Washington D.C. Pics Of The Day--Day 1

Every vacation starts out differently. Some begin with drive and purpose and a definite agenda. "We have four days and twelve theme parks to conquer. Let's go!" Some slowly wind themselves up as the fatigue of the previous months' or years' labors gradually falls away, and a new refreshing enthusiasm grows, spreading its way up from the deepest remaining wells of energy you have stored hidden somewhere near your left baby toe. Some vacations meander, never reaching a higher plane than a lot of resting and remembering what sleep feels like, or maybe just flitting from thing to thing, without any compelling goal. Some vacations combine all of the above in varying proportions; enthusiasm, rest, focus and flitting--a jumble of everything that makes vacating worth the trouble, time and expense. That was our trip to Washington D.C.. We had six days of marvelous revel and repose, and even though we've just gotten home, we are already looking forward to our next exploration of the nation's capital.

"Didn't you get enough D.C. in six days?!" You may be asking yourself this very logical question. Short answer--no. It's not that our vacation was not sufficient unto itself, and that it wasn't time to come home when the week was up. It was time. A week was just right for soaking in everything we could absorb this time around. It's just that there's still so much more to see. We had to make decisions every day about all the things we would strike off our priority list, so that we could take the time to really enjoy those things we did choose to do. We've talked to a number of friends here at home since we've been back, and each one has asked, "Oh, did you get to see ______." Each person has had a different place to fill in that blank, and so many of those places were ones that we missed. We never made it to the National Zoo, or Arlington Cemetery, or the National Archives, for example. We still really want to go to those places, and many others.

Now some of the things we didn't see were unavoidable. Certain whole museums were closed for renovations, and others had closed sections which left enough of a hole in our experience that we are going to have to visit them again and finish the journey before we really feel fulfilled and complete about them. Of course, some of the places we did go I could return to a dozen of times and never feel like they'd lost their appeal. Paintings by Renoir, the Jefferson Memorial, and Spaceship One simply do not stop being amazing. Ever. If we go back to D.C. I will probably devote yet another whole day to the wonders of flight and another to the gems and minerals section of the Museum of Natural History. Can't be helped, even if it means that something else doesn't make it onto the list.

Still, I wish we'd made it to the National Archives this time around. Sad thing is, that was really nothing more than a completely STUPID blunder. We very much wanted to see the Constitution, the Declaration of Independence, The Bill of Rights, etc., but for some reason we had it stuck in our heads that those things would be in the American History Museum. Do not ask me how that notion got planted--I have no idea. We saw National Treasure just like everyone else, and that alone should have given us a slight clue! As it turned out, the Museum of American History was closed for renovations, and we spent the whole week mourning that we wouldn't get to go in, because we wanted to see those precious documents, when the whole time we were walking every day right by the building where they were actually housed. Did I already mention STUPID? Arrgh. We have to go back. That's all there is to it.

So anyway, now you know what we didn't see, but let's move on to what we did, okay? On the first day, we were still under the illusion that we had lots of time, so we were all about spontaneity. Ked and I set out from our hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue and headed in the general direction of the White House, four blocks away. (Mind you, D.C. city blocks are like dog years--the count would be a lot higher if it were accurate. I swear those four blocks were more like ten in a normal city, where the size of the buildings isn't designed to show the grandeur of a great nation.) Before we had traversed more than three of those blocks, with the White House nothing but a still-distant idea, our first diversion presented itself. Not bad for skipping merrily out into the world without much of a plan. Follow the pictures below, and you can spend the rest of the day with us and see what we saw. (Oh, and I think I've finally figured out how to make it so you can click on the pictures to enlarge them. Let's try, shall we?... Did it work? Cool!!)


This is the Renwick Gallery, where we began our D.C. adventure. Why, you ask, did you start your exploration of the city there? Well, besides being on Pennsylvania Avenue, between our hotel and the White House, the building looked pretty, and a random security guard told us we should go check out the avant-garde "art jewelry" exhibit. So, we did. We can't show you the jewelry, which was fascinating and strange all at the same time, because it's not a permanent museum collection, but we can show you some of the other things we saw. Keep scrolling...

I don't know why I fell in love with this painting immediately, but I did. It's called "The Flight Into Egypt" and George Hitchcock painted it in 1892. I think it's the color that grabbed me.

We thought this piece was absolutely fascinating. It's nothing but threads of glass holding up other threads of glass, and light playing through them all. It was beautiful up close and personal.

Since we're in glass mode, how about this bit of work? I may not understand this completely, but I can't help but be impressed with its scope--and also with its sparkle. I wonder how they manage to keep this thing clean and intact all at the same time.

A very nice man that we met in front of "The Flight Into Egypt" provided us with some of the rare evidence we have that Ked and I were actually in Washington at the same time. He also gave us some Smithsonian suggestions that sent us out the door and onto our next quest for culture and inspiration.

Speaking of doors--how many places in the world can you go and find specimens like this one tucked into little nondescript alleys? We found this gem on the way to a food court, if you can believe it. Even if you can't, actually.

There are three things we have decided are ubiquitous in our nation's capital. One you see there behind Ked. You can't go a block, or at most two, without stumbling upon a row of columns. Doric, Corinthian, or newspaper, this city has 'em all in abundance.

The second item of ubiquity is the bubbling of fountains, like the one you see here on the White House lawn. I'm telling you, they were everywhere. Maybe it's a symbolic thing: hope springs eternal, or rivers of life, or something equally overflowing with cheer. I'm thinking, however, that some landscape designers got together and decided to plant the subliminal message that Washington needs to clean up its act. Works for me.

