Christmas 2008

Niece Lindsey and Nephew Nathan...oh, and lounging Hope snuggled into her favorite position

It was an interesting Christmas this year...not "interesting" as weird or uncomfortable, but interesting as in timing and journey. We traveled on the day after Christmas due to the abundance of snow and ice on the road and still felt a bit nervous about the conditions even though we were a day late. Lucky for us, the journey was only eventful at the arrival of my parents' home where the slush and ice provided for a squirmy ride and the last hill by my brother's house, 5 hours away, meant ignoring a stop sign and barreling through over a pile of snow and ice. But Christmas proceeded as usual with stockings unstuffed and food stuffed in our faces.

Did I mention how much Hope likes to lounge? Nathan, too.

After we opened presents we entertained ourselves. Rubin demonstrated how simple it is to jump over my brother who conveniently displayed his ass for the camera.

Sister-in-law Patti, on the other hand, got other games to entertain us all and my mother, a youthful 81, kicked all our asses in bowling!


Grandpa and Grandma were a hit in many ways, but mostly because of the ENORMOUS stocking they presented the to the dogs. Rubin was more than happy to grab a tasty gift if he could get his cousin Ringo out of the way.Ann tried to calm the mighty beasts, though Ringo was hard to rein in. He wanted nothing more than to play tug of war with Rubin while Hope was looking for a place to lounge.

Don't let this picture fool you. Ringo's a devil he is and only on occasion would we find him relaxing from the strenuous behavior of irritating everyone.

Regardless, the snow all melted and we arrived back home safely though tired from the journey, the food, and most definitely, the fun.

More holiday photos can be found on Rubinations...

It Just Keeps Coming

It's still snowing though it's kind of wet snow and there's a bit of rain mixed in. Sloppy stuff. Ann saw this little critter looking in our kitchen window this morning. He didn't move any when he saw her. He looks pretty fat, so we're not too worried about him.

We headed to the dog park where Rubin played a little fetch and Quillette smelled the air. Quillette's mom is in Chicago where it's a helluva lot colder and snowier. It could be worse.

Meanwhile, Rubin is entertaining himself and us with is silly snowbound antics!

As promised

We went skiing this morning and had a beautiful lookout over Lake Washington to Bellevue. If the cloud cover hadn't been there, I'm certain the Cascades would have been spectacular. Alas. Cloud cover and snowy cloud cover at that.

Here's Ann on the lookout. I always tease her that she never smiles big when I take this pictures. She claims it's her Wisconsin heritage. "You've got to keep your mouth closed to keep your teeth warm."

Despite all the snow, I-90 was bare and wet, though not a lot of traffic. Usually this direction you can see Mt. Rainier, but that damn cloud cover has her hidden.

Rubin loves to ski, but he gets kind of rowdy so we have tire him out before we go skiing. We took him to the tennis courts to play some fetch where he met up with his buddy Dixie. He also got covered with snowballs (as you can see) on his legs. After fetch, we skied and the boy was a happy camper until the very end when he got so tired, he could barely move forward. Now he and Ann are both asleep in the living room.
Finally, a shot up our street. Not a lot of action though people are out shoveling their walks and building a few snow-people.

Our house looks like a ski lodge with boots and coats and gloves and hats piled around the furnace vents. I have yet to be called off work, so I will shower and drive slowly to the store in about an hour. I'm hoping they call between now and then, but I have a feeling they won't.

Who knows what tomorrow's weather will bring. They're talking about more snow tonight and then a gradual warming trend, which isn't the best news as it will make for messy, messy roads and lots and lots of potential flooding. Still, we may make it to Bremerton to pick up the folks and then plow our way to Hillsboro to be with my brother's family. I hope we make it.

Deeper

This was yesterday morning. I got the car out later that day for my drive to work. Not bad. The car did really well and I made it to and from work without any scary moments. Sigh. But once I got to work, the snow began again and we got another few inches. We're over a foot now...here's the back of the backyard.


We measured the snow in the raised bed. It's about 13 inches, but who knows how much really fell since we've had a bit of wind blowing it all around. Rubin loves the snow, though he struggles every morning trying to figure out where to pee. It's hard to lift a leg when the snow is at your belly.

He's taken to either peeing on the deck or finding the path Ann's made to the bamboo, which she shakes about 5 times a day in hopes that the snow won't break the treasured bamboo.

We're about to go out now with the dogs and than ski later. More photos to come! What a way to remember one's 50th birthday!

