bread-casting

The Contest

2011-10-31T11:57:00.000-07:00

Just for fun...

She'd read about the contest in the newspaper and, yes, now that she thought about it she had noticed more strangers around lately. But everyone knows no one ever really wins these sorts of things. She's always been pretty sure the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes is fake, the shocked winners and plastic host just hired for the occasion.

And yet. There's no denying what's in the hole at her feet.

She hadn't read the clues or followed the webcasts. Not for her the fan forums filled with treasurehunter1967 and strike_it_rich09 commenting at all hours about lat and long and what the latest revelation could mean.
She'd just come out to the desert to bury Snookums, the last of his litter (turns out it doesn't matter how often you brush a dog's teeth if he won't stay out of traffic) and now here she is, looking down at a dead dog and a box of gold.

Alaska friends

2011-07-12T13:30:00.000-07:00

I'm still reveling in memories of the last few weeks when we had the joy of hosting some friends we knew in Alaska. We hadn't seen Ryan since we moved away but at the end of June, he flew into Seattle, snagged Natasha (who lives there now) and caught a train down for a visit. My goal for their time here was to give them a glimpse of our lives in Oregon and to catch up on 10 years of stories. It's a good thing I didn't include "being well-rested" to that list, because somehow in a week and a half of visit, we managed to smash in a trip to the Columbia River Gorge, one to the beach, a day at the Aviation Museum, 4 days of sailing, a day enjoying Portland, church, 2 orthodontist appointments, a trip to the library, 3 hikes and lots and lots of good food.

They met much of our family and many of our friends, and, despite the full schedule, we spent many hours just enjoying each other's company and remembering why we were friends in the first place. None of us had been particularly nervous about how we would relate, but it was delightful to slip back into old friendships with the same feelings of connection and affection we had 10 years ago. Of course, the girls are so much bigger now (Ryan had never even met Meira) and it was wonderful to see them interact with Ryan and Natasha with so much ease and joy. We all agree that 10 years is way too long to let pass before we see each other again!

Feel free to skip ahead and just look at pictures if you want (necessary credit: they're all from Ryan's camera). I don't expect you to care nearly as much as I do about the minutiae of our time together, but if you have a few minutes, grab a cup of tea (with milk and sugar, British style) and read on.

The first day of the trip, Beth, (a mutual AK friend who lives in Portland now) was having a birthday party, so as soon as we picked Ryan and Natasha up from the train station, we drove up into the West Hills to see her. It seemed strange to see so many Alaska friends together in Portland, but it was great to see Beth and meet her new son.

Sunday, the girls and I helped lead worship in church, and then we spent the afternoon out at our CSA farm. Our farmers have recently added a significant amount of land to their property and it was fun to get a tour and hear their plans for the future.

Monday's weather predicted evening showers so we headed east to the Gorge in hopes of avoiding them. Our plan worked, and we spent the day hiking a 5.5 mi. loop from Multnomah Falls to Wahkeena Falls. Natasha was kind enough to hike at my pace (read: very slowly, with frequent breaks to ward of the peripheral warbling of an asthma-induced migraine) and Ryan took the girls ahead at his pace (read: very quickly with frequent stops for log/rock jumping and creek wading).

He and Hannah had been very close when he last saw her (at 16 months old) and it was fun to see the way they reconnected. He later said he had wondered a bit if they would want anything to do with him and we all laughed--that was not a problem!

On our way home, we stopped by Crown Point for some picture-taking and hand-rail acrobatics.

Tuesday, we'd expected rain, so despite the sunshine we got, we spent the day at the Evergreen Aviation Museum. Bryan's company has passes for 8, so we snagged Jenny and the kids and took them along too. The last time I was there, the Space portion of the museum wasn't open yet; it was fun to explore all the new exhibits. And we ended the day with a picnic at Chad and Jenny's, Bryan's cousins who live across Lafayette. Again, it was a joy to include Ryan and Natasha in a typical evening activity and to see people from our separate communities interact.

By Wednesday, Tuesday's rain was supposed to have passed through. But Tuesday's rain had held off, so it wasn't too much of a surprise to see rain clouds on our way to the beach. The forecast said "scattered showers" though, so we pushed ahead with our plans for a hike at Cascade Head. Soon the showers turned to steady rain with the occasional downpour and we resigned ourselves to a wet, muddy hike. Hannah and Ryan went on ahead and were rewarded by the sighting of a herd of elk in the mist.

Meira and Natasha and I made it to the lower viewpoint ( a misnomer on a day so misty we couldn't even see the surf below) and turned back to slog through the puddles back to the parking lot. Anyone who has ever spent a wet day at the beach can imagine our scramble for dry clothes and hot drinks, but the promise of a trip to the Tillamook Cheese Factory kept our spirits up. We watched the factory workers and the cheese parade, bought some fudge for Bryan (who stayed behind for that pesky job-thing) and headed home.

Thursday, we spent the morning getting the girls ready for cousin camp. Earlier in the spring, my parents had reserved the 4th of July weekend for my younger brother's daughters and our girls to get together. They had a full weekend planned, a trip to Tacoma's glass museum, Silver Creek Falls, and on the 4th, the Canby General Days celebration.

We met Bryan at the Nike campus (where he's currently working) for lunch and a quick tour, then swung by the orthodontist's office before dropping the girls off in Canby and stopping to see my mother-in-law.

Are you ready for a break?

Me too! But we had a weekend aboard planned; check back soon for sailing stories!

No right writing

2011-06-12T19:56:00.000-07:00

Here's a pantoum from April's writers' group. I was grateful for the chance to record a conversation with Meira, one that meant a lot to both of us. Maybe you will be inspired to try your own pantoum. (You might not want to read the wikipedia definition before you read the poem; it makes writing a pantoum sound a lot more complicated than it actually is.)

“There is no right writing,

There is only better writing.”

I wiped her tears as I spoke,

deep from my own brokenness.

There is only better writing.

I yearn, like she does, for perfection

deep from my own brokenness.

And she doesn't always listen.

She yearns, like I do, for perfection.

“Can I help you with your work?”

She doesn't always listen,

she doesn't know how much I understand

“I can help you with your work,”

I wiped her tears as I spoke.

She doesn't know how much I understand—

There is no right writing.

True memory prompted by a Grand Canyon postcard

2011-04-18T20:54:00.000-07:00

It was the third, maybe the fourth day out when we finally arrived at the Grand Canyon, all eight of us unfolding from that tiny RV. The trip had been my mother's idea and, as such, plotted with the precision of a military invasion. But no plan survives first contact with my father so we often found ourselves on detours surprising and serendipitous.
Today's destination was not an surprise however. It's next to impossible to drive through Arizona without being caught in the gravity of the Grand Canyon. We stood on the edge--"not too close, kids"--and were surprised after all. For something so grand it got the word in it's name, no one was all that impressed.
Maybe it was just too big to comprehend, like the national debt. If we could have ridden down on a donkey or rafted it's length, perhaps we would have been able to hold the wonder.
But Grandma couldn't stand the altitude and the youngest ones were bored so we turned away and drove back down, content to explore the smaller wonders: Bryce Canyon, Mesa Verde, a family of 8 in agreement about anything.

Glitter

2011-02-12T22:01:00.000-08:00

It seemed reasonable in those first few weeks

after the Elvis-costume-making party,

And also when the girls were young

and princesses seized control of the kingdom.

Now it appears, like nothing in nature

except perhaps a virus, traveling

from door-handle to palm,

falling off sweaters,

settling on corduroy.

Does it alight even on the hunter

deep in the jungle,

Sparking wonder at this sliver of starlight?

Does he worship the speck, tiny mirror,

Or sense the distance it traveled to connect

the enormity of this small world?

And what of his have I?

God is Good (all the time?)

2011-02-02T09:58:00.001-08:00

I shared last week at my church's Women's Bible Fellowship. We're studying James Bryan Smith's “The Good and Breautiful God” and I spoke on the chapter about the goodness of God.

Each chapter in the book is coupled with what the author calls “Soul Training.” This chapter's exercises directed us to sit in silence and work to experience God in nature. Several people asked for a copy of my thoughts so I'm posting them here. Now if you read on, at least you'll know what you're getting into. We sang a bit together and then I sat (safely tucked where I feel safe—at the piano) and shared something like this:

As you read this week, maybe you wondered, as I did why the quality of God's goodness is so important, so central? In the list of the fruit of the spirit, it's tucked into the middle; after the cheerful “love, joy, peace,” it whizzes by just about the time my mind beings to wander and before I finish up with that dreaded “self-control.” Frankly, it feels a little wimpy—

Good dog

Good girl

Good job

Good enough

A few years ago, with the professor's permission, I sneaked myself into a Gary Fawver Christian Classics class. We read many books that semester, but Julian of Nowich's “Revelations of Divine Love” was then (and remains now) one of the most influential personally. At the time, I read passages like this one from the 6^th chapter with so much confusion:

For the Goodness of God is the highest prayer, and it cometh down to the lowest part of our need. It quickeneth our soul and bringeth it on life, and maketh it for to waxen in grace and virtue. It is nearest in nature; and readiest in grace: for it is the same grace that the soul seeketh, and ever shall seek till we know verily that He hath us all in Himself enclosed.

OK, so maybe I needed to get past some of the out-dated language, but I still spent a while working through how the goodness of God could be so important, so central to his character.

For the Goodness of God is the highest prayer, and it comes down to the lowest part of our need. It quickens our soul and brings life, and makes it to grow in grace and virtue. It is nearest in nature; and readiest in grace: for it is the same grace that the soul seeks, and ever shall seek till we know truly that He has us all in Himself enclosed.

If he were not good, the God of all holiness would be impossibly demanding, an all-seeing God would be no better than a peeping-tom. Without goodness, an all-powerful God would be a tyrant.

We need God to be good, so we can trust him to be everything else, all knowing, infinitely powerful. The problem is, our experience sometimes (in these days of world-wide media, often) doesn't appear to prove that theory.

So we make up excuses, “It'll all work out eventually. It's all for my long-term good. I'll understand it when I get to heaven.”

But if I really stop to think about it, I can't deny that it feels an awful lot like circular reasoning. “If life is good, it's because God is good in a way that is clear. If life is bad, it's because God is good in a way I can't understand.”

The Bible says that “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights in whom there is no variation or shifting shadow.” (James 1:17) And it also says that “all things work together for good to love who love God and have been called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28)

So everything is good, or if it's not...wait long enough and it will be made good. My inner skeptic scoffs, “Isn't that convenient!”

Last weekend, Bryan and I went to the beach. We hadn't been away alone (except on our boat) for almost 10 years. It was so nice to be together in a place with standing head-room, flush toilets, one that didn't drift around at night, with absolutely no chance of sinking.

And I was in the mood to enjoy it. About halfway through the weekend, I caught myself exclaiming over one more blessing—“Isn't it wonderful that the B&B isn't too full? Isn't it great that the weather is so nice?”—knowing full-well that if circumstances had been otherwise, I would have been rejoicing in the chance to curl up inside and watch the storm or the opportunity to meet all these wonderful people. I am my own spin doctor.

Tuesday, we got a call that my pregnant sister-in-law had been in yet another car accident, her second during this pregnancy. It was a minor one, and the baby is OK (and she will be too, eventually). And we breathed prayers of thanksgiving to our good God.

But in the times in my life when the disaster has not been avoided, I have still found ways to see God's goodness, still work to praise him. This is both Biblical...and completely illogical.

Seeing the silver lining comes naturally to me, more, I've learned over the years, than for many others. And yet I still fight for faith.

Am I just beliving in God's goodness because I can't face the thought of living without that assurance? What if I knew I would never understand his reasons? Would I still choose to believe that he is good?

In the book, James Bryan Smith shares that Jesus pointed to the goodness of God. Despite the early death of Smith's daughter, even through and because of it, he came to believe more deeply in the goodness of God. That God would never harm a small child because of the sin of the parents.

But we just finished a study about David where it seems pretty clear, God did just that. I don't understand. I know that I have found ways to reconcile tragedy in my own life with my hope for a relationship with a good God. But there aren't easy answers.

Yesterday in the shower, where my mom says all good thoughts are born, I had a new wondering, one that even feeds my desire for logic.

For many people, the problem of evil in the world is a huge hurdle in their pursuit of God. If God is good, why is there so much suffering? Well, smarter people than I (with lots more free time) have spent their lives pondering this question, so don't think I have an answer for you.

But the opposite question is just as mysterious. If God is evil, why is there so much good? An evil God running a world where goodness persists makes a lot less sense to me than a good God working to redeem a world marred by his gift of free-will.

No matter how you look at it, it remains a mystery. We can't KNOW that God is good. All our experiences that point to a benevolent Creator can be countered with just as many to the contrary.

If I'm honest with myself, my circular reasoning about the goodness of God gets me through my days mostly sane and even happy. I'm not about to give it up.

But I have to admit it remains a mystery, something I don't understand, but choose to believe.

Here we stopped and sang together “Blessed be Your Name.” Lyrics like “Every blessing you pour out I'll turn back to praise. When the darkness closes in, Lord, still I will say, 'Blessed be your name.'” are hard for me to understand without the body of Christ around me, showing me what this looks like in real life—messy, catastrophic, mysterious.

Then I shared a bit of my experience with the “Soul Training.”

Initially, I was confused as to why the soul training exercises were coupled with this particular chapter. I mean, I like sitting in the quiet or with nature as much as anybody, when I can get it. I wondered if the author had a list of spiritual exercises to get into the book and figured this chapter was as good for these as any.

But as I worked through my difficulties with the quality of God's goodness, and came to peace with letting him be more mysterious than I like, I realized that nature and slience are perfect ways for me to interact with the mystery of God.

There are so many things I don't understand about nature—it's not always tidy or pretty—but God speaks to me so clearly through his created works; he orchestrates the universe as the chief worship leader and my heart can't help responding.

This week, the winter trees sillouhetted against the sunset called me to worship. The waves on the rocks at the beach bowed my spirit to his power. The fog in the trees outside my window hinted at his gentleness.

I hope you experienced similar moments in your life this week. Would you speak out a word or characteristic of God you saw displayed in nature this week?

The women responded with such a variety of God's character qualities. I wish you could have been there to hear the words of praise.

After all these weeks, you won't be surprised that I want to read a poem about daily noticings.

To light a candle without a prayer,

takes a practiced inattention.

It's hard work to listen to children laughing,

Revel in a perfect melon,

Watch the dusk fade into night,

Without feeling the soul respond.

This requires:

Clenching my heart shut,

Holding my spirit's breath,

Pursing the lips of my soul.

When will I relax into fearlessness,

breathe again the natural inhalation of mystery

and be at peace?

Over the past 11 years of motherhood, I've gotten really quite good at recognizing God's presence in my daily activities, in nature, in my children, my husband, in captive moments here and there.

This fall, for the first time, there has been space in my life for irregular meditation—not regular, my life is too scattered for that, but I have been practicing sitting still with my breath several times most weeks and have found it to be a very helpful practice for this season of my life.

I wouldn't presume to suggest that this practice is right for everyone in every season. In fact, I agree wholeheartedly with the writer I read the other day, Dr. Kristen Shepherd, who said about both meditation and yoga poses, yoga asanas,

“Today, despite wanting to fill you with the deep desire for stillness, I'll say this: Don't meditate until you want to. (In truth, I feel the same about asana. People email, occasionally, saying they hate yoga but would really like to work up the oomph to have a regular practice. My response is, don't do it. Stay away. Go on with needlepoint, caber tossing, or Vietnamese cooking. Pursue the things that are already delicious to you. If caber tossing brings you peace and a sense of oneness, caber tossing is your yoga. Yoga should not be a battle.) Meditation may be endlessly interesting, challenging, and blissful, but if your heart isn't leading you there, go with your heart.

I'm learning that it only makes sense to approach the mystery of God with a method of prayer that doesn't make much sense. Sitting still and thinking at least sometimes feels productive, but sitting still and NOT thinking—how could that ever bring me closer to an understanding of the infinite? Not to mention all the warnings I've heard along the way about not emptying my mind for fear something will enter.

I finally came to a place in life where I had the space and inclination to read all the books on centering prayer I'd been collecting and then, even, to experiment with practice. And because research is a great procrastinatory technique, I've also found many resources in the area for silent prayer, like the monastery and options for personal retreats; if you're interested, talk to me after.

I've found a few ways to sit with the presence of God, mental images that help me to calm the constant mental clutter, breathing practices that help to focus me, body and soul. And I've found , well I don't know what I've found...it's a mystery. But I am closer to the mystery than ever.

Jo spoke last week about God's ability to transform us through indirection, not willpower. And sitting in silence, meditating, centering prayer...whatever you want to call it...is a fabulous way to surrender into God's mysterious presence, that which is infinite and personal, he who is good enough to accept us and good enough to work in mysterious ways to change us.

I'd like to share a few more words read these slowly, please) from Julian:

For as the body is clad in the cloth, and the flesh in the skin, and the bones in the flesh, and the heart in the whole, so are we, soul and body, clad in the Goodness of God, and enclosed. ...all these may waste and wear away, but the Goodness of God is ever whole...

For the Goodness of God is the highest prayer, and it comes down to the lowest part of our need. It quickens our soul and brings life, and makes it to grow in grace and virtue. It is nearest in nature; and readiest in grace: fo it is the same grace that the soul seeks, and ever shall seek till we know truly that He has us all in Himself enclosed.

I don't know if you had a chance to find silence this week or not, but I'd like to give all of us the opportunity to meet with God in the quiet this morning.

Maybe it would help you to see your thoughts as a train rushing by, one you don't have to catch. Or maybe you could use the image of your mind as a still pool, not to be disturbed by anything, good thoughts or bad thoughts, good emotions or bad emotions.

