the beach

The other day, I read a book review at work that launched a mighty sense of nostalgia for the beach.
I was lucky enough to have parents who grew up loving the beach – what I would consider the REAL beach, with waves that break, wind in your hair, sand in your (everywhere) and where it pretty much never, ever gets above about 55 degrees – not the poser beaches I’ve been to elsewhere. (I realize that's highly subjective. Please allow me my subjectivity here.)

I reflect sometimes on how lucky I was to be taken to the beach at least a couple of times a year in my youth. The place we went the most often was at Rockaway, Oregon – called Camp Magruder. It’s still there, the handy internet tells me, still run by Methodists. I went to a summer camp there for a week, two or three times, and my extended family would meet there (in the big lodge, where I was forbidden to go when there as a camper) for spring break. It was divine. In addition to the beach, the camp had a ‘big swing’ that was a loop you could sit in that wrapped around a tree that was kind of hanging over a cliff (a little one). And they had a freshwater lake on the eastern border of the camp that you could row or canoe or, later, paddleboat in. The one and only fish I caught in my life, I caught there. One year, my dad devised clues for a scavenger hunt around the camp. It utilized all the big draws – you even had to take a boat out onto the lake to get one of the clues. (or so we were led to believe – Dad told us later he’d secured it to the big dead overhanging tree via a land route. Hmph!)

The best part, though, were the campfires at night. My grandpa, a man of few words, and my grandma, a woman of many songs, would make that event special. Grandpa scouted up the requisite driftwood for a fire, and he’d drive some horseshoe stakes into the ground, and us kids (my three female cousins, me and my younger brother) would poke around and see what we could find on the beach. When darkness fell – after we watched the flaming ball of sun drop into the ocean, a feat not easily possible on the East Coast – we roasted marshmallows and sang songs. And oh, did my grandmother know songs! From the man on the flying trapeze, to the preacher who hunted the bear, to the man who invented a machine that made sausages out of the neighborhood cats and dogs … family classics, all. And the fifteen thousand-piece puzzle awaiting us at the lodge that the adults would rush back to pore over some more. (only a slight exaggeration, I assure you.) And the huge cupboard into which my younger cousin and I would squeeze with our recently acquired Betty and Veronica comic books and Jolly Ranchers. And games of volleyball and tetherball. Much of it footage for home movies somewhere in my uncle and aunt’s house.

It’s a happy memory, and I’m smug in my remembering, until I realize: My daughter is not growing up going to the beach every year. She doesn’t know what it’s like to force yourself into the wind along the beach, which is too cold, but you don’t care because there might be a special shell or even a Japanese float just ahead!

Then it all just makes me sad.

We went to the beach, in April. In California, with my brother and his family. This beach was near L.A., but somehow it was still cool. Almost no one else was there, and I suppose it was early enough in the year that it somewhat resembled a Pacific Northwest beach. In that windy and cold kind of way. Not quite as scenic, but when you're starving for beach, you'll take it.

Lizzy loved it. It's getting more and more expensive to get us to the West Coast, but I have to stay committed to the attempt. At the end of the day, or the middle of one's life ... it's worth it.

kind of like I'm Vulcan

One of the characteristics of first-trimester pregnancy that’s the weirdest, and most acute, for me is the super-powered sense of smell. I suppose it serves the purpose of getting me off coffee for awhile – it takes a lot to do that. But I spent the entire evening at home last night thinking our house really stank. Then this morning, I realized that I had that same unpleasant smell in my nose, and I was sitting at my desk at work. (I assure you, it’s not ME that I’m smelling.)
So it seems to be something even worse than actual heightened smell – it’s phantom smell, as well. Overactive smell memory, perhaps? I can’t really figure it out.

And don’t even get me started on walking behind someone actively smoking as I’m making my way down the D.C. sidewalk to work. If noses could kill …

Anybody know an effective way of thoroughly cleaning couch upholstery? One that doesn't involve owning a K1rby vacuum?

in sickness and in sickness

Matt and I seem to have this unintentional competition when it comes to health.

If one of us mentions that we're not feeling well, almost without fail, the other person will say, 'Gee, I'm feeling crappy today, too!'

