little black journal

After 16 hours of being in transit, we arrived in Amsterdam yesterday afternoon, weary, but so, so excited that our much-anticipated vacation was finally beginning. And from the moment our train from the airport rolled into rolled into town, I knew we were in for something special. The charm of this city is undeniable – it hits you around every corner and will make you ooh and ahh like the most unsophisticated of tourists, as evidenced by the fact that I grabbed Shane every two minutes to ask ‘could this place possibly be any cuter?!’ The unique-but-perfectly-matched brick facades, the dreamy canals, the lively sound of Dutch rolling of the tongues of the locals…I was immediately smitten.

I was also ravenous, as we hadn’t had a real meal for nearly a full day (turns out those tickets on Iceland Air were so cheap for a reason), so after dropping off our bags at the hotel, we set out in search of a place to grab a bite. Our wandering landed us at Cafe Morlang, a cozy little canal-side bistro where we scarfed down a grilled ham sandwich and a perfectly-fried order of fish and chips.

Bellies full, we enjoyed the feeling of the sun streaming through the windows and it was all I could do not to curl up in my plush booth and take a little nap – jet lag was quickly setting in. And so we peeled ourselves out of our seats and set out to a little more walking. Cue charming canal:

We were about to head back to our hotel when we saw a crowd gathered at a nearby plaza and headed over to see what the draw was. We spent the next 15 minutes watching an impressive troop of break dancers put on quite a show. I couldn’t help nodding my head to the beat and joining with the cheering spectators. These little surprises are one of my most favorite things about Europe.

We ended the day with a short stroll through Vondelpark, before succumbing to our tiredness and turning in early (as in, 6 pm!). We’d thought a little power nap would be all we’d need to recharge and then head back out for late-night cocktails, but once our heads hit those pillows, we were out.

We awoke to rain this morning, but didn’t let that deter us from heading out for a leisurely walk to the Pancake Bakery for breakfast. We stuffed ourselves on pancakes (which were more like crepes), topped with ham and cheese, and then bananas and rum, and we fueled for another stroll though town. Again and again, I was struck by the quaintness of each street we crossed.

Just as the rain was threatening to soak through our rain coats, we took refuge in the Van Gogh museum. We ended up cutting our visit a little short due to the massive crowds, but were there long enough to gain an entirely new appreciation for the artist – did you know that Van Gogh practiced art (without any formal training) for only 10 years before his untimely death, but left behind over 800 paintings and some 1,100 drawings? You can stick that one in your art trivia memory bank.

Post-museum, we decided we’d get an architecture fix and take the tram to the edge of town to check out a couple of projects I was interested in seeing (but not before snapping the requisite tourist photo).

First on the list was ‘The Whale’, a contemporary housing project by de Architekten Cie. I was one of those ‘how did they come up with this?’ kind of buildings. And I dug it.

After taking in The Whale, we walked over to the Borneo housing development, master planned by West 8. Each row-house along the pier was unique, creating an interesting collage of facades. Shane and I picked out our future home and will begin negotiations with the owners as soon as possible.

A few more photos, and then the rain really started to chill us, so we hopped back on the tram toward the city center for dinner. We landed at De Prins, another cozy little bistro, where we proceeded to have one of those meals that will certainly go down in the books as an Amsterdam highlight. Part of it was the ambiance (candlelight, rain falling outside), part of it was the food (a simple linguine, followed by an exceedingly rich cheese fondue, paired with a crisp white wine), part of it was the fact that today is my birthday (indeed, I am no longer in my 20’s…), but mostly it was just the chance to thoroughly enjoy the feeling of spending an evening abroad with my very best friend. Our conversation tonight wasn’t anything especially revealing or life-altering, but I was struck several times by just how much I really, really like hanging out with this amazing guy that I get to be married to. He’s a catch, that Shane… We ended our meal with a cappuccino and a glass of Port (you can guess who ordered what), and then headed back out into the drizzle.

And because it was my birthday and all, we stopped for gelato just around the corner. Fondue, coffee, and dessert? I was one happy camper.

It continued to drizzle on and off, but we didn’t let that deter us from a nighttime stroll, enjoying the ripples in the canals and the reflections of the lights on the cobblestone sidewalks. It’s been a full-but-relaxing day – packed with those ‘there’s no place else I’d rather be’ kind of moments. Happy birthday to me.

