Wanderlust

Wallpaper Weekend

This weekend has been an exercise in feeling extremely sorry for myself. While George is off galavanting with those infamous Colorado-ites, I've been at home for a long three day weekend with a whole roomful of flowered peach wallpaper for company. Before George left on Friday, we moved our entire bedroom into the living room ...which is very strange because it feels like sleeping in a fishbowl- like I'm going to fall out of my bed and onto the neighbors lawn by accident in my underwear one morning. Except I don't wear underwear so it would be ten times worse than that. We picked out paint and carpet and this weekend I resolved to roll up my sleeves and get to work.

The wallpaper guaranteed to be a fairly easy job of it by the looks. I had dug into a strip of wall by the closets and the paper had come up clean and in large, fat chunks with little more effort than peeling a banana. I had assumed this was a fair sampling of what the rest of the walls would be like.

Twelve hours and two days later, I realize that the wall I had so randomly chosen was a mockery of what the rest of the peach wallpapered walls would be. The rest of that paper must have been superglued on back in the 70's. Hours upon hours of scrubbing, chiseling, and soaking had yielded only two fresh, white walls. Two more to go. Visions of myself greeting George victoriously in our perfectly painted bedroom upon his return tomorrow vanished. I'll feel grateful just to have clean walls and not leave a trail of sticky paper in my wake.

And I swear, right here and now, in the presence of the internets as my witness- I will never wallpaper any room in any home I ever own. I think if you want to get those terrorist suspects in Guantanamo to talk, present them with a room of peach wallpaper and a putty knife. In ten hours they'll be singing like a canary.

Pictures Preview

So here's a fresh batch of Owen pics from his seventh month. You may have seen most of them if you checked out the Colorado pictures, but there are a few others in there as well. Enjoy!

Bonneville in Lake Bonneville

You may remember our little auto fiasco that started almost a month ago. We've been going without two cars since then and it's been good and bad. Good because it's one less thing to own, bad because I have the only vehicle which means Kaz can't do some of the necessary errands while I'm at work. I've been getting really used to having a housewife, and with me working and running errands after work, it just plain sucks.

So here is our new sweet ride! It's a 1988 Pontiac Bonneville. It's got a powerful 3.8L V6 engine, with fuel injection. This potent puppy gets 26mpg on the highway. It has the low miles of only 215,000 (yes that's right, only two hundred fifteen thousand). It includes a 4 speaker AM/FM radio, with power windows and locks. It even has air conditioning! The rims are from a Cadillac. The best part (beside the stuff I just listed) is the front bench seat. Yeah, you know you ride in style when you got bench seats.

When you click on the picture and see the larger view, you will notice the special custom paint job on the hood and roof. The kind of paint job that can only come from years of Utah sun. Some of you out there in the East don't know what you are missing!

We purchased this awesome machine from a friend at work. Now we finally have our dream car for the family we've always dreamed of. With this car, anything is possible.

Letters to the O

Eight Months

I hope you won't feel insulted when I tell you that you've become a real pain in the ass this month. It began when you learned how to take your diaper off. I'm not sure if you think you are being considerate by helping me, but I sure wish you'd cut it the fuck out. Everytime I deposit you on the changing table, you give a chorus of protests as if I've just suggested giving away your allowance to a third world country.

While you remain the most cheerful baby we know, you have certainly become increasingly DEMANDING. Everytime you are removed from something you enjoy- a toy, outside, mommy- you throw your head back and give grunting little cries accompanied by flailing hands and butt scooting resistance. It would be comical if it wasn't so damn annoying. The outside world is a subject of constant enthrallment for you and there is never any satisfactory excuse, in your opinion, for going inside. You watch the shapes of the trees against the sky and giggle and wave your hands at their rustling leaves. Recently, we had quite a bout of storms here with severe downpours, hail and thunder. The wind blew gusts up your nose, the hail pelted the deck roof in a cacophony of fury and you rocked back and forth and squealed with delight. When a clap of thuner was so close and loud that it made me jump, you laughed as if someone had sat on a whoopie cushion.