Let's sing together and then enter a few minutes of quiet. Make sure you're comfortable, shift to the floor if you need so your body can help teach your mind to relax and be still. I'll keep an eye on the clock so you don't have to think about it and call us back to close in a few minutes.

At this point, we sang Steven Curtis Chapman's “Be Still and Know,” spent a few minutes in quiet together and responded with a little more worship in song. It was a lovely morning in God's presence, one that can't be captured in mere words. Thanks for coming along for the recap.

Standing in the Dark

2010-12-20T23:05:00.000-08:00

I shared my daughter's writing with you. Can I share a bit of my own too? I suppose that's what a blog is, after all, a place to share one's writing, but I typically tell you stories rather than post scribblings. But this year I've enjoyed dropping in to an occasional writer's group in Portland and am finally getting brave enough to share a thing or two that emerged from my work there. This short piece came from the prompt, "Imagine you are standing in the dark." Maybe in the middle of your Christmas chaos, you can relate.

Why do I always leave the entry-way light until last?

I turn in the safety of the vinyl patch by the door,

working to recall the placement of each forgotten toy

The dollhouses dragged out for a city—here

the game—over there—too elaborate to bear demolition

And not just toys clutter the floor

There's the laundry,

piled high,

pawed over,

spilling out

here

Library books read, skimmed, ignored—ah—there

I step

They say it goes by so fast

Step

They say to cherish every moment

Step

They say to let the mess go

Step

I don't think they've seen this mess

Step

And again

Two more and…

Safe

I slide in under straightened sheets

the only straight thing, sometimes,

feel my good man breathe.

Safe

Appliance Odes

2010-12-19T22:22:00.000-08:00

Thanks to a very generous donor (thanks...inexpressible thanks!), a new washer and dryer were delivered to our house yesterday. They're pretty high-tech looking and make cool noises when you operate them. We put in a load of laundry right away and later, when I went out to switch it, I found two notes (replicated here with spelling and punctuation intact).

Washer-
You are humble as you wash my clothes; yet you are fisty at my stains!
I love you in every way. From your bloopidy-bleep, when you bigin; to your bleepidy-boop, when you end!
Thank you!
Meira

Dryer-
You hum wile you dry the clothes. You are warm and you vibrate. You calm me down till I get to love you. I love you from your song to your warmth. Thank you!
Meira Lee

I think the new appliances are pretty cool, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have considered a love note the appropriate expression of my affection. I hope the new refrigerator doesn't get jealous.

Starting School!

2010-09-13T20:41:00.000-07:00

We're starting school tomorrow. (I've got lots to do and am only writing this because I have to be at the computer overseeing the installation of our new encyclopedia). The girls have been begging to start for weeks, were only put off by the promise of the Wooden Boat Festival last weekend and today spent the evening working on a writing project from the only school book I didn't lock down. I'm feeling the pressure to have everything prepped perfectly, a ludicrous and impossible pressure made even more impossible by the fact that my journal (with all my scattered school thoughts) didn't make it home from Bryan's mom's house after our trip to the festival (The trip. Oh, the trip! It was so wonderful and will get its own post at some point, but tonight is all about school.)
We've got what we need, though: lots of books, a reasonably clean table, and eager, curious minds. Oh, and don't forget the freshly sharpened pencils. I think we're good to go.

Always Bring Extra Crew

2010-07-21T17:39:00.000-07:00

We had been planning this trip for years now, ever since we got our new boat. My brother and sister-in-law really wanted to come sailing with us, but life kept getting in the way. Most recently, life came in the form of my small nephew. But now that he's quickly approaching 3, and we've got the boat so much closer, we synchronized our schedules and went out last weekend. We warned them that something always goes wrong and that half the fun of sailing is finding out what will go wrong this time and then fixing it. We've rarely sent guests home with boring stories.

We had intended to arrive well before our visitors, to stow our stuff and check on a few things. Bryan lived aboard most of the week while the girls and I were at Girls Camp, but it was his last week at Oracle, so he was a bit preoccupied. Of course, packing took longer than we anticipated and, of course, we forgot the girls' life jackets. (I can't wait until they are big enough for the extra adult ones we always have on board. No. I take that back. They're growing too fast already!) So we showed up only a few minutes before our family and then we did the headless chicken thing for a bit. At least they got to experience what is apparently an essential part of a typical sail for us.

We pulled up our headsail right away, taking advantage of the perfect north wind to help fight the current as we pulled away from the dock. Then we hauled up the main for a fast upwind sail downriver--not too far, we didn't know how Small Boy would respond, but soon he was shouting, "Ready, about!" at each tack (and randomly in between) like an old salt. We turned and sailed downwind upriver (got that?) on the Washington side of Sand Island for a while but before turning back upwind, we put a reef in the main. The wind had picked up a bit more and the reefed main made for a much more comfortable ride back around to the Sand Island Dock.

We had fun using Split Pea to ferry camping gear to shore for our visitors while the kids invented new ways to get dirty on the beach. S'mores over the campfire followed grilled corn and sausages and we all went to bed happy.

After a windy, bumpy night on the boat, the campers joined us for a very leisurely breakfast (another Lee family boating tradition) and we set off again for a sail. Err, make that a "drift." After tacking unproductively across a few times, we gave up on making any progress past marker 77 without assistance from the engine. Bryan suggested motoring up to Sauvie Island for lunch and a wander in the bird sanctuary and everyone agreed.

Everyone but the engine.

It didn't cough or sputter, it was just on one second and off the next. When the problem didn't appear to be any of the usual suspects (fuel, spark plugs, etc.), we declared lunch the first priority, sailed toward shore, and dropped anchor. Blood sugar levels (and attitudes) restored by fajitas and Oreos, the men poked at the engine while Hannah played with her cousin, my sister-in-law and I lounged in the cockpit and Meira read the engine repair manual.

When attempts to reattach "this dangling wire" to "that thingamajig" resulted in stinky smoke, we postponed dealing with the engine and decided to sail back to the long, empty city dock instead of trying to sail into our slip at the marina. The sail back was uneventful, but docking when the wind and current are opposing is never easy and this was no exception. We prepared well, sending the kids below and giving everyone a job to do, trying to anticipate all the things that could go wrong.

We sailed past the dock, intending to turn up into the wind and tuck back in next to the dock. The current had other ideas though, and as soon as we turned downriver, we stalled out in a hurry, lost steerage, and got knocked sideways toward the breakwater. With a yank on the tiller and "turn, baby, turn!" from the captain, LiLo eased away from the breakwater and made for the inner finger of the dock. Thankful there was space at the end of the float, I scrambled to the bow pulpit to prepare for a hard landing. We were heading in bow-first and, despite loosing the sheets, approaching in a hurry.

I don't really know how I managed to climb between the headsail and the bow pulpit (a curve of protective metal railing at the front of the boat), jump down to the float, and keep the bow from smashing into the dock. I do remember rushing to loosen the dock lines from the starboard side (we thought we were docking port-side...lesson for next time: release all the lines when docking in difficult circumstances!) and looking up to see the guys madly fending the stern off a fishing boat, watching Split Pea drift lazily in as our frantic motions gave way to the exhilaration of relative success.

We've wondered since if there would have been a better way to dock, but, as my brother commented afterward, "Any landing you walk away from is a good landing." We provided ample Sunday afternoon entertainment for the bored fishermen on the docks. No boats or people were damaged in the making of this memory. And we (yes, even our press-ganged crew) are already plotting to go out and do it again.

So if we ever invite you to go sailing with us, consider yourself warned:

Something will likely go wrong.

You may be asked to use skills you do not possess to help salvage a situation you do not understand.

You will almost certainly want to come again.

Poet's Cove to Victoria, 2009

2010-05-25T12:38:00.000-07:00

We reluctantly left Shallow Bay but soon turned eagerly toward our first stop in Canada, Bedwell Harbour. After checking in through customs, we called the marina to see if we could afford a slip for the night. Even after doing the dollar conversion (we were initially shocked at the high prices until we remembered), the cost was more than we wanted to spend. So we found a place among the anchored boats just outside the breakwater and rowed on in.

The marina there, Poet's Cove, is a charming little resort, but we wasted no time exploring once we saw the swimming pool.

The girls dove in while Bryan and I took turns doing the laundry. The kids spent most of the evening in the pool sharing pool noodles and snorkel masks with some other kids, while the adults congregated in the hot tub sharing sailing stories and making plans for a hike the next day.

After an early breakfast, we rowed back over to the marina and met our new friends. They were visiting from eastern BC, where they race a small sailboat and were enjoying the challenge of their chartered catamaran.

We worked our way up the hill behind the marina and soon found the trailhead marked, “Enchanted Forest.”

The easy network of trails and the interpretive signs along the way gave the eight of us plenty to talk about as we worked our way through the beautiful NW forest.

On the way back down the hill, we paused to stare at a not-very-wild deer nosing around the meadow behind the resort.

Over and over on each of our trips we stumble across wild things, wonder-inspiring sights and are grateful for whatever impetus impels us to get “out there” where all the serendipities live.

We're not very good about taking it easy while on vacation and soon after returning from our morning's hike, we weighed anchor and headed south toward Portland Island. We joked that even if we failed in our plans to sail down the coast and up the Columbia, at least we could say that we had sailed to Portland! We chose to anchor in the cove on the north side of this lovely island, which was a gift to Princess Margaret (when she visited BC in 1958) and from Princess Margaret (who gave it back as a marine park in 1967).

The mooring basin here is quite small, so to accommodate as many boats as possible, the authorities placed large rings into the rock walls around the bay. Ideally, one would drop anchor toward the middle of the bay, back toward the wall to set the anchor and then—quickly before drifting into another boat—row a stern line to shore to hold the boat in place. We'd never attempted this method and were grateful for a helpful neighbor who, whether for our good or the protection of his own boat we'll never know, dinghyed our stern line to the ring and back.

I laid down in the saloon and pretended to read, mostly staring out the companionway at the trees towering so close behind the boat and Bryan sent the girls to shore with strict instructions. “Tie the dinghy up tight, find a path and turn left. Walk until you're about half tired and turn around. Take every right until you get back to the dock.” We figured that with two of them on a round island, they couldn't get into too much trouble. And sure enough, we heard their happy voices as they explored, first that way...then back again...so confident and independent.

The next morning, we walked across the island to the bay on the south side, just for the sake of a lovely walk and a bit of beachcombing. Many of the islands seem remarkably similar, but each one has it's own history (in addition to being gifted back and forth across the Atlantic, this one has relics from it's time as a Native settlement and fruit trees and roses planted by Hawaiian immigrant farmers from the 1880s).

We took several hours to make the trip over to Vancouver Island (this beautiful boat was headed the other direction).

The original plan had been to put in at Oak Bay for a couple of nights and take the girls to the Aquarium I remembered with fondness from a childhood trip. However, I was concerned about the difficulty of nabbing a slip in downtown Victoria on a busy summer weekend. We decided to head straight for Victoria and take the bus to Oak Bay. Later, we discovered that the aquarium had closed a few years ago, so we were more than pleased with our decision.

The entrance to the harbor was busy as ever, but with the help of our harbor chart and memories of our previous trip, we worked our way through the traffic, slowed for the seemingly obligatory interaction with the uber-polite harbor patrol (“Would you like a harbor chart? Did you happen to notice that you came in on a seaplane runway? Have a nice day!”) and pulled into a primo spot at the base of the Empress Hotel.

Warren

2010-03-28T21:34:00.000-07:00

My family just got back from a delightful 70th birthday party for a good friend of ours who happens to live with Cerebral Palsy. I'd like to tell you a little about this man.

I could tell you that he walks with difficulty and must work to make himself understood. That his hands shake when he tries to handle small objects. I could tell you that he has faced frustration and prejudice during his 7 decades in his problematic body.

Or I could tell you that this amazing man has volunteered at our local library and in our church for many, many years. That he claps and dances to any music (especially his favorite, Elvis! On a recent visit to his apartment, my girls treated him like a rock star, dancing with him in turn and laughing uproariously.) That my heart melts when I see my daughters walking in pace with him, watching his lips carefully to hear about his week, or playing a fierce game of Sorry at our church's retreat. That my respect for him has only grown as I have taken the time to get to know him. That the day he put on "Love me Tender," held out his arms to my oldest, and painstakingly asked, "May I have this dance?" will forever be one of my favorite memories.

But I think most of all, I would like to tell you that the love he has for others, especially for kids, shines unmistakably through him, completely eclipsing his disabilities.

Happy Birthday, Warren!

Shallow Bay, Sucia

2010-03-23T23:18:00.000-07:00

We've been out on LiLo twice already this spring, each trip a gorgeous day of sailing spiked with its own surprises ("What? I thought you packed the blankets!" "Well I thought you packed them!"and "Didn't the marina say the approach to our slip was dredged to 7 ft? Then why is our 4'6" keel stuck to the 7' deep river bottom?") but if you'll pardon the belated tale-telling, I'm going to make sure I have a record of last year's trip before we start making too many memories this year.

Last I checked, we were stuck at Jones Island with a broken engine, not a bad place to be stuck if it's absolutely necessary. In the morning, Bryan sent the girls and me to shore to explore the island while he tried to figure out how to file the points on the distributor cap. One of the previous owners had ominously warned Bryan that he might need to learn this skill at some point and the other owner (his wife) had laughed at the funny-later memory of that fateful trip when she saw more of her husband's backside than his front, as he spent most of the trip upended in the engine compartment. We were so thankful for their experience and especially for the preparations they'd made for future problems--a full point kit, complete with tools and instructions was tucked away in a back locker.

The girls clambered over the logs on the beach while I sat in the sand and read. We finally rowed back to the boat, worried not to have heard the engine, hopeful the problems had been resolved, but either way, hungry. As the companionway steps double as the engine cover, getting down into the cabin was trickier than usual, and there wasn't any place to sit once we did, so we scrounged up some lunch and let Bryan go back to work. Not too much later, he managed to get the engine running again. I was so glad he could finally relax and enjoy the island with the rest of us.

We had dinner in the cockpit and spent another peaceful night before making the dash around the west side of Orcas Island to the small island of Sucia. Several years ago, this crab-shaped island was purchased by a group of marine clubs and later donated to the Washington state for a marine state park. The island's unique shape, with its multiple inlets, and its criss-crossing trails make it a very popular destination for boaters. We were glad to find a spot to anchor in Shallow Bay, on the west side of the island, where we spent a warm and fabulously sunny Saturday.

The girls made instant friends with a golden retriever and his owner invited all of us to go for a ride in his Zodiac. I'd forgotten that some boats are made for speed! We had hoped to get a closer look as some of the other bays, and this was such an unexpected and enjoyable way to do it. We left the girls on LiLo and took a row around the bay and, later in the evening, set them off to for a row themselves. They ended up in an informal race with an inflatable dinghy weighed down with passengers and dogs and, despite the inflatable's questionable use of their electric motor, the girls kicked a little dinghy booty. We laughed with pride from the cockpit to hear the other sailors shouting, "You girls rock!"

The next day, many of the boats left the bay in the morning, perhaps heading home or just looking for a more protected spot to wait out the incoming weather system. It wasn't a storm, really, but the wind from the east sweeping across the isthmus at the center of the island, conspired with swells from the west to keep our boat turned cross-ways to the chop and we sat inside, out of the drizzle and increasingly miserable until Bryan convinced us to bundle up and go for a hike. We were so grateful for his wise suggestion and for his hard work building us such a sea-worthy dinghy. Even in choppy conditions, Split Pea is such a pleasure to row!

Once we were under the trees, we barely noticed the rain and it cleared off enough for us to do a little more poking around on the sandstone cliffs, famous for sheltering smugglers throughout the years. We stumbled onto a geocache and, according to the instructions, left an object and took an object. Hannah took a beautiful feather and somehow Meira ended up with a black baseball cap labeling her (in sparkling rhinestones, of course) as "High Maintenance." She was convinced that this meant she should do all the repair work above her head and for the rest of the trip tried to help with anything she couldn't reach. We didn't have the heart to explain otherwise.

That evening, back on the rolly boat, we debated putting out a stern anchor to hold us stern to the swells. We knew it would make for a more comfortable night, but no one else in the anchorage had one out. Finally, Bryan decided he'd give it a shot. He rowed out and set our stern anchor and immediately we could tell the difference. It was good to have the reminder that we're not the newest or least knowledgeable sailors out there anymore. Though it was a little thing, we both felt a boost to our confidence and a reminder to think for ourselves. We turned in satisfied and eager for the new day. Next stop, Canada!

Found Objects

2010-03-10T15:57:00.000-08:00

The keys I lost a month ago: found in the couch.

The energy to make chocolate chip cookies with my husband at 11:30 at night: found in the smile on his face when I said, "why not?"

My first and much grieved fountain pen: also in the couch (why didn't I check there sooner?)

The perfect weekend for the first sail of the season: found on the Columbia River with my intrepid family.

The motivation to write something new on this online journal: found at the junction of my grateful heart and my untrustworthy memory.

We'll see if all these things stay found.

The saga continues...

2009-10-30T13:55:00.000-07:00

We spent night 3 in Port Townsend Bay after squeezing through Port Townsend Canal for the first time. It cut several miles off the end of our long day and we enjoyed snagging a mooring off the beach at Old Fort Townsend.

In the morning, we motored over to Port Townsend to run some errands--breakfast, groceries, fuel, pump-out, crabbing license, and new snorkels--all the necessities for a week in the islands. We had planned to cross the strait with the morning tide, but as always when on a boat, plans changed. The state licensing system was down, so after waiting as long as we could to buy a crab license, we gave up and started researching locations to pick one up in the SanJuans. That night we anchored at the foot of the cliffs in Watmough Bay (which, in our family at least, must be pronounced "Wah-mough" If you say it with the full glottal stop, you'll sound like a bad rap artist. Try it. You'll never go back!)