After a hectic week of work travel and deadline-ing back at the office, then scurrying around at home to get our bags packed and the house cleaned (I’m kind of neurotic about pre-vacation housekeeping), we. are. off! And praise God, ’cause we need this getaway. Shane and I are both feeling dog-tired right about now. I’ve been focused on trying to prepare for the trip properly, wanting to make sure we see the best museums and eat at the best restaurants and speak the right language, but now, what I want more than anything from this vacation is deep, quality, life-giving rest. If this means skipping a round of cocktails to turn in early, so be it. If we decide to pass on the Louvre for the sake of spending an afternoon reading in a cafe, that’s a-ok with me. Then again, maybe there’s rejuvenation to be found in liquor and art – I’m just committing to making sure the want-to’s take priority over the should-do’s. We’ll see where the Dutch winds blow us (the forecast for Amsterdam is 30 mph winds and rain, so this isn’t just a metaphor!). I’ll report from the other side of the pond – a bientot…

When I boarded my plane to Paris 8 years ago to begin my 10 months of studying abroad, I had only a handful of French words and phrases under my belt. I knew the days of the week and the words for bank, bathroom, and bread, and I think I could conjugate ‘etre’ and ‘avoir’, but that was the extent of it. I spent the entire flight from California flipping through my French/English dictionary, rehearsing the conversation I expected to have with my new landlords, piecing together questions like ‘when is the rent due?’ and ‘where do I take the trash out?’. Thankfully, I had a couple of French-speaking classmates that were already in Paris and offered to help me through this first true encounter with the language barrier, but once my check-in was squared away and they headed back to their place, I remember sitting alone in my tiny little studio apartment and thinking, Oh. Mon. Dieu. I was in way over my head. Especially considering I had to spend the first couple of weeks in Paris running from office to office to get my student visa, which I needed to set up my French bank account, which I needed to set up my French phone line, which I needed to be able to call Shane and hear the sweet sound of English being spoken. I would wait in lines with my French dictionary clutched in my sweaty hands, praying that they wouldn’t ask me anything that would force me to deviate from my carefully prepared script of questions and responses. That said, this crash course in the French language forced me to become proficient within my first few months there. And while I never realized my dream of truly speaking as the French do, I learned how to hold my own. And it felt magnifique.

With our trip to France just a few days away, I’ve dusted off the old French workbook and have been spending my evenings making use of my Rosetta Stone access pass. And holy cow, I’ve fallen way off the wagon. I’m slowly picking things back up, but there have been bouts of shouting with the computer during the speaking portion of the lessons, when the computer rejects my pronunciation and I yell ‘Ecoutez-moi! That’s what I said!’. Yes, I certainly won’t be chatting it up with any Frenchies in their native tongue while on our trip, but I do intend to order our carafe of wine in French. And maybe catch a snippet or two of conversation from the table next to us. And I’ve made certain that I can say ‘Un pain au chocolat, s’il vous plait’ flawlessly. What else does one need, really?

All our friends here love to throw a good party.  Preferably with cocktails.  And good food.  And a theme.  So when we started talking about how to wish Jordan and Belinda a bon voyage as they begin their year abroad, it wasn’t entirely surprising that what began as a nice little farewell get-together turned into a Mad Men-themed murder mystery cocktail dinner party.  We all dressed in our finest 60’s get-up and gathered at Emily and Daniel’s last night for an evening of eating, drinking, and intrigue.  We were each given character descriptions and clues when we walked in the door, and spent the much of the night trying to figure out who-dunnit.  Was it a crime of passion, carried out by reckless James Bean?  Or was the insanely jealous Angel Pier hiding a knife in her purse?

Lava Gardner and Franklin Vinatra were far too classy to arouse even the slightest suspicion…

But maybe it had something to do with Gene Martin’s shady mob connections?

And what was up with Grant Cary and Lauren Sophia sneaking upstairs when no one was looking?  My lips are sealed (although don’t let Jordan’s aka Marlo Brandon’s kind eyes fool you for a second…).

Once the mystery was solved, we were free to transition back into our naturally nutty selves.  The rest of the night was spent eating, drinking, laughing, and toasting to Jordan and Bees, whose absence from the gang will be strongly felt as they’re off romping though Europe and Asia.

It was certainly a night to remember.  I won’t deny that we’re kind of an odd bunch, but damn, we know how to throw a party.

