Home

Okay, okay, no more crocus pictures! FINE. But sometimes the devil you know is better than the one you don't, right? Or so I've heard. Anyway, we are home from the beach. It was the usual collection of sand, pop rocks, frigid water, wine, bingo, arguments, running, rocket launching, howling, shopping, peeing on the beach and trashy television. I'll leave it to you to sort out the kid activities from the canine fun from the adult pursuits. I bet you won't get it right, either, but it doesn't really matter, now does it? Because we're home and what goes on at the beach stays at the beach. And that's all I have to say about THAT.

On the way home, we stopped at Doraville. As you may know, Doraville is what my mother's grandfather, Josef, named his homestead, after his wife, Dora. Josef spent years clearing trees to build his house. The picture on top is of an apple tree located at the original orchard near where the house stood, and the second one is the view down the hill from near where the house was. When Josef first claimed the land, it was thick with old growth fir that he cleared by hand. He was quite the writer, Josef was, leaving us, among other efforts, years of journals detailing his exploits. One of my favorite stories is this one about the winter of 1887 when he was nearly killed by giant trees crashing to the ground in hurricane force winds.

Perhaps slightly ironically, then, the homestead is now my uncle's sustainable tree farm. While we were there, they were logging a stand of fifteen year old trees with a super cool machine that clips them off near the ground, strips off the limbs, and lays them down, ready to be placed smartly into a self-loading log truck.

I thought the boys would like the tree clipper; because who doesn't love diesel powered equipment? I have no idea what's it's really called, but I think tree clipper is pretty suitable, so that's its name from now on until I die. We watched it for a little while, and then the boys ran off to the true attraction on the farm: thick, sticky red-brown mud. Seriously, that stuff is nasty. I wouldn't even let them in the van, and you know my standards for car cleanliness are pretty low. Plus the van was already full of the remnants of all the questionable beach activities noted above, so you'd think a person with substandards like mine might feel that a little mud wouldn't hurt anything. But you would be wrong; that's how bad it is. I knew before I let them play in it, of course, because I spent almost every summer of my childhood there, along with many, many weekends, and I was often coated in the stuff myself. I don't like to stifle their creativity, though, and feel strongly that a willingness to get filthy is an admirable trait that will serve them well. Still don't want it in the car, though!

So I made them strip down and roll around in the wet grass and wear trash bags the rest of the way home. I figure that's good for them, too, because coming from Josef's family, they are definitely meant to be country boys and there's not always a hose or even a rusty cattle water trough when you need to wipe the muck off, am I right? Oh yes, I'm a country girl, you didn't know that? As long as the country has wine and a thrift store, I'm good. But I have to admit, it's good to be home to the 'burbs where there's a Starbucks and an eco-friendly dry cleaner on every corner. Have a good weekend, my friends! I'll be doing laundry and picking caked-on red brown clay out of little tiny crevices. And drinking wine.

Click or Climb 2012

Hey, guess what? It's time for the Lymphoma and Leukemia Society's Big Climb Seattle. This is their annual fundraiser where a bunch of crazy people climb the 69 flights of stairs of the Columbia Tower to benefit blood cancer research. I first wrote about it in 2009; you can read that here.

I have clicked instead of climbed every year since then, but I was actually considering doing the climb this year on my friend Brandy's team. Seriously, it's true! I have known Brandy since she was in middle school, which was at least ten years ago, and I swear she looks exactly the same now as she did then, probably because she does stuff like climb 69 flights of stairs on a regular basis. Unfortunately, though, I am going to be out of town, so once again the badgers can kiss my ass instead of chewing my thighs. This time. Next year, though, BRING IT ON, BADGERS!

As you probably know, my mother died of lymphoma. As a result, I appreciate Brandy's stair-climbing and fund raising efforts for blood cancer research even more than I would otherwise.

Please consider donating to Brandy's team by clicking here. Or, sign up here and climb yourself! Because if I NEVER hear of someone I know being diagnosed with lymphoma or leukemia again, it will be too soon.

And, oh yeah, on a non dead mother related note, if you missed yesterday's post called 'Questionable Content' about my brilliant plan for new vending machine selections at my office and want to see it, let me know and I will send it to you. I took it down because it was kind of, ummmmm, questionable.