It's a little annoying, to be honest. I mean, let me have the theoretical sickie couch to myself now and then! But it happens (maybe almost) just as often from my direction as it does from his.

Granted, that's going to be a little MORE annoying, for awhile. In my mind, hey, I have a legitimate REASON to be feeling poopy. My body's brewin' up a young'un! It makes sense that this might take the wind out of my sails from time to time.

A couple of months back, I took this tendency to its extreme conclusion. Matt had been complaining about a nagging headache that day. It seemed like it was really taking it out of him. I could tell he was suffering.

I'm not usually a headache person, thank goodness. And never terribly bad. They usually mean I'm getting the flu, which is rare.

So on that evening, we were tootling about the house -- Matt making dinner (bless him! despite his headache!) and me doing ... whatever. We have this hallway that's pretty narrow, and the half-bathroom door blocks the entire thing if the door's open. (if you've been in our, or Sam and Dee's, house, you know what I'm talking about.) Good ol' Ryan homes!

I was breezing down the hallway, and thought, for some reason, that I could kind of kick the door shut on my way by. Unfortunately, the bottom of the door somehow got stuck on the edge of my shoe. Or something? I wasn't quite sure how it happened, only that I next heard a tremendous CRACK!, which was the door caroming off of my forehead.

Needless to say, I had a headache to rival Matt's for awhile.

Happy Thanksgiving!

As usual, I have much to be thankful for.

The latest thing: I'm finally pregnant! Thanks be to God. I was beginning to wonder if that particular blessing would be forthcoming.

I was asking a friend a couple of days ago whether I should put this on my blog yet. It's obviously uppermost in my thoughts these days, so NOT blogging about it was putting a damper on blogging at all. (yes, that DOES mean you'll be treated to all kinds of pregnancy mumbo-jumbo for the next eight or so months. Sorry ...)

Then I realized, most of the 14 or so souls who read this blog already know. So, why not?

I was beginning to feel like the whole world, minus me, was living in baby expectancy. We just had two new babies in my office (born to wives of my co-workers), and another lady's about to pop. I have three other dear friends who are in various stages of pregnancy, another acquaintance/friend (she feels like a dear friend, but since I know her mostly through her blog, does that count?) and two wives of friends. It's a baby boom!
Which was a little depressing, when I was trying to join the party but couldn't seem to land an invitation. Now I have, and it feels great.

And I'm looking forward to hearing who's next to join our rounded-belly band!

speaking of birthdays,

Congratulations to my new little niece! Poiema Williams. She was born last Friday.

My brother Ben's fifth daughter. Heaven help him!



But I have to hand it to the real hero(ine), their mom, Molly. Way to go, girl!

Happy birthday, Lizzy!

We can't believe you're five years old today.


Lizzy had a great party on Saturday. Here she is with a friend, Elizabeth -- she had probably about 25 more friends at her pool party, too!

We can't believe she's such a big girl. We love you, Lizzy Lou!

anybody need a 10-pack of Depends?

So the Halloween costume didn't pan out. Three of Matt's friends invited us to Halloween parties this past weekend and the one before, but we just couldn't be bothered. What? Drive to Arlington for a Halloween party? You must be joking. We drive there and back every weekday. We are sloths. Sloths who had a 5-year-old's birthday party to plan and execute. (which went, er, swimmingly, by the way.)

So my costume idea -- actually, Matt's costume idea for me -- L1sa Mar1e Now@k, the cr@zy @stronaut lady, didn't come to fruition. Too bad. (one of the parties had a 'Heroes and Villains' theme, so I was to be a modern-day villain.) I had the jumpsuit-like dark-blue sweatshirt and sweatpants -- and the gen-yoo-ine NASA patches and baseball cap -- at the ready. Didn't ever manage to find a container of TANG and some mace and a rope to throw into a clear plastic backpack, though. But I would've, had we decided to go to a party somewhere ... I would've.

Oh, and the Depends. I did have those. I modeled a pair for Matt over the sweatpants. I thought he was going to spit his drink across the room.

