Epic Seattle Adventures, Part One

I had an unexpected opportunity to see a few of THE things to do in Seattle. Here are a few photos from our first stop -- the Space Needle! First time I've been up there since my son became a t**nager lo, those many years ago. (When my kids were adolescents, I vowed I would not say that particular four-letter word.)

Wheel Ferry Crane Port

it was kind of wet that day

"Rain Gets in Your Eyes"

it stopped raining for a while

fall colors

Sea plane! Sea plane! Landing on Lake Union

those hills are pretty marvelous way out there

the Stadia, and that remarkable red building

For authentication purposes, here's a self portrait from the glass-floored observation level. Sorry I didn't think to adjust the lighting, but this is obviously me. You can even see the tread on my left boot.

"F" is for Frolic, Failure, and Fun -- or, Authors Whose Last Names Begin with F

A couple of years ago, my library system added blog posts to our website. Many of the posts were short collections of book reviews, often following a theme. I tried writing a few of these, but never felt like I could keep up with the thought-provoking themes of my librarian colleagues. It was a good challenge, a growth opportunity, and I was honored to have been selected to write for our site. After a few successes, and several wadded-up-and-thrown-in-the-trashcan failures, I realized that what I needed was my old writing partner to get me going again. Enter Polo!

Polo in his reading chair

The next step was figuring out what we could do for themes. I enjoy a range of material from quirky fiction to educational nonfiction, and Polo's game for whatever. How to cover this mix? Let's go alphabetically, by the authors' last names! We like to listen to books (Polo struggles with reading, at least when I'm around), so we only review things we can access via compact discs (audiobook CDs) or electronically (downloadable audiobooks on my phone).

We started listening, reviewing, and posting together on the library website with "A" authors, and the whole process was very satisfying now that we were doing it together. Our posts made it through "E" authors before a website update brought adjustments to the backstage side of the process. Also, my workload seemed to intensify, so we decided it was time to bow-wow out of the website thing. (See what we did there? A little dogga humor!)

And now, feigning fantastic fanfare, Polo and I feature frisky fiction (and whatever) by authors whose last names begin with the letter F.

The Tumbling Turner Sisters

By Juliette Fay

A great story from just past the turn of the century – the last century, that is – complete with cultural references and history made story. An average family is pushed to the brink financially when the father badly injures his hand, and mother and daughters realize it’s up to them to become breadwinners… by creating a Vaudeville act and hitting the road! Ups and downs, twists and turns, as the Tumbling Turner Sisters learn to balance each other, both literally and figuratively. Nothing comes easy for them, but these women have bonds and resilience that carry them forward.

Polo’s considerations: “It would have been helpful if they'd had the companionship of a good dog. I would have helped, but I do not travel.”

The Confusion of Languages

By Siobhan Fallon

How important is cultural awareness when you join your military spouse on assignment to the Middle East? Is attendance at security briefings optional, and can you draw caricatures of the officer presenting this material while he’s speaking? What if you are assigned to acclimate a newly arrived wife, but she resists your help? Told in alternating voices of the experienced, careful Cassie and the upstart, impulsive Margaret, this is an intriguing story of what-ifs and what-now.

Polo’s deliberations: “Again, they could have used a good dog to keep them safe. Margaret needed a herding breed to keep her in check.”

The Mitford Murders – A Mystery

By Jessica Fellowes

You may have heard of Julian Fellowes, creator of the award-winning Downton Abbey television series. His niece, Jessica Fellowes, has collaborated with him to write companion pieces for Downton Abbey, and she has crafted this wonderful period mystery set in the early 1900s. Strong characters, evocative scenery and characters, and a tricky tale of murder make this a winning audiobook.

Polo’s opinion: “The best stories have dogs in them. This is a very good story, complete with a dog and a couple of young human children.”

Hello? Hi? Is Anybody There?

Golly, when did the wallpaper get changed to this very innocuous light blue fluff? At least I fixed the text so it's black on white. More readable and all that, you know. I've learned a little about writing with accessibility on the Web.

So I've been paying a lot of attention to that daily time-stealing, friend-conversing, mainly-used-by-my-generation face thing. A lot of attention, as in, several years' worth of attention. One lonely blog post here last year. Yikes. I'm sorry! I think often about blogging, but it takes so much time and energy to write up and edit (and edit, and re-edit) multiple paragraphs here. Meanwhile, on that other platform, there are pretty pictures and greetings from friends and more pictures, and I can scroll through a hundred short pieces in an hour and feel as though I've caught up with my people.

But this blog thing has value. Sure, the posts really are short, and they're not deeply personal, but I can pretend that hundreds of kind strangers (or no one at all) will read and nod in understanding. Is there still a place for blogs any more? My, how quickly things change.

