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…

Our family seems to have a long history of zombies…well at least the men in our family.  (us girls have way too much common sense for that!) My husband Shaun has even managed to earn the name “Uncle Zombie” from his niece and nephew.   

It seems as though Shaun has found a new convert in our home…even if it comes in the shape of a wiggly eight month old puppy.  It seems that our sweet Sam really likes to hang out with us while we (And by “we” I mean Shaun) watch movies. 

All those zombie flicks and and constant chants of “must eat brains” must have sunk into Sammy’s little puppy head.  He’s taken to eating brains.

Assuming, of course, that bear fluff counts as a brain…

My oldest daughter left the house shortly after the Crack of Dawn this morning to go on a seven mile hike with a couple of her friends.  The hike itself, while a bit challenging, doesn’t bother me. I know KT can handle that with no problems. The part that sets my Frantic Mama Meter going is that the hike is somewhere in the middle of the Olympic Peninsula. 

This means that today they will be driving, taking a ferry, driving some more, stopping for permits, driving, then finally parking the car.  Naturally, the parking area isn’t very close to the trail, so my daughter will hike with a borrowed backpack and (borrowed equipment) to find a place they where they can pitch a tent and camp near the trail they want to hike. 

Despite the fact that we aren’t exactly a gung-ho outdoorsy family, KT has done some camping.  When she was younger she and her sister used to go camping with their  dad with the Indian Princesses.  I used to tease them that they were doing wimpy camping.  After all, they were staying in heated cabins with all the meals and activities prepared for them. 

I, with my Girl Scout camp training certificate in hand, was a real camper.  Our troop slept on the hard, cold ground in tents, burnt our own food and managed to entertain ourselves.  Although, now that I think of it, we were in a safely monitored camp-ground, had running water, real bathrooms and a heated camp house we could hang out in if we felt the need.

Still, despite the wimpy camping experiences that KT has had, I’m (mostly) sure she’ll be ok.  After all, one of her friends spent two weeks camping in the Alaskan wilderness last summer and the other one is a big burly guy with lots of outdoor experience as well. 

No, the thing that bothers me the most about this whole trip is that they had to get bear cans to keep their food safe. My over-imaginative brain keeps screaming  “GIVE THE BEARS YOUR FOOD!”  After all, the only thing left for them to eat is my sweet baby.

I can tell it’s going to be a long three or four days until she arrives safely home from her seven mile hike… 

Happy Trails, my girl, happy trails…

We just got back from KT’s graduation ceremony a little while ago.  I’m wet, cold, tired and my feet hurt…I figured that was a great reason to blow off blogging tonight.  Yet…I don’t seem to be able to do it.  The guilt of it all! Instead of writing about the graduation (which was really fun!) I have a special gift for you. 

It’s a delightful photo of a sushi flower!

The guys as Sushi Land think my girls are really cute!

This afternoon, I needed to make a quick stop at Costco. I usually go by myself, but today I drug my kids along with me.  For some odd reason, my girls thought that the oversized shopping carts would be perfect for them to climb into.  I just laughed, then started pushing them around.  (They are so much heavier than they were ten years ago!)

I have to admit that it was a lot of fun to see people’s reactions at seeing two nearly grown girls squished in there.  The other (much smaller) children were delighted.  Most of them giggled and returned the waves that KT and Mimi gave to them. 

The adults…well…some of them looked at my teens in disgust, but most of them just grinned.  I think they secretly wanted to be chauffeured around too. 

And to think, one of these is going to graduate this evening…

When I was growing up in San Diego, my idea of chili was a combination of hamburger, onion, beans and mild chili powder with a few other spices tossed in for good measure. I was just as happy eating the homemade version as I was the stuff that came out of a can.

When my husband Shaun discovered this about me, he nearly had a conniption fit.  You see, he had grown up in Taos, NM where they take their chili very seriously.  Nobody in the entire state would dream of adding beans let alone use the dusty container of chili powder from the back of the cupboard.  

In New Mexico, every self-respecting cook starts off with real chilies. Not the kind you can buy in the can, but fresh ones.  Apparently, the very best ones come from Hatch, NM. I have no idea where that is or why they are considered the best, that’s just the way it is.  Authentic chili (according to Shaun…I’m still attached to my beans…just don’t tell him that) comes in either red or green.  Shaun’s preference…and therefore mine…is green. 

Every so often, Shaun gets a little bit homesick for some great green chili and sopapillas.  (little fried “pillows” of yeast dough…simply heaven in your mouth!) So…he orders a huge box of fresh chilies. 

This time, they aren’t quite in season for the fresh ones, so we now have a freezer full of fire roasted, peeled, seeded green chilies.  I know that it won’t be too long before Shaun makes an enormous pot of green chili (he doesn’t seem to know how to cook for a normal family size) 

In the meantime, we’ve seen lots of salsa. I think Shaun (and maybe KT) are the only ones eating them.  Mimi and I…well…we don’t do spicy stuff.  It’s a constant battle to get my husband to make some salsa that won’t send steam through our ears. 

This evening, Shaun was whipping up yet another batch of salsa with a bit of assistance from Mimi.  She considered it her primary job to get him to make extra mild salsa.  I had to laugh at their conversation. 

Shaun: Someday after I die you’ll realize that you like spicy food and then you’ll think of me.

Mimi: Daddy, I’m not going to start liking spicy food just because you die.

Shaun: It’s in your genes, you have no choice in the matter.

Mimi: Dad. No. I’m not going to like it. I think I came from the milkman.

Um…okaaay….