(photo by Daniel)

I’ve been feeling the travel itch for awhile now, dreaming of places to go, things to see, food to eat, leisure to live…  Shane and I went back and forth over what we thought our Fall vacation should look like, wanting to go for the gusto, but not knowing if the timing was right for an ultimate vay-cay.  After monitoring ticket prices and checking our work schedules, we threw caution to the wind and decided this was the year to make a European voyage happen.  After doing my routine Expedia search at lunchtime a couple of months ago, I found a killer deal on flights, grabbed the phone and called Shane with a ‘Buy NOW!’ directive, and within a matter of minutes, we were booked!  One week in Holland and Belgium, and one glorious week in Paris.  This weekend we put the finishing touches on our itinerary, confirming our train tickets and reserving the last of our accommodations.  Four nights in Amsterdam, two nights in Bruges, two nights in Lyon, and seven whole nights in the City of Light.  And with our departure just over two weeks away, I have officially become crazy with excitement.  I’ve been spending my evenings making my eat/see/do list – looking forward to taking in both the modern and funky, and the old and beautiful.  We’re going to stay up late and drink wine and walk along the sparkly Seine, then get up late and eat pain au chocolate paired with tiny cups of espresso.  I am going to stand in front of my favorite Dubuffet painting at the Pompidou, and speak French (God willing) with waiters and those lovely-but-so-unhelpful people at the Metro ticket window.  We’re going to explore places we’ve never been, and return to places that rank as our all-time favorite spots on the face of the earth.  I’m going to eat everything on this list and not feel bad about it.  And we are going to bask in the simple-but-too-often-forgotten fact that la vie est belle…

The past few weekends have been full of so much sunshine and warmth and afternoons spent outside, swimming, or sun-soaking, or drinking white wine while snacking on on ripe, juicy berries.  Our Northwestern sun-shiny fantasy skidded to a screeching halt on Monday, with the arrival of gray skies and sweater weather. This weekend was full of clouds and drizzle and rain – I believe we’ve officially bid adieu to summer in Seattle. Part of me wants to cry over the shorter days and the chilly temps and my oncoming Vitamin D deficiency.  But another part of me is really looking forward to Fall and all its goodness.  Our crock pot is full of simmering beef stew tonight, I busted out my favorite pair of boots today, and it’s actually really convenient when Mother Nature waters the yard for me.  And really, more than anything, I’m looking forward to slowing down a bit – our calendar has felt kind of full lately, and right now settling into the couch with my favorite blanket and a steaming cup of tea while we watch the Emmys (go, Coach!) feels really, really good.  There is a slight (ok, more-than-likely) chance that I’ll be singing a different tune come November, but for now, consider me cozy and content.

We summer-ed to the max this weekend, spending lots of time soaking in the afternoon rays and eating nearly all of our meals outdoors.  The highlights:

We spent Saturday evening out on Vashon Island, eating ourselves silly at Jack and La Verne’s garden dinner party, hosted by Michelle’s grandparents.  I could not have picked a better spot to enjoy a meal on one of the warmest days of the season – island living is so, so good.

The boys played on the lawn, chasing each other in circles and making me question our ‘urban dream’ – these wide open spaces are feelin’ pretty, pretty dreamy…

And seriously, is there anything that screams summertime more than an adorable dirt-caked face?

And the food, oooooohhhh, the food.  We always know we’re in for a treat when Jack and LaV are planning the menu, and they brought their A+ game to the table that night.  We started with perfect little cups of spicy gazpacho, and then feasted on prosciutto-wrapped figs, corn fresh from the garden, grilled steaks topped with fig-bacon marmalade, and rich chocolate cake for dessert (notice there are no photos of food after the gazpacho rolled out, since I was too busy stuffing my face with all that summery goodness to pick up my camera…).

We sat around the table in the middle of the yard and ate, and laughed, and drank wine, and soaked in the bliss that is a summer evening with good friends.  La Verne made the comment as we were driving home that evening that no matter how much time we all spend together, she never seems to get sick of any of us.  Ditto, girl…

Far too soon, it was time to catch our ferry back to Seattle.  As sad as I was to bid farewell to the island, I still left with a smile on my face, knowing that meal would go down in the books as the ultimate summer-time feast of 2011.

We were up early on Sunday morning to cheer on Jack, Jason, and Ben at the Mercer Island triathlon.  Again, more sunshine, more lounging on the grass, and, as a post-race treat, brunch out on the patio at Bennett’s (if I keep eating like this, I’m going to have to actually sign up for one of these races…).