The final ubiquitous element was what you see before you (no, not me, although I tried). There are more statues in D.C. than eighth-graders, and that's saying a lot. Okay, okay, there were really more eighth-graders, but I hope the hyperbole hasn't weakened my point. There are statues there for anything and everybody. I half expected to turn a corner and see a statue of my dentist. They could do worse for statue fodder. I have a very nice dentist.

Can you believe how perfect this magnolia blossom is? I really wish I hadn't managed to get my sunglasses inserted into this shot. It's a bummer spoiling perfection. You'll be nice and ignore that part, right? Oh, and it is a magnolia, isn't it? (The flower may be perfect, but my knowledge of botany is not.)

The kind man who took our picture sent us on to the Freer Gallery, where we found all sorts of Asian art, collected by Detroit industrialist Charles Lang Freer. The piece above is a Vietnamese jar from the 15th century. Lovely, isn't it?

These are extremely old canteens, although when you see them in person you realize they are far too large to see much actual use in that capacity. Not really something you want to take camping. You never know, though, maybe 13th century Syrians and Iraqis got really, really thirsty on their camping trips. Parts of that region are pretty arid... The brass canteen is quite interesting. The design is Islamic, but the silver inlay includes many images, including Christian ones. The Virgin and Child, scenes from the life of Christ, and even a few saints and knights make an appearance among the geometric patterns, animals and calligraphy. The ceramic canteen looked equally impressive, but if you think the brass one was heavy, just imagine toting that ceramic number full of your favorite summer beverage. The plaque mentioned that it was unlikely the ceramic one was ever used.

Don't you want to rub that tall bottle and see if Barbara Eden comes whisping out? It was made for Sultan al-Malik al-Mujahid Saif al-Din, in 14th century Syria. (Try saying that five times fast, or even one time slowly.) These are absolutely gorgeous glass works, and it's amazing that they have survived in such good condition all these centuries. I bet Jeannie's involved!

The sign said that this is a panel from a mithrab, which indicates the direction of Mecca, so Muslims know what direction to face when they pray. It's from the early 14th century, so no doubt it's very valuable, but I just think it's pretty.

While we're looking at pretty things, here's the courtyard in the Freer Gallery. Oh look, there's another fountain and some columns. Wow, it's a two-fer!

The castle behind me is, of all things, the equivalent of a Smithsonian information booth. It really is the information center. It's a little more sophisticated than that, and there's an awful lot of information to dispense, but still, a castle? Not very American, really, but I guess they're trying to impress people. Pretty good job, if that's their goal.

Well, that was our first day. We finished it off with some stellar Indian food and a relaxing evening in our hotel. It was an awfully nice first outing, and all the better for being such an impromptu kind of jaunt. Thanks for coming along with us. Hope you enjoyed the pictures. More to come...

There And Back Again--A Blogger's Tale

Ked and I got back to Portland last night from a week spent in Washington D.C.. It was a great trip, with full days and perfect weather (except for that last day--I'll have to tell you about that). I planned on photo-blogging the experience day-by-day, but our computer died the first night off the plane. We were disappointed, because we love to go through pictures together each evening, edit and caption them for posting to the blog as our rather public personal journal. Due to circumstances beyond our control, however, this time that was not to be, and realistically I'll have to do it on my own now that we are back to our normal schedule and obligations. Oh well. We still had a lovely time, and I will try to edit the photos and remember trip details to the best of my ability. I hope to post pictures of each day as I can get to them. I'm not sure how many good ones we got, since I couldn't download them off the camera until we got home. It's a good thing I had a 2 GB card in my camera, with a spare in the case! I went through memory like mad, so hopefully there will be a few pics worth sharing.

Since the pictures aren't ready yet, I'll just share a small bit of the travails of getting to our destination. This really isn't to whet your appetite for things to come, since the bulk of the vacation was much more pleasant than either of the travelling days, but as I said, this is our trip journal, so I'm going to include the not-so-pleasant bits as part of the memories. Here we go:

I am a flying screaming-child-magnet. On the first stage of our journey to Washington D.C., from Portland to Denver, Ked and I shared our small plane with no less than five miniature sound generators, alternately mewling and bellowing their way cross-continent. The particularly shrill-voiced two-year-old was in the seat directly behind mine, an auditory treat to say the least, and other wee folk of varying sizes were stationed in close proximity thereabout. They ranged in age from infant to toddler, which added a rather orchestral effect to the experience. To our left we had the soprano saxophone blatting of an infant hunger protest, while off to the rear center right the harmonious piccolo bleat of a whiny toddler in seat-belt mutiny joined the swelling cacophonous song. At times it really was quite humorous, although we did feel awfully sorry for the small-fry and their doubtlessly suffering parents.

Ah, screaming children... this brings back memories of the flight Ked and I took home from Orlando a couple of years ago. This flight was the pinnacle (please, God, let this be true) of my distressed-child-attracting career. During the six-hour flight, the three-year-old angel directly in front of us screamed non-stop for three of them. What's more, the overwhelmed parents allowed the little terror to stand upright in her seat--facing backwards--for most of the vocal exercise, allowing us the full measure of volume from her small, but highly-developed lungs. When the child finally fell asleep from exhaustion, in her mother's arms, her haggard dam never twitched a muscle for the rest of the flight, lest she wake the tiny human bazooka and start the whole process going again.