Dead Cat Christmas

Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope you had a great day, with plenty of presents and wine! I got lots of wine, leftovers from my sister's traditional Christmas Eve soup and sammies party. I was going to go to the party, but I heard Lillian was going to call me a chipmunk, so I stayed home. And since I didn't go, there was plenty of leftover hooch for me to drink today. So that worked out nicely. For me.

It was a very rainy and windy day until late in the afternoon, so the kids had to stay inside and shriek. Luckily we were at Grandpa's house; there's a little more cousin tackling space and Grandpa can't hear. For the rest of us, there was the leftover wine. I just jammed the corks in my ears and bottoms up, my friends! I was going to post a short video, but I think I'll just spare you. Consider it a little Christmas gift from me to you. You're welcome!

Then Jennifer and I went down to the Carol tree in the storm. It's a hemlock, and it's at the park on the lake near my parents' house. That was super fun, and frigidly cold except for the broiling hot tears coursing down our faces. Wait, where did that wine go? Oh yeah, I drank it all because I deeply appreciate its numbing qualities. The afternoon improved, weather-wise, and I went for brisk little trail run, which has improved my disposition remarkably, until tomorrow, when my thighs will feel like badgers have been chewing on them again.

And, that's the Christmas report from the house of dead cats. Merry Christmas, y'all!

Elk Poop. Oh, Honey, You Shouldn't Have. Really.

Merry Christmas Eve, my sweet friends! What did you do today? Whatever it was, I bet you didn't get to see elk poop. It was a beautiful day here in the Pacific Northwest after raining all night. I know this because the cats woke me up at least thirteen times by rolling around in the wrapping paper I left on the floor and I could hear the rain pounding the roof every single time.

The clouds started to lift about mid-morning and we packed up and headed to Elkville. Lloyd mocked me for toting along a huge backpack filled with food, water, antibiotics, rappelling gear and a rubber raft, but I've been out in the woods with him before. I'll write about it someday, after I'm over the PTSD, but for now just remember that if we are ever out triangulating together and I tell you to move your compass away from the truck before you get your bearing because the needle is pointing straight at the engine block, you should listen to me.

Moving on, because I'm starting to twitch and my medication is in the backpack: check out the pictures! We traversed some twisty logging roads that went high, high into some steep terrain. In fact, it was so twisty, high and steep that Shane commented, 'I would be damn scared if I had to walk all the way up here.' Four, people. He is FOUR. My mother is rolling over in her handcrafted artisan urn right this very second. There were no actual elk, but Lloyd was thrilled to see the piles of droppings. Personally, when it comes to elk poop, I can take it or leave it, but live and let live, I always say! There were also tons of birds and some very cool rocks.

I hope you all have a fantastic Christmas! As for me, I can hardly wait for Lloyd to plunge his hand into his stocking on Christmas morning.

Grave

This week I took a day off work and went down to see the newly installed stone on my mother's grave. In case you can't quite see the bottom line, it reads "...so Carrie won't be alone..."

Carrie was her step-grandmother and was sort of the black sheep of the family, which is hard to accomplish. You can trust me on that one. You might know that my mother wrote a book about her family, which we published posthumously on Lulu.com. By 'we', I mean my brother-in-law, who did all the work, and my father, who paid for it. I definitely had thoughts, though! Lots and lots of thoughts.

While doing research for her book, she discovered that Carrie was actually not so bad; she was just a socialist and a crusader for unpopular causes. As we know, this can make one a pariah in short order, and so my mother, a bit of a quiet crusader herself, decided to remedy this injustice. She cared not at all what sort of service we had for her, but was very adamant that she be buried with Carrie, "So Carrie won't be alone." And so it was done. If you like, you can read a bit more about Carrie and the epitaph in this post on Doraville.

