little black journal

Yes, it’s been awhile since I gave this old blog some love – work has been pretty all-consuming for the past couple weeks, which meant that many of my favorite pastimes have fallen by the wayside.  I haven’t blogged in a couple of weeks, I haven’t read anything other than emails and excerpts from the building code, and I’m in danger of completely forgetting the combination to my gym lock.  But finally, the drawings are out the door, the deadline has been met, and after a day-long, crazy-good stress detox, I am back.  I set yesterday aside as a me-day (kind of a ‘Treat Yo-Self 2011′ for all you Parks and Rec fans) – no work, no chores, just true R and R.  I woke up late, I spent awhile reading at a cozy little table while enjoying a buttermilk biscuit and latte from Macrina, I booked a massage and simultaneously cringed and sighed as the masseuse worked the knots out of my shoulders, and I spent an hour wandering through the mall, enjoying the Holiday displays and running my fingers over stacks of thick, cozy sweaters.  I had moments where I thought, “I should check my work email”, or “I shouldn’t spend money on a massage when I have Christmas gifts to buy”, but ultimately decided that I had earned the right to be completely self-indulgent, so I shrugged my jello-y shoulders, dug into the box of chocolate-peanut butter goodies that Shane’s mom sent us, and reveled in the feeling of guilt-free relaxation.  I remember the first time I heard the words “mental health” day – I laughed a little, because it just sounded so…subjective, and kinda hippy-dippy.  But after seeing what a day off can do to take away the crazy, I’m a believer.  I lived life in the slow lane, and let me tell you, I’ll be keeping the pedal off the metal for as long as humanly possible.

I really, really love Fall.  The anticipation of the soon-to-arrive holidays, steaming hot bowls of homemade soup for dinner, evenings spent cozied up on the couch with a cup of tea and a good book or a new episode of Parenthood, and the leaves…O.M.G., the leaves.  Shane and I took a walk through Washington Park Arboretum yesterday and were blown away by the intense hues of golden yellow, bright coral, deep red, and translucent green.  I bet I say this every year, but dang, these trees are more stunning than I’ve ever seen them before.

I remember sitting around a table with a group of friends from church during the holiday season several years ago, and as we took turns sharing about things that made us particularly thankful, one of the ladies at the table quickly piped up and said, ‘Color.  God is so incredible for giving us color.’

Amen, sister.

While Shane and I were in Amsterdam, we got an email from Kathryn with a video attached – our sweet little niece had officially started crawling… I smiled to see Morgan scooting across the screen of my iPhone, and then was immediately struck with panic – how could she be crawling already? What else was I missing? How many more months of true ‘baby-ness’ does she have left? And so right then and there, in the middle of the Van Gogh museum, we made plans to get down to Portland on our first weekend back from vacation.

I looked forward to this visit all week, and as soon as we set foot inside Mitch and Kathryn’s house yesterday afternoon, and Morgan looked up at me with her wide-eyed, two-toothed grin, all was right with the world again. Dang, I’ve missed that little girl. She is cuddly and good-natured and will make you crazy (in a good way) with her sweet little voice cooing ‘hi’ and ‘uh-oh…’ (the only two discernible words in her vocabulary as of yet). I gave her a pre-bedtime bottle last night and then never wanted to let her go as she nuzzled into my chest and fell asleep while I burped her. Seriously, this little one doesn’t mess around when it comes to melting your heart.

Elise is the second reason we couldn’t wait to get down to Portland. She is definitely a three year-old – funny and charming and inquisitive, but also dramatic and moody and a little bit too much like her Auntie Kelly when she’s hungry or tired. One minute, she will try to convince you that life as she knows it is over because she really, really needs cranberry juice and the fridge only contains apple juice. But the next minute, she will curl up in your lap and let you read her a story and remind you that behind the drama, there is still an incredibly sweet, lovey little girl inside.  And the sound of her laughter as she splashes in puddles or gets frisbee-throwing lessons from Uncle Shane is priceless.

Thanks, little ladies, for a truly lovely weekend…

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?

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…

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…

Our love affair with summer in Seattle continues…  Shane and I started our Saturday with morning runs (mine being a leisurely 3-mile jog around Jefferson Park, his being a 10-mile trek to Mercer Island and back), and then spread out a blanket at the park around the corner from us to catch the Blue Angels air show that happens as part of SeaFair every year.  I love this event – it’s loud, and it causes traffic, and it blocks our access to the lake for a couple of days, but the feeling of ‘wow!’ you get when you see those four planes fly right over your head in perfect formation is pretty spectacular.  As you get older, it seems that there are fewer things that really make you ‘ooh and ahh’ anymore, but these pilots never fail induce that childlike wonder in me.  And…that was really the extent of the day’s excitement – I passed the rest of the afternoon reading/dozing on the back patio.  And catching up on a few Grey’s Anatomy re-runs (seriously, how crazy was the end of season 6!?).  Good stuff.

After spending much of today indoors at a volunteer event, I was itching to get out and sun-soak this evening.  Shane suggested Lincoln Park in West Seattle – since we live so close to Lake Washington, I often forget about all the great places to walk along the shores of the Puget Sound, and look what I’ve been missing out on!

It was a perfect evening for a sunset stroll.  We walked, we chatted, we sat on a log and watched the fishermen throw their final casts of the day, and we wondered, is there anywhere more ideal than Seattle in the summer?