(photo from la verne)

I set up camp on our back porch on Sunday afternoon with my book, knowing I won’t have many more chances to keep up the slight tan I’ve worked so hard for.  I suspect that in the not-too-distant future, I will already have forgotten what it feels like to actually be hot.  So when I do forget, I can look back and remind myself:  it feels dang good.

I tagged along with Shane and Jason as they played a round of frisbee golf later in the afternoon and then, determined to maximize our outdoor-hours, Shane and I grabbed dinner on the patio of a little Mexican restaurant in West Seattle.  Jumbo margaritas, anyone?

And with that, our weekend summer-fest came to a close.  Today I awoke to gray skies and didn’t once reach for my sunglasses or even think about taking off my long-sleeved cardigan.  Ah, well, it was a heck of a ride while it lasted…

When Jack sent out an invite a couple of months ago for the Oregon Wine Country Half-Marathon, I knew that several of our friends would be up for the run; I knew that even more of our friends would be up for the wine (I’ll give you one guess as to which category Shane fell into and which category I fell into). Runners were registered, an awesome house on the Willamette River was booked, and we were off! We arrived at the house on Friday night to join the Rust clan, who had set up camp there earlier in the week. And from the moment I set foot on the wide open wooden deck, I knew we were in for an epic weekend. When I said that the house was on the river, I wasn’t kidding – our party pad was literally floating on the waters of the quiet Willamette, with a big deck (complete with a firepit) and a shed stocked with numerous floatation devices. Even though it was well past sundown, I was already thinking about where exactly I’d spread our my towel the next day for an afternoon of sun-soaking.  And I knew that the firepit held some definite s’more-making potential.

We were up early on Saturday to grab breakfast in Lake Oswego and then head to Portland, to hit the famous Saturday Farmers Market that fills the Park Blocks.   Agenda: check out the food stands, lay on the grass, and grab a weekend supply of fresh fruit.

The nectarines were ripe and juicy – like summer wrapped up in a pretty, round, red-orange package.  And the raspberries…O.M.G.

The market’s entertainment offerings weren’t bad either – the Rust boys were entranced by a man playing the didgeridoo – if only I had a video of the way little G was stomping along to the music…

After the farmers market (and a quick stop at Barista – so, so good), we headed back to the house and spent the rest of the afternoon swimming, sunning, and making sure our runners were hydrating and carbo-loading with cold beer and home-made pizza.  The daredevils decided to use the second story porch as a launch pad into the river – Jack takes the prize for ‘best kung-fu dive’.

And Nancy easily won ‘smallest splash’.

As we all gathered on the deck to watch the sun go down, I was struck by how much I have to be thankful for – good friends, good food, and such a good, good life in the Pacific Northwest…

And good God, 10 hours later, I was up to see the runners off and watch the sun come up!  5:30 is way earlier than I’d ever choose to wake up on a Sunday morning, but this sky almost made it worth it.

A couple hours after our seven half-marathoners hit the road, the cheering squad set out for the finish line, ready with signs and grins and plenty of ‘wooooo-woooooo’s!”.  The runners had registered together for the race under the team name, ‘tuna kambia’, which means ‘we are running’ in Swahili.

And indeed, they were running.  Ten minutes before we expected to greet any of our friends at the finish line, Jason appeared on the horizon.  This man has a gift – he’ll swear he’s never been a long-distance runner, and yet he ran 13.2 miles in 1 hour and 35 minutes.  Insane!

Chris finished just a few minutes behind Jason, and then Shane trotted by, a tired-but-proud smile on his face.

Jack, Megan, Brian, and Nicole weren’t far behind.  Everyone ran a really stellar race, and there were high-fives and sweaty hugs all around.  It’s not entirely surprising that while most of the runners rejoined the rest of us with a water bottle in hand, Jack appeared out of nowhere carrying a glass of Rose.  He’s been telling Shane for years that studies have shown that the best way to re-hydrate after a run is with a pint of beer, and so I don’t doubt he’ll soon be be singing the praises of wine’s post-exercise restorative properties.

So proud of them all!

After a few visits to the wine-tasting booths that had set up shop near the finish line, we decided to head back toward the house.  But first, one short-but-essential pit-stop:

We had been wanting to checkout Winderlea Winery for awhile – we tried to visit this place when we visited Oregon wine country with Jack and La Verne last summer and were bummed to find that it was closed for a private event.  But this time, we made sure we were the first ones in the door – we gathered around the big table and began to watch the Pinot flow.