They were kinda frilly. I guess incontinent folks like to feel stylish, too.

please pray

We just found out that Matt's grandma, his mom's mom, died.

It's thought that she died of a sudden heart attack, and didn't suffer. She's been doing poorly for the past few months, but still, it comes as a bit unexpected. She was still living on her own, etc.

Please pray for Matt's mom, Connie. That she's feeling peace, and no guilt, and that God helps her through the grieving process. That this brings her family together in ways that they often don't come together.

Thanks.

Hummus vendor

So ... there's this new little stand about a block away from my office. A shiny metal cube. A couple of guys who are doing their best to whip up interest. They were even giving away free baklava for your first visit. Too bad I was in "dieting mode" that day.

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A little back story: I LOVE TURKISH KEBABS. In Germany, there was this whole Turkish subculture -- I'm guessing it's (by far) the biggest minority ethnic group in Germany -- and thus, many Doner Kebap stands flourished. And I LOVED them.
I don't know what they put in those kebabs -- rumors were wild and plentiful on that front -- but I also didn't care. I was totally hooked. The sauce! The meat! And it was a relatively cheap sandwich (about $4) you could grab and go. Ohhh man.

To make matters better -- or worse, depending on your perspective -- a Turkish guy set up a stand on the back road that led from my German motel to the Stars and Stripes where I walked, back and forth, every day. Since I had to pack a lunch/dinner with me each day (noon to 8 p.m. shift), this led to me having probably a kebab a week or so. Mmmmmm.

My kebab-buying tendencies (at that stand) slackened when the guy started taking a keen interest in me. He didn't know much English (we were in Germany, after all), and I knew very little German and zero Turkish, but he managed to ask me out on a date one day. I found that puzzling, seeing as how his wife occasionally ran the stand, often accompanied by her young (infant/toddler) son.

"Oh, in Turkey, we can have as many as five wives!" he said. Well, he didn't say it quite that articulately. But that was his point.

After that, I had fewer kebabs on my way to work.

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Back to the original story. So I was a little excited to see this kebab stand appear near my office. Woo! Kebabs!! And maybe with no side of second-wife suggestion. (no guarantees there; it is, after all, a city. Weird things happen on these streets between strangers.)

So, one day, I go to the stand and get a "kebab." Very disappointing -- the meat was rather dry (they were out of cucumber sauce), and was merely chicken, not whatever meat mashup they usually have roasting on the vertical spit at good kebab places.

Hm, think I. Well ... maybe I'll try hummus one day, if I'm feeling like eating light. I loooove hummus!

A few weeks later, I return. It's raining, and I'm glad the stand is relatively close to my workplace. (I lived in Seattle -- I don't need no stinkin' coat or umbrella!) The guy is excited to have a customer. He asks what I want.

When I say "Hummus", his face falls. "Oh," he says. "Well, we don't really have that today." (bad sign when they don't have something both times you've tried a place, I mentally note.) "Well, we do, but ... it'll be a half hour or so." "Oh?" I say. "Welll, maybe more like 10 minutes!" he says brightly. "My business partner had to run an errand, and the hummus is in the car."

The CAR?!!?!
Thus ends my interest in the shiny new kebab stand.

Lizzy journal

Okay, I probably shouldn't have put this on the list, because it's more a passing observation than a story.

(However, I completely agree with Tara's comment below -- that someone else could write about the coffee stain they got on their pants, or the mystery smell in their kitchen, or their annoying cubicle neighbor, or the crazy episode of CSI they saw last night -- I would still find it fascinating. Because, as she said, when I'm reading someone else's blog, I'm either looking for an update or a break, or both. My ability to be entertained is pretty basic. Heck, I do my most talking to a 4-year-old.)

That said:

I'm repeatedly impressed by the ways Lizzy's school finds to get the children to express themselves on their terms, at their skill levels. Matt and I were concerned -- well, he concerned, I intrigued -- to hear that Lizzy would be completing a "journal" in kindergarten. I think he was worried that all the other kids could read and write, and she'd be expected to. She's starting to put letters together, a little, but to be honest, we don't work on that much at home. (We should start.) I've probably mentioned that she prefers more of a bedtime story format, and loves memorizing them and "reading" them to us. Hope we're not stunting her too much.