The children on the flight to D.C. were far tamer by comparison. The toddler behind us lulled herself to sleep after a mere twenty minutes or so of aural unpleasantness. The lovely infant across the aisle briefly demanded an "in flight snack," but as mom came appropriately equipped to provide said refreshment, baby was soon happily nursing and remained quiet for the remainder of the journey. Other howlings emanated at times from locations throughout the plane, and I confess to being grateful when we arrived in Denver, but since nothing even approached the level of distress we experienced on our return from Orlando, all-in-all I'd say this flight was a success. One child even laughed with delight at the turbulence of landing, a charming sound that helped maintain some auditory balance to stage one of the trip.

Stage two, although a longer flight, was much less "stimulating." It was quite blessedly uneventful--unlike our flight home. Remind me to tell you about that part later. It was a trip!

Now This Is Just Funny--An Environmental Alert!

Here's proof that it's basically impossible to go green. (Well, it's as much proof as you get about most environmental issues these days anyway, particularly global warming.) As long as people and cows exist, the planet is doomed no matter what. You might as well buy a Hummer and fill it up with plastic bags and non-biodegradable Styrofoam peanuts...

Escaping In Oregon

Where's your favorite place to escape reality? If you're like me, you have someplace special that soothes your soul, or maybe several places, where pressure, circumstances, unpleasantness, or just general routine lose their grip on you, and you feel your spirit relax. Who knows, perhaps you don't need such a place, but I suspect, if that is true, that you are in the minority. Most of us need to unburden ourselves of our normal daily lives occasionally, no matter how well favored those daily lives tend to be. Could be your escaping place is right in your own home, in your kitchen, or the pages of a good book, or right outside your back door, in the fertile soil of your own private garden. Possibly you look for emotional refreshment further afield--an elegant restaurant, a mountain lake, or a far-off vacation retreat. Maybe such renewal isn't to be found in a place for you at all, but in a mental recalibration of sorts, by taking the time to stop and breathe, and remember what the things are that you love best about your life. I confess that for me the right place can help a lot when I need to fine-tune my attitude. I could list a dozen places where I love to escape and recalibrate . Oregon is a treasure trove of escapability.

Some escapes have proven their worth so well to Ked and me that they have become tradition--not just the where, but the when, as well. For various reasons that I will not go into here, Mother's Day is a prime time for escapism. Much as I am glad for the moms I know to have a day that makes them feel special and gives the people who love them a chance to affirm that fact, I don't like Mother's Day much. Alert: That last sentence is actually a substantial understatement. Truthfully, I can't stand it. So, in the last few years, Ked and I designed a Mother's Day Avoidance Retreat, which enables me to cope with the hated holiday, by replacing it with an unaccustomed plunge into the wonderful world of self-indulgence. I get spoiled rotten. I'm talking shopping for pretty clothes and shoes, eating out, and driving through the most glorious countryside to the beautiful Oregon coast, with undivided spousal attention to boot! I feel pampered as all get out. This would never work if I was usually the self-indulgent type, if I bought myself clothes on a whim, or ate out at nice restaurants as a matter of course. Then it would just be same-old-same-old, and it would take a lot more shopping, and a lot fancier restaurants, and a lot prettier coastline (although I don't think that one's possible) to distract me from the dreaded M-Day. Fortunately, I almost never shop for clothes, except on this one self-indulgent spring day, don't go out to eat very often, and rarely make it to the coast more than twice a year, so this little escape we plan every May works like a charm. It's actually gotten to the point where I look forward to Mother's Day weekend!

Anyway, all of this personal drivel is leading to pictures--and I apologize if the verbal detour has led you to focus on wondering why the heck I hate Mother's Day so much, rather than on lovely Oregon escaping places. I didn't mean to dwell on the negative, really just more to explain why we were out taking scenic pictures this weekend. I'll get more on track now and start showing you the pretty.

Driving out Highway 18 is a visual feast, especially in spring, when green competes with green to see which shade can reign supreme. Even the drizzle takes on a bit of an Irish hue.

The blue coastal range spreads out behind the fertile fields. If you get close enough, you can see the mountains defying global warming to hang on to some May-time snow.

After our shopping spree in Lincoln City, we got out of the Oregon drizzle by heading to our very favorite of the plethora of stellar coastal restaurants. If you ever make it to Depoe Bay, Tidal Raves is an absolute must, and not only because of the fab view--the food is outstanding!

Here's a better view from the parking lot of Tidal Raves. The one thing that eatery lacks is windshield wipers for the picture windows, so sometimes the ocean is a bit blurry, but just stepping outside brings the view into focus.

As we were driving back home in the evening, the sun decided to grace us with her presence. One of the nice things about Oregon in the spring and summer is the length of the days. While the sun is gone by 4:30 0r 5:00 in the deeps of winter, by June the golden orb will hang around until almost 10:00 on the longest days.

I want to cross these fields and climb right up those distant hills. Beckon, beckon, beckon...

Do pictures get much more bucolic than this?

We loved the way the grass looks in this shot. Almost makes me wish I were a cow.

This is the Evergreen Aviation Museum in McMinnville, home of Howard Hughes' famed Spruce Goose. In the foreground are the makings of some future Spruce Goose vintage wines. Besides the expected planes and aviation artifacts, the museum boasts a wine tasting room, an IMAX theater, and the obligatory store. Ked and I fully plan to head back out to McMinnville sometime soon to get a look inside--and it'll be an even bigger draw for us once the currently-under-construction space museum opens to the public. Ooh... space museum!! (We're heading to Washington D.C. in a couple weeks, so until the local museum opens, we have the national version to keep our space-fever alive.)