On our first trip to the San Juans, Bryan and I had anchored in this steep-sided bay and we were glad for a chance to come back with the girls. That first time, we were enchanted by the beauty of the place and the stranger whose hauntingly lovely singing echoed off the cliffs as she rowed a skiff around the circumference of the bay. This time, it was we who broke the stillness of the evening and our giggles and yells were anything but hauntingly lovely.

The next morning, we rowed ashore to explore the scrap of a beach at the intersection of the cliffs and the paths through the cracked boulders at its edge.

It didn't take much convincing to get the girls to strip to their swimsuits and snorkels, but neither one braved a full plunge into the water.

Finally we gave up and took them out in the dinghy where they tested its stability by leaning over the stern, faces in the water, hollering through snorkel-clenched teeth about ocean floor discoveries.

After lunch, we sailed around the south side of Lopez Island and up through Cattle Pass to Friday Harbor. And that's when we discovered that the crabbing season in the San Juans had been delayed until we would already have crossed into Canada. Bryan and the girls had enjoyed crabbing so much the year before, we were all a bit disappointed, especially considering the extent of our quest. But we placated ourselves with ice cream cones and a frolic with Popeye, the one-eyed seal who serves as Friday Harbor's unofficial mascot and welcoming committee from her usual haunt by the dockside seafood market.

We decided to forgo the marina fees and busy Friday Harbor anchorage in favor of Jones Island, a favorite San Juan destination of ours, only an hour or so north.

We were all pretty hungry so I went below to start making clam chowder, hoping for a relaxing dinner after our arrival. As we neared the south end of the island, the engine coughed and died. We got it started again, but it wasn't purring the usual puttputtputt. The north side of the island has better protection and shore access, so we decided to continue and hope for the best. We eased up the west side of Jones, fiddling with the throttle and willing the engine to keep running for just...ten...more...minutes.

It didn't work.

As we rounded the northwest corner of the island and turned to head on into the bay, the motor gave up for good. You may be thinking, "Isn't that why you have a sail boat? So you don't need an engine?" But if that's what you're thinking, you've never sailed in the San Juans. The winds are notoriously flaky and that night, we had nothing but an occasional whisper. We raised the sails and I did my best to use every breath of wind to steer us away from the rocks yet toward the bay. Bryan rummaged in the engine compartment muttering imprecations and attempting manly magic.

We were grateful for the long summer evening as what was supposed to be an one-hour, easy evening sail turned into 3 hours of frustration. Looking back, I know we were never in any danger; all we needed to do was drift close enough to shore to drop our anchor and admit defeat. But my travel-weary body conspired with thwarted expectations and low blood sugar to produce an internal perfect storm. Finally, Bryan abandoned the engine and rigged a tow harness to the dinghy. In deep twilight, he pulled us in the last few feet to a safe anchorage. We heaved our worries over the side for the night, knowing they would still be there in the light of a new day. When we woke, to this...

...the problems remained, but had shrunk overnight somehow. What did it matter if we had to stay here an extra day or two? With an anchorage full of fellow boaters and a marine mechanic just a short ride away, surely we would be able to conquer this latest hurdle.

...to be continued.

2009-10-27T17:57:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday, Bryan and I gave a presentation about our sailing dreams to some from our church community. Many of our friends showed some interest in this long-neglected blog and, as I'd been intending (for several months now) to write up some stories from our latest trip, I figured I shouldn't ignore this motivation.

Last you heard, we'd launched the new dinghy (see below for pics if you're just arriving). We'd struggled to figure out how to best orchestrate our trip, (from Olympia up to Canada and down the coast of Washington to the Columbia) so that we didn't end up with our boat in St. Helens and our car still in Olympia. We love riding the train, so one-way tickets to Olympia were an easy choice, but we had more gear to load than we could take on the train (including the new dinghy!) Bryan took Split Pea and all our gear to LiLo, remembered (barely!) that he needed to bring back the old dinghy and spent the next few hours problem solving. Li'l Lo, our old dinghy, was so heavy that the 4 of us could barely carry it a few yards down the beach and somehow he needed to get it, by himself, up the ramp at low tide. He rowed around to the public dock in Olympia, which sports a more gently sloped ramp than our marina, heaved it up onto the ramp rails and pushedlikecrazy to get it up to the top, where some onlookers finally took pity on him and helped balance Li'l Lo in a dock cart all the way to the truck in the neighboring parking lot.

He returned to join the rest of us at my parents' for the Canby General Days July 4 celebration (back by popular demand...and yes, I mean demand. We were on the boat one year for the Fourth and I don't think they girls will ever let us forget it.) It's all about the parade-candy collecting!

The next morning, Mom and Dad took us up to the Oregon City train "station" (what a cute little whistle stop!) and saw us off.

We enjoyed breakfast in the bistro car and general relaxing and goofiness

until our arrival in Lacey.

We gathered up all of our stuff, caught the bus to Olympia, walked the 8 or so blocks to the boat where we realized the fatal flaw in our heretofore perfectly executed plan.

Now every time we go to the boat, we make one last run for gas and groceries before we leave town. We can't get gas until we're there, obviously, because the fuel tanks are on the boat. And it's usually easier to pick up our cold foods there then pack them all the way up I-5 in a cooler. Except this time, we'd gone to great lengths to get to Olympia without a car, forgetting that when we got there, we, well, wouldn't have a car.

Bryan bummed a ride to the gas station from friendly dock neighbors while I put away what we'd brought and calculated meals from pantry items...yes, plenty to make it to Port Townsend, where the grocery store is more conveniently located for forgetful boaters like us.

Finally on our way, we pushed out into Budd Inlet in unusually strong winds. We often have to motor in the South Puget Sound, but today was a pleasant surprise, sailing in 15-20 kts. The sea took the vacation's only casualty though, my favorite red hat from last year's Stuart Island stop. (Please don't mention it; I'm still in mourning and kicking myself.)

We spent the first two nights at old favorites, Joemma Beach State Park and Blake Island, trying to enjoy our time without thinking ahead to the trip too much. It's easy to turn the first and last few days of any trip into a push to get there, get there, get there and forget to enjoy every moment along the journey. I'm getting better at this, but I admit it was a bit hard to simultaneously look forward to the San Juans and Canada, fight off end-of-trip-ocean-going fears, and savor what may be our last trip for many years in these familiar waters.

2009-08-21T18:40:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine often posts series pictures and it's fun to see things change--or stay the same--over the years. When I saw these pictures from this year's trip to Friday Harbor pop up in my camera, I couldn't help but see the possibilities. With childhood's perfect memory (perfect, that is, about "my turn" and "last time" and "but Mom, you said." Not so perfect when it comes to "what did you ask me to do again?"), the girls requested portraits on the opposite totem from last year's trip. Here's a fun comparison--Enjoy!

Meira-2008
Hannah-2009
Hannah-2008
Meira-2009

The Launch!

2009-08-10T18:05:00.000-07:00

I'm beginning to go through photos from our latest trip (those of you who do this immediately upon your arrival at home--or better yet, while still on vacation--can feel quite superior to me at this point) and don't want to miss the chance to tell you about an exciting event that occurred the day before we left.

Bryan had decided to take our gear and the new dinghy to LiLo and then drive back to meet us at my parent's house. The plan was to celebrate July 4 with them and then take the train back to Olympia so we didn't end up with a stray car there at the end of the trip when we brought LiLo to the Columbia. But before we took the dinghy up, we had to launch and christen her!

The girls always wear their lifejackets on the docks so we had brought theirs home, but Bryan and I had left ours on the boat. As we were trying to figure out who might have some we could borrow, we had to laugh at ourselves. "Let's see...who would be the most likely people we know to have lifejackets?" "Um, that would be...us." But N&A came to our rescue and we picked up their pfds and drove out to Hagg Lake.

We put the dinghy together by the truck and then carried her about 50 yards down to the water. This would have been an impossible distance to carry our old dinghy; already we were in love with the new one! We posed for the obligatory pictures and slid her down the bank into the water.

Everybody got a turn to row around a bit...

...and then we made up our own christening ceremony. She is now officially Split Pea!

We got a few funny looks when Bryan took her apart in the water to see how well that worked (very, as it turned out.) Don't forget to tie off both halves before trying this trick!

More to come from the trip...at some point.

Sunday Morning

2009-06-07T17:55:00.000-07:00

Sitting at the piano this morning during our corporate gathering, completing the ring of worshipers in our sanctuary circle, the presence of several hundred eternal souls called me to attend. This is my response:

Nature is precious
Sacramental as it is fleet
I worship in the mutable cathedral
of a singular moment

The body of Christ is precious
now and forever, wave and particle
We gather and wonder--
How much eternity can one space hold?

Mystery Watercolor Memories

2009-06-06T08:15:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed that I am a photograppreciator, not an actual photographer like some people I could name. Over the years, this has resulted in a rather careless attitude toward cameras and the many gaps in camera ownership (and my complete inability to get film developed) have caused a back-up of disposable cameras and old film in our junk drawer. This week, I finally gathered up six rolls of something-or-other and took them in. "All I want is the negatives and the CD," I told the lady at the counter; I wasn't paying for prints of mystery pictures. "We'll be back in an hour."

While we waited, we went to the Farmer's Market and walked over to the library. When we thought we had whiled away enough time, we hopped back in the car and headed back to pick up the pictures. I flipped on the radio and was more than a little surprised to hear words like "severe thunderstorms" and "tornado." I had noticed the wind picking up, but thought we could manage to get our pics before heading home. As we were standing in line, the lights flickered through dim to dark and the very efficient--and shoplifting-aware--store employees quickly herded all the customers (many waving lit cell phones like lonely concert-goers) to the front of the store where they peremptorily booted us out into the growing storm. My brave girls were beginning to crumble in the face of so many strange events and the crazy "car-wash" rain. We were all relieved to pull out of the traffic into Lafayette and home where we spent a candlelit evening counting lightning/thunder seconds, singing the obligatory "Raindrops on Roses," and cuddling (my personal favorite when it comes to power-outage activities).

The power came on sometime in the night and, before I completely lost all momentum and left the photos languishing at the store forever, I ran back to pick them up. Some of the pictures are so old and so...just plain BAD, that we can't even tell who is pictured. (Anyone have a baby with this head shape?)

Using carbon dating methods (and adjacent pictures), we determined the approximate decade of each roll--oh my, there's baby Hannah! Some of the pictures make us wonder what we were thinking,

but others are real gems, bringing back many good memories of adventures long (LONG) past.

This roll, including the picture from the top of the post, are from our first year of sailing. Bryan and I brought Nissa into Portland for the weekend for our 9th anniversary (this summer will be 13!). There are many pictures of bridges, since we had to sail under each one, and a few pictures of relationship landmarks--mostly restaurants we can no longer afford. I remember the exhilaration of figuring out how to call for a bridge lift (the Steel Bridge's pedestrian span is too low for our mast) and the wonder of seeing a familiar city from a new perspective. Flush with freshly-minted boat ownership, I wanted to wear my fluorescent life jacket everywhere. We walked to Saturday Market (a first-date memory) and all the way over to Powells, where we bought too many books to carry back comfortably and a Portland Bridge T-shirt because it may be the only time we can ever truthfully say that we have "been there, done that, and bought the T-shirt." On the way back to our marina in St. Helens, we stopped a Cathedral Park to savor the last hours of vacation and the amazing architecture of the St. Johns Bridge (seen above).

Not all the pictures were ancient and I'll likely be posting some more (of both vintages) soon, but thanks for indulging me this meander down proverbial memory lane.

2009-06-02T21:17:00.000-07:00

While riffling through old blog post drafts, I found these pictures from last year's San Juan trip. They are mostly from our visit to the Westcott Bay Sculpture Park at Roche Harbor (19 acres of verdant meadow, forest, and wetland dotted with sculptures of all varieties), but a few are from the next day on our way to Stuart Island. On the way there, our camera broke...so that was that. I'm posting these primarily for my own memory's sake; please feel free to ignore them.

This little fellow served as welcoming committee and curator.

These are not sculptures, but I love to look at them anyway. I think their Artist is amazing.

I loved these flashing birds, twirling in the breeze...

...and this abstract whirligig.

The gong was a family fave.

And I savored the wonder as I strolled down this slope to view the front of this piece of art. What could possibly be more beautiful than the freshly baled hay in the field behind it? When I finally reached the piece, I smiled. On the easel, the artist had simply placed a mirror.

These are the last two pictures our poor camera took (we now have a waterproof, shockproof, drop-proof model). I used to think that boats with line snaking everywhere and gear lashed to every stanchion were, well, just a bit unkempt. Now I just remind myself of the best compliment our well-loved boat ever got--"There's a boat that looks like she goes places!" It's true what they say, that you see the same sights no matter how fancy or humble your boat. I wished so hard our camera had held on for just one more shot, because as we rounded this point, Mt. Baker leapt out at us, bold and dazzling against the blue sea, blue sky. We may not always have proof, but we have seen some spectacular sights from this messy vessel of ours.

First Sail of the Season

2009-05-30T12:43:00.000-07:00

Sheepishly, she realized that she had written the story in the last post once already. She hopes you will accept this overdue story as a peace offering.

In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of...sailing? And apparently a young-ish woman's thoughts too. The nice weather the last few weeks hasn't hurt, but beyond that, our recent days have been littered with sailing-related gifts. A sale on anchors (at the same time we had the extra money to get one and the time to research which one we wanted. For those of you who care, we bought a Delta), a dodger on Craigslist, dinner with a delightful family who will be leaving this summer on their sailboat. We took a class at a local jeweler and made a pair of simple silver wedding rings so we don't lose a diamond (or a finger) while sailing. The girls and I started taking Spanish lessons from a friend (she's taking piano lessons from me--yay for bartering!) And we took our first sailing trip.

We had reserved Mother's Day weekend for a sailing trip some time ago, just hoping for good weather. And, though it was still cold enough at night to sleep in 4 layers and a hat, the daytime weather was perfection itself. We began with the obligatory trip to the Farmer's Market across the parking lot from the marina and followed it up with the traditional later-than-hoped-for sailing time.

After motoring up Budd inlet, we put up the new mainsail (another of the unexpected acquisitions of the winter) and the drifter, and sailed...very...slowly...past Boston Harbor. After an hour or so of fighting current and headwind, we decided to let the wind plan the destination and turned toward Hope Island. Sailing up to the mooring buoy always feels like an accomplishment. Dropping the boat hook overboard when the handle fell off quickly reminded us not to feel too sure of ourselves. We pulled around again and Bryan leaned over the side to retrieve the hook (still hanging from the mooring buoy ring), and it broke in two. We finally got a stern line through the ring and pulled the boat around by hand to hook up properly, bow first.

That's when Bryan realized...we had no oars! We always leave our oars on the boat, but we'd brought them home after the last trip to fit them on the new dinghy and now we had no way to get to shore. After a brief family conference, we all agreed to motor on over to Jarrell Cove State Park, where we could stay at a dock.

We pulled in to the Cove about 8:30 and found a spot at the inner state park float. We were a little concerned that the -2 tide on Saturday would not leave us with quite enough water under the keel, but the bottom was muddy so even if we did touch for a few minutes at low tide (we didn't) it wouldn't hurt anything.

Saturday, we enjoyed getting to know the neighbors, who laughed with us at our forgetfulness and offered to loan us their paddles so the girls could dinghy around the lagoon. We tied the dinghy to the anchor rode so we could reel them back in if necessary and tied the borrowed paddles to the dinghy. But after a few minutes of awkwardness, and several near misses (we discovered that shifting one girl to the stern seat greatly reduced the chances of paddle handle meeting sister's face), we cut them loose. Each year, they shock me with their independence.

Watching them intuit how to work together to steer and row efficiently settled any concerns I may have had about the ability of kids to learn teamwork without organized sports.
Often, we spend a portion of each vacation day traveling from one place to another. So we weren't too disappointed to see, on our way to Jarrell Cove, that Joemma Beach didn't have their docks out yet. It was so relaxing to spend the whole day at Jarrell Cove, hiking, chatting with the camp hosts, cooking (and eating!), reading, playing games, watching the Purple Martins commandeer our mast, and fiddling with my Mother's Day gift...a new telescope.

Sunday, we moseyed back to Olympia, packed up, snagged some sushi at our favorite local sushi spot and were home by bedtime. Despite the laughable glitches, this weekend satisfied our need for some peaceful relaxation and deeply gratifying time with our family.

2009-05-28T21:27:00.000-07:00

Our family motto (apparently) is "A place for everything and everything all over the place." We're having too much fun living life to stop to clean it. It doesn't help that we homeschool, so we're home a lot! I have finally begun to give myself grace for these tendencies, especially after figuring out that my messy housekeeping wasn't going to rub off on my girls any more than my Mom's good housekeeping rubbed off on me.
It all came together in my mind, though, the day I caught myself lecturing my girls about cleaning as they go. "Someday," I said, "you will learn to clean up as you go along and it will be so much easier for you. Someday..." and here we moved slightly to take in the full view of the terribly messy kitchen from which had come many delicious meals without a single clean-up spree--"...someday you may learn this. But if you do, it WON'T BE FROM ME!"

Delightful Falafel

2009-02-21T19:34:00.000-08:00

No pictures of tonight's special--falafel. We ate it up too fast. But I am happy to have found another great boat meal. One that is healthy, reasonably well-balanced and made from ingredients that we can easily store long-term.