A mighty crunch

Well, I have to work today. This could be interesting. I just called in and apparently yesterday was the biggest day of the year. They are anticipating the same today. So, I shall make my way slowly to the store, avoiding hills when possible. I took the car out around the neighborhood just to see if the all-wheel drive would be of any use. The car did well so hopefully the 4-mile journey to work will be okay.

Rubin likes the snow, though he was pretty surprised this morning when he and Quillette (our boarder) stepped onto what they thought would be soft snow only to find it to be very hard and crunchy. We walked through the neighborhood and as you can tell from the video, it's mighty crunchy.

At least we have electricity, unlike some in the state, and for that we are incredibly thankful. Now, if we could only make it to Hillsboro later this week. We'll see.

Throwing My Shoes

I'm going to put this out there in hopes someone has more technical ability than I possess. I'm sure someone somewhere is putting this together, but I want to go on record as sharing this idea early on.

Someone needs to create an electronic shoe that can be thrown at George W. Bush. We should inundate the White House during his last days to really let him know how awful he's been. You could buy an electronic shoe and donate the money to one of your favorite anti-Bush charities like Amnesty International or the VA or the UAW or hell, even your favorite public school. I know people are placing shoes outside the White House, but that's too easy to ignore. There needs to be millions of shoes clogging up the White House emails. Millions.

And while we're at it, shoes need to be laid at the dais of President elect Obama during his inauguration in response to the selection of Rick Warren's invocation. No need to throw them, just silently spread them out, thousands, millions of them in a protest against bigotry. Works for me.

I'm not nearly as incensed as my friends about Rick Warren. I understand the idea of being inclusive -- pulling in those with whom we disagree -- but I also feel for all those people (like myself) who supported this campaign in hopes that we could chip away at all bigotry, not just some of it. Besides, chipping away at some of it does not work. Even a chunk of bigotry in the world is ugly.

I keep hoping that maybe MAYBE Rick Warren will have the courage to just step aside and say, "Hey, I don't represent all Americans so choose someone else, Mr. President," but if there is one thing I've learned this life is that politicians and public figures are arrogant and really good at faking sensitivity. While I was hoping Obama was different, I don't think he is and though I still have high hopes for his presidency, my hopes have been knocked down a peg or two.

I'm a pacifist, so I'd never throw a shoe, but give me a chance to place one in front of the president, past and future, and I would do it in a minute if need be.

Let It Snow!

Rubin wanted me to post these pictures on my blog, not his. His feet are still warming up and are therefore incapacitated for typing on his own blog.

First up...Quillette who, while frisky in the snow, took this moment to be contemplative...Rubin doesn't have a contemplative bone in his body, but don't tell him I said that!Ollie likes to chase Rubin and Rubin, of course, is always game for a good chase...especially in the snow. They both had HUGE ice balls attached to their legs and got warm baths to remove them when they got home.Okay, maybe he's not contemplative, but he's pretty damn cute, don't ya think?
We have about 5 inches of snow right now. Another 3 inches are predicted. It's snowing still as I type. A steady stream. Work called and told me I didn't have to come in....HALLELUJAH! I've come down with a cold and was dreading the drive down the hill towards work. Turns out most of the roads are closed anyway AND the store is closing early. Yippee!!!

Ann and I are both contemplating naps as we were rudely awakened by a bolt of lightning whose thunder shook the house and set the dogs to barking. Ann has another snow day, but unlike yesterday, there's actually snow and lots of it, so we can really be relaxed with no obligations.

The dogs -- Rubin and Quillette -- are both sound asleep. They played hard this morning, ate a big breakfast, and are enjoying the whole gang being home in a warm house.

More later, perhaps -- play and photos and German chocolate cake (my present from Ann for my 50th birthday celebration this past week).

An Icy Surprise

Yesterday morning we woke to snow and this morning, the same snow, but now it's turned to ice. Ann is happy -- a two-hour late start means she can dawdle this morning (something she enjoys doing) and not feel rushed to get to her classroom and prepare for the day. The thermometer reads 20 degrees, but on the news they claim it's 10 when factoring in the wind chill. That's cold for these parts and while deep in the heart of Wisconsin or Montana or Alaska they might think we're wussies, it feels mighty chilly to me.

Rubin loves the weather. Well, yesterday he loved it. He played hard in the snow morning, noon, and night and slept like a brick all night long. He's still asleep even now. This morning, though, he wasn't so sure about the frigid temperatures or the ice that clung to his paws when he went into the backyard to take care of his morning business. He came in shaking his paws and skating slightly across the kitchen floor.

