KT had been searching for vegan hiking boots for a few months. Little did we know that finding a sturdy leather-free boot would become such an odyssey.  In desperation, she finally gave up and searched for a pair online.  (Interestingly, she seems to share some of her mother’s reluctance to buy things over the internet.  It’s much more reassuring to be able to try touch things and them on first)

Not too surprisingly, our girl has a need for instant gratification. (She got that from her father) Armed with her tracking number, she obsessively checked the Fed Ex site a few times a day just to make sure they were on the ball with her package. Waiting for her hiking boots to come was slowly driving her nuts. 

Finally, the day they were due to come had arrived. KT didn’t know how she was going to manage to wait until the scheduled arrival time of 4:00. In an effort to distract her, we decided to head out for some to enjoy the sun and run some errands.  To KT’s delight there was a package addressed to her sitting in front of the door.  She snatched it up and brought it into the Jeep and began to tear it open.    

As KT struggled with the packing tape, I noticed that what appeared to be air holes and mentioned that those hiking boots seemed to need a lot of ventilation even before they had been worn. 

KT ignored my clever quip as she managed to finally pry the lid to her boots open.  She yanked it open with a flourish and peered in to find…

a half dozen beautiful Walla Walla Sweet Onions!

We struggled to hold back our laughter at the disappointment and confusion on KT’s face, but it was nearly impossible. Never in a million years would anyone expect to get onions in the mail…especially not when they were expecting hiking boots. 

When Shaun and I finally managed to control ourselves, we read the note tucked inside.  Whitman College, which is located in Walla Walla, had sent the famous onions as a welcome gift to the school. 

Fortunately, when we came back home shortly after 4:00, KT’s hiking boots were waiting for her…and they fit perfectly. 

And those onions…

They are wonderful!

There’s a reason you are supposed to jot ideas down in a notebook.  Especially if you are past the age of oh…say…27 or thereabout…and have a brain like a sieve.  There’s so much I wanted to tell you but haven’t made the time to sit down and write it.  Now that I’m sitting here? My brain is empty.  So…how about those Mariners? (Actually, I haven’t a clue how they are doing.  In fact, and I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I started to write Padres.  I guess old habits die hard. 

Let’s talk about something safe instead.  Like the weather.  That’s safe, right?

I realize that it is hot and humid in so many areas right now.  We, on the other hand, have finally gotten summer. (I’m crossing my fingers and hoping it stays) The skies are finally blue. 

The tops are finally off of our jeeps and, in Shaun’s case, so are the doors.

Yes, it’s a little scary barreling down the freeway with no door. It didn’t take too long for me to relax my grip on the frame of the Jeep.  (Hmmm…looks like I need a pedi really bad)

Everyone is outside playing.

Including these two who were surfing, Seattle-Style. Gnarly dude.

(Don’t worry, I’ll write about something more interesting tomorrow)

It was one of those rare Saturdays when I had no absolutely no plans except to sleep in as long as I could.  So it was a bit of a shock to my system when my cell phone rang shortly after the Crack O’ Dawn.  If it had been the house phone, I would have sworn at the caller, then rolled over and happily ignore it.  Yet, this was my cell phone, a number that I only grudgingly give out to a select few.  I knew it had to be important. 

I stumbled from my bed and groggily made my way down the hall to the living room where my phone was.  A quick glance at the caller ID showed that it was only my brother calling. He sometimes “forgets” about the three hour time difference between our homes. (I’m pretty sure he wasn’t on my select list of people I gifted my number to…my mom probably gave him the number.  I’ll have to talk to her)  I dropped my cell back on the table with a snort and made my way back to bed.  Just as I had gotten comfortable, the phone rang again.  My sleep addled brain insisted that there was a dire emergency that only I could deal with.  I staggered back and answered the phone.   

Instead of the panicked voice that I was expecting, I heard the chatty soprano of my niece Eliza. She seemed so excited to be talking to me and jabbered on and on about anything and everything.  Despite having the distinct feeling that I was being used as entertainment for a bored six year old, it was hard to be upset at such enthusiasm.  (After all, how was she to know that I was trying to be coherent on a scant four hours of sleep?)  My brother, on the other hand, should have known better than to have her call so early. 