This month I began encouraging you to drink out of a cup, which looks more like an alternative torturing technique. Just as soon as you were done spluttering and choking, you'd lifted the cup back to your lips for more voluntary waterboarding. I was puzzled when I began to feed you fruits this month like banana and peaches and you acted as if I was suddenly trying to poison you. Then I remembered you're the same freak that likes asparagus and peas.

Our trip to Colorado a few weeks ago was an exercise in sleep deprevation for you. We just wanted to see if we could take away all your daytime naps, keep you up until ten and still get you to giggle at fish face. The answer: Yes. Considering you were surrounded by strangers, sleeping in a strange bed, and eating food from a jar, you did remarkably well. The only drawback was that you were so clingy it was like I had a human growth attached to my hip.

There's a handful of new things that you've found humorous this month. You love when you're talking and Daddy vibrates your chest and makes your voice sound like a funhouse giggle. In fact, when anyone laughs these days, you join in, besides yourself with sympathy. My favorite though has to be the enormous smile that creeps over your face when I am forced to bring you into the bathroom with me and you hear me pee. I wish you could be polite like the rest of the world and just pretend you're not listening.

The most exciting development by far has been your increasing mobility. You do a version of crawling I like to call "The headplow." You've got the leg action right and can get up onto your knees easily, but you haven't quite caught on to lifting your chest and getting on your hands, so you just plow your big old noggin' along, dusting the floors with the top of your head. When I leave you for a few minutes on the floor to go get the laundry or to take a 2 minute Mexican shower, I come back to find you halfway across the room, having a conversation with the closet door that looks somewhat painful. I know it won't be long before you'll be into the cabinets and cupboards and trying to crack your head open by doing a swan dive down the stairs and so I take advantage of the fact that you are still retardedly slow. It would take you three years just to make it to the front door at this pace.

You haven't been very fond of playing on your own lately, probably because you spend all your time listening to figure out where I am. I can literally hear you from the other room in your Exersaucer, ears honed like sonar for the slightest indication that someone might actually come pick you up. Frankly, it's rather creepy and I feel foolish sneaking around my own house just to avoid the guilt of pathetic cries.

And finally this month, you've begun to do something that I feel as if I've waited a lifetime for. It's the simplest thing in the world, but it's significance feels enormous. When you are tired, or playing shy, or even just in need of a cuddle, you lower your small baby head onto my shoulder and snuggle into the crook of my neck. And as quick as a reflex, I drop my head and lay it on top of yours and we share the smallest of moments alone in the middle of a crowd.

How crazy old coots get to be senators and other annoying bits of trivia about Ted Stevens

Ted Stevens, the infamous senator from Alaska, has become my least favorite person on earth. He narrowly won this honor from last year's sole nominee and grand prize winner, a certain eloquent, oil wealthy cowboy from Texas who warms the Oval office desk chair with all his gang of warmongers. For those of you not familiar with the illustrious career of Mr. Stevens, I'll elaborate briefly.

He holds the dubious title of currently being the longest serving Republican senator in the senate, beginning in 1968 (the same year that brought us Nixon- coincidence?). The fact that the people of Alaska have seen fit to keep Ted Stevens in office all these years gives me serious doubt about the wisdom of leaving a wealth of national wilderness in their care.

In October, 2005 he had a hissy fit on the floor of the senate when the suggestion was made that funds (223 million to be exact) for a "pork barrel" project now referred to as "The Bridge to Nowhere" should be diverted to help aid recovery from Hurricane Katrina. Stevens threatened to quit Congress if the funds were removed from his state. Ah, if only we could have been so lucky.

Senator Stevens is also the source of the most widely quoted explanation of the internets, which he referred to as "a series of tubes.". Give the guy a break, though. He's been in the Senate since 1968- he might have missed some stuff while he was busy misdirecting government funds.