I'm blogging for work, though only occasionally. I'm supposed to be able to post book suggestions -- not reviews, exactly, because I don't think I should say that something is so awful that no one should pick it up. I wanted to do this because it's writing, and I'm a writer. (Being a writer, in this case, does not necessarily mean that anyone will choose to read my writings. But I like to write.) Once I got all trained and instructed in the professional aspects of writing for work, I did a few posts... and lost my motivation. Crickets.

Recently, however, I re-discovered my muse and became re-energized to blog again. My alter ego, my writer-side, was right there in front of me all the time. I just hadn't been looking to him for help, because this was supposed to be professional, you know, for my career, writing. This muse of mine, you see, has a sweet face, a black and pink mottled nose, and a long wagging tail. It's Polo. It's so much easier to imagine my dog's responses to things than to write my own highly edited thoughts. Polo is straightforward, honest, and only a little bit cynical about human nature. He's kind and witty. And he uses a simpler vocabulary than I can muster. (Another rule about writing for the work blog is to keep it very readable for English language learners. I don't mean to sound high-falutin' -- it just happens to be how the words fly off my fingers.)

So, I'm taking my dog to work these days, hoping he can get away with writing book stuff for me. We'll see how it goes. At least 30% of the blog posts on our website are read by fellow staff members, and everything is carefully reviewed as soon as it's published. If Polo isn't allowed on that blog, at least he can come back here to lend a paw regularly.

Thanks for checking in. I'll try to get back here more often. Mostly, I'll try to write. Somewhere. Like this guy on the side of a building at the University of Washington. Because he's been at it a long time, and he isn't finished yet.

[The Beginning of] the Beginning of the Story

The whole "baby in the manger" thing has me thinking. What in the world are we supposed to do with an infant whose birth was heralded by angels, visited by sheep herders, lauded by wise travelers? It makes for a great story, except there's no closure at the end of our Christmas holiday. That Baby, no matter how special and holy, can't do anything. It's great that He came, but...

My dad used to travel for business, and he'd sometimes bring special gifts home. When he went to Alaska, he returned with photos and explanations of a large retaining wall for which his company had supplied the interlocking pieces. Oh, and jade necklaces for my mom and me. One of his early trips to the east side of the state, he witnessed tumbleweeds blowing across the highway. I was thrilled to take a real tumbleweed to school for show-and-tell! (Side note: I had to wrap it in newspaper so my classmates wouldn't guess what it was. Ha!) Looking back, I enjoyed the stories as much as the presents.

my completed moccasins were something like this

And then, on a jaunt to Arizona, he picked up a moccasin kit so I could stitch up my own slippers. No story, but something representative of the place. I loved the idea of having my own moccasins. But the kit, by itself, was only a beginning. It was what came after, the process of putting them together, that would make them useful. Only after that would I be able to wear them.

The baby in the manger is kind of like the moccasin kit. In order to really get something out of it -- Jesus, that is -- you have to involve yourself in a process. There's the first part of His story, understanding that His birth and His very existence is amazing. As an adult, He did things and told stories and taught lessons that should have our attention. But then... then there was the whole "end of story" part when He was killed -- but He could have gotten out of it. What? Yes, Jesus could have opted out, but He let them put Him to death as a religious criminal. And then, after He was proven to be dead, He was resurrected and reunited with His followers before returning to the right hand of God the Father. The point of all of this was to pay the penalties for all of our misdeeds, so that we could also be with Him forever.

So, celebrating the miraculous birth of the Baby is like opening that moccasin kit. It's exciting just to see this beginning, but there's much more to come if you carry it out to the end. Read and follow the instructions, as it were, to receive the real joy and fulfillment.

But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, even to those who believe in His name, who were born not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.

Does This Derny Make Me Look Dorky?

Maybe it's just that I was tired when I started watching, but the Olympic sport of Women's Keirin was such an amazing spectacle.

It starts on the steeply banked velodrome track, riders' feet buckled onto their pedals, embracing the men who are their handlers. Waiting for the start. Waiting for... the uniformed guy on a motorized bicycle to come around the track behind them, making the turn, riding on the inside lane.

This guy is sitting very upright. None of the hunched-over streamlined posture for him. His helmet is the round, nerdy type. He wears khakis and a polo shirt in the Rio Olympics colors. And he's not pedalling.

So the best funny thing is this dorky guy -- riding a thing called a derny. ("Hello! You're in the Olympics? What's your athletic event?" "I drive the derny." Silence.) He doesn't have to look athletic. He doesn't have to be athletic. He just has to ride around the track, five and a half times (if you don't count the first half lap before the official start), sitting straight up, looking straight ahead, increasing his speed only incrementally through each lap.