I can't link to the recipe either because I looked at 4 or 5 and then did my own thing. That's another plus for for boat meals, as we only have space for a couple of cookbooks.
But since we joined the CSA a few years ago, I've gotten more and more comfortable with making meals without a recipe; even baking like Grandma, with a pinch of this and a handful of that until everything looks right.

Now if I can only figure out how to make artisan bread in a propane oven!

Bryan is on his way home from a very good trip to the boat. He changed the spark plugs (and the engine fired right up--yay!), fitted the new sail (and it fits--yay!), and fixed the wobbly faucet. The leaks we sealed last time aren't dripping. And the girls and I enjoyed a low-key couple of days on our own. All in all, a low-cost, high-success weekend.

Tonight's Specials

2009-02-18T19:42:00.001-08:00

Tonight, blessed with a little extra energy--from whence, I know not, since I have a cold and worked hard all day--and a lot of extra vegetables, I cooked. Boy howdy, did I cook. I made a roasted vegetable gratin with 4 different root veggies and a some greens and sausage with 3 different kinds of greens. Did you catch that? Seven kinds of vegetables in one meal. I think that's a Lee family record. Oh, and somewhere in the middle of all the pot juggling, I managed to whip up some biscuits with some fresh whole-wheat flour from the new (to-me) grain mill I was given yesterday. And (here anyone who knows me will begin to doubt my story) I even washed the dishes after dinner. (must have been all this melted gruyere. Mmmm, melty cheese)

Of course, I would be in bed currently if it wasn't for this little "Lost" addiction at my house. We may need an intervention.

Bryan's heading up to the boat tomorrow evening and planning to try working from the boat on Friday. If all goes well, the girls and I will join him in a few weeks for a family attempt at a normal day aboard with school and work and little girl energy all pressurized into 200 square feet. We may need more melty cheese.

Listen

2009-02-04T19:44:00.000-08:00

If you stopped by my house this month, you might have heard...

A Mama tirade dissolving into laughter:
"SOMEDAY! YOU! WILL! LEARN! To pick up as you go and then you won't have to do such a hard job all at once." (at this point, I realized my ridiculousness and we all stepped over to the kitchen, which was--OK is--piled high with dirty dishes) "Someday you will learn this. But when you do, it won't be from me!"

An attempt at comfort dissolving into laughter:
"Great-Grandma's sick, I already hurt my shoulder and now I twisted my ankle. This is the LAST THING I need this week."
"No, Mama, the last thing you need is to twist the other one too."

Well-intentioned pronunciation dissolving into...private snickers:
"This horse looks just like the one in The Black Stallion, so I will call mine Satan (pronounced "Seh-TAN") after him."
(And that's how we ended up with a children's choir notebook decorated carefully with a horse and clearly labeled, "Satan.")

Laughter most days, rarely tears. Constant chatter with music beneath. A teapot's whistle, a fat cat purring. This is the soundtrack of life right now.

2009-01-29T21:30:00.000-08:00

Winter Peace

I do know my blog still exists, but an update is beyond me at this point. Today, I wrote to a friend and will just quote myself here in lieu of a real post.

"We loved getting snowed in for a couple of weeks before Christmas. With family in walking distance, we staved off cabin fever and pooled our pantries for meals. It was a blessed time of rest and a reminder of true things: family, quiet strength, God's gifts to us.

January has brought the beautiful experience of being present with my dad as his mom went home to heaven and an extra portion of patience as I heal from a shoulder injury. If I sound like I'm sugar-coating these events, I'm not...but only by God's grace have I been able to accept them as true gifts. Though I'm getting a cold today and I want to stomp my foot and refuse.

I've also been experimenting with new art forms and new ways to pray. And I'm inspired by the Emily Dickinson quote, 'To live is so startling that it leaves little time for anything else.'"

And then, just for fun...
My "25 random things" list from Facebook...in case you don't go there.

1. My favorite shape is a spiral

2. I hate rogue spray nozzles in my shower head and scrape at them until they behave

3. I'm fascinated. About everything

4. I carry emergency tea the way some women carry lipstick

5. and a book...because you never know

6. and a pen/paper...same reason

7. I hate water on my face (see #2)

8. My glass is half full; can I share some with you?

9. Boot-cut pants!

10. I feel anxious about forgetting breath-taking poetry and delight in finding it in used book stores

11. I have been mocked for my favorite color...white

12. I bake something for breakfast almost every morning (on a mission to prove that woman may just be able to live on bread alone)

13. I ogle old women with long hair in hopes of figuring out how to be one of the elegant ones

14. I'm less than 9 months older than my brother

15. I think lamps, shoes and replacement razor blades are overpriced

16. I love to wield a broom and hate the noise of a vacuum cleaner, but my house has wall-to-wall carpeting

17. I have a glass dip pen for fancies, but keep a box of black uniball micro points on hand at all times for everyday--they're know 'round these here parts as "trusty pens"

18. If I hadn't gotten contacts when I was 8, I would have gone blind by my teens

19. I own a pair of blue suede shoes (not overpriced)

20. I smile back at characters on TV

21. I love linen with crisp edges (but I hate setting up the ironing board. Not ironing, just setting up the board)

22. My favorite scents are citrus and apple, lavender gives me a headache and vanilla makes me hungry

23. I wear my great-aunt's black leather gloves in the winter to think of her

24. Fall is my reward for making it through hot summer days

25. I want to live on a small sailboat and in a large intentional community, though not at the same time

I hope you're finding peace in the winter stillness.

Three Christmas Tree Tales

2008-12-11T21:23:00.000-08:00

Well, 2 tree tales and some pictures of the other one.

When we lived in Alaska and money was so tight, I was over-the-moon grateful for a woman who stopped by every month or so on her way to the food bank. She volunteered to pick up slightly outdated Nabisco products and deliver them to the food bank at our church. We only had one car, and that made getting to the food bank during business hours almost impossible. So every few weeks, this woman showed up on my doorstep with a few boxes of cookies or crackers. It probably didn't seem like much to her. But during that time, we had guests at the house several times a week, sometimes large groups of young adults coming for a small group meeting or just dropping by (we came home one day to find that friends had disarmed our four-legged security system and rearranged our living room for maximum movie viewing pleasure...both couches turned and one blocked up to create stadium seating) and the ability to offer them a little bit of tangible hospitality made me feel rich, blessed to both receive and to give. We always had enough. Just when we were running low, a new shipment would arrive. In those years, God's grace came in an Oreo package.

One November we were given a case of Barnum's Animal Crackers. A case. (You know, the ones in the little red boxes.) We had left all our Christmas decorations here when we moved and my family was coming for the holidays. We cut a Charlie Brown tree from the Chugach National Forest (yes, legally), splurged on a string of lights and hung candy canes and animal cookies all over that most beautiful of trees. By the end of the holiday, the branches could barely hold their own weight, but my brother helpfully extracted the contents of the boxes and hung the empties back on the tree.

A couple of years later, we planned to come to Oregon for Christmas, but a few days after Thanksgiving, we got the shattering news that Bryan's dad had died that day. Bryan caught the next flight out and I followed with Hannah a few days later. If you've been through anything similar, you can imagine the aftermath, yup, lots of tears and numb/heart-wrenching days. A few days before Christmas, we had to go back. After Dad died, the cheapest way for Bryan to get to Oregon had been to buy a new one-way ticket. He had planned to fly back on the other end of the round-trip we already had purchased. But apparently, when you don't fly the first leg, they cancel your reservation for the return flight (now you tell me). Even after we explained the circumstances the airline was, shall we say, less than helpful. So we scrambled a bit and found a friend who had come down to buy a used car and was driving it back. Bryan was welcome to share the drive.

I flew home without him, pregnant and with child (both--Hannah was just 13 months and I was about halfway along with Meira). The hope was that he would be able to get across all the borders with limited proof of insurance and registration and make through the snow up the Al-Can in time for Christmas. I can't tell you how thankful I was for the friends who met me at the airport, helped to wrangle the bags, the car seats and me into someone's vehicle and home to my empty house. These same friends had spent most of the afternoon setting up a tree, lights and ornaments from who-knows-where illuminating my living room and my dreary spirit.

Bryan did make it home in time for Christmas, such as it was. And the story of digging out of that dark time is full of the grace of God in the face of others (some of them those sneaky elves).

This year our tree is a lot less memorable, (although it's the first year the girls did all the decorating without necessitating major ornament relocation after bedtime). But my heart is no less grateful. And God's grace still shows up in unexpected packaging.

That's my Christmas story this year. What's yours?

Fall Gratefulness

2008-10-16T16:06:00.000-07:00

I had a great idea for a catch-up post...you know, just in case anyone's still checking this site. It was going to tie up the activities of the last month into a witty, concise little package and remind my myriad readers how creative and erudite I can be. But alas, it was a middle-of-the-night epiphany and you all know how long those stick around. You'll have to make do with this...

You'd think with the month I've had, I would have taken the time to write. We haven't been busy, just falling easily into our fall routines. But I've been savoring the space and trying to keep everything but the absolute essentials at bay. This last week has been a little busier, but so full of delightful happenings, I had to take the time to record my gratefulness.

I'm still oozing thankfulness for the opportunity to spend the weekend out at Twin Rocks with a really great group of eighth graders. I led worship for the Samuel School retreat and was reminded how much I adore this age group. They were so thoughtful...and playful (I still have rug burns from being unexpectedly included in rec). They are such mixtures of child and adult, of serious and silly. And though they may have seen me as much older, we are not so very different.

We also went to the beach as a family this month...just for the day, but what a spectacular day it was! No more words about that, just these images.

Plans for a new dinghy just showed up and Bryan is like a kid at Christmas without the batteries for his new toys. He's picking up wood tonight and then I'll need to drag some cushions out to the garage steps so I can hang out with my boat-buildin' man. We're all excited, as we're quickly outgrowing our current dinghy. The new one will be 11 feet long, but is a nesting dinghy which breaks into 2 pieces and nests together so it will more easily carry all of us and our gear, but won't be too difficult to lift onto the deck. Each end of it floats, so you can stand in the stern and pop off the bow for the transfer. How nice to have a winter project to while away free weekends.

On the bread-baking front, I've been on a ciabatta kick, trying out different recipes and techniques. Oh, and indiscriminately eating the results. And I just found out I get to be one of the crowd of recipe testers for Peter Rienhart's new cookbook. I'm ecstatic, but no, I don't need any more taste-testers, thanks for offering.

I'm glad that it's candle season, and I've been intentionally taking every opportunity to add flickering points of light to my rooms. I've even tried reading by oil lantern so as not to wake Bryan with the big light. (It doesn't work very well, but I can manage for as long as it takes to read an entry from my favorite book of prayers, something I've been using again recently). The dining room table is set with fall colors and I hung my purple sari over the back door. Scarves and hats are out, and gloves are tucked into jacket pockets for impromptu excursions. Can you tell I love fall?

I'm grateful for school this year. Here we are on the first day...

Here's a more typical day...

We have worked hard in past years to develop some independent study skills, efficiency about chores, and cheerful attitudes toward learning. Superstition says I shouldn't jinx myself, but I think it's too easy to complain about the hard times and not rejoice in the good ones. This is a good time. Not perfect, but very, very good.

We've been experimenting with radish seeds recently, since they are supposed to sprout in one day (they don't, but they're supposed to). The girls are fascinated--OK, so am I--with the idea that all our energy comes from the sun and the color green. Each plant that, one way or another, provides all I consume, is rooted in the soil of its ancestors and drinks strength from light. Would you remind me of this if I start to feel anxious or deprived in these unsettling times?

Tuesday, the girls and I went on an extended food pick-up. Tuesdays are always vegetable days, but this week, we stopped for milk and eggs and left with demi-glace too (chicken AND beef), a gift from farmer friends to season our soup season. Then it was off to another friend's farm in the foothills to raid the apple trees for the last of the fall apples. The air was cool and still, the light golden as we worked together (not very hard) to gather baskets, heaps of abundance. The car smelled spicy and delicious as we drove to retrieve our CSA share (which included, among other treasures, an almost 3 lb. beet!). Gratefulness overwhelmed me as I rolled home in my cornucopia on wheels. We have been given so much; I never want to take it for granted.

Can you see in my face my hope for this season?
Even as the light outside fades, I will choose contentment and drink deeply from the true Light.

Hey! Try This! It's FREE!

2008-09-11T11:37:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke, as I'm sure so many in America did, with thoughts of a different September 11. Though I was relatively unaffected by the events of that tragic day, I can't help but think of those with greater losses, those who don't have the luxury of simply marking an anniversary. For some, every day brings reminders of those terrible events. I'm thinking of them today.

I wondered if it was time to talk to the girls about this part of America's history. We have been tackling some difficult subjects over the past few years, touching on racism and the Holocaust in age-appropriate ways. And we have read this great book about Philippe Petit and his walk between the towers. My hope is that it will lay a foundation of hope for a future discussion. But since I am not forced, like so many were those first few days, to explain the unimaginable to my little ones, I am choosing to wait until they can see beyond the fear to the facts.

The girls were so small that day, seven years ago. But I remember reading advice for how to contextualize these events for children. Instead of focusing on the evil or the tragedy, psychologists said, encourage your children to look for hope in the heroes. From the rescue workers who ran toward the falling buildings, to those who hosted waylaid commuters until they could find their way home, there are good people all around. I found this advice to be helpful for me too as I tried to process this enormous event. Most of the citizens in our country, myself included, had been remarkably sheltered from this kind of traumatic event (goodness knows much of the rest of the world could one-up us if they tried), and it helped to focus on the ways communities came together instead of trying to comprehend the mindset it took to wage this terror. And I loved seeing how those impulses for good were multiplied in my own life and the lives of those around me.

In the last few weeks, I have heard several pleas to sign up with the National Bone Marrow Donor Registry. No one in my family has ever needed a marrow transplant, but it didn't take much imagination to picture how desperately I would want to find a match for them if they became ill. And when I heard how easy it is both to register (a cheek swab is usually all that's required) and to donate (often almost as simple as blood donation with all expenses paid), I was ready to jump onboard. But I kept putting it off because of the small fee required to evaluate my sample. Today, I called to see if there were any sponsored drives in my area and it turns out that Nascar is sponsoring anyone who signs up, um, through October I think. I don't care about the deadline, because I already signed up. And you shouldn't care either, because you should stop right now (I know you're online already) and spend the 10 minutes it takes to sign your little self up. (The link for the Nascar drive is on the lower right-hand corner of the main page, but I'm sure they'd still use your money if you have some extra lying around.) You may not be up for running into a burning building, but you could save someone's life all the same.

2008-09-10T18:43:00.000-07:00

We interrupt this previously scheduled vacation recap to bring you...

THIS SHAMELESS PROMOTION!

Learn how to make
Artisan Bread
with Bethany Lee

Saturday, September 13, 2-5pm

Hands-on class: Learn to mix, knead, shape and bake artisan breads, and enjoy sampling several kinds of bread. Take home a breadbaking tool (included) and the confidence to make great artisinal breads at home. Seats are still available.

Kookoolan Farms
15713 Highway 47, Yamhill, Oregon 97148
on the web www.kookoolanfarms.com
email kookoolan@gmail.com
Phone (503) 730-7535

Yes, I'll be teaching another bread-baking class this weekend and I'd love to see some friendly faces. Maybe yours could be one!

Day Nine-Jones Island to Roche Harbor

2008-08-28T08:00:00.000-07:00

Prepare for a deluge of pictures from our time here, one of our favorite islands of the trip. Bryan took the girls for a hike around the western shoreline and I joined them after some exploration of my own. You can see the island's only permanent residents, these almost tame deer.

Bryan and I love the madrona trees with their whimsical shapes and cinnamon bark.I also love these three. I feel so blessed to be traveling through life with these wonderful individuals.

By afternoon, it was time to move on. We had a good sail over to Roche Harbor.Right away, we found the marina pool and relaxed, each in her own way:)

If you were here, I would bore you by trying to point out our boat in this picture.
See, right over there. No a little more to the left.

Roche Harbor has a summer tradition of a color ceremony, complete with music and a cannon. This night, a trio of local pilots added to the fun with an impromptu fly-over at just the right moment.

Day Eight-Friday Harbor to Jones Island

2008-08-26T22:24:00.000-07:00

Shopping for "Magic Peas" and salad mix at the Friday Harbor Farmer's Market
(we missed our CSA pickup terribly:)

Pics of all the girls with Harbor watch-totems.

It had been our intention to move on to Roche Harbor this evening, but after two days in a busy marina, we were yearning for some quiet. (Also, the current was against us and after 2 1/2 hours of this exact view...
...we turned on the engine and motored in to Jones Island.
While the girls played on the beach, I sat in the shade and read...and read. Ahhhhhhhhh.

Day Seven-A Day of Rest in Friday Harbor

2008-08-22T08:00:00.000-07:00

Listening to Street Music (Can you see the girls? They--silly-- never take off their lifejackets...even on land! It makes them easy to spot, though. And I s'pose they're always ready for...hmmm...flash flooding?)

Playing in the park

Meira shares her lifejacket with a new souvenir

I love eating breakfast out on the deck

Sassy Hannah

Day Six-Fisherman Bay to Friday Harbor

2008-08-21T08:00:00.000-07:00

What a Catch--5 keeper crabs!

Exploring Lopez Island

Sailing with the Adventuress

On our way to Friday Harbor

The view from Friday Harbor. We're WAAAAAAY out on the docks to the left and had quite the trek to get to shore anytime we wanted to go somewhere.

Popeye, the one-eyed harbor seal (she lives near the fish market, but came to greet--and beg from--the girls.)

Do you have any idea how LONG it takes to crack FIVE crabs?
We had all we could eat and crab cakes the next day.