As it turns out, they both have plenty of neighbors, including the one that cast the annoying shadow on Carrie's stone so you can't see it very well in the picture. Below is the view of the Green Mountain Cemetery in Rainier, Oregon, from their grave. While looking it up to make sure I had the name right, I found this link to the International Ghost Hunters Society about a ghost investigation at Green Mountain. Maybe Carrie is out and about at night, doing her part for Occupy Wall Street! That would be AWESOME; I would totally go if there were ghosts there. Well, maybe not. I'm pretty lazy, plus my day job cuts into my protesting time.

And this is the skyward view from the grave. It's quite stunning on a nice fall day, though I don't guess they're looking. If they're doing anything, it's probably MUCH more productive than lounging around staring at the sky. I wonder if they take requests? I didn't think to give them any while I was there but I will definitely rectify that next time. Until then, enjoy the view, ladies!

The Suckiest Birthday

Last year, I had the longest birthday ever. It was the day we came home from Korea. In the year that we've been back, we've battled boils, suffered a vicious 4th of July casualty followed by reconstructive surgery, endured multiple short stints in crash pads, moved into a tiny house with three large houseloads of goods consolidated from three different corners of the globe, bought a new-to-us car, adopted Henry, started a new job, began homeschooling and oh yeah, my mother died.

This year, for my birthday, I was looking forward to a nice quiet family party. Which we had, except for the quiet part. I felt like roadkill all weekend and didn't leave the house. I even had to lay on the couch while I was eating the delicious cake my sister made. That was a real bummer, let me tell you. I can't figure out if my malaise results simply from the crushing weight of my dead mother, or if I might also actually be physically ill. I suspect the latter, because I have also been having earaches, which require me to drip a concoction of sesame oil and garlic in there. It cures the earache quickly, but it gives me an insatiable craving for teriyaki. I guess I should be grateful it works so well and I haven't had to try the urine cure.

So! Another year down the drain, another birthday in the books. Thank God it only lasted 24 hours this year.

Obituary

After a long battle with lymphoma, Carol Ann McNeely died peacefully at home on September 18^th, 2010. Carol was born on March 15^th, 1938 and grew up on her family’s homestead farm in Rainier, Oregon. She attended Oregon State University and then worked in public service for a variety of agencies in Europe and the US, retiring from the Federal Aviation Administration's Renton Office. She began her public service career with the U.S. Army in Europe’s Judge Advocate Division in Heidelberg, West Germany in 1962. Later there were stops at General Service Administration in Auburn, Washington, and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers in Seattle. There were also brief stints at Boeing and Auburn Hospital.

She was an avid gardener and was always delighted to share her knowledge, some good compost or a few bulbs with her friends and neighbors. Her flowers regularly garner compliments from the neighbors and passersby.

One of Carol's passions, second (or perhaps not) only to her love of gardening was 'rooting' out and writing about her family history. Her accomplishments in this arena were impressive, and she spent several years painstakingly compiling a comprehensive history of her family, resulting in a 400 page book that details the Hackenberg family in Europe, their immigration to the U.S., the trip west across the Oregon Trail and their life on the homestead, which is still in the family. While she spent all her adult years in the Seattle area, the homestead farm was never far from her thoughts and she visited there with her ‘Washington’ family often.

Carol was an enthusiastic music lover and accordion player and friends and family were always prepared for an impromptu concert; sometimes they would have to sing, sometimes they got lucky. She was a country music fan and knew all the old tunes, to sing or to play.

Carol was an intrepid traveler in her early years, leaving Oregon State University and her family for a job in Germany for the U.S. Army. She visited much of Europe during this time, even touring the U.S.S.R. during the cold war, when not many Americans had been there. Her stories from this time were legendary, like when she turned the wrong way down a one-way street and found herself surrounded by about a thousand Spanish soldiers on horseback, coming down the street the proper way. In a parade. During some of these foreign travels, Carol became an early critic of the ‘Ugly American’ syndrome when she was frequently embarrassed by the behavior of her fellow tourists. Her favorite spots to visit, though, were Cannon Beach on the Oregon Coast and Vinegar Mountain, in Eastern Oregon.

She was a great baker and a bit of a health food nut. She won a prize for her sourdough rye bread, but tried to slip her kids ‘comfrey milkshakes’ consisting of comfrey, castor oil and wheat bran. She was interested in social issues and was always looking out for the underdog; she was always the first one to offer help to anyone who needed it.