We have a fairly light weight day, though I must work tonight and walk the neighbors' dogs twice as the owners are off to Hawaii. Lucky them, though frankly, I'm more of a cold weather gal than a steamy, humid one. Not sure how their dogs will fair in the ice and cold seeing as how they are small and more cat-like than doggish, but if we keep moving, I think they will be happy, as usual, to get out and smell the trees -- literally.

My feet are tired from yesterday's shift at work. It was busy in a steady sort of way with no outrageous customers to speak of. I'm still amazed at what people are buying these days seeing as how there are warnings of such economic doom and gloom. In the first half hour of work, for instance, I sold three $200 tents and a $200 sleeping bag. It kept on from there and when I glanced over at the optics counter where the real pricey items are displayed, they were swarmed with gift-buyers. Marion, who works in Snow Sports, said they were never without 3-4 customers trying on ski boots, testing out snowshoes, or trying on helmets. I can only help that tonight the store is as busy so my 3-hour shift moves quickly.

It's the drive there and back, of course, but Ann and I are still working out the details of our transportation. In the meantime, we're enjoying the morning eating our oatmeal and drinking our respective coffee and cocoa in a warm, warm house.

Fashionable Depression

As the country spirals into another depression (perhaps not a Great Depression requiring capital letters...yet), I am struck by how often, what we imagine to be the worst does not fit reality. The images in my head of a depression are long lines of drably dressed men and women with solemn faces and dirty cheeks. There are streets of dingy gray and black where the unemployed huddle around small fires built in overturned apple boxes. Joad families sleep on the side of the road and storefronts sit abandoned and boarded up. There are hands, endless hands, reaching out for some kind of help and skinny, sad children with hollow eyes and hungry bellies. Farmlands are dust and small towns abandoned.

When I hear the reports of our current gloom and doom, I have a hard time believing it. Take for instance the images on our TVs. Businesses are still advertising, which, depending on the elaborateness of the production, can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. There are still an abundance of car commercials with sleek, fast cars racing across deserts or bouncing over unprotected wilderness into places many of us have not seen or will not see in our lifetimes. Walmart commercials make appeals to Jewish customers encouraging them to buy expensive gadgets and hand them out for each day of Hanukkah. My favorite commercial is of a family preparing for a holiday dinner and the food is plentiful -- too many dinner rolls, an enormous turkey, a multitude of pies and cookies, and piles of steaming vegetables.

Just yesterday I went shopping at Costco. In the middle of a weekday, mid-morning, I thought the store would be relatively calm. I was wrong. I had to park the car in the farthest lot and elbow short women for the pick of organic chicken. Large men pushed huge flatbed carts laden with beverages and chips and boxed cereals and winter coats. At one point, the carts were so thick in the expansive aisle we couldn't move. One woman turned to another, their carts piled high with books, kid clothes, coffee, and toys and asked, "Looks like you've finished your shopping for the holidays."

"Oh no," replied the other woman, "I haven't even begun. These are just things we need."

Things we need? When I think of the Great Depression, I think of the Waltons scrapping together 5 cents to purchase a bag of flour so Ma Walton could feed her family on biscuits and squirrel stew for the next month. They shared small helpings at their dinner table, not mountains of mashed potatoes or expensive coffee in quart-sized bags. If people didn't go without, they certainly went with less and I have yet to see such diminished abundance in this day and age.

I know things are slowing down at work. I haven't worked many hours of late and when I have, there are not the usual number of customers filling their bags with pricey long underwear or carrying three pairs of skis to the register. Still, I've sold numerous pieces of luggage to people traveling to Europe or Vietnam, any number of sleeping bags for holiday family sleepovers, and expensive heart rate monitors for stocking stuffers.

In our neighborhood, the local Starbucks parking lot is always full and when I go to the store, I still see people ringing up their credit cards with as much ferocity as they did in the past. Last night, as we watched television, a commercial came on explaining that the average American has 8 credit cards and a minimum of $8000 in credit card debt. I turned to Ann and said, "How many credit cards do we have?"

"We have one we share and I have one other and so do you. So that makes three, right?"

"But technically, if we were like average Americans, we'd each be 6 short. How much credit card debt do we have?" I knew the answer to this, but I wanted her to express it out loud.

"None. You know we pay it off every month. You pay the bills!" She was a bit annoyed. "We aren't average, honey. We'll be okay."

Is that what every American is saying to themselves across the nation...we'll be okay?"