We finally had enough energy for our favorite boat game--Moose in the House!
(Note the new table Bryan built)

Day Five-Turn Island to Fisherman Bay, Lopez Island

2008-08-20T08:00:00.000-07:00

Relaxin' on the shore at Turn Island

Rowing out to check the crab trap

Success!

A wood-fired, steam-powered boat with LOUD toot-toot and a load of crazy-excited little boys

I never get tired of spending time with this man, my partner in sailing and life

Day Four-Port Townsend to Turn Island State Park

2008-08-19T08:00:00.000-07:00

Meira loved the exciting ride across the Strait of Juan de Fuca

Here's what Hannah thought...

Even without much wind, we put up the sails and stabilized the boat...

...at least until the crazy ride through Cattle pass at flood tide.
We made it through and found a haven at Turn Island.

Day Three-Mystery Bay back to Port Townsend

2008-08-18T08:00:00.000-07:00

Following Sunburst out the tricky entrance. "They haven't run aground yet..."

These are not rocks, just lazy seals

Look! Big Navy ship. Stay 500 Yards away!

Meira's playing while...

...Hannah makes a new friend.

Day Two-Bainbridge Island to Port Townsend

2008-08-14T08:44:00.000-07:00

Meira and LiLo dancing in the waves

Relaxing with a book after 2 long days on the water

The girls both REALLY enjoyed the Port Townsend Marine Science Center

Two Views from Fort Worden State Park

Yeah, I was pretty tired!

Back to the boat and off to Mystery Bay for the night...

Day One-Olympia to Bainbridge Island

2008-08-13T16:55:00.000-07:00

I give up. All you want to see is pictures anyway. So here's the ~~cheater~~ photo-journalist version of our trip. Leave a comment if you want clarification. Or just leave a comment anyway.

On our way to the boat after Fourth of July celebrations

12 knots through the Tacoma Narrows!

Meira, the fashion goddess

Not staged, just taken to make work friends jealous

Who can resist a taffy and fudge shop? Not us!

15 precious days

2008-08-08T18:36:00.000-07:00

I'm leaving tomorrow for a whirlwind trip to eastern Oregon to attend the memorial service of a fifteen-day old baby. A dear friend of mine and her husband of only a year suffered this unimaginable loss this week and I couldn't not go to offer my love and support. My wonderful husband has agreed to drive the 10 hours in 2 days so that I can come back in time for the baby shower of another dear friend (the kind you really want to attend, not that other obligatory kind). I really do have great pictures from our San Juan trip and promise to share belated stories, but today, this feels a bit more present. I've been so conscious this week, as I've read the updates chronicling the last downward spiral of the baby, that my friend will never get to make throw-together breakfasts with her daughter. She'll not get to be pestered into insanity by 20,000 questions, or curl up to read Narnia for the first time with her. Never go camping with the cousins and pick roasted marshmallow out of sandy hair. Never sit around the dinner table eating corn on the cob. Never sing, or dance or pray together. All these things and more I've done with my dear girlies in these last 15 days, poignant days, her precious baby's lifetime.

I owe you a story

2008-06-30T13:12:00.000-07:00

I'm finally done pulling together pictures from our latest sailing trip for a My Publisher book (oh, how I love online scrapbooking) and I thought maybe I should fill you in as well. Last Christmas, flush with new-boat feelings, we gave our parents a certificate for a 3 day trip aboard. And yes...we heard all the jokes about a 3 hour tour. With Bryan's grandpa so ill this year, we're not sure when his mom will be able to redeem her trip, but we took my parents out over Memorial Day weekend. We all took off early on Friday afternoon to beat the rush out of town. Perhaps we thought that 3 days together on the boat wouldn't be enough "family closeness" so we piled into Mom and Dad's van and drove to Olympia.

We've heard many sailors say that guests come to your boat for a taste of life aboard, so you should try to keep your plans as normal as possible. So we started our trip, as usual, with a trip to the grocery store. And after a stop for late-night Chinese food, we made up all possible bunks and do-si-doed our way around the cabin and into bed.

"Do you smell that too?" is an awful way to be awakened, but the smell itself was even worse and it had awakened our guests first in the middle of the night. They, being new to boating, didn't know to be alarmed and slept-ish the rest of the night with lotioned hands tucked firmly under noses.

A bit of inspection and the tightening of a few ring clamps later, the leaky holding tank was mollified and we were off to the farmer's market. The Olympia Farmer's Market is just a few steps across the parking lot from our marina and a perfect place to pick up some breakfast and people watch. And it was Meira's birthday, so there were presents to open and a stop at the toy store to spend birthday money. It was maybe 11:30 when we finally pulled out of our slip and breathed a sigh of relief. We're on our way!

But we sighed too soon. About 5 minutes out, while still in the middle of the channel, the engine quit. This time, we knew we had fuel (as opposed to last time, when we discovered--not 30 seconds after checking--just how far down the dipstick/fuel gauge means "empty." That time, also in the middle of the Olympia channel, required some tricky sailing and a frantic refill from the spare fuel tank.) So we pulled open the engine compartment and pumped the priming bulb in hopes of a simple solution. And it worked! For about a minute. And then the engine died again. So we pumped the bulb again and fired up the engine again and everything was good again...for about a minute. We repeated this process (to the accompaniment of an ongoing trouble-shooting conversation between Dad and Bryan) about 20 times until we made it to the turn in the channel and could put up the sails. It seemed unlikely that we would get back to our slip safely with such a fluky engine, so we decided to settle in and enjoy the adventure. ("We told you we'd show you what a real sailing trip is like!")

We sailed for an hour or two in the fading wind, but after tacking back and forth in front of the Dofflemeyer Point lighthouse for 45 minutes or so, we decided we needed another option. We'd planned on Jarrell Cove for the first night. The marina there has fuel and a pump-out, both very important items. But it was going to be at least 2 hours of motoring and by this point, we were pretty sure we had a dead fuel pump. Dad and Bryan agreed to take turns manually pumping the gas into the engine and steering and we all voted to go for it.

The trip went surprisingly well; we caught a current and got up to the cove in less than 2 hours. It was noisy, of course, with the engine compartment open and tedious for the pumper standing over the hot engine. But Mom and Dad were determined to have a good time, so we all relaxed a bit.

Jarrell Cove is beautiful, shady and green...and popular. But we found a mooring buoy and managed to catch it on the first try even with all the heckling spectators. The evening more than made up for our difficult day. We barbecued hot dogs, following a family tradition of dropping the lid handle overboard (see the picture for our temporary fix), and had birthday cupcakes. There was bubble making...and the inevitable bubble soap spill. We all enjoyed seeing a sleek runabout pull up to the dock and, with a bit of sleight of hand, convert into a cozy cabin cruiser. And just at sunset, someone stepped out onto their bow and played "Taps" to end the day.

The next morning, we moved to a spot on the dock and ate breakfast while we watched a heron reclaim our buoy. After a short walk on shore, we were ready to take off. At some point during the evening, the guys had decided to try replacing the fuel filter. We hadn't thought it could possibly be clogged up yet, but then we remembered running the fuel tank down to the dregs. And we just happened to have an extra filter on board from the time Bryan dropped a piece of the filtering system overboard and had to buy a new one. The frustration of that day was redeemed by saving us today!

A quick stop for fuel, and we were off again, engine putting smoothly this time. We let it run just long enough to prove its reliability and then we put up the sails. We heard later that it rained almost all weekend back home, but we couldn't have ordered better weather. We had just enough wind to sail comfortably to Joemma Beach and my parents loved taking turns at the helm, especially Dad, who did 4 years in the Navy during Vietnam.

We arrived at the beach at a very low tide and Dad tossed the girls into the dinghy and rowed over for tide pool exploring. Eventually, Bryan and I joined them while Mom relaxed in the cockpit and watched the birds (later determined to be Purple Martins) in the nesting boxes on the pier. Hannah and Meira wangled their way into borrowed fishing poles and quickly caught (and released) several small fish.

We converged back on the boat, wet and sandy, to evening feeding time. The birds sang love songs and flew figure eights around the marina. The air smelled sweet as I zested limes and diced peppers for a Thai chicken dinner. Thousands of tiny, silver herring danced around the docks, shattering the top of their world, flipping into ours and back again. And Mom and Dad saw why we love sailing so much. This kind of day is more than worth all the problem solving and hard work. This too, is a real sailing trip.

I'm off to another one...I'll be back with more stories!

I Need a Ghost Writer!

2008-06-27T18:40:00.001-07:00

The last month has been so full of postable events, I haven't taken the time to post them. So I'm taking the liberty of copycatting my friend Carri and telling you about all the things I didn't write about. (It's the highest form of flattery, right?)

I didn't tell you about finishing school for the summer and teaching another bread-baking class. Nor did I mention the visit to a friend at Doernbecher Children's Hospital (which necessitated a tram ride!) or the girls' piano recitals (yes, two recitals since my mom and I both claim them as students).

I neglected to mention taking swimming lessons with Bryan. We both took lessons as kids, but couldn't ever get the rhythms of stroking and breathing down at the same time. And we figured that even though the point of a boat is to make swimming unnecessary, it might be a good idea to be a little better than we were. We're, well, a little better.

I especially didn't tell you about taking my parents out on the boat over Memorial Day weekend (though I reserve the right to tell that story at a later date...it's a good one).

Then there was the weekend I spent subbing for some friends who run a Bed and Breakfast. I loved hosting the guests and cooking elaborate breakfasts with fresh ingredients (mmm...ginger scones with lemon curd, bacon arugula quiche and hazelnut waffles with rhubarb compote...mmm). And I really didn't mind dealing with the recalcitrant goats and their incompetent fence. The laughter was payment enough.

And there has been dinner with friends and time spent with family along with VBS for the girls and some major spring cleaning/purging ("Would I want this on an extended boat trip? Do I really need it in the meantime? These have been very helpful questions).

But now we are in the last throes of vacation prep. The girls and I are taking the train to Redmond, WA for a visit with their cousins (and my delightful brother- and sister-in-law) and then Bryan is coming up later in the week for a couple of days of work on the boat before he joins us for the Fourth of July (he hopes to get the water system clean and functional and install the new table that is currently in pieces all over our dining room). Then we're taking off on the boat for 2 weeks in the San Juan Islands. Got all that? I wish I did.

I'm making multiple lists--of groceries and local pump-out stations, of places to go and things to see. We went to the library today to stock up; both the girls are reading faster than I can keep up. I've put my newspaper, mail and CSA membership on hold. This weekend will be full of leading worship at church, a birthday party for Grandpa, grocery shopping, laundry and more list-making. And Bryan is working interminable hours thanks to fourth-quarter rush. I guess if we ever get to do this cruising thing for real, this will seem like small potatoes. But it's enough for today.

It's possible that you'll hear from me again before I go, but if not, at least now you'll know why.

Overheard just before I panicked...

2008-05-07T21:41:00.000-07:00

"Hannah, come and watch this. It might be a disaster!"

Cow-napping

2008-05-06T19:45:00.000-07:00

You've heard of cow-tipping. Well today I was involved in more nefarious bovine affairs. We went to the dairy farm as usual and, as usual, fell into an adventure. This little calf was born just after lunch and immediately after his arrival, another cow claimed him. This would normally be a bit of a problem, but not today. Since the new calf is a boy, the farm is planning to sell him. And they have some customers who have been wanting to buy a cow and calf pair. But the real mama is a great milker, too good to sell. So when this other cow decided to take over, Chrissie decided to help. And we arrived just in time to aid and abet. Chrissie led the new mama up the hill and we followed, encouraging the baby, so new to this walking-thing, and running interference against the (only mildly offended) real mama. Then the other 2 cows and several goats decided to come over and investigate the disturbance in the farmyard. I'm glad all the animals are VERY tame.

We finally got this oddly blended new family separated from the others to give them a chance to bond (and for baby to figure out that milk doesn't emit from his mama's kneecaps). They'll be going to their new home tomorrow; we are so glad we showed up in time to be a part of this unusual day on the farm.

A Busy Weekend

2008-05-03T20:24:00.000-07:00

On Thursday, thanks to a hot tip from my mother-in-law, the girls and I hit the most popular joint in town: the Bob's Red Mill Grand Opening. We made it in time to join a long line of grain fanatics for a tour of their new milling and packaging plant. Then we took advantage of the free pancake breakfast and stopped by the retail store to pick up some flour for today's adventures (cue mysterious foreshadowing music...oh, who am I fooling. How mysterious can flour be?)
Here are my little bakers ready for the tour in the requisite hairnets and safety eyegear.

Last night, the girls sang at Chapters, a local coffee shop/bookstore with their choir, the Young Friends Singers. Its always a bit of a crazy venue, especially on First Friday when friends and strangers are apt to walk by just outside the window. The kids worked hard to sing well and squelch any staring and waving impulses. All the grandparents showed up and my parents took the girls home with them for the night, with serendipitous timing given today's adventures...

Then today (dah, dah, duh), out at the farm where we get milk and eggs, I taught my first bread-baking class.

I say my first because my farmers want me to teach one on a regular basis. Chrissie likes the connection to the customers. Koorosh just wants to eat the leftovers. She said, "How about every couple of months?" He, eying the pile of bread, said, "We'll see how long it takes me to get through this bread and then schedule them accordingly."I don't know about that; I baked 21 loaves of bread yesterday and today. I'm not going to do that too often. But the students seemed to really enjoy it and I was able to answer most of their questions. I hope I demystified the process just a bit. Fresh bread really is just so wonderful. This is what was left after we sent everyone home with a loaf of their own. What abundance!

Oh and the goats? They're just cute and I wanted a record of my James Herriot moment from last month. Did I ever tell you about the time I helped deliver quintuplet baby goats?

A Grand Night Out

2008-04-25T00:33:00.000-07:00

Tonight I went to the Dave Brubeck concert at the Schnitz. I don't often go to live concerts, so it took a bit of convincing to get me to this one, but I'm oh-so-very glad I went. From the opening set (ahhh "Stormy Weather" Brubeck style) all the way to the jaw-dropping rendition of "Take Five" at the end, I never stopped grinning. I didn't know how the band could come back for an encore after a night like that, but they topped off the evening and cleverly avoided a second encore with a wry performance of Brahms Lullaby.

You can bet my grandkids will hear about this one. That's how good it was.

But I would never have enjoyed it this much without the company. I tagged along with Mauri, Howard, and Nate; three dear friends and fellow music lovers. Sitting with them, toe-tapping and laughing in all the same places, analyzing and marveling together--that was as good as the music. And then Brandon and Korie, dear friends themselves, tracked us down across the concert hall (Korie said she would recognize my laughter anywhere) and added their smiles to our grinning group. Good music. Good friends. I'm blessed.

(See Sherry's site for a picture. If she hasn't posted it yet, she probably will)

Ignore this if you want

2008-03-27T20:47:00.000-07:00

Hey friends,
I'm not usually too political, but this is a ballot measure I'd love to get a chance to vote on. And the oneballot people are making it easy to sign the petition. So if you like the idea of this open primary system (very similar to to the one being contested in WA), here's a chance to get it on the ballot in November. If you don't like the idea, don't read this post. There's my pitch. I'll never bother you again.

Unconventional Passover

2008-03-21T21:56:00.000-07:00

Tonight I lost the toss and drove out to pick up fried chicken for a lazy Friday dinner. On the way, I caught a glimpse of the full moon and it snatched my breath away. How can this night--the night we remember the death of our Lord--be this heavy, dripping with such beauty?

When I got home, the girls had cleared the table and were waiting for dinner. So we ate. It was late and we were all hungry, and the chicken was so greasy and crispy and good.

But after we ate, I took a biscuit, and broke it and said "This is his body, broken for you." And I passed the fragments to Hannah, to Bryan and Meira. And I poured a glass of juice (apple-cranberry, I think) and we talked (in between nibbles of french fries) about what a new covenant means in our lives today. And we each sipped some juice.

And there, with a take-out boxes on the table and failings in our hearts, God met us.

Fall From Grace

2008-03-18T13:49:00.001-07:00

There's a disaster in the kitchen. No I'm not talking about the piles of dirty dishes, although they might qualify us for FEMA relief; we've gotten good at ignoring those.

No, this new catastrophe struck this afternoon when one of the girls, helpful as always, failed to transfer the new sourdough starter from counter to fridge smoothly. Her cry of alarm was followed by the sound of breaking crockery and then ominous silence. Sure enough, when I came to look, there on the floor were pieces of my favorite pottery dish--a gift from my husband and a macaroni and cheese tradition--glued together with strings of sticky, stretchy starter. I salvaged some clean starter off the biggest pot shard. I'm pretty sure I can save it. Then I scraped the rest off the floor and, along with the rest of the broken pieces, threw it away. I tried not to let her see me cry.

I hate the sadness of broken things. Replacing them brings none of the usual delight in something new, just a sense of waste and loss. And I know things are just things, but this one had such memories and such cute little handles.

I'm resisting the urge to rush out and replace it; you can't mend broken memories, just make new ones. Besides, I don't just want any old pot, I want that one. Or barring that possibility, I want one that comes with its own story and redeems this sadness. I'll wait for a serendipitous crockery.

I need your help

2008-03-18T09:07:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I helped lead the NFC women's retreat at Twin Rocks Friends Camp. It was a lot of fun, but by the time I got back, I had started to feel sick. I spent most of last week moving from bed to couch and back again. Any time I tried to accomplish something, I ended up horizontal again after just a few minutes. So I was less excited than I had expected when I got a package from King Arthur Flour. A few weeks ago, KAF came to town. I went to the bread-baking classes they offered and gladly jumped through the hoops attached to the gift cards they passed out at the end of the day to order a few things I'd been drooling over from their catalog. I got some specialty flour and yeast and a couple of flavorings. But the big treat was a 250 year old sourdough starter.