Carol was devoted to her family and loved baking with her grandkids and teaching them garden tricks: the best way to kill a slug or how to propagate a rose. She was married to Cyrus ‘Mike’ on June 4^th, 1966 in church with same day receptions at the farm in Rainier, Oregon and at the family home in Renton. In lieu of flowers, remembrances may be made in her name to the Oregon Historical Society (http://www.ohs.org).

The Mother of All Diets

I just thought I'd start off my Mother Loss Chronicles (MLC) with a look at the bright side. I've always been a half a loaf kind of girl, and this ML whole business is pretty dreary. I don't want to skeeve you out or anything. To catch you up if you're a little unclear on what is going on here, my mother has recently died from lymphoma. And, just so you know, if I seem to be just a little, ummmm, flippant, rest assured that my mother always thought I was HILARIOUS. Well, maybe that wouldn't be her EXACT word. A more direct quote might be, 'You are just too, too much', or 'Very funny', but I'm sure hilarious is what she meant. And since she's dead, well, what I say goes (just another fantastic little side bennie!).

And what I say is that the MOAD is by far the most effective one I've ever seen. Forget South Beach, Atkins, Weight Watchers, that stupid cabbage soup thing or whatever else you've tried. No lie, people, it's effortless. Here, let me show you what I mean:

6 a.m. Wake up with raging headache from extra wine

6:15-8 a.m. Drink pot of extra strong coffee; eat some tylenol, rhodiola and St. John's Wort

9 -11:30 a.m. Raging stomach ache

Noon Drink small glass of milk or ingest a small amount of some non-objectionable food, if available

2 p.m. Force down a lump of food to stave off increasing faintness and hostility

6 p.m. Another food lump

7:30-11:30 p.m. Drink wine while listening to mournful Uncle Kracker tunes and perusing grief websites to learn how bad it's REALLY going to get

Repeat.

See? Simple, yet effective. AWESOME, though I can't really whole-heartedly recommend it. After only 10 days I've had to put my fat pants away. A few more weeks of this oozing, sucking morass of agony and I'll be in territory I haven't seen since the mid-80's, when I could have rocked a leopard print bikini with reckless abandon, but didn't because I thought my butt was too fat. Stupid, I know; just look at Kim Kardashian. I won't make THAT mistake again, and you can take that to the bank. Normally, of course, this would be cause for great celebration, because then I would have to go thrifting for new pants. Sadly, however, I seem to have lost my taste for just about everything, including the thrift store. Damn you, MOAD!

Dead

So, my mother is dead. You probably know that. You might even know how much it sucks. I didn't, not until about a week ago. The handy websites devoted to the 'grieving process' serenely assure me that I'm in shock right now, but that in a few weeks that will wear off, leaving me in almost unbearable pain. Then, they all advise, be sure not to self-medicate, as this will ultimately make it WORSE. HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA, MORONS! Oh, sorry: I am finding that this whole dead mother thing is really rubbing my nerves raw. EVERYTHING is annoying. Today, I hate fruit flies, the fake Duke Boys, and those multi-colored goldfish crackers, just to name a few.

Anyway, if you don't want to read the forthcoming Dead Mother Chronicles, you might want to avert your eyes for a while. It could get ugly around here.

Sunday linkies

Happy Sunday! Today I have two fabulous blog links to share. First, from my friend Amanda, comes her 'Dead Cat in my Trunk'. I always say we all have a dead cat somewhere, so feel free to share your story, too. I'm definitely a sucker for a good dead cat tale. Thanks, Amanda! Oh, and make sure to take a good long look at the picture that goes with her post.

And, for a nice change from dead cats, check out my mom's new blog, Doraville. She has done a ton of work researching her family history and is putting it up. It starts with her grandfather, Josef, coming to America to escape being sent to prison on some phony charges (according to him, natch). He eventually came to Rainier, Oregon and homesteaded there. One of her brothers still owns and operates the original farm and I used to spend summers there picking strawberries when I was a kid. Take a look for some really interesting pioneer history. There are a couple of installments up already, and she has a LOT more in the pipeline.