I knew we were better than average, so to speak. I knew we don't overindulge, but we certainly don't live a Spartan life and that is what I think it should be like in this new depression. I expect everything to be in sepia tones and dismal. I expect to see fewer cars in driveways and fewer electronic devices in shopping carts, but I have yet to see it. Why? Do we think we can just keep buying on credit and not suffer any consequences? Do we think the economic woes of our times will only impact others and not us? Do we think Obama is going to pull us out of this on January 21?

These are the things that keep me up at night. Odd, I know, but I keep waiting for the "crisis" to fit the images in my head and so far I've been sorely disappointed. Not that I want long lines at soup kitchens or starving children with their hands outstretched. I just think we might change our ways if we really had to suffer. We might actually realize that things do not a life make or that an economy dependent on consumption eventually eats itself. But no, it appears that this depression will be much more fashionable than the last, that our "suffering" will be dressed in Gore-tex and cashmere bought at bargain prices in the abundant aisles of warehouse stores.

Rocky Christmas Ships

The plan was to meet Lisa and Jeanne and their two kids at their house around 7:30. We'd pack up, dress warmly, leash up the dog and head to the lake where the Christmas ship would arrive with it's caravan of festive boats. We'd stand by the bonfire, listen to the choir aboard the boat, and feel in a festive spirit despite all the financial doom and gloom of this particular season.

The kids were happy to see us. Beyond happy, really, screaming and running through the house, falling down on occasion in a fit of giggles. To get out the door was a struggle, but once the girls were loaded into the red wagon, the dog on his leash, and our heads covered in warm, woolly hats we headed down the road to the lake. We were dark blobs on an unlit road and as cars passed, we realized we were pretty much invisible. So we popped the wagon onto the adjacent park trail and rattled our way to the shore.

We sang Jingle Bells and tried to remember all the words to Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. When we arrived at the boathouse, where they served stale popcorn and scalding hot cider, I realized we'd entered the circle of family hell -- small children misbehaving, distant fathers and scolding mothers, teenagers standing in tight bunches all talking on their cell phones, and grandparents looking festooned in Santa hats and reindeer earmuffs.

I have never seen myself as a Scrooge, but the festivities of Christmas have never warmed my heart. Sure, I like Christmas lights on a tree and moderately decorated houses and I can even be moved by a well-performed Christmas Carol. What I can't stand are the large crowds, the commercial costumes, and the forced celebration -- the "you WILL enjoy Christmas" spirit that seems to be a part of most holiday celebrations. I mean, think of it: When was standing in a line with a crying, dressed up child waiting to sit on Santa's lap EVER a happy occasion? I have yet to see it.

I shouldn't have been surprised then that last nights Christmas ships were a disappointment. I got past the crowds with their Santa hats and cell phones. I even got past the crying, misbehaving kids. But what really irked me was the arrival of the ship, the center of this whole event, and the choir who performed on the deck of the lit up cruiser.

On the shore stood hundreds of families -- young and old -- waiting to be cheered up by the lights, the ship parade, and the children's choir singing uplifting renditions of Dashing Through the Snow and Let it Snow and Frosty the Snowman. Instead, the choir performed dismal, depressing versions of songs most in the crowd had never heard. Somber and slow, 20 minutes of "entertaining" caused the kids in our entourage to curl up in the wagon and fall into a whining sleep. Even the dog stared at me wondering why the hell we stood by the lake and didn't go for a swim. Other children splashed in the water much to the dismay of their parents and the cell phones were held erect to snap poorly lit pictures of the ship on the water.

I don't want to be a Christmas snob. I really want to enjoy this time of year. I really want to feel the thing everyone swears they feel over the holidays. I wanted to be warmed by the singing last night, inspired by the lights on the water, feel a sense of community while standing on the shore with hopeful, happy people, but last night was anything but inspirational. It was sucked dry of anything warm or festive.

We made our way back to the house when the choir sang their last, dismal song. The girls, both in the wagon, pulled each other's hair, kicked at each other's feet, and whimpered and cried, overtired and perhaps disappointed. I knew how they felt. Earlier in the day, when I picked Ann up from work, I jokingly told her that yes, a week before I turn 50, I think I'd like to be a mother and raise children with her. She laughed and I tried my best to keep a serious face. She didn't buy it for a second.

Later, after we dropped off our friends at their house, the girls more than ready to get dressed for bed, I held Ann's hand on the way back to the car. "Okay, I take it back. I don't want to have kids."

"Whew," she mocked.

"I'm not cut out for it," I said.

