little black journal

Shane and I had dinner with one of our pastors on Monday night, and as we laid all of our hopes/longings/sorrows out on a table filled with piping hot bowls of pho, she reminded us that we shouldn’t let our dreams for the future get in the way of reveling in the present.  Damn, she’s good.  I get so wrapped in wishing and wanting that I forget how good things can be right now.  We’re young and active and healthy.  We live in an amazing city with all kinds of amazing people.  We have good jobs and a home we love.  And we have boatloads of freedom.  We can jet off for a weekend getaway when the mood strikes us, we can spend an entire Saturday lounging in our pajamas after a long and tiring week, and we can turn tickets to a 7 pm comedy show into an epic night out on the town.  Last night was such a night – we had tickets to see Louis CK at the Paramount and decided to meet up after work for a pre-show bite at Kushibar.  We’ve been wanting to check this place out for awhile, and the big bowls of tonkotsu ramen did not disappoint.  We’ll come back next time with bigger appetites – I wish I’d had room for the fried octopus balls (as in fried balls of octopus meat – don’t be gross)!

We had some time to kill post-dinner, so we popped into Shorty’s on a whim to play some pinball.  This place is pretty divey, but once you get past the sticky floors and the musty odor of whiskey-soaked dudes, it’s a fun joint.  Oh, and I crushed Shane at pinball, for the record.

We made our way from Belltown to the Paramount and could hardly contain our excitement as we settled into our seats.  Shane has been a big fan of Louis CK for years, and I’ve recently come to see past the occasional (err…frequent) crudeness and get a good laugh out of his stand-up.  I had pretty high expectations heading into this – it was our first comedy show and I’d heard from a couple of people that this tour was hilarious.  And wowsers – he hit my high expectations out of the ballpark.  My cheeks hurt from laughing by the time he left the stage.  And then he came out for an encore and I howled some more.  Thanks, Louis – we needed that.

I assumed we’d jump on lightrail and head home after the show was over, but Shane had another whim up his sleeve as he pulled out his phone to look up downtown dessert places.  We walked down 4th Avenue, taking in the decorations and the lights and the clear, crisp night.

We landed at Purple wine bar and after four seconds of perusing the menu, I settled on the creme brulee.  Shane ordered a stinky blue cheese plate and a glass of port, and we sat there for awhile, still chuckling over our favorite Louis jokes and remarking what a fun, random night it had been (the Shorty’s crowd and the Purple crowd are typically not one and the same).

Much love to my man and my city – we should all get together more often.

Today is a special someone’s “Larry Bird” birthday (Shane’s trying to make this super-obscure reference “a thing”, so I’m throwing him a bone). Yup, my man turned the big 3-3 today.  We spent Shane’s last birthday in Paris under the Eiffel Tower, and while I would have loved to sweep him off to France again this year, I had to settle instead on a box of goodies from the French bakery near my office.  With a little extra flair, of course…

The evening’s celebration was relatively low-key – beer and the Giants game at our favorite sports bar, then dinner with a few friends at the Mexican joint around the corner.  Shane and I have both had kind of a tough post-vacation week, and it was so good to see him grin from ear to ear tonight with each Giants run, each pat on the back from his best pals, each bite of his spicy goat stew.  His joy was contagious – I felt like it was my birthday tonight as well.

Happy Birthday, buhb.  Wishing you a year full of grand adventures, gasping-for-breath laughter (you and I do seem to get funnier with age…), and virtual high-fives from your boy Matt Cain.  I love you mucho.

