be done drinking it for the night). You know how smokers need that smoke break? I'm almost like that with coffee. I think about coffee. I treat myself to coffee. OK, I'm not a total fiend: I won't drink "bad" coffee - I won't bother with something from 7-11 or most diners. Living in Washington state though, it's easy to find good (or at least decent) cup of the stuff.

This morning Nels snuggles me a bit before I stick him in bed next to his sister; their fresh pancakes await in a warm oven, and in a moment I'm off to bath, breakfast, and a bit of yoga before the day truly begins.

I watched The Dark Knight last night. It was a great film and I plan to see it again. I put a film review up on a site I write for (hee hee, not linking to it, it's a secret) and in looking up some details of the film on on imdb I see a post: "Who else found the Joker sexy?" Yeah, OK, it needs to be said: the Joker was sexy (and scary. Those things can go together, you know). And this is why - he was extremely self-validated. Probably the biggest turn-on, ever. Well, for me at least.

Labels: childhood, coffee, film, FOO