Finally, after watching this measured procession around and around and around the track, the derny pulls out and the sprint ensues. This is when the cyclists get down and dirty, jockeying for new positions, sizing up the field, knowing when to push to the head of the pack for the lead. This is when all the strategy they've had in their heads comes to fruition. This is the action. Two and a half laps of all-out, adrenaline-revving sprint riding. "He's gone! Let's go!"

The photo below is not from this year's Olympic event, but I love how this dernyman looks a bit like a traffic patrol officer. All business. Do not exceed the speed limit. Period. This portion of the race is not. a. race.

Eagles in the Tree, Snails on the Fence

I went walking... by the river, where the eagles live. Mama eagle was posing for the paparazzi, but they all had four-foot-long megalenses that made me feel like I'd rather keep walking and see what I could see on my own.

Who knew that snails climb fences? Maybe to keep away from the nesting geese? There was a tiny narwhal-bird in the top of a nearby tree. And I love that Indian plum is one of the very first spring bloomers.

Some thoughts on my shyness. When I feel self-conscious, I lose most of my social graces. Sure, I can put on an act of warm effusiveness, but that takes effort and brain-energy. Those are the times when I lose people's names, or forget that I just greeted this patron five minutes ago. Ugh.

On the other hand, shyness lets me explore on my own, looking for the ordinary extraordinary details that are often overlooked. Like a snail on the fence, or the hummingbird in the tree just a ways down from the giant eagle.

Therefore, being introverted is a blessing and a curse. But mostly, a blessing. And I'm grateful. Mostly. Because I do enjoy noticing the little things. Thanks, God.

Because Theresa Asked for More...

For one of the few people I know of who checks in on the dogs' blog OF HER OWN VOLITION, here are some pics of my birthday-time hike with son #3 this fall. We were privileged to be able to take a seldom-open path down to the river, then went up the hill as planned. Enjoy -- and THANK YOU for coming! 

The Cascades are out there. Somewhere.

No whitewater was harmed in this telephoto shot.

Shout joyfully to the Lord, all the earth; break forth and sing for joy and sing praises.

Let the sea roar and all it contains, the world and those who dwell in it.

Let the rivers clap their hands; let the sing mountains together for joy!

Are You Ready to RUMMMMBLLLLLLLE?

Welcome to our 20th season with the Chargers! The team I love because they wear my initials... and because the coaching staff is great, and they let me be on the sidelines instead of far away in the stands! My excitement for the first game is like a kid on Christmas Eve. It's here -- let's get started!

Thanks to the wonders of modern computing (I guess), the printed score books I'd used have become obsolete. A few years ago, I designed my own, drawing it on graph paper and getting it printed each season. This year, it seemed like time for a change, so I have been working on an Excel template instead. I still want to fill it out by hand -- if I entered the data directly onto my laptop, I'd be stuck way up in the stands. Where's the fun in that?

So, I printed a few sheets of the new form and looked for a recorded game to use for a test. The first one I found was an AFC Divisional Playoff between the Bills and the Browns. This was in 1989, recorded from television and posted on YouTube. No computerized markers to show line of scrimmage or first down, fewer replays, sideline camera angles -- a pretty good simulation of real life for tonight's high school game. I had forgotten Bernie Kosar's sideways stance under center. The commentators recounted Ron Middleton's highs and lows as his son was born 12 weeks premature and Ron was released and rehired a couple of times that year. I remembered a few names -- Jim Kelly, Pete Metzelaars, Thurman Thomas, Cornelius Bennett, Ozzie Newsome. In a promo for the next day's game, baby-faced Bob Costas and OJ Simpson were pictured. My, how the times change.

Ahhh... good nostalgia. But now I must make a few last adjustments to the score sheets and get them printed again. Sharpen the pencils, dig out the clipboard, it's time for FOOTBALL!

Oh, and if you'd like to share my little trip down memory lane, here's the link to that video. Enjoy!

Sights Seen in Seattle

Half the fun of photography is finding new ways to look at stuff. Here are some different views of Seattle. Enjoy!

This tower seems a little off-kilter... but the next one is supposed to be that way? Go figure. Not sure my dad the carpenter would have appreciated the effect.

I guess wooden dragons aren't too scary.

A Look Around the Plate from a Non-Baseballer

The Mariners beat the Blue Jays this week. I was there. No one would call me a baseball fan, but the live experience is interesting. Here are some highlights of the game:

Some pitches are a bit too high. (It has to be really obvious for me to see this.)

And some are too low. (I think.)

Batters don't like the pitches to come too close.

When bat connects, the ball doesn't always go the right direction. But sometimes it does.