"Me either."

Jeanne and Lisa are great parents. They have two great kids. Unfortunately, the world is in a shaky place and I am not brave enough to soothe a child's disappointment with the promises of the world, Christmas expectations chief among them.

How Sad Am I

I have many things to thank my parents for and though it's taken me half my life to realize my appreciations, I will take this time to thank them for making music the fabric of my life. I know they would have loved if I'd stuck with piano lessons or pursued the French horn into my adult life, but as I jokingly say to people who ask me if I play an instrument, "I play the stereo quite well" and for that, I have my parents to thank. While I may not have any refined musical skills, I can appreciate a good piece of music with the best of them.

This is why I am sad at the passing of Odetta. My parents had her records and I practiced my music appreciation skills hunkered down in my father's study listening to Odetta belt out and softly hum folk songs through the large headphones my father kept by the stereo. I listened to others as well -- Joni Mitchell, Joan Baez, Judy Collins -- but Odetta felt more like home than any other singer in my parents' record collection.

I've spent this morning reading her obituary in a variety of newspapers and listening to any interviews and performances I could find on the internet (NYT has the best). Even in her 70s she could sing beautifully -- not as strongly, but still there was a raw honesty to her performances in the last years of her life.

Now I must begin my day, but I didn't want to head out to my chores and errands and work assignments without a tip of my hat to my parents... and to Odetta, of course. May you find the promised land you sang about your entire life.

Feasting

Food is and always has been the glue of my family. Thanksgiving is just a bigger feast in a long, long line of feasting. My mother, though she worked full time, cooked the family dinner every night when I was a child. While sometimes they were simple suppers -- sloppy Joes or hamburgers -- often they were complete nutritional meals including every dish from each level of the food pyramid.

And there was ALWAYS dessert.

In my teenage years, my parents dove into gourmet cooking flipping crepes in their Julia Child crepe pan or creating jiggling aspics in their tiered Jello mold. They prepared gastronomical extravaganzas for their friends and purchased expensive wines to pair with their poached fish or rack of lamb. As the meals grew in complicated ingredients, so did the desserts. Chocolate pudding gave way to Tiramisu; cake and ice cream turned into a layered fruit trifle.

Thanksgiving was always an overabundance of food, but in the past decade, they have also included a circle of friends who as much family as they are friends.

This year we held the dinner at Ann and Jan's house. This was their first hosting, but it was no less extravagant than when it was held at my parents' house or at Jim and Kay's home. We shifted to Jan and Ann's place for a number of reasons. In the past, my parents and the Morgans (Jim and Kay) volleyed the tradition back and forth -- one year at my parents' home, the next year at the Morgan's. With Jim's passing, Kay made the choice to spend time with her step-children (Jim's kids) in California. Though we missed Kay (and Jim, of course), it was understandable that she would want to spend her first Thanksgiving holiday without Jim with something more biologically familial.

When Jim passed, Ann and Jan stepped up and offered their home for the next feast. It was the start of something new and different enough to help us all move forward while remembering the joys of the past. Before our dinner, we toasted Jim (and Kay), acknowledging, as is often the case in life, the trail of the past and its connection to the present. Though Jim and Kay were not present, they were there in many, many ways though no one attempted cooking brussel sprouts, Jim's specialty!

We ate, as we always do, and we complimented each other for the various dishes we brought to the table. We laughed, we talked positively for the first time in a long time about politics, and we giggled at the antics of the three dogs -- Rubin (ours) and Murphy and Tucker (Jan and Ann's). Rubin, in typical fashion, was nervous at first, but once he realized that the people in this kitchen drop food on the floor just like at home, he settled in a bit more.

Murphy made herself comfortable. As the oldest, she found a lap for snuggling or an empty chair at the dinner table for begging. In the picture below, she snagged my seat while I excused myself to the bathroom.
Tucker played and busied himself by following Rubin around and then, when everyone had finally settled, he tucked himself into the back of the couch in a perfect post-feast pose.

Rubin, on the other hand, worried slightly that he might get left behind so he kept track of us throughout the evening. When we finally returned back to my parents' house, he curled up at Grandpa's feet and let out a sigh of feasting relief.
We came home with leftovers and just yesterday, finished up the turkey (Rubin helped). Traditions don't change dramatically in our family -- we eat well, we laugh hard, and we enjoy each others company -- but traditions do shift, as they did this year -- new house, painful losses, and no brussel sprouts. Still, there is glue in this extended family and as always, it centers around the amazing food upon which we feast.