Out behind the museum proper there are planes a-plenty, and even a tank or two. This shot looks like something out of Band of Brothers to Ked and me, although, thankfully, there were no accompanying sound effects during our visit.

I know nothing about this plane other than that it once was the property of the U.S. Air Force. What I'm guessing about it is that it probably flies fast enough to make lunch reappear. I'd love to sit in it and check out all the gizmos--not so sure about flying in it, though. Ked, on the other hand...

Here's a funny little specimen. It looks fake, like somebody got carried away with one of those model kits, and then forgot to finish the front. I think it's name should be "Stubby."

After driving around the museum, we passed through Newberg on our way back to Portland. It's full of charming photo-worthy locations like the Newberg Public Library, pictured above.

Speaking of charm, when we head out to Evergreen Aviation Museum in the hopefully-not-too-distant-future, we might want to stop in here, at this lovely little wine lounge and bistro, appropriately named "Crush." I assume they are referring both to romance and grape-crushing, although I can't help thinking about 150-year-old sea turtles from Finding Nemo.

So that was our escape day. Pretty good, huh? I'm already looking forward to next year's least favorite holiday!

Running Tally

Here is your running milestone report from the slowest runner ever to hit the treadmill: I ran seven miles today! Mind you, I'm achingly slow (especially when I plan to go for any distance), and I ran the last mile as a series of sprints, with bits of breathing in between; but I ran it nonetheless, so I'm adding it to my tally. I often do sprint intervals at the end of a run, and don't usually count them in my total, but today I'm feeling generous to myself. I only stopped for fifteen or twenty seconds between fast (for me) quarter miles at the end, so I'm cutting myself some mileage slack. Do I sound like I'm rationalizing? That's okay. I'm really the only one holding my feet to the fire about this whole running thing anyway. I can rationalize a little bit if it helps me make progress.

You know the frustrating thing about trying to turn myself back into a runner? It's that I'm so bleepingly inconsistent. I fight asthma every time I run, and sometimes it totally gets the better of me. I was invited to go running with some other women on Tuesday, and I really would have liked to have gone, both for the company and for the inspiration, but, besides being slower than molasses on longer runs, I'm never sure which days are going to find my lungs remotely cooperative. It turned out this Tuesday that nothing was going to get my body past the two miles I ran on the treadmill (and we're not even talking about adding any incline), so I was glad I chickened out of running on hilly trails with women who are far more serious about the activity than I am. Maybe someday I'll get myself consistent enough to hit the hills with real runners, but for now I'm just going to be happy with the leisurely seven miles I did today. Now, the friend who asked me along with her to tackle running with the pack is training for a marathon, and put in a fifteen mile run on Sunday, so I can't be too impressed with myself, but I really find her accomplishments an inspiration, not a competition. Everybody has to start somewhere, right? I don't have any plans to go for the big distances, but maybe over time I can pick up the pace a little and get to go play with the big girl runners someday. I think that's a good goal--if I can convince those lungs to get with the program!!

The Dignity of Living Beings

More precisely, the dignity of... plants. Prepare for the ridiculous as the "leaders" of the world, starting with those intrepid Swiss, cross the new moral frontier to establish "plant rights." Oh, good grief.

Soccer--A Bit Baffling

Any soccer fans out there? Perhaps you can answer a question. I've been recording some Champions League matches the last couple of days for a young footballer that I know from church, and have been watching the games myself while I've been at it. As with most sports that don't involve people beating each other senseless, I generally enjoy soccer, although I don't watch it much. I didn't grow up on the sport, and find myself with enough questions as I watch to find it sometimes frustrating, and much to my disappointment, the TV announcers don't spontaneously answer those questions--a ridiculous and inexcusable oversight, if you ask me. (Truth is, my questions are so basic that any announcer spending his time addressing them would be driven off the airwaves by all the massively bored soccer fans who actually understand the sport already and are looking for more substantive commentary.) My husband, who doesn't usually have much patience for watching sports on TV, watched several World Cup matches with me two years ago, which was fun, since we had the opportunity to be confused together. If you're going to be confused, it's much better to do it with company. We did learn a lot during that World Cup, mostly about yellow cards, or at least we think we did, but since we were explaining things to each other, it was pretty much the blind leading the blind.

It's an interesting sport, once you get past the basketball-and-American-football-induced desire to see actual scoring--which brings me to what's baffling me this time around. I understand that soccer is not a high-scoring sport, I have watched enough of it to know at least this much, but the match I'm watching right now is a European Championship semi-final, and--if I heard this right--one of the teams vying for the right to move on to the championship game hasn't scored in their last eight match-ups!! How does that work?! How did they manage to get this far without scoring at all? Is it really just that this team is so outstanding defensively that no one else scored either, and they moved on by virtue of superior league record or something, or is there something else I'm not getting? Basketball teams that don't ever score don't reach semi-finals. There must be more to it than there seems to be. Or, maybe not. If you are an Internet-surfing soccer aficionado, perhaps wandering by because the word "soccer" appeared in the blog post title, take pity on my ignorance, please, and explain a few of the deep soccer mysteries which puzzle the uninitiated.

If you're ever in Portland. my husband and I will take you to Kells and buy you a pint in reward.