Turns out, this was the perfect time for it to come. I had just enough energy to feed it before I adjourned to the couch to re-read all the neglected sourdough information in my favorite baking cookbooks. It needed several feedings of flour and water to expand and refresh its rising power, but by the next day, it was ready to be mixed into a batch of dough. After a night of rising on the front porch (I really will clean out my fridge when I get to feeling better) and a morning of rising out in the garage, I baked up my very first loaves of sourdough.

Oh, but they were delicious. But to make more, you have to keep the starter alive. This means feeding the starter at least once a week and using the excess in bread or pancakes or crumpets or any of the myriad other tasty sourdough options. I've divided it in two and converted one half into a stiff starter (they are supposed to be slightly less sour and last longer between feedings). In the next few weeks, I plan to dry some as an emergency backup and share some of the fresh starter with anyone who wants some—anybody? anybody? The girls are already addicted to sourdough pancakes and I'm looking forward to experimenting with new bread recipes. If this sounds like a lot of work, you're right. I'm sure once I work it into my schedule, it won't take up as much space in my brain. But right now, it feels like a new pet.

So I need your help. I think if I name the pile of goop—the only thing in my refrigerator I am trying to keep growing—I'll be more likely to remember to feed it. Any suggestions?

Season Finale

2008-02-20T09:30:00.000-08:00

There has been a mid-season hiatus on the show "LiLo and Her Inexperienced New Owners" due to a writer's strike. But now, thanks to a renegotiation of the contract (more caffeine was a serious sticking point) we are back with the rest of the winter move to Olympia. If you haven't been following this family dramedy, check out the first episode here.

After awakening to more bilge pump noises, we were off to locate stuffing for our stuffing box. But first, breakfast! We found a creperie up the street, sat in the tiny dining room (seating for 4) and shared delectable breakfast confections. Then we walked up the main street to the local hardware store, but they didn't have a marine supply section. We explained our problem to the owner and were rewarded with a personal how-to guide. We knew we had found an true expert when he began his advice with the words, "You take a pair of undershorts..."

We traded sailing stories for a few minutes before returning to the boat. The plan had been to leave first thing in the morning to make the best use of the tides, but since that was no longer an option, we decided to relax and enjoy the beautiful head winds anyway. After the last episode, we were a bit jumpy about odd engine noises, so we made good use of the time from Kingston to Blake Island (a scheduled pit stop for leg-stretching) by tracking down what made the engine rattle every time we stood on the second companionway step. (A bit of sandpaper, properly applied, should do the trick.)

We pulled into Blake Island a couple of hours before dusk (someday we really will spend some daylight hours on this island!) and chatted with the sailors who stepped up to take our dock lines. They had just come over from Vashon Island for the night and were horrified to hear that we were planning to continue on down to Gig Harbor that evening. "But you'll be out at night!" they chorused. Old hands now after our one night's experience, we responded with confidence. "Night sailing is beautiful!"

And it was. All the way down Colvos Passage to the west of Vashon Island, we had smooth...umm...motoring and relatively calm weather. There is a well-lit marker system of navigation markers throughout the Puget Sound, and this area is no exception. It is always fun to be the first to spot the next light. We followed the old sailors mnemonic "red right returning," and slipped between each set of red and green, grateful to be that much closer to port.

We were grateful too, for our GPS. Although the trip would have been quite possible without its aid, we found it especially helpful as we neared the entrance to Gig Harbor. The perimeter of the harbor describes a rough triangle with a barely navigable opening at the tip of one point. Factor in a sand bar and low tide, and you have a bit of a tricky entrance. We had been in and out of Gig Harbor twice in the daylight or we would probably not have attempted it at night, but all went smoothly. We kept a close eye on the depth sounder (Nissa drew just 2', so we felt enormous with 4'6''), tried to spot the small lighthouse past the bright fishing vessel lights, and...whew...we were in.

Hmmmm. Now which of these marinas has guest moorage available? Our cruising guide said to look for white dunce caps on the pilings and, when we spotted them, we pulled in close to check things out. I hopped off and walked up the ramp to see if we were in the right place while Bryan tied us off. At the top of the ramp, there was a code-locked gate and I'll admit to a bit of apprehension when it clanged shut behind me. But I quickly found the fee box--and the code for the gate on the marina paperwork--and we were set for the night.

Well, all of us except Bryan, that is. He didn't want to spend another night listening to the leaky stuffing box and sloshing bilge pump, so it was time to put the morning's advice to the test. I read "Carry On, Mr. Bowditch" to the girls, all the while, silently rooting for Bryan (the apparent underdog) in his battle to keep the ocean on the proper side of our keel. Armed only with a box knife and a pair of clean underwear ("Why the clean ones? We don't have laundry capabilities!"), and trying to keep his hollering to a minimum (this is a "family" boat), he dove up to his waist in the engine compartment and rummaged in the dark for a bit, emerging victorious.

Then he climbed out onto the bow and, with no small amount of banging about, rigged a pulley system with the spinaker halyard to lift the dinghy up onto the bow--the marina information had been very strict about charges for extra feet of dock space. (If you care, we would advise trying this trick in the daylight your first time.)

The next morning, the fact that we were no longer leaking was not enough to keep us from our now-traditional daily West Marine run. After breakfast (I ran up the hill for coffee and pastries from the local coffee/pottery shop), we took our time deciding on the right fuel filter for our system, hoping that would help the engine run a bit more smoothly. We picked up lunch at the supermarket deli and the girls and I sat in the park to eat while Bryan (he ate too, but faster) went down to the boat...and promptly back to West Marine for a heavy-duty magnetic tool retriever. Unfortunately, the mounting bracket for the fuel filter wasn't magnetic. I hope it is biodegradable in salt water.

Back again for another fuel filter--of course, the one in the water was the last in stock--and then back to the boat to install the substitute we hoped would suffice. But the day was lovely and the town delightful, so it wasn't too burdensome to spend a bit more time at the dock. There are always interesting boats to examine and dogs to pet in a marina. Soon enough, it was time to unplug and stow the shore power cord, untie the lines and pull away into the Tacoma Narrows. We knew from experience that we couldn't be careless about the currents in this area (ask me about that story another time...it's funny now) and we hit them just right this time. Without the dinghy dragging behind us, we made 7-8 knots through most of the channel, under the new Tacoma bridge span and out the other side.

We settled in for another long day, but the familiar waters and the sun overhead did much to boost the morale of the crew. Bryan had just curled up in the starboard quarterberth for a little nap when I heard a "sploosh" just off the side of the boat. I looked, expecting to see a seal--we had seen one or two every day--although they usually are too timid to approach this close. Another "sploosh" and another and...was that a dorsal fin? Hoping whatever it was would stick around long enough to be identified, I called to Bryan. "Come up quick!" Soon we were seeing fins cresting on both sides of the boat. Bryan and the girls grabbed the camera and went up to the bow where the view was best. I cut back the engine, but the pod had been attracted to our speed and fell away until I sped up again. Now Bryan took the tiller and I joined the girls on the foredeck. We clutched the bow pulpit and leaned over to see the black-and-white flashes of (we think) Dall Porpoises dancing through the bow wake. We had seen these playful animals once before on a wildlife viewing cruise out of Resurrection Bay in Alaska, but here, they were so unexpected, so close. All exhaustion gone, we squealed and danced at this breathtaking gift of the sea.

The energy boost lasted even after our visitors faded away. We had been facing the wind head-on for most of the trip, but now, as we turned toward Nisqually Reach, we would have a good chance of favorable winds. And we needed the wind. With all the marinas at Gig Harbor, one would think there would be a fuel dock. But no, there's no fuel to be had without toting a gas tank up the hill to a filling station and back. We thought we had enough to get us to the fuel dock at Zittel's Marina or Boston Harbor, but a quick call to each and some rough calculation made our situation clear. If we didn't put up the sails, we had a pretty good chance of running out of fuel before we could make it to either fuel dock. But if we sailed (in the quickly dying wind) we would not make it in before they closed for the night. (This would probably be a good time to point out that our gas gauge is a bamboo stick marked, helpfully, "Full," "1/2," and "Empty." And our gas tank, well, it's an old beer keg. The inspector said it looked sound enough, but it lies on its side under the cockpit and we're not familiar enough with our capacity and usage yet to know if an inch of gas on the end of the "gauge" means "Sure, you can make it!" or "Just a tiny puddle in the curve of the tank.")

But sailing into the sunset is the stuff of which dreams are made, right? And then the moon came up, and we sailed along its path to the accompaniment of soft music and good company. If we hadn't been so tired, it would have been unbearably enchanting. However, even after pulling out our big Genoa to replace our smaller headsail, we were still only making 1/2 a knot and, despite the vacant waters, we didn't relish the idea of spending the entire night tacking sinuously across a shipping channel.

So we took a deep breath, noted our exact fuel level...and fired up the engine. My stomach tensed as I sat in the cockpit, willing the boat ahead in the water. This was by no means the most dire situation of the trip, but after all we'd been through, I was a bit tired of problem-solving--tired, period. When we'd gone about halfway to the nearest safe harbor, Bryan checked the fuel level again. We were both relieved to see that it had hardly budged. Another 30 minutes found us putting in to the quiet mooring field at Boston Harbor. Once again, we were grateful for previous daytime experience as we navigated past numerous boats at anchor against the glare of the marina lights. The guest dock was full, so we turned back to find a clear spot to anchor among these hibernating vessels, impatient to have LiLo in her own slip for the winter.

Morning dawned foggy, and Bryan launched the dinghy off the bow and loaded the gas tank and the two youngest sailors. They disappeared into the mist only a few yards away, but by the time they had returned, the fog was giving way to another gorgeous day. After a few more minutes paddling about in the dinghy, we motored the last few knots to Olympia.

But before we could pull into our slip, we needed to find a pump-out station for...well, obvious reasons. With everything else that had gone wrong on this trip, it shouldn't have been a surprise when the nearest pump was broken. So we pulled around to Swantown Marina in East Bay, took care of business and, FINALLY, pulled back into West Bay and into our slip at Fiddlehead Marina.

Then we still had to walk to the car rental company (after days out in the elements, the weather away from the water was surprisingly warm), rent a car (without a reservation--not a good plan), and figure out how to get car, car seats, and children all to the same space...legally (here's a hint--it requires ice cream). After a quick stop at our new favorite teriyaki restaurant and another to fill out some paperwork at the marina, we were free to head up the Olympic peninsula for Port Townsend to retrieve the car we'd left behind...was it really just Saturday?

Back in Olympia, we gladly crawled into our beds on the boat for one more night (Olympia to Hillsboro is only about double Bryan's normal commute, so we took him straight to work on our way home the next morning). I remember saying, "We're going to tell our friends about our trip, and all the things that went wrong, and they will never understand how much fun we had." It's true, we did have fun. Even the girls claimed to have enjoyed "the whole thing!" But I think more than the fun we had, we enjoyed the satisfaction of discovering all sorts of new things about our boat and ourselves and the knowledge that this hard work was just the beginning of many more adventures together as a family.

Stay tuned...according to my calendar, sailing season is only weeks away!

Day of Reckoning

2008-02-18T12:04:00.000-08:00

Of the 88 library books currently scattered about our house, 39 are due tomorrow.

Anecdote Overload

2008-02-13T20:07:00.000-08:00

for Sherry, who says I should post these before I throw away all the grocery lists and scraps of paper on which they're written.

At the library:
"Maybe I will work here when I grow up. There are lots of things I want to do. But I don't want to be an astronaut anymore." Here you must lean in to hear the whisper..."Because of SPACE TRASH!"

One sister to another:
"We're pirates in a submarine looking for treasure. One of my crews died so I needed a new crew. You be my new crew. Try not to die."

Second sister's response:
"Don't suck your fingers, captain."

Why I homeschool:
With paroxysms of excitement..."Now I'm going to tell you the part that I'm all jittery about in my math"

Random quote of the year award:
"I'm having a wedding because the queen died. But Brownie, my dog, still has her memory...because I told her to. Brownie's a girl. She's sitting in my sewing box, which is open." (okaaaay)

Interchange while writing letters together:
Announced with confidence..."I'm like a printer!"
Encouraging response..."Yes, like a printer, only slower."
Confidence not diminished in the least..."Yes, like a printer only slow and...and kind of broken."

Overheard from a small waffle eater: "I'm beautiful...but sticky!"

Extra points if you can guess who's who.

I love the man with a broken heart

2008-01-23T11:24:00.000-08:00

Bryan's Grandpa is in the hospital again. They didn't think he would make it through yesterday afternoon and as his day nurse left, she said "I'll see you tomorrow if you're still here." Not the most professional way to break the bad news. But he's still with us today, eating and joking with the nurses. (We said, "Get better so you can chase the pretty nurses." He said, "I've got roller skates under the bed.")

So now we are waiting. We've been here before, barely more than a year ago with Grandma when we all expected her to get better and she didn't. We've been here before with Grandpa too (I think the ICU needs to issue him a frequent-patient punch card) when we all expected him not to get better and he did. So I don't know what to expect, but I still need to do many of my normal-life things. Somehow the dirty dishes don't seem compelling today as I jump every time the phone rings and compulsively check my e-mail for responses from the first round of cancellations--excuse me for a minute...nope, none in the last 30 seconds.

It seems odd that I am taking the time to blog now...when I have ignored writing for almost a month, but I was too busy with good stuff to stop. Now, I want to stay too busy to stop; I don't know what I would do with my thoughts if I took the time to think them. I do know that I gravitate to my community when in crisis. I spent most of the evening with Bryan's family and some of mine, either on the phone or in person and I felt more settled than I do now. But there's not enough of a reason to drop everything and cocoon together, so we are all trying to carry our normal burdens separately while we wait.

I haven't finished the story of our last boat trip--in fact, I think the boat was filling with water when I last left off...don't you people wonder what happened? And we've had lots of fun over the holidays and my recent birthday that I want to take the time to record. But not today. Maybe I'll get the dishes done; I may not have time later. But maybe I'll just give myself permission to let today be for staying warm and close to people who care. Thanks for caring.

A Merry Christmas Gift

2007-12-26T15:37:00.000-08:00

I thought he was kidding when he said he was going to give me the sun, moon, and stars.

2007-11-10T09:01:00.000-08:00

The last few weeks have been filled with a smattering of life. I think that many small pieces of busyness take up more room in my life than just a few large ones. Like round melons (Yes, there are square melons) in a square box, there's just so much wasted space between them. We've been to the beach twice (for a church retreat and a tidepool-exploring field trip), the doctor's office, the recording studio, and the mechanic's. We've spent time with a couple of new babies, helped plan a birthday party and a baby shower, and scrounged haphazard meals from our increasingly filthy kitchen. Today is shaping up to be relatively relaxing, and I am snatching time at the computer this morning to share the first installment of our latest boating fun. (Sorry there's so much to read; it was a busy day. Pictures to follow)

We left Thursday after work for the drive up to Port Townsend, slept aboard (the first time for the girls--what fun!), and woke early Friday morning ready to re-rig the boat and be on our way. Stepping the mast went quite smoothly. It had been windy the evening before and we had wondered if we would have to postpone the work, but Friday was beautiful and the mast went up without a hitch. Just before the riggers, Ben and Ira, slid the mast into place, Ira called, "Anybody have a coin?" According to sailing superstition, it's very bad luck to step your mast without a coin underneath. Some people choose rare coins or one from a specific year. We offered the masters of sailing tradition the penny I had in my pocket.

By the time the rig was up and tuned, it was too late to leave, so we ran a few errands in town and puttered around on LiLo. (Some of my musician friends have joked about tuning the rig to a certain note. It turns out that there are some similarities to tuning a stringed instrument. With the purchase of any new rig, Port Townsend Rigging offers a free rig adjustment anytime in the first year because, just like the extra tuning needed after putting new strings on a guitar, the new wire stretches just a bit and makes early tuning necessary. )

Just before bed, we decided to check out the waste holding tank system so we didn't have any unpleasant surprises while underway. We had wondered if the system had deteriorated over the last few years without use. We turned the valves once and the answer came dribbling out onto the cabin floor. It was almost midnight before we had everything cleaned up, very glad to still be in port. After a few trips to West Marine the next morning (our new friend, Laura, was surprised to see us again...and again), we were finally good to go...so to speak.

As we motored out of the marina, the girls and I went up on the bow. The sun was out and the wind felt fresh on our faces. Up and around Marrowstone Island we rode the waves until we turned to face the wind and all came back to the cockpit. Meira went below and curled up in her quarterberth. Hannah pulled out a book and settled in for the ride. Bryan and I stayed above, enjoying the beautiful...what was that?

Before I could move to help, Bryan yanked off the companionway steps, opened the engine compartment, and aimed the fire extinguisher. We were all relieved to find that sometimes where there's smoke...there's just smoke. But now, with the engine compartment airing and the boat drifting backward through the shipping lanes, our priority became steering. Without forward momentum, a boat's rudder is useless. There were no cargo ships in sight, but we knew we needed to get a sail up--and quickly. Our rig included new halyards, the ropes that pull up the sails, but not the splices necessary to attach the halyards to the sails. Bryan grabbed his life jacket and climbed up on the cabin top. I stayed in the cockpit and relayed messages and materials up and down from Hannah in the cabin to Bryan on the deck above her head. She handed up sail twine, needles and strange metal implements (no not that thingy, the other one!) and Bryan stitched them together in record time. My relief as the mainsail went up was short-lived when the sail slides stuck about halfway up the mast. With no time to diagnose this newest glitch, we acted out an instant replay. Again the sail twine, needles and shackles passed from hand to hand. Again the careful stitching on the foredeck and--ahhhhhh--up went the jib.