That pretty much covers all the offensive action. If you're still interested, maybe I'll post pictures of my inattentiveness -- that is, the rest of the stuff that happened. 

Oh -- but one more batting photo. This one illustrates a pitch that was right over the bun. Just right.

Is There Such a Thing as "Codependent Anti-Humility"?

What's the opposite of humility? And by humility, I mean the good, genuine variety.

Humility means not thinking too highly of oneself, or not thinking too much of oneself.

Anti-humility can be typified by super-inflated ego, a person who thinks every good thing is attributable to them. It's easy to think of examples of this person, right?

What about a person who thinks every little bad thing (burnt toast, being late for an appointment, forgetting to buy milk on the way home from work) is his/her fault? In a way, this is also thinking "too much" or -- more precisely -- too often of oneself.

The person who thinks the world owes him continual thanks for his wonderfulness is deceived. But so is the one who lives in a perpetual state of apology. The toast was burnt? Maybe the old toaster is losing its timing. Late for an appointment? Maybe an accident tied up traffic. Forgot the milk? After a long day at work, it's no surprise that the only thing on your mind is getting HOME.

Humility, in light of emotional well-being, is a balance between the extremes of over-inflation and painful deflation. It's being okay with things as they are. Being okay with me, as I am.

"Honey, I found the problem with the dryer..." (Part Two)

"The dryer won't work."

Uh, oh. Golly, I just did my nails, and they're looking good. Now, I'll have to risk chipping them as I take the dryer apart to see what needs fixing. Horrors!

A few years ago, something happened that was eerily similar... here is a link to that post. That time, it took a while to find the source of the problem -- and what a creepy surprise!

If you only judged the obvious common denominators in these posts, you might think that I should never do my nails again. Nail polish leads to dryer malfunction, right? Nah. It's been five years between troubles, and I've had pretty nails many times in between. 

I think it's time to look for a new color. After all, what could go wrong?

City Mouse, Country Mouse?

I've had a couple of fun photo ops this week and want to share them with... well, with anyone who still checks this blog occasionally. Thanks for coming!

First, a country-ish photo from a quiet walk.

Next, a citified pic taken on an impromptu outing in the evening.

But then, a happy combination --

God's creation, man's architecture.

Is This Hyperbole, or am I Exaggerating?

No personal photos this time. I was too busy driving -- and gawking. I attended a meeting on Mercer Island this week, and had to arrive early so I could find the place. This being only my second time ever on The Island, I had a good look around.

I've heard that "island life" is a little different, no matter what island it is. There's the whole transportation thing, having to rely on ferries or bridges to get to the mainland. Seems like that would make you consider the necessity of each trip and consolidate off-island errands whenever possible. Then, when you're on the island, make the most of its quieter, slower pace.

Methinks Mercer Island has the "slower pace" thing nailed down. (Here's where the hyperbole comes.) The highest speed limit I found was a mere 35 mph. Residential streets were narrow and they  *ALL*  had speed bumps! Everywhere, speed bumps! The winding road that circles the southern two-thirds of the island had to be shared with bicycles, but they were going nearly the speed limit so it wasn't really advantageous to pass them even if you could find a wide enough place to do so.

Some of the homes were very upscale, set into the woods for a natural effect or surrounded by meticulously groomed gardens. One house was perched on the edge of a gully, road on one side and steep drop-off on the other. No grass to mow there!

All of this made me think about how the location and situation of your home has much to do with your lifestyle. If you live in the city, you've got people and traffic and busy-ness all around, all the time. Out in the country on acreage, there's a necessary degree of self-sufficiency. The suburbs? Well, I guess I have some of the hustle and bustle but not the easy public transportation of the city, and a little space but more access to consumer conveniences than the country. Middle ground.

Another lifestyle consideration is participation in community. The closer you are to people (geographically), the more you are a part of their lives as you see one another frequently. Country life benefits from neighborly interdependence, but maybe there's more intentionality required.

I enjoy reading a blog by a Canadian gal living "in community" in Amsterdam. She and her husband live in an apartment, but she is very much a part of a close-knit group of Christians who are committed to sharing their lives together. Interdependence is a balance, and Brenda occasionally shares in some detail what it means to be part of a wholly intentional community.

Thanks for reading my ponderings this morning.

Good Photos on Good Friday

This sunny day had to have photos taken. Later, as the sun goes down, it will be time to focus on the irony of Good Friday's true significance.

Elephant Toes!

Today's New Wallpaper on my Phone

When I stopped by this cute little [read: very upscale] grocery market for a sandwich today, this was the first thing I saw. They were such happy little fruits in their little baskets, I had to take a photo.

It was a long day. I needed a smile.