The wines were tasty, the setting was gorgeous, and everyone was just so…merry.

Although I could have spent all day sipping and sunning on the winery’s patio, the runners were tired and hungry (and in need of showers…), and so we headed back to the house for an afternoon of swimming, lounging, eating, drinking, swimming, lounging, eating, drinking, and so on.  That day will go down as one of my favorite days of this summer.

And just when the day felt like it couldn’t have gotten any better, Jack busted out this:

Yes, that’s a 3-liter bottle of wine.  When Jack uncorked it, I thought, ‘There’s no way we’ll finish that thing.’  I was wrong.  The rest of the night was spent stuffing ourselves on homemade chili verde, followed by roasted marshmallows for dessert.  We were one tired, fat, happy group by the time bedtime rolled around.

On Monday morning it was time to bid a sad farewell to our riverside home.  We ate a killer home-cooked breakfast together (seriously, our friends don’t mess around when it comes to eating), I soaked in the view from the deck one last time, Shane enjoyed a few more minutes of quality time with little Zebo.

And then we said our good-byes, not wanting to believe that the weekend was really over.  Life on the water was so good while it lasted…

When Shane told me that his job was sending him to Las Vegas for a few days for a conference and asked me if I’d like to tag along, I thought…Vegas?  I had a fabulous time when I got to tag along during the same conference in San Francisco two years ago, but…Vegas?  I was there ten years ago and if memory served me correctly, I really wouldn’t fit in there – I don’t know the first thing about gambling, I don’t own a miniskirt or 6-inch heels, and I don’t think I have the stomach for a prime rib buffet.  But far be it from me to turn down the promise of sunshine and poolside cocktails, so I grabbed my highest-SPF sunscreen, unearthed every swimsuit I own from the depths of my dresser, and I was officially on board.

From the moment our taxi dropped us off at the Palazzo, we were both a bit overwhelmed.  The scale of everything was so much grander than what we’re used to seeing – hotel lobbies with 50-foot ceilings, huge casino floors packed with slot machines and black jack tables and ladies in tight dresses walking by with trays of cocktails, and hotel corridors that felt like they stretched on forever.  Add to that a confusing mix of sensory deprivation and sensory overload – while indoors, you typically don’t have access to daylight or fresh air, but at the same time, your senses are flooded with a myriad of sounds, with flashing lights, conditioned air, and the presence of so many people.   It was a lot to take in.  But we were bound to make the most of our Nevadan adventure, and so while Shane checked into our room, I ran across the street to the same-day discount ticket booth to see if I could score us seats for a show that evening.  I came back with tickets to Le Reve and Shane and I made our way to our beautiful hotel suite – looked like Vegas was going to be A-OK.

We spent the rest of the afternoon taking refuge from the heat inside the gigantic hotel/shopping/restaurant complex that is the Palazzo/Venetian, and then swimming at the luxurious hotel pool.

We grabbed a quick bite before the show and then made our way over to the Wynn for the show.  From the moment we walked into the theater, with its brightly patterned tented ceiling and circular rows of seats that surrounded a blue, misty pool, we knew we were in for something special.  And Le Reve certainly did not disappoint – stunning costumes, gasp-inducing acrobatics, and surprises around every corner, as people in sea-monster costumes crawled out from the aisles and ladies in sequined costumes were dropped from one hundred feet in the air into the pool below.  It was exactly what you would expect from Vegas – flashy, bold, and over-the-top.

We turned in early that night, as I was feeling a little under the weather and wanted to rest up for a day full of sight-seeing and sun-soaking.  Unfortunately, I woke up Monday morning feeling achy and feverish, with some kind of flu.  I ventured out in the morning in search of a healthy breakfast (which was nowhere to be found) and snapped a few pictures while on the Strip.  Somewhere between the canals of the Venetian and the Venus de Milo at Caesars Palace, I really started to wonder at the alternate universe that is Vegas.  There’s just so much…faux.  Everything is a replica of something else, from the miniature Eiffel Tower to the funky Corinthian columns.

My sore throat and achy bones, along with the rapidly rising temperatures (which topped out at 109 degrees that day – yikes!), soon drove me back to our room, where I contentedly spent most of the afternoon watching TV in our plush and comfy bed, deciding I had just enough energy to head down the pool and stake my claim on one of the lounge chairs in pool for a couple of hours (yes – they put lounge chairs in the really shallow portion of the pool, so you can enjoy the sun while being half-submerged in the water…brilliant!).