Now we could steer, even if we could make no progress in our desired direction, and, with the boat a bit steadier, we stretched out in the cockpit with binoculars. The official diagnosis was, "something sticking out of the side of the sail track." Bryan sent the halyard aloft with just one sail slide attached to jam it back in place. After a brief moment of panic when we realized we were hoisting our main halyard with no way to retrieve it, Bryan hooked it on our telescoping boat hook, pulled it back to the deck and tied a line on the end. This time, his plan succeeded. He pulled down hard and the sail slide shot to the top of the mast. Soon we had the mainsail up and Bryan traded his life jacket for a toolbox. One replaced spark plug later and we were on our way again.

A bit more warily now, we motored south toward Kingston. But after only a few minutes, the engine sputtered, misfired and died. This time, the temperature gauge read dangerously high, so we hoisted the sails again and began to beat against the wind. We sailed through twilight into the evening, not knowing whether to bless or curse our GPS with its horribly accurate ground speed indicator. I sat at the tiller in 3 wool sweaters and a jacket, squinting through the salty film misting my contact lenses and did the math. Nine more nautical miles at 2.5 knots...would we make it in by midnight? I didn't even want to think of what we'd do when we got there since we'd never been to this particular harbor in the daytime, much less at night. Several hours later, we decided it was worth chancing the engine again. Our hope was that the raw water intake for the cooling system had been temporarily fouled with sea detritus (is it flotsam or jetsam--I can never remember the difference?) and that now that the engine was cool, it would behave.

By now the girls had cuddled up in their quarterberths and had fallen asleep to the motor's roar. I'm sure we ate dinner at some point, but my memory has blurred the last few hours of the evening into a miasma of wind and spray and squinting for land in the darkness.

We hadn't been out at night before, but all the books we'd read said that it's never completely dark on the water. And sure enough, as we sailed through the Puget Sound, the skyline of each city wore a halo: Everett off the starboard side, Edmonds toward 11 o'clock, Seattle just a thin haze of light far ahead. Then finally, around the last point, we spotted the ferry terminal of Kingston. We followed the directions from our cruising guide, and the harbor unfolded just as described. Past the ferry terminal, around the red flashing light (but not too close to the point with its unlit rocks), behind the breakwater and down the long guest dock to a port-tie slip. We'd made it!

Now we settled the boat for the night and took a short walk to find the marina's fee box. As we crawled into bed, we noticed water on the floor. Was the head leaking again? What hadn't we replaced? I cleaned it up, slid into the V berth and fell asleep.

The stuffing box (which allows the propeller to pass through the hull without letting in the ocean as well) leaked all night. Bryan finally got up around 5 am, to see if the bilge pump was depleting the batteries. Relieved they both still measured in the green, he finally got a few hours of sleep. More awake the next morning, we compared notes. With head-slapping clarity, we recognized the "leak from the head" as a rookie mistake. Through the wind and spray of the previous night, we never once thought to check the direction of the bow vent. Sure enough, it had been open to the weather all evening. We'd been baptized in salt water, but come out dry.

Welcome to the World!

2007-10-29T11:21:00.000-07:00

The Lord bless you and keep you.
The Lord make his face shine upon you.
And give you peace,
And give you peace,
And give you peace forever.

The Lord be gracious to you.
The Lord turn his face toward you.
And give you peace,
And give you peace,
And give you peace forever.

This was one of my favorite lullabies to sing when the girls were tiny (I still sing it to them sometimes). I think my sleep-deprived brain clung to the comfort and repetition of this ancient blessing. But even now that I am getting more than 4 hours of sleep at night, it remains a favorite.

It was my great pleasure to pull it out again last night as I sang it to my newest nephew. Abram Steven was born yesterday afternoon, and as soon as Mama and baby (not to mention Daddy, my big brother) were up to visitors after the birth, Abram was surrounded by the blessing of all four grandparents and several aunts and uncles. Today, we'll go back again to introduce the cousins, but nothing compares to those first moments of holding a brand new life, all squinchy-eyed and brimful of mystery and potential.

LiLo Update

2007-10-16T22:28:00.000-07:00

I warned you that there would be stories of boat maintenance. Well, we have begun.

Two weekends back, Bryan and I traveled to Port Townsend to finalize the paperwork on the new boat. Immediately upon becoming official owners of LiLo, we plunged into the work of rebuilding our rig. The standing rigging that supports the mast had done its job well, but for plenty long enough. We talked about waiting a year or so to have it re-rigged, but concluded that while she was in Port Townsend (aka NW Boating Mecca) we should just get it over with.

Ira, one of the riggers from Port Townsend Rigging, arrived on LiLo just a few minutes after we did and immediately began prepping the boat to have the mast removed. We were a bit surprised at the recommendation to have the rig tuned before we took it off, but once we understood that all measurements for the new rig would be taken from these (now accurately tensioned) stays, we were grateful for the professional help. (I know. Some think boat ownership is a sign we need more professional help.)

The actual mast removal was so smooth and easy, I missed taking a picture.

The boom-truck driver (known to us only by his shop nickname "The Paralyzer"...ask me for the story another time) did a great job and Ira--now joined by Ben--rolled our mast away to the rigging shop. Only then did Bryan and I realize...we had no idea where to find the shop.

The Port Townsend Boat Haven is several city blocks of boat repair bliss. Everywhere you turn you find marine-related industry. Mechanics, riggers, sign carvers, brokers-yes, even a brewery. And lines of boats on stands, some looking as if they were putting down roots, some with bright new blue tarps and busy owners. We wandered through the labyrinth and finally spotted a familiar-looking (if disturbingly horizontal) mast.

Lisa, our guru for all things rigging, walked us through the myriad choices for modern rigging and Ben showed us around the shop. We even got a demonstration of the new swaging machine that connects the steel cable to end fittings by squashing the fitting so tightly around the cable the metal almost fuses. It is way cooler than I make it sound. I found it fascinating, if a bit boggling, to listen to the explanations from these skilled craftsmen/women. It's a good thing the steep learning curve we took on along with the new boat is an enjoyable challenge to both of us. There will be plenty of opportunities to plod upward, but the boating community is a welcoming one and we have met many knowledgeable guides willing to give us a hand up along the way.

Next, we were off to West Marine to consider options for new mast wiring. We didn't know when we would have another opportunity to replace the light fixtures on the mast, so we consulted with several employees and left to get measurements and a good night's sleep.

Back at the boat, I was surprised to hear voices hailing us across the water. Who could know us here? It turned out to be one of the helpful West Marine employees who, along with her husband, had recently arrived from a (unexpectedly extended) passage from Hawaii. They ended up stranded in the NW due to their late arrival and repairs that extended their stay beyond the safe weather window for heading south. We gladly invited them aboard for a look around, feeling a bit strange to be the people with a bigger boat for once. Nissa is 21 feet, so we are used to being the runt. Their blue-water cruiser is 27 feet, so 32-foot LiLo seemed spacious to their eyes. They offered the legendary cruiser's greeting "How about a drink?" and we accepted, following them through the boatyard, past their boat "on the hard" to the brewery where outdoor heaters and live music along with cheap peanuts and good beer (or so I hear) set the stage for a delightful evening of story swapping. We had been almost too busy to be excited on this red-letter day, but it was exhilarating to experience some of the instant camaraderie and companionship we have read so much about. I skipped on the way back "home" for the night. "I feel like a real boat owner now!"

Saturday was full of problem-solving as we fished the old cables out of the mast and pulled in new ones in the gusty winds (up to 30 mph--we measured on our windmeter). We were grateful for grandparents who kept the girls warm and dry at home. We made an impromptu trip to the local marine exchange store and spent far too long poking through piles of curiosities (I got excited anytime I recognized a piece of gear) and chatting with the proprietress who regaled us with stories of her adventures aboard a 29-foot Islander, just a few feet smaller than LiLo. ("If you come to take me off this boat," she told the Coast Guard that stormy night, "come armed!") She congratulated us on our purchase, saying she had made a call trying to buy LiLo soon after we had and suggesting many modifications to the basic Islander design she described as "bulletproof." "If I didn't have 9 boats already (!), I'd be jealous. But you'll have so much fun and she'll always be good to you." Her words followed us like a blessing as we blew back across the boatyard to finish our work.

Sunday, we met the previous owners, Derrell and Lynn, to retrieve the dinghy, the FOUR spare engines, and all the other assorted gear they had collected over the years. Now we were really glad not to have the girls along as there would have been absolutely no room for them in the cab of the truck. As for the bed of the truck...take a look.

But Derrell and Lynn passed on more than just sailing books and gear (including a kitty life jacket. I'm sure Avin will LOVE that...I'll try to get pictures). We are the thankful recipients of their stories and wisdom, and their gracious, full release of LiLo into our care is a blessing beyond telling. We all agree we have found an unbelievable match. We are overwhelmed with LiLo's abundance and Derrell and Lynn have affirmed that the joy we've expressed has tempered their bittersweet choice to let go. (They'll hate that I've published their picture, but it's too good not to share.)

After a final, rather miserable, stop at LiLo's former slip to remove the last bumpers, we returned to Port Townsend, dropped off the dinghy (Lil' Lo) and headed for home.

We're going again this weekend, all of us this time, to re-step the mast and bring LiLo down to her new slip in Olympia. Yes, out in the Puget Sound in a boat with no heater...in October. But you knew we were crazy already. So stick around...there'll be more stories.

Maybe she'll make a good boat cat

2007-09-26T09:40:00.000-07:00

She likes to sleep in small spaces...

First Day of School

2007-09-23T22:27:00.000-07:00

We started school last Monday and I took a few first-day pictures of the girls (and one of the whole class and teacher). Enjoy!

Blended Worship

2007-09-17T19:05:00.000-07:00

A while back, I promised you some of my thoughts on worship. Well, here are a few of them, carefully edited to fit into the space dictated by Fruit of the Vine (a devotional guide published by Barclay Press). This is one of the devotionals I wrote for them over the summer. I may be posting some more of my writing for them here over the next few weeks, so if you use this devotional guide regularly, consider this your spoiler warning.

My church community is beautifully intergenerational, with people from many different backgrounds. Our worship leaders reflect this diversity. With all the different musical styles and selections, many call our format “blended worship.”

But what if “blended worship” was more than just singing different kinds of music? What if our church body made it a priority to blend the worship we work at together on Sundays into our personal worship? If the ways we practice together are such important elements of worship—and I believe they are—how can we help each other practice them all week long? And what if we found ways to mingle the worship of our days into our meetings?

Some ideas may depend on our worship leaders to orchestrate, but we can make many of these connections on our own. As a participant, I can find ways to extend helpful worship practices into my weekly habits. Perhaps the Scripture reading and the music speak to my spirit. Maybe I would read Scripture in the pattern of Lectio Divina or use songs from Sunday's worship service during the week as intentional practices to draw me into God's presence.

Blending my daily worship into corporate gatherings seems more difficult. Many of my personal practices don't transfer well to Sunday morning's patterns. But as I consider how I find space for worship in my daily life, how I sense God's presence as I enjoy nature with him and the way my heart beats more closely with his as I pray with a friend, I begin to see ways these experiences relate to—and breathe new life into—the typical elements of our corporate worship gatherings.

God, help me turn my fragmented life into seamless praise of you.

My New Wallpaper

2007-09-14T08:23:00.001-07:00

What I did on my Summer Vacation

2007-09-12T20:22:00.001-07:00

Last week, my family took a sailing/camping trip to Tacoma, Seattle, Sequim and Port Townsend.

We visited the Pacific Science Center,

the Ballard Locks and the Port Townsend Wooden Boat Festival.

Our trip included 4 1/2 days on the boat

and 4 1/2 days of camping (here, Meira is playing an Ocarina--a flute-like instrument we found at Pike Place. Hannah is behind the camera, looking through the rungs of the picnic table at our campsite).

We had beautiful weather and lots of fun, but the most exciting part of our trip was the souvenir we purchased.

Yes, we bought a new boat. Yes, we still have Nissa. No, we don't intend to keep her. (This fact elicited many tears from one member of our family as we signed the offer on the new boat.) We have enjoyed many good times aboard, but always knew that when the time was right we would be looking for a more permanent addition to our family. And we have been looking--keeping an eye on the market as we develop our wish list for a boat to fit our family and our dreams. So when we found her, we knew.

Lilo--say "lie-lo", not "lee-lo"--has quite a bit of history. She is a 32 foot Islander built in 1964 and taken through the Panama Canal to California by her first owner. Two more owners eventually followed, the latest owner only acquiring the boat after he introduced the captain to his (available) mother. A wedding ensued.

We wished for ironclad memories as we listened to the owner on our sea trial (test-drive). His family has been involved with Lilo for 26 years and he seemed to know every inch of her systems. He and his wife were so kind and helpful as they demonstrated all the knowledge they have of this particular boat and her individual characteristics. They have customized so many things aboard; we will be blessing them for years as we use their ingenious and thoughtful additions to the living space.

Recently, they decided that it was time to set aside sailing and put Lilo on the market. Thanks to a friend with family in Sequim, we heard about her and decided to take a look while we were in the area. We had already looked at a really nice little Morgan Out Island while we were in Seattle and didn't really think that this boat would top that one. But from the moment we walked up to her slip, we were hooked.

She has a beautiful plank-look hull (the impression of wood with the ease of fiberglass), and her teak brightwork and bronze fittings with their years of patina add appeal to her classic lines. As we explored the boat with the broker, we found even more to love. All the qualities of hull and rudder design we had been looking for combined with a full suit of sails and an impeccable interior with great storage and access. There are double quarterberths, so each of the girls can have her own (albeit small) living space. And in comparison to our 21 foot Nissa, the interior feels so spacious!

So we spent the rest of the evening dreaming and planning and, on our way to the boat festival the next morning, stopped by the brokerage to place an offer. The owner is a teacher, so we didn't expect to hear back until after school got out. But only an hour or so later, as we were sitting in one of the seminars offered at the festival (ironically titled "Fun in Inverse Proportion to Length"), we got the call we had been waiting for. There must have been some wonderment over the eruption of whispered giddiness from our row.

Almost as exciting as the information that our offer was accepted was the fact that the owners were willing to make time for a sea trial before we had to leave town. We were glad to avoid another drive to the area, but also pleased to have this experience as a family. We value the girls' opinions about the boat; they need to be comfortable aboard as well as we do and they noticed things we missed (Meira was excited to be able to reach the sink. She doesn't know how excited I am to have two girls with dish-washing abilities on board!)

If we had any doubts about our decision, the sea trial put them to rest completely. As Bryan got the tour topsides, I went through the interior. The owner and his wife repeated "This comes with the boat" about everything we saw, and told of more boating treasure they had stored at the home. Custom canvas covers and nearly new cushions, bins of tools and navigation equipment, three (THREE!) spare engines with the oil and tools to maintain them. We were staggered by this generosity.

And then we went for a sail.

Oh, but Lilo sails like a dream, straight and easy through the points of sail, just the way a vessel should. She feels secure and trustworthy, graceful, a real lady.
Yes, we're in love and I'm gushing. Please forgive me. It's not every day a dream comes true. I'm sure you will hear more about the repairs and maintenance, the expected frustrations of boat ownership, but indulge me for now as I savor this new grace in our lives.

Bread, Finally!

2007-08-31T18:45:00.002-07:00

(Alan, this one's for you)

We finally did it!

This Sunday, we made bread in our bread oven. We have made pizza and flatbread, but now we have baked honest-to-goodness bread in it.

We had intended to bake fococcia for our music brunch that morning,

but only a few people were able to come and each one brought so much food, we couldn't imagine making any more. So that afternoon, I made more dough and then we called some friends.

"We've got bread. What can you bring?"

"We'll bring the biggest zucchini ever and fry it up."

"Sounds like dinner to me!"

We set up the backyard baking extravaganza, baking the fococcia breads first with caramelized onions, heirloom tomatoes, and fresh chevre.

Then Bryan scraped out the coals, we let the oven rest (to redistribute the heat evenly), and in went ciabatta!

When we couldn't resist the terrible urge to peek any longer, we declared it done.

Happy Bread Eaters!

Day 4

2007-08-31T18:21:00.000-07:00

July 8, 2007
We moved slowly away from Tolmie. Bryan made coffee and we motored back to Boston Harbor where we arrived just in time to join the Sunday morning brunch.

After breakfast, Hannah and Meira played in the sand while Bryan and I studied the new knot book we bought "for the girls." While the girls introduced themselves to kids on the beach, Bryan and I sat down on a driftwood log and joined the parent's conversation. They shared recommendations for new places to explore and out-of-the-way parks to visit, even getting out their GPS to show us where they live and to check the tides. After ice cream all around, we said "goodbye" and "see you again" and pointed south to Olympia.
None of us wanted our vacation to end, especially since pulling out means all of the work of putting in, only in reverse and without a good sail to look forward to. So we docked at Percival's Landing in the West bay of Budd inlet instead of motoring straight to the boat launch. We walked past our favorite fountain and browsed a used bookstore before getting a late lunch and heading back to the boat. The launch dock was backed up; someone's engine had died and a few people needed help getting in or out. With all the action, we could see why a few liveaboards brought a picnic dinner and Scrabble board down to watch the show. We pulled out without too much trouble, went through the take-down routines and loaded the truck for the trip home. Olympia to Lafayette, our last leg of the journey. It was just long enough to plan the next adventure!