Somehow, the conversation with my niece turned to baths.  I happened to mention that her father never ever took one when he was a little boy.  She paused for a moment, then asked if he took a shower as that is what he did now.  My brain started to wake up a bit as I told Eliza about how her grandmother did everything she could think of to get him clean once he got too big to simply pick up and toss in a tub full of water.  The preferred method turned out to be squirting him with a bottle of dishwashing soap and then squirting him with the hose. 

After thinking my words over for a moment, my niece asked if people told him to his face how stinky he was.  I informed that they never has a chance because any time he got near someone they plugged their noses and ran away from him as fast as they could.  He wasn’t even allowed to go to school because he was so dirty and smelly!

Eliza was fascinated by my tale and asked a zillion questions about her father.  Questions that I was all too happy to provide elaborate answers for.  (I was pretty impressed with how imaginative I was without coffee) When we were finally ready to hang up, I told Eliza that her daddy was really embarrassed about his dirty ways when he was a little boy.  She could ask him all about it, but shouldn’t be surprised if he said that it wasn’t true. I informed her that she should just keep asking him all about it. 

I climbed back into bed feeling quite smug with myself.  As I drifted off to sleep I grinned as my over-active imagination thought of several other somewhat true stories to share with my nieces. lI could have a lot of fun with this.  Assuming a certain someone is foolish enough to have them call near the Crack O’ Dawn again….

One of Mimi’s favorite foods is beans.  She gobbles them down in any shape or form (Which can make life rather…um…aromatic…at times) Her most favorite beans, however, are my World(ish) Famous Baked Beans. As I was preparing to make a batch of them for the weekend’s festivities, Mimi insisted on helping me make them. She desperately wanted to know what magic ingredients I used to create my unusual ambrosia.  The only problem with her thinking. is that I don’t really have a recipe.  I just toss in the same basic things as I remember them, doing a little tweaking here and there. 

Mimi’s enthusiasm to duplicate my baked beans, reminds me of myself when I decided that I wanted to make my mother’s potato salad.  I feel badly for those poor souls in the world that haven’t had their lives enriched by savoring a spoonful of Mom’s potato salad. It is, truly, the best in the world. 

I can remember standing at the kitchen counter with Mom carefully cutting the potatoes in to bite size chunks, trying not to mangle the eggs too much  as I sliced them and sneaking bits of sweet gherkins into my mouth.  I’d help my mother by mixing together the  mayonnaise, mustard and various other seasonings to create the sauce and then gently folding it in with the potatoes.  It was heavenly. 

After I grew up and lived on my own, I knew that I, like my mother before me, would make Potato Salad my Signature Dish.  Only…I couldn’t do it.  I would follow her simple recipe to the letter (Which, for me, is a huge feat!) only to have it fall short.  Actually, it didn’t fall short, it fell flat. Completely flat. Time after time, my infamous potato salad was the only full dish sitting amidst platters that had been practically licked clean at the end of a gathering.  Apparently word had gotten around.  I was crushed. 

I’ve since switched to my World(ish) Famous Baked Beans as my Signature Dish. (Happily, they nearly always disappear first.) Still, deep in my heart, I wanted to be known for my potato salad.  After all these years, I think I may have finally found the perfect recipe. It involves such odd items as sugar snap peas, dill weed and olive oil.  Despite the fact that it’s nothing like my mother’s potato salad, it was the first dish to be licked clean and everyone was raving about it and begging for the recipe.  I just may have dethroned the Potato Salad Queen. 

When I told my mom about my new recipe and all the trials I’d had to recreate her dish, she was astonished as she had no idea how much I had agonized over her salad. Then Mom reminded me of all the times she had tried to recreate her mother’s famed Glorified Rice. Hmmm…there seems to be a trend going on here.  

Apparently, I need to tell Mimi to give up on my beans right now.  She needs to know that no matter how hard she tries, the chances are that they won’t ever taste like her mama’s.  Although, knowing my child, and all the women before her in our family, she probably won’t listen…

Don’t worry Mimi, you’ll eventually find your own Signature Dish…

Vacations are a lot of fun, but let’s face it, they are also a lot of hard work.  From the anticipation, the packing, and the endless driving to the disruption of routine, unpacking and loads of smelly laundry. I was so ready to be home when we pulled into our driveway late last night. 

