ruby slippers

This post goes down smoothly with a shot of Lyle Lovett:


Repeat after me: There's No Place Like Home. There's No Place Like Home. There's No Place Like Home.

Three clicks and I'm home.

More like 10 hours on an airplane. TEN HOURS.

I found myself hoping for the rain. Please just rain a little. Give me some mist. Give me the pit pat pit pat tippity tap of the rain against the window as I fall asleep.

In high school I would float away in my thoughts as the rain splashed into the pond outside my window, as it pattered against the window pane, as the frogs would ribbit along with this song. I would crack open my window and soak in the sounds of pure calm. I would leave my window open as I slept through the night, curled up in extra blankets, because that sound is worth any cold that may sneak in.






















As my dad says, we are camera challenged. I failed to take any pictures our entire trip. The pictures posted are simply from google searches. Regardless, the picture above is of the historic street in their perfect town. You can't see the perfectly cute stop light posts. Seriously. Even the stop light posts. I forgot how great this place is in the 9 years I have been away. Maybe it's better with time and maybe it's more appreciated as an adult, without teenager concerns.

Because it's sunny, you can see over 20 hang-gliders carving through the sky and back again to the nearby mountain. Floating magically way up there in the sky, against the backdrop of a totally green mountain. Because in Seattle they are all green.

In the front yard are decorative grass clumps. hmmm... there are also little trees, which will become big trees. There are plans for dwarf fruit trees, a variety, in rows like a miniature orchard or vineyard. There are flowers that are beautiful, including colorful cala lilies. (which may not be spelled right, even though I googled it). These and some very specific type of daisy were planted by my mom, in haste before a second, RE-DO foot surgery.

Behind their home is a backyard. Behind the yard is a fence. Through the fence is wilderness. In the wilderness are slugs. Lots of slugs. and wild blackberry bushes, and lots of trees. Trees covered in wet beautiful moss. At the edge of this wilderness is more wilderness, which is a creek, which is more like a small river. Behind the rive-like creek is a mountain. We walked down to the creek with my mom and dad. Each of us with gloves on to protect against the blackberry bushes. My Dad in bright orange waders, with a machete in hand. He pointed out deer tracks down the path and hacked away unruly blackberry tangles.

In their home is a beautiful baby grand piano. My mom plays it beautifully. My dad, on a special occasion may play a hymn on it. My mom plays and sings. Specifically, for Eliza, she played and sang Blues in the Night. To which, Eliza sang quietly along. I plunked out a few songs that I loved growing up, like Master, the Tempest is Raging.

In their home is a beautiful kitchen, in which my mom makes wonderful foods. Like mango chicken, which sounds sweet, but is actually quite hot and delicious.

In their home is a storage closet downstairs, filled with grown-up and absent children's belongings. My old porcelin doll with the frizzy hair, cheerleading outfit, old books and trinkets. A box for Kelli, and Jake, and Amy, and Kristen. All full of memories not always remembered until held.

There are more pictures of children and grandchildren than necessary, but perfectly placed and much appreciated. Eliza doesn't recognize me in my dance costumes from when I was about her age. I, however, remember each dance recital associated with each costume. Mom and Dad, Grandmas and Grandpas smiling and clapping and hugging.


In their home is so much love it might explode.



















Eliza, my Dad, and I drove to Snoqualmie to hike down to the falls. The trail down to Snoqualmie Falls was closed for that day and the next few days. But, we still took pictures, with a hastily purchased disposable camera, from the look-out points so that we can remember that we tried. We ate in this dumpy little bakery. It was delightful. We drove to Leavenworth, a little tourist village resembling Germany, as it was settled by Germans. There are no pictures to prove this, and there are not enough words to adequately describe this, but: I got to be with my Dad. ALL DAY. He's quite fun and brilliant. I soaked him in along with the beautiful view of the mountains. Eliza wasn't sure what to think at first. Her first time alone with Grandpa for an ENTIRE DAY!! He's actually silly. and funny. and I'm not sure she realized this. It may have taken her the majority of the day to adjust to this and be a little silly back, but she loved it. This serious little girl loves her grandpa. We both soaked him in. I didn't want it to end.
























Before Grandma's foot surgery we got to make our own Ugly Dolls, be silly, play games in restaurants, shop around, go to a play, and visit Pikes Place Market. It was a few days of utter chaos. and it too was perfect. How did she become a Grandma? The answer to this may seem obvious (sex or marriage, in my case marriage), but how did she instantly turn into Gramma? She is beautiful in this role, delving out love like fruit snacks.