So Lizzy's been tearing through this "journal" -- I think the kids have regular journal time each day -- and this is what it is: They draw, with markers, what they've learned about. One day, they recited a "five busy bees" poem. So she drew and colored five bees. The day we all went to the pumpkin patch, she drew that. Some days, the teachers spell out words for them to write down, to practice.

She's very, VERY proud of it. She has tried to show it to us a few times -- and we want to see it, and we look and listen to her descriptions, but the problem is, we pick her up right at the end of the day, and we just can't sit there for 20 minutes and pore over it. But I LOVE it.

She's also, of her own accord, appropriated notebooks at home (probably encouraged by her school experience) and calls them "her journal(s)", and is putting stickers on each page, or drawing pictures ... It's just the cutest thing. We got our first one from Ethan down the street -- his July birthday party (Go Diego Go!) incorporated "field journals" to document all of the things they'd seen on their party adventures. So creative!

It just makes me proud. I'm a journal-keeper from way back, though about ... hm ... the time I had Lizzy, I stopped keeping one. I guess the blog is supposed to fill some of that gap, but it really doesn't. Which is okay.

I love to see her doing things that I'm interested in. (what can I say -- I'm a parent! I guess we're all alike in that way.) I love to see her discover her own interests, for sure, but there's something sweet and special about handing down a skill or interest to the next generation.

Oh, she's also got her first "photo album." I took her little camera in to Ritz and got the photos developed. Dude, they're terrible. A horizontal pic of the top of the vacuum cleaner; a few shots of the clothes hamper; a few blurry photos of the flowers on the table. Endless variations of her animals clustered together on the couch. A half-dozen of Daddy, from the back, as he made dinner that night.

Impossibly cute, nonetheless. But next time we buy a camera for her, she gets more pixels! The thing will break the first time she drops it, but darn it -- more pixels.

too much (blank), not enough (blank)

How's this for a mind-blowing statement? When you have something to write about, you don't have time to write it! I know. I'd best now go about suing anyone who expresses that sentiment, because it's completely original and unique to myself.

Sarcasm aside ... it seems like all I've done toward blogging lately is writing down a few words of a story or thought that I'd like to type in. But a few days later, the story/thought seems outdated and/or dumb, and totally not worth anyone's time. And then there are stretches where I cannot think of a single tidbit that would be of interest to anyone but my poor dear husband, who is forced to listen to me rattle on every morning and evening and does a darned fine job feigning interest. But this blog isn't really for him, because, as I said, he gets to hear it from the horse's mouth. Whether he likes it or not.

And then, of course, there are the things I'd just best keep to myself -- not because they're dark, fascinating secrets, but because they're boring, self-pitying, downright mean, or what have you. For instance, you do not want to hear me get frustrated all over again about the latest pregnancy test failure. There are only so many ways and times to say, "Just how the HECK was it so easy when we WEREN'T TRYING???"

For your puzzlement, here is my current list:

-- fundraising update
-- Halloween costume
-- duet
-- Lizzy journal
-- Hummus street vendor
-- work mural

Do any of those sound especially intriguing? I'll take a vote on what eager readers want to see next.
And if no one votes for anything, I'll count that as the people having spoken, as well.

Ariel fishes for candy, compliments

I'm feeling guilty throwing this together at work. But I can't let Lizzy fans go the entire day without a glimpse of last night's festivities.!


Happy Halloween, trick-or-treaters!




Soon after battling unbelievably nasty traffic -- everyone tried to get home early, as did we -- Lizzy and I forged out on our own. We soon ran into the Lone Ranger!



He was accompanied by his trusty sidekick ... er, Frog Boy.



(In actuality, these are our good friends and neighbors, Ethan and Keenan, from down the street.)

Lizzy's Pop Pop came home from a vacation in the Philippines just in time to see her transformation into a mermaid.



And here's a close-up shot of her brassy hair, which really completed the costume.



(please pardon the toplessness. It's a mermaid thing, you know.)