One Hen, Two Ducks, Three Squawking Geese

Belated birthday wishes to my Dad!

We mailed your gift at Christmas (a Christmas miracle indeed!) and called you (but didn't reach you, boo!) on your special day ... but I didn't get this blog done on the 26th as intended.

I love you more than the tardiness of my blog entry shows!

I'm not a photo person, meaning I take them as infrequently as possible (of myself and of others) ... which in turn meant I only had a few photos to select from in the album my mom compiled for me a few years ago.

How to pick one that best embodies you, Dad?

There's me riding on your shoulders. Me in your arms looking at my birthday cake, not quite sure what to make of it. (Notice that trepidation around cake didn't last long). Me in my fancy cat face that you laboriously applied one Halloween. (How I loved looking at that book of painted faces and the lush make-up you purchased that year!)

Then there's this photo. Probably one of my favorites. Twinkling eyes. Mischievous smile under the beard I've always known you to have. And of course, the bunny ears. (I'm sure I would have been exasperated had I known at the time I was receiving them. I was, after all, the ripe age of 18 and way too mature for that sort of thing.)

Spontaneity. Silliness. The giggles.

A gift you've given me, time and time again.

I wish you many more years of laughter, ridiculous songs, and sudden, unexpected skipping in public places. (You can't deny it. Anyone who knows you, knows it's true.)

Love you!

Moving

The wind has been absolutely dreadful the last two days. Trees are down, shingles are flying off of rooftops, I lost 10 lbs because they simply blew away.

I hate Troutdale. I want to move.

I've wanted to move since the second week we moved here 3 years ago, when the wind started blowing and didn't stop for 8 days. I thought I was losing my mind. (Please refrain from comments.)

It's not always as bad as it is right now. In fact, this winter has been blessedly free from wind, comparatively speaking. The last two days, however, I've prayed - more than once - "Lord, please hold our house together!"

I helped a colleague move today. I have a love/hate relationship with helping people move. I hate it, because it is so much daggum work. And a really terrible way to meet people's families. I love it (love it? okay, not really) and I keep volunteering to do so for several reasons.

It's a nice thing to do. Moving is hard work, and it's even harder to do with no help.

It's great exercise. Sure, it requires a good soak in the hottub at the end of the day (for a few days), but all that weight lifting and stair climbing .. dang! Can't be beat. (I still worked out for 2 1/2 hours this afternoon, so maybe that's where those 10 pounds went.)

It results in free food. And that food never tastes anything short of amazing, because you've worked so hard for it and you're always beyond starving by the time it's served. (Oh, Papa Murphy's, how I love your Gourmet Garlic Chicken Pizza! How I wanted you for dinner even though I just had you for lunch!)

It makes you want to get rid of stuff. It's a little disgusting to realize how much stuff we all have. Filling box after box and room after room with stuff is great incentive: the more stuff I can get rid of now, the less I have to move when it's my turn. Look in my garbage can right now (go on, do it! and take a big whiff while you're at it!) and you'll see a few pairs of beat-up shoes. Look in my donation pile, and you'll see several ill-fitting shirts that were the casualties of a preliminary sweep through my closet. Look in my recycling bin, and you'll see empty bottles of expired medicines. (Do I still need the stuff to combat my constipation from pain killers back in 2001 when I had my Valentine's Day kidney stone? I loved you because of the holiday and all, but I pray not.)

It quells my own desire to move, despite the wind. And that's all I can really say about that, because it is a temporary, fleeting quelling. I know the desire will rear it's ugly head again tomorrow if I wake up to continuing violent winds.

My colleague moved from a less windy portion of Gresham to a more windy portion of Troutdale, but still not as bad as the tunnel of flying debris and destruction that is my street. "Welcome to the neighborhood," I said, then laughed maniacally. I tried to just do that in my head, but it kind of popped out. Oops.

So I want to move. But I don't. So I drank a glass of wine to relax and will soon be heading off to bed, earplugs in, and pray from some relief tomorrow. In Troutdale, that usually means rain. I'll take it.

(PS. Just as I was previewing the final draft of what I wrote above, I heard a loud metallic crash outside. I knew in an instant that one of our window boxes had flown off the house. Steve and I were just talking about that today, as in "wouldn't it be awful if that happened?". Well, it happened. I can't wait to see the giant holes in the siding tomorrow. Yay! The silver lining is this: Steve is supposed to be home tonight. He's working overtime, therefore his beautiful car is not parked where it was earlier. Because it most certainly would not have escaped the falling window box unscathed.

Lord, I know it could have been worse. But this isn't exactly what I meant by holding my house together!)

Make A Wish!

This is one of my all-time favorite photographs of my older sister, who turns another year more fabulous tomorrow, January 15th. I used it to bid her a fond farewell in the Faribault Daily News back in 1991 when she went off to college.

This blog has a slightly smaller following than that publication. Nonetheless, I thought it was an appropriate place to make the photo reappear.

Happy Birthday, sis. Can you believe that cute little munchkin grew up, made a home out East, learned to speak a few languages, became a lawyer (and her own boss), married a wonderful man and now has two little munchkins of her own ... to name just a few highlights? Pretty incredible (you are). You must have made some spectacular wishes blowing out your candles each year.

Here's to blowing out many, many more!

Love you and (still) miss you,
Ronda

Pee-ano

It is raining cats and dogs here, and has been since the wee hours of the morning. At least it was dry when people were lighting their celebratory fireworks at midnight. Happy New Year!

We lost part of our downspout two weeks ago when the snow and wind started. Well, we didn't lose it ... it flew off the front of the house, banged across the roof, hit the back of the house and landed in our back yard. At least that's the path it sounded like it was taking as it woke us up at 3 am. Sleeping Beauty stayed in bed while I trudged outside to retrieve it lest it blow away completely. So it's not lost. It's in our garage.

So now, the fact that it's raining cats and dogs is exaggerated by the lack of downspout - the rain is dumping from the 2nd level gutter directly onto the roof of the first level. To accurately describe the annoying and pervasive sound it's making, I'll use Steve's words: "It sounds like a man with a very healthy prostate is peeing on our roof."

Speaking of healthy prostates, Steve and I both went to the doctor yesterday. He for his gimpy knee (from his collision with the SeaTac Airport escalator over Thanksgiving), me for my "is there a muscle there?!?" hip pain (from, I don't know how I hurt myself exactly, maybe sleeping?). Talk about pervasive. Steve got some drugs to cope with his pain, I was poo-pooed as usual. Not that I should complain about leaving the doctor with good news ("there's nothing wrong that I can see - come back if the pain doesn't cease"), but still. I want drugs!

No drugs for me. I'm getting a baby grand piano instead. Saturday. I can't wait! That man better stop peeing on my roof by then.

More details and photos to come!