This morning, I nearly threw my alarm clock against the wall when it went off shortly after the Crack of Dawn.  I must’ve set it out of mere habit last night before I wearily collapsed into my bed.  As I rolled over to go back to sleep, I realized that Shaun was wide awake…and wanted to chat.  He didn’t seem to take the hint when I sent evil muting stun ray towards him with my half-awake mind. So I made the mistake of grunting at him.  Instead of running in fear for his life, the foolish man took that as an invitation to continue talking.

I had nearly convinced him that I was actually a cooling corpse and not worth his time,when both the girls and some assorted pets decided to come bounding in our room as well.  (I still don’t understand why nobody seemed to realize that it was summer vacation and thus practically a law to sleep in until noon.) It seemed as though Mimi needed a ride to work, Shaun wanted to go get his Jeep that had been worked on while we were away and KT just didn’t want to be left out of anything. 

We spent most of the day just being together…just as we had been doing all week. Every time I would leave the room just to get some space, someone would follow me. It was slowly driving me insane. I seem to be one of those rare people that just needs time to be alone in a quiet place.  My family is anything but quiet. 

Please try not to think badly of me, I really do love my family, but I had to get away from them. I knew that I couldn’t go anywhere as they would catch on and want to come with me. I tried distracting them with fun places for them to go…but they didn’t want to leave me behind.  I was at a loss. 

Then I finally remembered the Monster Closet.  It’s a small closet tucked underneath our staircase that, until about a month ago had been crammed full of junk.  We are all so used to not even noticing the door anymore that I doubted anyone would even think to look for me there.  My plan is to gather up supplies such as a flashlight, good book and a snack then wait until everyone is preoccupied.  I’ll leave to quick note letting them know that I had been abducted by aliens and not to worry about me, then run and hide.  

I can’t wait to hang out with just the monsters…

Say hello to my new friends I met at Farm Sanctuary.  I like to call them the Gentlemen Turkeys.

We are headed down to Farm Sanctuary in Northern California.  I’m not sure if they have internet or not, but I DO know that they are currently…um…enjoying…triple digit temperatures. 

Everybody knows that when you go on vacation, you aren’t supposed to get sick.  Well, almost everyone knows that.  It seems that Shaun didn’t get the message.  Late yesterday afternoon, he started feeling a little under the weather.  He thought that maybe his allergies were acting up as we had been doing a lot of driving with the top down on my Jeep.  (Yes, I managed to get a little sunburn) When morning came, he was simply miserable.  He was running a fever and aching all over.  Our best guess is that he had the flu.

At Shaun’s insistence, KT and I went off by ourselves to explore Portland. (and find some medication for him)  We enjoyed ourselves, but didn’t really let ourselves see everything we wanted to.  We were certain that Shaun would start feeling better at any moment and kept coming back to our room every couple of hours to check on him.  Sadly, he still doesn’t feel well.

One of the bad things about being sick in a hotel room (aside from the obvious of feeling miserable) is that  when you put out the “do not disturb” sign, there is no maid service.  An un-vacuumed floor or rumbled bed is something I can handle with ease. (Although to be honest, I’m not real thrilled with the crumpled up, nasty used tissues all over the floor) However, if you happen to run out of something, such as…oh…coffee grounds, or Kleenex, or even toilet paper (because somebody used all the Kleenex) you are pretty much out of luck.  From my point of view, this is a really bad thing, especially if you plan on using the restroom at all. 

I knew that I could call down for supplies, but it didn’t seem right for me to expose anyone else to the germs running amuck in our room. As KT had already gotten into her night clothes and Shaun was nearly comatose, it seemed as though it was up to me to restock.  So armed with the empty Kleenex box, I made my way downstairs to the front desk.  The clerk was very sympathetic as I explained her why I needed to stock up on supplies.  

Loaded down with more coffee grounds (can you tell what’s most important to me?), a box of Kleenex. a couple rolls of toilet paper and some flyers I found in the lobby, I managed to push the button on the elevator.  As the doors slid open I nearly collided with the star and the director/writer of the Indie film we watched yesterday.  Under normal circumstances, I’d like to think that I would have told them how much I enjoyed the film and how much I got out of it.  Somehow though, chatting while holding a few rolls of paper simply didn’t seem right.   I’d prefer to bump into interesting people without having may arms full of such supplies.  Personally, I’m hoping to run into Randolph Mantooth, who was also in the movie tomorrow. I had a major crush on him when I was young and am pleased to say  that he’s still he’s just as yummy as when he played Johnny Gage on Emergency!