Update: The team with the scoring drought just got the ball into the net. tying the game. Their fans are on cloud nine. When points are that few and far between, their occurrence is momentous indeed. Of course, if you can win without them...

Update II: Turned out to be quite a fun game, with overtime goals determining the winner. This further exacerbates my confusion about how a team with no scores advances to the semi-final. Were there no overtimes in the matches leading up to the semi-final? Do overtimes and penalty kicks only enter into the equation further into a tournament? How does this work?!

Update III: An apparently shy person sent me an email rather than leaving a comment, but shyness is to no avail--I'm posting it anyway!! (I got permission):

OK. You missed some stuff in your blog post about the game. The graphic they presented regarding Liverpool was that they hadn't scored in 8 games played at Stamford Bridge, which is Chelsea's home pitch. Liverpool have scored very well recently, and also have a good defense. They were unfortunate to lose, and should have won the home game last week. This was the 2nd game of a home and away. The first game was 1-1. Liverpool scored and would have won if not for a last second own-goal in the dying minutes of injury time. Heartbreaking. But soccer often is.

This makes much more sense, and I'm feeling rather silly, but I often am rather silly, so I'm quite comfortable with that. I think the problem was that I didn't actually see the graphic. I heard them talking while I attended something else. I don't think the game had started yet, and who sits and watches the talking heads? (Although, if I'd known there would be explanatory graphics I might have paid more attention!)

Thrill Seekers Are Crazy People

Watch this video of some crazy person walking at El camino del Rey. "Originally built in 1901, this walkway now serves as an aproach to makinodromo, the famous climbing sector of El Chorro." You couldn't have gotten me to walk this path when it was new! I love to hike, like really love it, but not this much...



I can't even imagine doing this while giving half my attention to operating a video camera. (Here's the link to where I originally got this video.)

Men Are Not Idiots

This is just a drive-by blog post to pass you on to this article in Advertising Age, on the coming (and long overdue, IMHO) revolt against the negative portrayal of men in advertising. Glenn Sacks and Richard Smaglick explain rather effectively why it would be wise for advertisers to reconsider the standard ad portrayal of men as buffoons and idiots, because it's not going over very well with either the men they target, or the women who love them. I totally agree. I get so sick of seeing husbands and fathers portrayed as stupid, selfish, lazy, dishonest, incompetent, base brutes. This is just not the majority of men that I know, most of whom I greatly respect for their character, intelligence, hard work and devotion to their families. A little "truth in advertising" would be nice. I won't even start on what the men-are-pond-scum approach to advertising says to the boys who are growing up in the world today, trying to figure out who they are supposed to become as adults. I know we're a long way past the age of "Father Knows Best," but could we at least acknowledge Father Knows Something?

Hat tip: Instapundit

Running Tally

I ran five miles straight again today. It took some mental pushing, because it was a little harder lung-wise this time. That could have something to do with the fact that I ran the whole thing ever so slightly uphill--that and the added bonus fact that I took five minutes off my time!! I'm feeling rather triumphant again, but also fairly tired... I better snap out of it, though. We're having company over for dinner tonight. I need to take a shower and start cooking!

A Walk In Portland's Chinese Garden

We decided to introduce a new friend to our favorite Pittock Mansion hike. Everyone who lives in Portland should discover the beauties of Forest Park as soon as possible. Ked and I didn't know about Wildwood Trail for far too many years, and when I think of all of the lovely local trail time we missed I have to quickly change mental subjects, or risk sinking into maudlin despair and regret. Oh, the humanity. Anyway, this new friend (a very fascinating man from Egypt) does volunteer work as a greeter at the Classical Chinese Garden that is tucked quietly into downtown Portland. Ked and I had only visited the place once before, so, since our greeter friend was on duty at the garden right up until the time we were scheduled to pick him up for our hike, we and our friend Su decided to arrive early and take the opportunity to get more acquainted with this little oasis of peace in the city. I have pictures to share.

The garden is full of these amazing paths, with patterns of stone leading you onward.

I liked this picture of Su and Ked. Su can complain later about lack of picture-posting clearance, if she wants to, but really, since I already went to all the trouble of putting it up here, I think she should grant me retroactive dispensation, don't you?



This is one of those bridges that doesn't even have to go anywhere to serve a purpose in the world. Even if its only purpose was to stand there looking beautiful, that would be enough.

Don't you want to see where these doors lead?

I'm not usually big on such minimalist floral arrangements, but this scene is just plain pretty.

Isn't this a cool way to dress up a window?

Here's a lovely profusion of delicate spring color.

The Chinese sure have the whole "cool window screen" thing down pat, don't they?

All this shot needs is a butterfly or two.

Here is the tea house in which they serve a dizzying array (at least a gazillion varieties) of that Chinese staple. Really, there's a whole menu--maybe 8 pages--of all the different teas, with a description of all their flavor and scent characteristics, meanings and purposes. Clearly, tea is a far more complicated thing than I am used to considering it.

I really like the feel you get from this picture, where the garden takes its place in the context of the city around it. While you are wandering around, the city really doesn't call too much attention to itself. The garden easily remains the focus, but when you stop to connect the garden to its surroundings, the contrast can be oddly appealing.

Here is another one of those intricate paths, drawing visitors on to new vistas of pleasure and repose.

Aren't these windows simply beautiful? I love how you can catch glimpses of the garden in their reflections.