We had a nice dinner at Le Cave that night, and once again, I turned in early…In a city known for its nightlife.  Did I mention I wasn’t Vegas material?

By Tuesday, I was feeling much better and figured all I needed to get me back to 100% was a fruit smoothie and a couple hours of retail therapy.  I spent the morning cruising around Fashion Show Mall with my Jamba Juice in hand, scoring a couple of good deals before heading back to the hotel for an afternoon of poolside lounging.  Shane got away from the conference a little early and was able to join me for a swim.  I camped out there all afternoon with my book, working on my tan and finally feeling like I was getting on board with the whole Vegas vacation thing.  It was a great day – completely relaxing, worry-free, and self-indulgent.  Tuesday night was our last night to really live it up, since I had a Wednesday morning flight back to Seattle, and so we headed out in search of lights, luck, and liquor.  The Strip is insane at night time – people crowd the sidewalks, spilling out of the casinos and bars, lights and music seem to radiate from every surface.

Determined to take it all in, we walked as far as the Bellagio and caught the famed fountain show.  It was indeed impressive – and as a bonus, the spray from the fountains provided some momentary relief from the heat!

From there, we meandered back toward the Palazzo, stopping in a couple of casinos to test our luck.  Turns out I am decidedly unlucky.  Shane cut me off after a pretty sad streak at the slots, and then I watched him walk away from video blackjack with his shoulders slumped.  To his credit, he did make the three dollars I had in my pocket last for nearly half an hour, and he had tripled his money at one point, but apparently he has yet to learn when to quit, and so we both walked away without any of our meager gambling allowance.  We found solace at the bar of Table 10, in my glass of wine and Shane’s shot of quality bourbon.  And so all was not lost – we’d still enjoyed a fun night out on the town, and I had managed, on my last night in Vegas, to stay up past 10 pm.

The verdict:  as much I loved my afternoons by the pool, and as grateful as I am for the chance we had to experience something new, I doubt we’ll head back to Sin City anytime soon.  It’s just not our scene.  At least, not until I find the courage to replace my Gap sundress with something more like this…

Today I’m battling the missing-my-family blues, as I returned yesterday from a quick-but-so-good trip to Portland. My grandma and my mom’s cousin were visiting from Florida, and I was able to slip away from work on Thursday afternoon so that I could spend the evening with them before their Friday flight home. As we ate dinner together that night, with four generations of family members present at the table, I was indescribably thankful for the stories that were told, the laughs that were shared, and the love that filled that cozy kitchen.

Saturday was spent dawdling around Portland with the kids. We enjoyed a stroll down Alberta street and then popped into Helser’s for lunch. We waited longer than we expected for our food, but both girls were pleasantly patient – Elise was happy to color, and Morgan was happy to chew on Mitch’s keys (hey, whatever works…). And I embraced the opportunity to be in a restaurant and photograph something other than food (although my fluffy peach-laden German pancake was awfully pretty…).

After lunch and nap time and a number of persistent requests from Elise, my mom and I walked her over to the neighborhood park late in the afternoon. Temperatures were pushing 85 degrees, which is a bit of a heatwave for us Northwesterners, and so conditions were ideal for splashing around in the little water park. Mom and I sat on a bench and watched as Elise frolicked through the fountains, filling up her little plastic cups with water and then dumping them on the ground over and over and over (kids have the oddest forms of self-entertainment). Then we pushed her on the swings, teeter-tottered for awhile, and eventually let that little bundle of 3 year-old energy wear us out, before heading back to the house for dinner.

Friday evening and Saturday morning were full of mellow family-time at home. There’s so much joy to be found just in sitting on the couch and reading a book to Elise, or laying on the floor with Morgan while she giggles and chews on whatever toy she has at hand. She is quite possibly the sweetest baby in the entire history of babies. She smiles and cuddles without limit – one look from her and you will feel like the sun has changed its course to shine directly on you. I find myself surprised by how much I have come to adore these girls; I knew that being an auntie is a special thing, but I don’t think I realized my heart’s capacity for loving these little people that I only see every couple of months and that are just coming to know me.

And with one last round of hugs, it was time for me to hit the long, dusty trail back to Seattle. These dang good-byes just keep getting harder and harder…