We visited her in the hospital the two days before we left and played games. She had an eye patch the first night. Apparently, coming out of anesthesia makes people rub their eyes really hard and she scratched it. She was the closest to drunk she will ever be on the medication, and it was a riot. Eliza was offended that Dyan and I found Granma's drunkenness to be amusing. I couldn't tell a difference, she said. With one eye covered she couldn't seem to keep the other eye open. Uncoordinated. She would ask about her hair. Giggle. Hug Eliza. Make a silly comment. Play with the tape that held on the patch. Push against the covered eye. Pry her non-covered eye open. Giggle. Eliza cried saying goodbye the second night after playing Boggle. Telling Gramma in her mother's day card that she wished she could live there and see her almost every day. (she's so realistic she had to add the almost). I came home telling Joe that Issaquah is perfect and that I just have to live there. Have To!

you look like a monkey....

and you smell like one too.



She may have been born in the wrong era. I always imagine her singing with the Andrews Sisters-


It was my mom's birthday on Saturday, the 18th. It is important to note that it was on the 18th. Not the 17th, the date I called to wish her happy birthday last year. Nor the 19th, the date of my birthday in August. It was (and is every year) the 18th, the same date as Kelli's birthday in November (this helps me remember).

Invariably, thinking of my mom leads to songs popping through my head. Similarly, certain tunes bring to mind my beautiful mother.

I frequently peruse youtube to listen to The Andrews Sisters, The Blues in the Night (My mama done tol' me, when I was in pigtails, my mama done tol' me hon...), Popcorn Poppin' on the Apricot Tree, We're Different (with a fish hat on), any Raffi song, any blues song, any Lyle Lovett song, any church song, any song. I listen to music from my childhood on youtube, a shabby replacement for mom, the real thing. I am taken right back to the old piano. The wooden bench with the handmade cushion on top. It flipped up to reveal hidden piano music including The Entertainer, Makin' Whoopie, every Sonata you could think of. To a little girl this was magical- a bench that held all of the beautiful music my mom would play to wake us up. Music I did not yet know how to play. I would try-- she shook her head and muttered something about inappropriate one day when I was plunking out Making Whoopie. She would shout down to me That's supposed to be a sharp. or You've got to get the rhythm right on that part. I would argue ademently that I was playing it right. How did she always know?!? She would come down and help me play. She would play duets with me. My mom who could play anything would play elementary duets. It felt so cool.

Kelli and my mom would sing at the piano and a little jealousy would strike. (an aside: I also remember my mom telling Kelli, excitedly, that there are awesome acoustics in one specific corner of the master batch tub area). I was always embarassed when I sang, so I would listen. When I played the piano a little better I would play for them and they would sing. They would patiently slow down and speed up as my clumsy fingers would trip over the wrong keys or make up their own tempo.

I picture her dancing around in the kitchen. Me lowering my head, loving it but trying to be embarassed of her liveliness. She has a voice that makes me want to dance and curl up on my parent's couch at the same time. She has a love of this music that makes me wish I knew how to love that much.

I love you mom. Thank you for teaching us to love everyone, to love music, to love life.

Happy Birthday.

dinner reservations

i should have married my dad. he's the perfect man. wait- that does not sound right. my dad is pretty near perfect. but i guess i wouldn't actually want to marry him. that's creepy. i would like to go back home sometimes and never leave again- or grow up. just be around my nearly perfect mom and dad forever.

on second thought. scratch that. i would go crazy. and i would have to go back to church.

but that feeling still creeps up now and again. more often lately than usual. they are so blasted sweet and smart and wonderful. i love talking to them on the phone. i love visiting them at the condo. i cannot wait to visit them in Seattle. i hope they visit me here.

i am almost 28 (gasp). i have been away from home for 9 years. it's not quite homesickness. but whatever it is, it is not cured by shephard's pie (although it does make the tummy warm and full and the bed extra comfy).

my parents are still married and are as cute as ever. or maybe even cuter than ever. as they grow older (they are actually no older than the day i left home), they seem to grow together. like two trees whose roots become more and more intertwined beneath and above the soil- so that passersby can catch glimpses of their interdependence through the sweet, but sometimes aggravated, glances and smirks and light touches they give each other.