This last image is from a little later in the day, when we finally left the garden and proceeded on our hike. Having gotten a later-than-planned start, we didn't walk far (which is just as well--that no-migraine streak I was talking about last post broke this week with a vengeance. I'm on day four of a sometimes-off-but-mostly-on headache, and am actually using most of my energy reserves just to cope right now). However, by starting farther up the trail we still got to let our friend see Pittock Mansion. He was suitably impressed. On the way back we saw this charming little sign of floral determination pictured above. Since our new friend is a landscape architect, he was able to tell us that the intrepid fronds claiming a place in the branch of this tree are licorice fern. Looks right at home, don't you think?

That's all for now. Happy wandering to you.

Minor Milestone

I started running again a few months ago--after a twenty-four year hiatus. That's a long time to go without lacing up the track shoes. It feels good to push myself this way again. For a long time I didn't think it was even worth trying to run, because my joints just didn't seem to want to cooperate with the process. I have these freaky knees that turn in and don't line up with my feet. It was always a challenge when I danced ballet, and even more of one when running. All that pounding on the joints made them scream a little too loudly. Okay, a lot too loudly. So, I gave it up, and stuck to hiking. A breakthrough happened last fall, though. I found these amazing squishy balls that when you lay on them (that's it, just lay on them and relax) loosen up the joints so much that they don't seem to have the same problems that made running a thing of the past. I also got some advice from a marathoner I know about technique that has really helped me keep my joints happier during a good long workout.

You might wonder why, after all these years, I even want to pound my body that way. Who's crazy enough to start running again in their forties? Yes, I know I'm a little touched in the head, but I have several good reasons for wanting to keep in shape. First off, both my parents developed heart problems at very early ages. My mom had a (non-fatal) heart attack in her twenties, and all six of her siblings and both her parents had heart disease issues when they died. That is reason enough right there to take fitness a bit more seriously than the average couch potato. Another reason is a theory I've developed lately regarding my allergies. My environmental allergies are severe enough to hinder my lifestyle significantly. Fevers and migraines and no end of general sickness and fatigue are common doings in my life. It affects me and, worse from my perspective, it affects my husband, and there hasn't seemed to be anything I could do about it. I've been told by several doctors that what it comes down to is that my liver simply doesn't process out toxins well enough, and so my immune system has gotten turned on too high, thinking that everything from perfume to pollen is an invading enemy. I don't understand it all, but it has gotten me thinking of ways to try to rid myself of those toxins in a way that bypasses my liver. Thus, the running. My theory is, if I get myself to sweat like crazy for a few hours a week, maybe that will "wash" some of the things I'm allergic to out of my system. It actually seems to be working. I'm recovering from allergic situations much more quickly, am generally stronger and more energetic, and, most amazing and wonderful thing of all, I haven't had a migraine in over a month!! This is a major source of rejoicing and celebration here chez meow.

Anyway, here's my minor milestone. Today I ran five miles straight, no stopping. I've run that far in spurts, with walking rests in between stretches of running, but this is the first time in two decades I've made it so far in one swell foop. It wasn't even that hard. Since I know other people who run 26.2 miles at a pop, this doesn't seem that impressive in the grand scheme of things, but in my little world it's a pretty exciting accomplishment. I feel most triumphant!!

BTW: Those squishy balls really are amazing for loosening up all sorts of joints and muscles. I don't usually give product endorsements, but these Miracle Balls are great, and really inexpensive for the amount of good they do. Here's the Amazon link if you want to check them out.

Thought For The Day

I've been mulling over some of the issues swirling around the Barrack Obama/ Reverend Wright kerfuffle. I've been reading an awful lot about it, a fair bit of it from black pastors and pundits who all have their own take on racism in America and Liberation Theology. It's been very interesting reading. I'm not going to get into the political side of this, but one spiritual thing has struck me rather forcefully. Much of what I have read has claimed that the black church in America breaks down into pretty much two camps, the Liberation Theology camp--blacks are an oppressed people on whom the wrongs of the past are still being wrought today--and the Prosperity Gospel camp--God wants you to be financially prosperous, healthy, and untroubled in life. I'm not sure how accurate this assessment is. I personally went to a church for over a decade whose black pastors and black members of the congregation completely rejected both these teachings. However that may be, many now are saying these two belief systems are the predominant lines of thought. What I am convinced is the case is that these two ways of thinking may seem like different ideologies to the people who embrace them, but they are two sides of the same coin.

Think about it. If you believe that God wants you to have every material comfort, if you, in fact, believe this to be a spiritual law, when (as is inevitable in life) you face trials and adversities, you are going to have to find some reason to explain why God is not blessing you as He has promised. You have to blame Him, yourself, or someone/something else. If you see yourself as following His rules and complying with the things He requires to guarantee these blessings, then something, or someone else must be at fault when they are not forthcoming. It is a natural progression. It also follows that you would do the same when you see others who you believe to be worthy facing an inevitably imperfect existence, especially if you see your condition and theirs as intrinsically linked. I don't care what race, color, gender, etc. you are. Most of us try to find ways to reconcile when our worldview and our reality come into conflict. Often that reconciliation takes the form of blame and resentment.