It’s become common knowledge that Shane can run.  Good Lord, that boy can run.  One full marathon, a handful of half-marathons, and hundreds of miles in training runs in between – he’s a machine.  He can bike, too, with 20-mile weekend rides around Mercer Island just for fun (how is that fun?) and summer commutes from work on his shiny red Trek.  But swimming?  Not so much – Shane still carries the scars of his of his 6th-grade swim class.  The teacher told the kids to line up in their lanes according to their skill level – pros in lane #1, slow-pokes in lane #5.  Shane, in his pre-teen confidence, strutted straight over to lane 1 and doggy-paddled across that pool like his life depended on it.  Two minutes later, the teacher called him out and told him he belonged in lane 5 – poor kid had to get out and do that march of shame to the other end of the pool, dripping wet and totally embarrassed.  He carried that discouragement into his 30’s and never really graduated from the doggy-paddle.  So I was a bit surprised when Jack convinced him to register for the SeaFair sprint triathlon – did Shane understand that the first part of that “tri” was a half-mile swim?  My surprise quickly turned to pride when he registered for classes at the local pool and traded in his flowered board shorts for some legitimate spandex – it felt daunting and a bit awkward to be taking up swimming so relatively “late” in life, but he shoved his qualms aside and went for it.  ‘Cause my guy really is all kinds of awesome.

After months of training, race day dawned bright and early today as we made our way to Seward Park for the big event.  Shane suited up, I settled into my spot on the sidelines, and he was off!

He came out of the lake in the middle of the pack, tired but looking strong (and kinda hot, no?).

He said the bike was the hardest part of the race for him, but with a smile and thumbs-up, he signaled that he was ready for the run.

Just seconds from the finish line, with barely enough energy left for one subtle smile…

Check out this trifecta of studliness!

Congratulations, buhb!  I’d say you have officially earned your place in lane #1.

We awoke this morning to gray skies and a steady drizzle, which initially had me a bit bummed out, until I realized this was just the excuse we needed to go back to bed for a couple of hours.  No beach-front runs for us today – just plenty of snuggling up to the mister, exchanging mushy greeting cards and wishing each other a Happy Anniversary many times over.  We lingered at the house until check-out time, really not wanting to say goodbye to our little beach-front abode – I’m already checking future availability…  We had planned on an afternoon hike at Deception Pass, but the rain only fell harder as we drove north, so we stopped for a hot bowl of chowder in La Conner for lunch and decided to head on home.  We ended the day with 60 Minutes and a pot of oatmeal for dinner – how quickly the tides turned in our ultra-romantic weekend!

While the life we live is full of so many blessings, it’s also full of little stresses, daily to-do’s, and the general whir of busy-ness.  It felt so, so good to put all that stuff away for a couple of days and shift all of my focus to loving my husband better, taking joy in his humor and thoughtfulness and devotion.  It was refreshing to lavish affection upon one another, to talk about our hopes for the next year and the next fifty years, and to know that we’re really just beginning this grand adventure called marriage.  As hard as it is to come down off a such a perfect weekend, it’s encouraging to remember that we still have so much to look forward to – thousands more “I love you’s”, hundreds more kitchen dance parties, plenty of grand adventures, and a healthy smattering of island getaways.  Happy Anniversary, sweetheart.  Thanks for two days (plus six years) of bliss.

As much as I love to travel, I am a notoriously bad trip planner.  I put off the researching and reserving until Shane swoops in with that save-the-day manner of his, and promptly books us a room at someplace amazing and lines up a slew of activities and meals and cocktails on his giant clipboard o’ fun.  Such was the case with our anniversary trip – it was technically my turn to plan something this year, but after only 10 minutes of frustrated VRBO-surfing, I threw my hands up in exasperation.  Enter Shane, with a link to a charming little waterfront cottage on Whidbey Island and a list of nearby parks and restaurants.  I promptly booked it, and on Friday afternoon, we were island-bound.

We arrived at the house just in time to watch the sun set over the sound.  We took in the view from the deck, bouncing inside to warm ourselves by the fireplace when  the winds picked up.  We spent the rest of the night on the couch, eating ice cream and playing a round of 90’s “name that tune” via Spotify.  Nothing says happy anniversary like En Vogue and Goo Goo Dolls!