Day 3

2007-08-22T15:15:00.000-07:00

July 7, 2007
We left Longbranch after a (back-by-popular-request) breakfast of eggs-in-a-nest. We tried sailing a bit in Drayton Passage, but couldn't catch much wind until we reached Case Inlet. We stopped in at Zittel's Marina for ice and treats and then sailed Southeast to Tolmie State Park. We were able to sail right in to the mooring buoys, but as we pulled up to one, we realized that they were all private. We weren't where we thought we were! We quickly plotted our location and motored North to the right lagoon and the state park buoys. Bryan rowed us to the beach at a very low tide and we enjoyed the wooded trails and the sandy beach. Can you see Meira's Sand Cat?

Tolmie State Park is a treasure. We were astounded by the fields of sand dollars, some packed so tightly we wound our way through them like walking in a maze. We waded out on the tidal flats around tiny crabs and over slippery seaweed.

We spent several hours-no one was counting-wandering, digging, just being together. We watched clam diggers fill their buckets and then gaped while the bent-nose clams they left behind slid out a tentative foot to dig themselves back into their sandy homes. We learned how to walk barefoot on barnacles, what to call those birds we'd seen, and the convenient fact that flip-flops float. We met other families, some also on vacation, others just there for the day. We took a few last pictures-the precious crab claw was duly recorded-and finally paddled back out in the rising tide to Nissa.

We spent the rest of the evening in our cozy cabin, playing Yahtzee and eating macaroni and cheese (unanimously declared the best ever).

Day 2

2007-08-22T15:03:00.000-07:00

July 6, 2007
We left Boston Harbor and headed Northwest in Dana's Passage. The weather was warm, but calm, so we only managed to sail for about 15 minutes. But we enjoyed playing with the compass and binoculars to chart our course and measure our progress.

The harbormaster at Filucy Bay was very helpful, finding us an empty private slip for the night since the guest moorage was expected to be rafted 2 deep on this busy holiday weekend. He found the girls a herring net and we stretched out on the dock and peered into a veritable aquarium of invertebrates. Bryan took the girls for a dinghy-paddling lesson while I sent the aroma of fajitas over the water as a fragrant call to dinner.

We took a walk up the road and back, enjoying the quiet island and peaceful evening.

Apparently the marina is not always this peaceful, because when we returned, we found the way blocked by two dutiful guards. After much questioning and pressing of imaginary buttons, "Marvin" and "Grunzella" were allowed to enter.

Here, the guards tell the story in their own words.

Guard Meira:
"There were some guards and the one that's back behind was not scared; he's dialing the number for the person."

Guard Hannah:
"We were taking a walk. We walked down the road and then we turned around and walked back the way we had come. Then Hannah and Meira were the guards that you see in the pictures."

Raise the Main! Set the Jib!

2007-08-22T14:59:00.001-07:00

Every year, the girls grow more helpful on the boat. Here, they are working together to raise the jib sail. They are very cooperative about the safety rules, which require life jackets anytime they are in the cockpit and tethered harnesses whenever the sails are up or the water is choppy. But "Swabbie 1" and "Swabbie 2" don't mind.
They love to set the sails and get going, especially if it means heeling or participating in our new family chant.

"Prepare to come about!," one calls.

The rest answer, "Ready about!"

For now, these tacking instructions just let the girls know when to hang on to their crayons down below and give us a good reason to holler, but on a larger or more complicated boat, proper and efficient communication is essential.

Forecast: Blogging Flurries

2007-08-22T07:56:00.000-07:00

My silence on this blog does not reflect a lack of notable events in my life. Surprisingly, it does not even reflect a lack of writing. I have just been writing for other venues, so I will now be flooding you with posts cut-and-pasted from other places on my hard drive and augmented with pictures. Here's the first, some pictures from a sailing trip earlier this year and the log from the first day.

July 5, 2007
We arrived in Olympia after a busy morning of packing and a drive up to Washington in the beautiful weather.
While Bryan put up the mast, Hannah and Meira sat in the shade and looked at books. Bryan's mast system has been revised several times over the last few years and he is now able to safely raise or lower the mast without assistance in just 15 minutes.
We loaded the boat, inflated the dinghy, and were ready to go. However, the tide was too low to allow us to launch, so we used the time to relax with cold drinks and locate some ice.
We finally launched without any more trouble about 6:15 PM. After navigating the channel out of Swantown Marina (in the East bay of Budd Inlet) we came upon a large sailboat race-probably more than 20 boats-and had to sail on the outside of the channel markers to stay out of the way.
We had planned to stay in Filucy Bay or Tolmie State Park that night, but due to the late start and our low fuel supply, we decided to stay in Boston Harbor. The guest moorage was full for the night, so we anchored out near the mooring field west of the marina. By now, we were all ready for homemade clam chowder; we ate a whole pot!
The next morning, as we sat at anchor, some kayakers paddled by. Hannah called out, "How are you?" and before they could answer, Meira yelled, "Good!"
We stopped by the fuel dock as we left and walked to the marina for a few minutes to stretch our legs. The girls were fascinated by the "fried egg" jellyfish and the marina employees filleting fish near the marina store.

Pour l'oeuvre du Vêtement du blessé

2007-06-24T15:42:00.000-07:00

I played the piano for church this morning. I always enjoy rehearsing with the band, all the little musical humor we share and the good work that goes into preparing to lead in worship on Sunday. I wish everyone in the church could experience a service this way. If only each one could come having thought ahead about the topic, ready to sing the songs and participate in the space and the silence (or if not, be given 3 services to get ready).

Often when the group I play with (yes, we mean it when we say we play together) is scheduled, I get the joy of choosing a few songs for the prelude. Sometimes the group learns something to do together, but my new music book hasn't arrived yet and I was out of fresh ideas for the band. So I poked around in my piano bench and found this piece of music I didn't even know I owned. It is by Claude Debussy and is called Pour l'oeuvre du Vêtement du blessé. It looked simple and sounded lovely so I decided to use it for church. Last night, I finally thought I should look up the title and all the musical terms (Usually musical directions are in Italian, but Debussy wrote all of his terms and titles in French) so I found babelfish and started plugging in words.

Then the literal translation of the title popped up on my screen.

For the work of the clothing of wounds

For a moment, I was breathless. I don't know what I had expected, but it wasn't this. After a bit more research (which required turning my piece of music over and reading the previously-ignored blurb on the back), I discovered that Debussy wrote Pour l'oeuvre du Vêtement du blessé in 1915 to raise money for a charity devoted to clothing the wounded from the war. But the image of a piece of music written for the work of the dressing of wounds remained. I pulled out my medley of Deep River with There is a Balm in Gilead and played my own little musical joke. Then our pastor spoke about forgiveness as the antidote to bitterness and gave plenty of time for people to check their spirits for old wounds and to ask God for healing. And we waited for the dressing of the wounds.

I was apprehensive going into this service. Sometimes plans for worship fall into place in a way that is delightful to be a part of, but this service felt like hard work from the beginning. Still, I have done this thing often enough to know that God can (and does) work no matter what I feel, even when doing what he asks seems more like work than play, so I wasn't too worried (well, I was worried I would miss the transition in that third song, but that kind of worry just keeps me awake through 3 services). Still, I smiled at this serendipity, what my friend Jo called "a wink from God."

I pray that this morning was a time for the dressing of wounds; when people found the courage to allow God to open up old hurts, soothe, and bind them up again. And I am grateful to be a part of this work.

Tonight's Specials

2007-06-16T23:14:00.000-07:00

The girls have a hand-me-down easel/chalkboard that lives outside most of the summer. Last year, I started writing the evening's menu on it before Bryan got home. It was fun to make dinner sound as fancy as I could. Most evenings, it didn't require much gussying up since we were exploring so many new vegetables. This spring, we have cheerfully renewed the habit. It makes family dinner just that much more special and (I hope) is a welcoming tradition for my hard-working husband. One night this week (when we had friends over), it said...

Tonight's Specials
Garlic Scape Pesto with Pitas
Potato Kale Soup
Homemade Ten-Grain Bread
Strawberry Shortcake

Tonight, (if I had written on it) it would have read...

Gnocchi with Swiss Chard, Spring Onions and Garlic Scapes
Fresh-baked Challah

Last night it just said...

Movie and Ice Cream

If you had to choose, which special would you order?

News and comments

2007-06-14T21:26:00.000-07:00

(I must have been inspired by our visit to the news station. Or maybe not...this is all good news.)

Lead Story:
Bryan's been working late a lot recently, but he is finally home tonight and we are all having ice cream and watching one of my favorite kids' movies. School is officially out for the summer and our calendar is filling up with camping and sailing plans.

News Item 2:
Last Saturday, we had an open house out at Oakhill Organics, our vegetable farm. Despite the cold and rainy weather, we had a wonderful time, meeting other CSA members and playing with the new farm kittens.

Related News Item:
Speaking of kittens, a few weeks ago, we found three of them underneath one of the layers out at Kookoolan Farms, nestled in among the eggs. They didn't even have their eyes open yet and, with no Mama Cat in sight, we all had fun joking about looking for furry eggshells. We have seen them a couple of times since and they are so cute and growing so big. But I sure would have liked a camera that first day.

Awkward Segue to News Item 4 (and tease for next week's show):
Our church has been taking a fresh look at our worship practices recently, so I have been doing some of the same. I have some thoughts brewing, but I don't think they're fully steeped yet. I'm hoping to do some writing about it over the next few weeks so stay tuned.

In-Depth/Human-Interest News Item (with director's commentary):
I'm working to find a summer vacation routine for the girls and myself. This summer feels different than the past few for multiple reasons. Even two years ago, our routine was not much different during the summer as our schooling was quite a bit more relaxed than this year's. Last summer at this time, we were still trying to catch up from all my mom's knee surgeries when my brother fell on Mt. Hood. In fact, Sunday will be one year since the accident and we hope to have a much more normal (read "hospital-free") Father's Day.

I only spent a week or so helping with his hands-on care, but the stress of the whole experience took its toll and I spent much of the summer trying to recover my joie de vivre. I remember telling a friend that I was surprised to notice that my reflection in the mirror was hardly ever smiling. When my brother and I were younger, he would always say about a movie star or model, "She would be so pretty if she would just SMILE." I must have internalized the idea because I hardly ever look at myself the mirror without smiling, no matter what I look like that day (I also smile or nod back at the actors in a movie, though, so maybe I'm just strange). But that wasn't true for me last summer. It took a very patient husband, quite a few supportive friends (who cleaned my house, thwarted a impulse haircut, and listened) , and a couple of months of God's soothing grace to feel like myself again.

So this summer, with the girls old enough to create appropriately lazy occupations all on their own, and my joy and energy (if not my laundry room) intact, I am trying to take advantage of the relatively unstructured time. I hope to use some of it for music (I've been practicing more often and more diligently and am planning a brunch-and-music event with a cellist friend), writing (hopefully not just here on the blog), and house cleaning (well, you know what they say about 2 out of 3). But the new schedule is taking a bit of adjustment and will change week to week depending on our other plans. I just didn't expect the summer to feel so different from the school year, since the girls are home all the time anyway. What a nice surprise!

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Now that it's sunny...

2007-05-31T17:30:00.000-07:00

...I remembered to take a picture of the roof. A few weeks ago, Bryan and Meira disappeared to the garage for a couple of hours, made a trip or two to the hardware store and, by evening, had constructed this lovely roof.

Some enjoyable features:
It slides on rustic runners to keep the wood away from sparks or flame.
There is a storage shelf for the oven tools and marshmallow sticks.
It is so cute!

Saturday, we had our vegetable farmers over for dinner to help plan an open house on their farm. OK, OK, It was mostly an excuse to see Katie and Casey and fire the oven. When the increasingly excellent pizza was consumed, Katie suggested s'mores. We didn't have all the ingredients on hand, but after a quick pantry scrounge, discovered some marshmallows - and that's really what we were after anyway. The even heat of the oven roasted the most delicious, most perfectly browned marshmallows I have ever eaten. And I can't wait for a free weekend to finally try bread. I'll keep you posted...

Stars of the small screen

2007-05-31T12:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, the girls and I went on a tour of KOIN 6 thanks to my friend, Liz (her husband, Brad was in the climbing accident with my brother, so we bonded in the hospital; this was more fun). She even took us into the studio during the noon news and we got to see what goes into making the show happen (thankfully, we couldn't hear the audio on the gory stories).

The girls had never seen a green screen and after the news, the weather guy and control room guy conspired to wow them with it's secrets (we had fun with a green cape and disembodied heads). Then there was the obligatory photo shoot as evening anchors and a couple of crazy interviews.

"Why, Meira, did your family decide to build an oven in your backyard when you already had one in the house?"

"Well, my mama burned herself on that one..."

Thanks, Liz for this very memorable experience. We'll be reenacting it all summer, I'm sure.

Vegetable update

2007-05-22T23:06:00.000-07:00

Our refrigerator is overflowing! And our farmers say that this will be one of the smallest shares of the season. We have radishes, kale, collard greens, beets, a huge head of lettuce, a big bag of spinach, spring onions, and we would have had kohlrabi too but Meira ate it before we could get it to the car. So tonight for dinner I cooked up some of the collard greens along with the discarded kohlrabi greens and we ate them with dill-rye bread. Mmmm.

Any suggestions for dinner tomorrow? Volunteers to join us?

Vegetable days are here again

2007-05-21T22:17:00.000-07:00

It's Vegetable Eve here in Yamhill County. Our evening prayers tonight were filled with thanks that tomorrow is the first vegetable pick up for our community supported agriculture program. (OK, so Meira also prayed that she would learn to make a better kind of sock, but there's just no telling with that girl). Perhaps tomorrow I'll let you know what was in our basket...and the yummy things we made with them.

We fired the oven!

2007-04-21T23:26:00.000-07:00

(A note from the editor...
The work on this oven was done over several weeks, but the posting over several hours. Post dates and times do not reflect true chronology, but were broken up into several posts to clarify the steps we took in the actual process.

Anyone interested in seeing the creation in rewind should start here. Everybody else, scroll down a few posts and start there.)

Luke and Kate, two of our favorite people (we have many), flew in from Sitka for a visit on Saturday, April 14. We had been hoping to finish the oven in time to christen it with them, and we did!

We took advantage of the beautiful weather, cut a door, scooped out the sand, and lit a fire. To be more exact, Bryan, Luke and the girls did these things. I made lunch and took a nap, awakening to the sight of flames licking at the newly framed doorway and steam rising from the drying clay.

Bryan spent most of the day rushing between the oven in the back (stoking, poking) and the garage around front (cutting more scrap wood for firewood, making necessary tools and a beautiful door) and ended up smelling like a campfire.

While the pizza dough rose, Kate and I went to the store and returned with resources for excellent earth-oven pizza. It was almost 9 PM before the first ones were coming out of the oven, but they were superb!

Shaping the void

2007-04-21T23:15:00.000-07:00

Rain and rehearsal kept us away from the oven this morning, but by 1:00 or so it had cleared off enough to work. The girls jumped in to build the sand dome while I made a Wilco run for a tarp and more sand.

Then we rolled up our sleeves and our pants legs and danced in the dirt. (did the Trinity dance like this when mixing Adam’s clay?), kneading, squidging, slopping, shaping…not your typical dance moves.

The division of labor sorted itself out, me on the tarp, mixing and picking out rocks; Bryan carefully packing clay around the crumbling sand dome; and the girls shifting between the two of us with occasional detours past the swing set and the water bucket.

I kept hoping the dome would take shape more quickly as we neared the top, but we seemed to slow at about the same rate as it grew. The day ended with cheers, pictures, and foot-washing all around, followed by take-and-bake pizza. (If we couldn’t use the new oven yet, at least we could have pizza!)

Now we wait to discover how long it takes mud to dry…in Oregon…in April.

A firm foundation

2007-04-21T23:01:00.000-07:00

Over the last few evenings, Bryan has done quite a bit of work on the base for the oven. We decided to insulate with 4 inches of lava rock underneath the bricks.

A layer of mud follows to prevent sand from sifting down, then said sand (4 more inches) and finally red brick set into the sand.

We had a bit of trouble finding the brick. Many places we looked carried red-dyed concrete, but your basic clay brick was a bit tricky to find, and locating firebrick had us completely stumped.

Given the intermittent use we hope to get out of this oven, we think the red brick should work just fine. It looks great…and we can’t wait to cover it up!

Flocks of chicks and bricks and rocks come

2007-04-07T20:25:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to write about these things for a week or so now, and, although they are completely unrelated, wanted to lump them together in one post just for the fun of the Dr. Seuss reference.

"These things" are...

On a recent visit to Kookoolan Farms (one of our favorite sources for milk, eggs, chicken, laughter, and friendship) we helped clean the chicken brooder and were invited to return later in the week to help transfer a shipment of baby chicks into their new home.
We picked them up, all 200 of them, at the Yamhill post office, much to the relief of the postal employee who had just about had it with the shockingly noisy fluffballs.

Then we drove them to the farm ("peep, peep, peep" all the way home) and put them into the brooder. All together now...Awwww.

Our other excitement this week came in the form of rocks, bricks and sand (thank you, Craig's List) for the foundation of our earth oven. I'd been mulling the idea of an earth oven for several months now, but since I couldn't supply much more than the dough for the project, didn't pursue it any further than reading a book on the subject, always a good idea anyway. This week, during a brief evening escape to the back porch, Bryan and I talked over where, if we built an oven, we would put one. As soon as we pictured it nestled between the raised bed and the fence, just 2 steps from the back porch (of course, everything in our tiny back yard is just steps from the back porch), the project became inevitable.

Still, it surprised me, when the next evening, Bryan showed up with a pile of rocks for the retaining wall/foundation, and the next brought buckets of sand for the interior mold. He dug out the clay soil to save for the oven (finally it will be good for something!) and built the rock wall.

I went online to request that book from my library again.