Now, the problems I see in this type of thinking are myriad, but I will limit my response to just a couple. First off, we are flawed and sinful beings, and the first person whose goodness and virtue we ought to look to question is our own. After all, we know ourselves quite intimately, and see the things inside our heads which no one else gets to see. Casting blame should always come back to "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." That, however, is really just the surface of the issue. The Prosperity Gospel's intrinsic flaw, in my opinion, is that it perverts the nature of our motivation for coming to Christ. What the Bible clarifies over and over is that humans are separated from God by our own sin, and that He has made a way, through Jesus, for us to be reconciled to Him and to be changed. The Gospel is all about spiritual restoration and transformation--often a very uncomfortable process as we let go of our selfishness and submit to God's better understanding of what would be best for us. (To paraphrase C.S. Lewis, God's goal is not to make us happy, but to make us good.) We come to God because we love Him and are grateful that He loved us first and wants a relationship with us--that He made a way for that to happen.

What happens when people make it about God making us comfortable instead? They lose the very essence of the love relationship. I ask you, on a strictly human level, do you want people in your life who are your friends because they love you come what may and are grateful for your love in return, or because you give them stuff and make things easy for them? On a less self-focused note, if you want what is best for those you love, where is the benefit to them from merely having things given to them? If your goal for those you love is to see them become better and stronger people, more able to help themselves and others, how will those traits be developed if you never allow them to face trials to develop and prove that growth? Weight lifters only get stronger by adding more weight. Runners gain endurance by pushing their limits. How many of us grow personally during the good and easy times? How much strength and perseverance and wisdom and virtue are gained on a beach in Maui? Now, how many of those do we develop as we work hard to support our families, or endure physical pain, or serve a suffering loved one? It's the hard times that teach us best. All of us naturally want to avoid pain and suffering, but we should not look to avoid them completely, nor desire a life with no trials for the ones we love. Would you want your children so coddled in life that they never develop any character, but remain weak, selfish, dependant whiners their whole lives? Now, take that limited human understanding of wanting what is best for those you love, and combine it with God's infinite love, knowledge and foresight. It goes against His very character to suggest that His goal for any person or group of people is perfect health, wealth and happiness. He loves us too much for that, and He does not want us to come to Him because He can give us stuff, but rather because He can change who we are.

I don't know how really prevalent the teachings of "prosperity" and "liberation" are in the black church, or any other church in America for that matter, but I do believe that those who cling to such teachings deny the true power of the Gospel. That true power is the power to change lives, through forgiveness for our sins and an ongoing changing of individual character which makes us able to say with Paul:

...I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength. Philippians 4:11-13

My husband always says, "Circumstance is nothing. Character is everything." It's who God is shaping us to be that matters. All the rest is just circumstance.

A Post Of No Interest

...to anyone but myself. At least that's what I'm assuming. This post is not one to entertain the masses. In fact, I can't imagine why anyone but those who have to love me (because they've made a promise before God, or because they think they owe me some indulgence after I listened to them go on for hours about their goldfish having babies or something) would keep reading at this point. You have my complete understanding for bailing right now. Honest. No, really, I mean it. . . Okay, but any boredom you experience falls on your own head.

You might recall that I got sucked into a new hobby after giving my niece some wire-and-bead jewelry making supplies for Christmas. I liked the hands on design process, and found myself making the shiny baubles, despite how very rarely I have ever put jewelry on my generally unadorned person in the past. I honestly have no need for jewelry in my life, if my past behavior is to be used as any indicator of future wants, but somehow the need to make the stuff has grown, not diminished over the last few months. I don't want to wear jewelry for jewelry's sake any more than I ever have. It's not the wearing, but the making that has me hooked.

In an effort to find some justifiable reason to make more sparklies, I started picking the odd item out of my closet to have something to match. This can only go on for so long. I've already started coming to church far more elaborately decorated than I ever have in my life before, and once you get past the Sunday-going-to-church attire, it gets more difficult. I don't have a job outside my home (which explains why I have the time to waste on a jewelry-making hobby), and even an addicted-to-making-pretties Kat such as myself cannot justify making earrings to go with the very casual clothes that I wear on the average weekday. T-shirts and elaborate earrings or bracelets just don't mix in my world.

I've managed to pawn a few of my pieces off on a good friend, who indulges me by letting me design coordinating baubles to match some of her clothes, but I'm starting to think that I'm going to have to find another outlet--selling them maybe, or making the rounds of hospitals and passing out bling to cheer up despondent patients. I've been toying with the idea of selling it to raise money for the musical based on The Screwtape Letters which my co-writers and I recently got permission from C.S. Lewis' estate to produce. We will definitely need a lot of money for this--we do not want a second-rate "churchy" production on our hands, so finding ways to raise substantial cash is important. We'll see whether that includes my new hobby. I need to continue to improve in technique--not scratching the silver and gold as I form it, for example, and getting consistently perfect shapes in the wire. I also need to continue to develop a sense of what makes a good design work, and get more original in what I produce. At this point I would not feel entirely comfortable charging money for my creations, although I am steadily improving. As I said, we'll see what happens. I sure am having fun, though, even if I never come up with a better reason to create jewelry than, "Gee, I love to do this."

Anyway, here are some pictures of pieces I've made recently that I like. (If you've made it this far, you must not be so easily bored that I need to be afraid of scaring you off now.) Ked and I had fun tonight, playing design photographers. We dug out a black velvet dress from the back of my closet to drape bits of jewelry over, and tried to get my magnifying lamp to work as photographic lighting. We did okay, considering we are total amateurs, but please overlook the seams, color variations and other visual distractions. We had a hard time getting the crystals to sparkle without the whole piece washing out, and the colors are not entirely accurate. I had read that it's difficult to photograph silver wire well, and we found this to be true, but decided to cut ourselves some slack. After all, this is just for fun.