yesterday, my dad called my mom from work. my mom said he calls once in a awhile from work and that it's cute-

-whatcha doin' girl?
-(here my mom said she tried to come up with something clever-- like 'just went on a bike ride,' but since she had ankle surgery and she hates bike riding it has been more like 'sitting on my butt.')
-we have dinner reservations at 6.
-that's weird... why? who are we taking to dinner?
-that's not very nice.
-oh yeah, let me start over: that's really thoughtful honey.
-i just wanted to take you to watch the sunset.

my mom was a little concerned about getting dressed up with her gigantic ankle brace, but managed and reported to me that she looked so cute

-i forgot i could look SO good!

not sure what the point of this story is really. except that they are adorable, sorry dad, adorable. mom getting dressed up for dad. dad rushing home to take her out for their dinner reservations. they missed the sunset, dad apologized through the entire dinner. mom talks nonstop and is sure that he is having to put forth effort to enjoy her. but he does enjoy her. he doesn't just tolerate your thoughts that seem to have no point. he wouldn't know what to do without them. beneath that look of annoyance of his is a smirk that translates to -- i love you.

isn't it reassuring how two people can make it through all of their struggles and make it this far and still be cute and happy and comical. they seriously are their own seinfeld-ish series.

too much Brite music

Mom,

I would like to let you know that your obsession with Raffi music (to be fair, other children's music too) has left something to be desired in the "normalcy" department. Let me provide you with a few examples: There are times when I am cleaning and I begin to sing to myself. This alone may be acceptable, but the content I am afraid is not. Without a preschool child to enjoy this madness it is strange. The most common cleaning song would have to be "Clean up! Clean up! Everybody Everywhere..." There is also "When we're helping we're happy..." and the Andrew Sisters' "Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me" (this last one is acceptable to be singing while cleaning alone). Then, when thinking of Jake I often get this in my mind- "If I had a penny and you didn't have one, I'd buy a stick of gum.... Sharing Caring, everybody's sharing caring, that's the thing to do." Kristen congers up "Willaby Wallaby Woo, an elephant sat on you, Willaby wallaby wee, an elephant sat on me, willaby wallaby wisten, an elephant sat on Kristen..." Kelli get's "K-K-K-Kelli, beautiful Kelli, you're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore..." and Amy, I'm sorry to say only gets "Amy Amy bo-bamy, bananana fo-famy, me my mo mamy... Amy." Now the scary thing is that that is not all. sometimes, at inexplicable moments, I might start singing in my mind, "I'm Did, I'm Didn't..." "In the land of Obey!" "I'd rather have a rock in my shoe than have, a whiny child.. uh huh huh huh huh" "Different, diff-er-ent." (this last one includes images of you with a fish costume)

Thanks a lot.

happy birthday

It's Kristen's birthday today. Most of the time when I think about her I think "Kristen Marie Lives in a Tree." Sometimes a Raffi song pops into my head and I don't know why it reminds me of her. "Willaby Wallaby Wisten, an elephant sat on Kristen, Willaby Wallaby, Wooah,..." I don't think he even sings "Kristen" in the actual song... Usually I make her cheesecake from the recipe she gave me on her birthday and I can't today. I feel like I don't have anyone to share it with. I wish I were in Logan so I could go eat chips and salsa at Cafe Sabore and remember the last time we ate there together; she refused to eat the chips because she was on Suzzane Somer's diet. She was very proud of herself for sticking to that diet. I offered to not get the chips because they were her favorite and she thought that would be dumb for me to not enjoy them. I want to watch the DVD the funeral home gave us and I don't know if I can. She would be 25 today because I am 27. It's funny how I still remember my siblings' ages by how old I am. My age - 2 years, unless it's between August and December, then it's 3 years. I still have some of her clothes. I like to wear them because I feel a little bit more like her. I like remembering things about her that I feel most other people don't know. I haven't watched Love Actually since she's been gone. It will make me cry too hard. I'm afraid of some things like that. Like actually buying any Norah Jones CDs, even though I love to think of her and listen to them on the internet. So I should add... I found some bravery and watched both the CD of pictures of her and Audrey Hepburn's Breakfast at Tiffany's. Even if I didn't feel too happy on the happy birthday, I did enjoy remembering her and doing at least one thing we would have done together- next step: making cheesecake and watching Love Actually.