We rolled out of bed this morning only when we were good and ready, snacked on banana bread and fresh fruit while watching the sun glint off the water, and then went for a jog down the beach, stopping every so often for Shane to skip a rock or scout out the bald eagle we’ve seen criss-crossing the beach all day.

We left the house around lunchtime in search of hearty local cuisine, and found it at the Coupeville and Bayview Farmer’s Markets.  Mini-donuts as an appetizer followed by a salmon taco from a little stand at the Coupeville Market, and then a tri-tip sandwich at Bayview that rivaled SLO’s Firestone Grill (my Cal Poly peeps know the significance of this comparison), paired with a grilled artichoke and ice cold lemonade.  In the words of La Verne, “nom nom”.

After stuffing ourselves silly, we drove over to Ebey’s Landing for a beach-front hike.  The fields leading to the water were shining in vivid shades of green and yellow, and the lookouts over the sound were breathtaking.

We made it back to the car just as our legs were about to give out, and the deck at the house proved to be the perfect place to put our feet up and catch a breath of fresh, salty air.  We cracked open the special bottle of champagne we’d brought along, put together a plate of chevre-smeared crackers and squares of dark chocolate, and spent a couple of hours letting the sun warm our cheeks, listening to the tide come in while we talked and laughed and felt so…content.  It was the kind of day I desperately wanted to stretch on forever.

Tomorrow, we officially celebrate six years of marriage – I’ve been trying to wish Shane a happy anniversary all weekend, but before I can get the words out, he shushes me and says “not yet!” (in the same way that he believes Christmas music should only be played on Christmas Day, he believes anniversary wishes are only applicable one day out of the year).  So tomorrow, Mr. Schnell.  Tomorrow I’m laying it on thick.

There’s a part of me that wants to dislike Valentine’s Day – I know it’s become a “Hallmark Holiday”, full of commercialism and consumption and cheeseball sayings on little candy hearts.  But here’s the problem when it comes to me hatin’ on V-day:  I’m married to a man that decided to surprise me with a decadent French dinner at Chloe tonight and hold my hands across the table and be all romantic and stuff.  And really, who am I to turn down champagne and mussels and sorbet-topped meringue?  So I’m putting aside any bah-humbug feelings and embracing the mushy-lovey-dippy-doo.  Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Schnell.  It was fun to get out on the town and be all fancy-pants with you (and it’s also fun to sit here in our PJs and catch up on the Daily Show).  I heart you mucho.

I had a dream about Robert Pattinson last night.  We were at a party and he was being all cool and Edward-y (minus the sparkles), and I was being all swoony and silly, and then, in the wee hours of the morning, I woke up.  I suffered just the shortest moment of disappointment that it was over, but then I rolled over and I looked at my husband sleeping next to me, snoring in his easy, quiet way, and I thanked my lucky stars for him.  I bet Shane is reading this now and thinking, “Say what?  You snuggled up on me this morning and wanted to spoon because you had a dream about a Twilight character?!”  But honey, no, that’s not it – I snuggled up on you because I love you and sometimes I am just so stinkin’ happy that I get be yours.  That you get to be mine.

Sometimes I forget to be thankful, and I spend my energy nagging, or pouting, or pushing Shane away, and I’m sorry for that.  Because, really, my man in the bee’s knees.  Cases in point:

He makes me laugh.  Probably every day.  I was sitting in the living room last night blog-surfing and he was downstairs in the office hackin’ around (my phrase for his complicated technological exploits), and suddenly, in the midst of the quiet, I heard him belt out the lyrics to some old-school Rage Against the Machine song.  I poked my head into the office and he started playing the air-drums and wildly shaking his head from side to side.  He had his headphones on, and the fact that I couldn’t hear the music made it even funnier.   He may or may not have been singing for me, but I don’t care – I’m just glad to bear witness to his unabashed silliness.