These rose and gold beads are so full of beauty and "life" that I couldn't resist making a whole matched set. (I wish you could click on the picture to get the larger image. I have no idea why, but sometimes Blogger lets that happen and sometimes it doesn't. This time it's being uncooperative. Wah.)

It's hard to tell in this picture that these amethyst Swarovski crystal beads and gold wire sparkle like Mirror Lake on a clear day, but they really do gleam somethin' fierce.

This was my first project using a jig to help shape the wire. I never could have made all those little loops with just a pair of pliers and my own steady grip. Even I don't have that much free time.

I'm not sure how well you can see it in the picture, but these beads are so pretty. They are a swirl of pink and gold suspended in a clear ball. Altogether the bead and silver filigree make a much larger earring than I've ever been comfortable wearing, but what the heck. In for a penny, in for a pound.

This very simple design was fun to make. I don't have much blue in my wardrobe, but I'll make do. One thing I simply refuse to do is go out shopping for clothes to match whatever jewelry I've put together. I have to draw the line somewhere!

I got the jig out again for this one. Turns out that copper wire is pretty easy to work with, and a less expensive option as well. The ear wires have to be something hypo-allergenic, but that's not hard to swing, and colored wire adds a decidedly less formal feel to some pieces. Hey, maybe I can make jewelry to go with my sweats and t-shirts after all!!

These light amethyst Swarovski crystal cubes are absolutely stunning in the real world. In Photography World (at least the one inhabited by Ked and me) it's a little harder to see how much they let the light dance through them. Oh well. Use a little imagination, please, to make up for our photographic deficiencies.

This last one I just love because of the color. Green is a big player in my wardrobe, and this very clear peridot is a personal favorite. I really like the Flemish spiral design in the wire, too. It looks solid without looking too heavy.

Well, there you have it. If you stayed this long without being one of the people who love me, thanks for the indulgence. If you stayed this long, and are one of the people who love me, thanks for the love. Watch out, though, I may be trying to make you take some jewelry soon. I'm running out of places to store it all!!

Exploring Oregon

I thought I'd throw up a few pictures from a couple of recent pleasure outings Ked and I have taken here in beautiful Oregon. We've had absolutely lovely weather of late, and knowing this could, and likely will, change very soon (Portland being the soggy city that it is), we have been scraping together what little spare time we can muster to indulge our enjoyment of the "local" winter landscapes, on both the hiking trails and the snow. (Anything within 60 miles or so is local, if you ask me--so to my mind, Mount Hood counts!) I won't jabber at you much. The pictures have much more worthwhile things to say than I do. :-)

Here's one of Portland's more famous tourist attractions. Pittock Mansion was built a long time ago, by rich people, and today, tourists can wander through its fancy rooms and see all the amenities which were on the cutting edge of modernity back in 1914. (Did I mention that when I said "a long time ago," what I really meant was "a long time ago by Pacific Northwestern, non-Native American standards," and not really a long time ago? I can hear the Europeans and Chinese laughing uncontrollably in the background.) Anyway, Henry and Georgiana Pittock made their money in newspaper publishing, and this truly lovely residence is the fruit of that labor.

Here's the view to the east from the mansion's lawn. Portland spreads out below you, with Mt. Hood gracing the background. Hood is not the only mountain viewable from this much-to-be-coveted location. If I remember correctly, you can see something like five different mountains from the top of this hill--when the weather cooperates, that is.

Here's a closer look at some of the architectural detailing of the building. There are all sorts of stonework and concrete accents, leaded glass and graceful roof-lines. It's about a six mile hike, round trip, from where my husband and I usually start out to come up to Pittock, and worth every step. No matter how many times we trudge up this hill, I never get there so tired and out of breath that this home doesn't manage to take a little more of my breath away.

Moving on to a completely different outing, last Sunday Ked and I took another snow jaunt out around to the east side of Mt. Hood. We had intended to hit one of the snow-park trails we know, but we never made it that far. As we crossed a bridge and passed by this spot, we saw this little river cutting its way through the snow and just had to stop to explore and take a picture or two. The open terrain kept calling us a little further, until finally we decided that this would be our trek for the day.

This little river was rushing madly through the snowfield. Despite the cloudy evidence to the contrary, it was a warm enough day for us to start taking off gloves and other bits of weather-protective clothing, and I suspect all that warmth was giving the water level a little added oomph, and the flow a little extra zip.

On the way back to the bridge which led us to this snow extravaganza, the path is looking pretty lonesome, isn't it? It did seem as though we should feel like the only two people in the world, but don't be fooled by this picture. Yes, it was an isolated spot, but we weren't the only Oregonians out looking to commune with nature on this day. We saw at least a couple dozen other people, and no less than five or six dogs frolicking in the snow! Most of the folks were equipped with appropriate clothing, and the sleds, snowmobiles, or snowshoes to take full advantage of the wintry scene, but there were a few exceptions. We ran into one family in jeans, sweats and tennis shoes who were having a ball, but you could tell had very little experience with the frozen white stuff (or with the English language for that matter). They had the cutest brown-eyed little girls, watching with delight as their mom tried to climb down an icy bank without resorting to sliding on her backside. I so wished I had a basket of snow gear in the back of our car, so that we could introduce them properly to the snow. The combination of little girls and snow simply cries out for boots, mittens, sleds and a great big hill. Oh well, maybe they saw everyone else at play and they'll want to come back again, but this time better prepared for winter fun.

Well, that's it for this time. Blessings on your head (wherever your head happens to be).