I’m guessing that Shaun’s not going to feel much better tomorrow and will hole up in our room again. This time I’ve got a plan.  I’m going to shove Shaun under the bed for a little while so that the maid can do her magic…which includes making sure we have plenty of those basic necessities.

After graduation, some kids want to go to Europe to explore the world.  Not our KT, she wanted to embark on the Great Vegan Roadtrip Adventure.  (OK, she doesn’t know it’s called that as I just made it up.) Our first stop is in Portland, OR for the Let Live Conference.  We arrived last night and saw a very interesting movie called Bold Native.  You can read about KT’s take on her blog it right here.  (I did tell you she started a blog didn’t I?)

Sorry to cut this short, we are finally ready to head out the door.  More later

My mom likes puzzles.  For her, the biggest puzzle of all is tracking down those that have come before her. For as long as I can remember, my mother has been obsessed with finding her “roots”.  She and my grandmother would write back and forth to each other, sharing facts, offering suggestions and just trying to solve the puzzle.  One of my earliest memories is watching Mom carefully open a white envelope containing a letter from my grandma, then sitting down with her worn spiral-bound steno notepad to down new names and dates. Then she would mutter to herself as she struggled to make the connections between family relations. Every once in a while, she would get excited and shout “aha!” when she made some sort of discovery.

When Mom knew she had a clue she would write a letter to the county clerk of some far-off exotic place like Michigan or North Dakota, asking them to search for and send her a copy of whatever record she needed. It could be anything from a death or birth certificate, a marriage license or military records.  She would always include a stamped, self-addressed envelope and a crisp dollar bill or two to cover any fees. Often times, the letter (and the dollar bills) would come back with a handwritten apology at not being able to find the requested records.  Mom would be heartbroken, yet still determined.  Every once in a while, the returned letter would contain the elusive record that Mom had been searching for.  Those were the days that Mom danced with joy up and down the hall. 

A month or so ago, one of my cousins contacted Mom through Facebook asking her for some family information.  In the blink of an eye, Mom’s interest in genealogy was back in full force. Luckily for her, the days of sending off letters, then waiting months for any sort of response were long gone. 

Mom dug out her ancient genealogy software and quickly determined that it was much too old to be of any use.  So she made a quick trip to the store, where she gleefully plopped down her money and ran home with a brand new Family Tree Maker software.  Then she stayed up all night playing with it.

Yesterday was the first time I chatted with my mother since she got her new tool. She was so excited about her new discoveries that she could barely speak.  She bragged that could find county records instantly with her new software. All she needed was to know what to look up. 

Mom decided that she needed to show me how wonderful her new, improved software really was. So, she looked up my marriage certificate.  She couldn’t find it.  As she had complete faith in her software, the natural conclusion was that I was never married. 

Huh…for the last twenty-one years I thought I was married.  As my mother always tell me, she’s always right, I must be wrong and have been living a lie.  I can’t help but wonder what other facts that that miraculous software is going to find out about me…

It’s been a quiet evening. Our KT arrived home safely from her camping trip (with nary a bear sighting) smelly, tired and with lots of stories to share.  After a long, hot shower for KT, and dinner and story telling for all of us, the girls went off by themselves for a bit.

It wasn’t too long before they came back to the living room and were sitting cross-legged on the floor at my feet with a deck of cards between them.  Both of the girls..and both of the dogs…had a colorful bandana perched on her head (sometimes it’s better not to ask…although I do wish I’d had my camera handy) and they were playing a loud game of Speed.  I was only half paying attention to them as I was engrossed in my reading…and maybe a tiny bit of Bejeweled. 

I’m not sure why, but I suddenly tuned into what they were saying.

Mimi: You want to come help me with this thing? (I wasn’t really listening, so I don’t know what it was)

KT: Nope, I’m going to stay right here and play Solitaire.

Mimi: Solitaire? With cards? You can’t do that!

I tried…I really tried, but I couldn’t hold in the laughter. My girl, who had grown up in the age of technology, honestly hadn’t realized that Solitaire wasn’t just a computer game.  Once upon a time, many years ago, before computers were common place, we played card games and board games.  Who knew…