He’s my #1 fan, my loudest cheerleader and strongest advocate.  He shares in all my greatest joys, never hesitating to tell me that he’s proud of me and remind me that I have the potential to do anything I want to do.  And he often tells me that I’m hot.  That’s awfully nice.

He’s a rock.  He’s steady under pressure, cool in the midst of chaos, affirming when life starts to feel kinda…ick.  And he never ever lets me feel like I’m going at it alone – even in tough situations that don’t directly involve him, he insists “We will get through this”.  Sometimes I’m bugged by the “we” that so often replaces “I” once you get married, but sometimes that little two-letter pronoun holds so much comfort.  We got through the stress of my licensing exams a couple of years ago, we carry each other’s burdens in work and finances and relationships, we figure out how to do life together.  His contribution might be as simple as picking me up from work when I’ve had an especially long day, but sometimes that’s all it takes for me to be reassured that he’s not expecting me to fly solo.

So…thanks, baby.  Edward ain’t got nothin’ on you.

Today marks Shane’s and my fifth wedding anniversary. FIVE. Hard to believe it’s been half a decade since the two of us stood in front of our most favorite people on that California farm and promised to love each other for ever and ever. I remember the butterflies in my stomach that morning, as I realized I was just about to go through with one of the biggest decisions of my life. I remember the fun of getting my hair done with my mom and my girlfriends, and then the nervous rush to get my dress on and my makeup done and my veil placed ‘just so’. And then I remember the peace and the joy that I felt when I saw Shane waiting for me out on the lawn, and the assurance that came as we took a quiet moment to pray with each other before the flurry of the photos and the ceremony and the hellos to family and friends. That day was everything we wanted it to be – the perfect beginning to our new life together.

It’s not uncommon for people to refer to marriage as “hard work”. When Shane and I were dating, if I heard someone mention just how much it takes to maintain a good marriage, I always acknowledged those comments with a thoughtful nod and a murmur of agreement. But inwardly, I was thinking, “What can be so hard about spending your life with the person you love?” Marriage sounded pretty great  – you always have a date on Friday nights, you get help with housework and bills and stuff of the daily grind, and at those times when you really need a back rub, there’s someone there to give it to you. And I was lucky – I had found a man that made me indescribably happy, someone who made me feel safe and loved and excited about the future. Five years into this grand adventure, I still won’t say it feels like work. But being close, truly doing life together, does take effort. Some days I fail miserably – like the other night, when I snapped at Shane after a long day because his schedule and priorities did not align exactly with what I had on my to-do list.  But on other days I succeed at letting him know that he’s pretty damn special – I bake him muffins, or tell him that I’m so thankful for the man that is, or give him one of my for-Shane-only extra huge bear hugs and ask him to tell me about whatever is on his mind.  Sometimes these expressions of love come easily, and sometimes I have to remind myself that I can’t let my investment in him be based solely on feelings.  Even when I’m grumpy, he still needs affirmation.  And hugs.  So here’s to 50 more years of hugs, through the good times and the bad.  And if the past five years are any indication of what’s to come, there are plenty of good times in store for us.

After our low-key but just-right 2010 Valentines Day, spent eating cereal for dinner while watching Project Runway episodes, Shane decided to put aside our home-body-ish, old couple-ish tendencies and make reservations for us at a cozy little Seattle bistrot.  Cafe Campagne is our little slice of Paris in the Pacific Northwest, and though it lacks French-speaking waiters and a view of the Seine, it still ranks pretty high on the romance-o-meter.  We were seated at a little candle-lit table at the back of the restaurant, handed a wine list and a menu, and the rest is a euphoric blur of rich foods, bubbly champagne, and great conversation.  There was escargot, there was Chevre-topped salad, coq au vin, creme brulee, espresso, oh. mon. Dieu.  And there was talking, about travel and friends and the prospects for the 2011 Giants.  It was perfection.  So, Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Schnell.  Je t’aime de tout mon couer.

Happy birthday to my favorite person – a man that grows a little more studly, a little more wise, a little more loved each and every year…