Recently, a bill with wide support in the Senate called the "Federal Funding Accountability and Transparency Act," which would require the full disclosure of all entities or organizations receiving federal funds beginning in fiscal year (FY) 2007 on a website maintained by the Office of Management and Budget, was mysteriously blocked by an anonymous senator. The sentor refused to come forward until several watchdog websites contacted various senators and got them to issue statements attesting that they did NOT block the bill. It was narrowed down to four sentors when none other than- you guessed it!- Ted Stevens, admitted to being the secret asshole. Sorry Ted, but it wasn't much of a secret to begin with.

On an interesting sidenote- In December 1978, Stevens survived the crash of a Lear Jet at what would later be named the Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport, which killed five people, including his first wife, Ann. And you know it has to be said... we came THIS close to a world without Ted Stevens.

A few thoughts...

Today you'll hear alot about a phrase I've grown particularily wary and weary of. Anything prefaced with 9/11 gets filed under immediate skepticism and possible exploitation in my brain. It's been dragged out to cover a multitude of sins, from political mudslinging to waging misguided wars. I've grown especially prickly over the sentimental doting on the attacks as if they were an unprecedented horror. Pearl Harbor comes in at about 2,400, just 300 shy of 9/11. Deaths from the Gulf coast states due to Hurricane Katrina now top 1,700. When America dropped the atom bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the death toll is estimated at 214,000, which does not included subsequent deaths from cancer and other related illnesses over the next several decades. The 2004 tsunami off the coast of Indonesia is estimated to have killed 226,000 in over nine countries. The body count in Iraq is vague, but American soldiers number around 2,500. Civilian deaths in Iraq since the war began in 2003 are estimated at 45,000. As the world plunges into mourning on the fifth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, I am reminded of how little we mourn and observe the larger scale of senseless death, especially when those bodies are not Americans.

And still, the feeling that morning as I sat with sinking heart and watched the day unfold five years ago is very fresh in my mind. Uncertain what would happen next, disbelief at the huge scale of the tragedy as it continued through the morning, I remember putting on my boots, throwing open the blinds and yelling at the sky, helpless to reach across the miles and offer my strength and compassion. It is certainly a moment that has and will continue to shape history. I only hope that it fashions our nation into a stronger, wiser and more liberated society after the fear, division and misinformation recedes.

Where were you when you heard about 9/11?

Colorado Chronicles

We embarked on our first, last and only vacation of the year this past Wednesday when we went to witness the marriage of our friends, Ken and Holly, in Colorado. The extended holiday weekend was packed with great food, great company, and great experiences unfortunately coupled with chronic exhaustion and excessive traveling. Here's the lowdown:

WEDNESDAY: George and I begin our day at 5:30am in order to cram in a shower before O-face wakes up. We pick up our incredibly gorgeous, incredibly gay PT Cruiser at the rental car agency and pack it the brim with baby paraphernalia. Nine am finds us rolling out of the driveway, headed to Colorado. Eight hours later and three stops along the way, we arrive at our hotel, La Quinta (pronounced "la keenta" for the Spanish inept). Owen, who has been mostly complacent and cheerful while on the road, is at once enamored with the enormous king size bed and parks himself in the middle, surrounded by his toys, babbling happily. After an hour of speed unpacking performed by none other than myself, the neurotic freak, George, Owen and I meet up with our friend Reed who happens to be in town on business and have a late supper at Ken and Holly's. Owen finally bursts into tears sometime around ten, nearly two hours past his bedtime and we call it a night.

THURSDAY: We enjoy a leisurely breakfast at a Pennsyltucky favorite, Perkins. After a refreshing nap, we slather Owen up in sunscreen and hit the pool for awhile. The chilly water and a fast approaching storm force us to vacate after only half an hour and Owen leaves to have lunch with Dad and Ken at The Chipotle while I have my hair done for the evening festivities. After a relaxing head massage and styling by Sasha over at Salon Foushee, Owen and I head back to the hotel and catch a late afternoon nap. Reed, Owen's babysitter for the evening, arrives and George and I make a break for it soon after. The wedding is at Boettcher Mansion, a beautiful, rambling log house on the top of a mountain in Golden, Colorado. The breathtaking view is obscured by the tops of a gorgeous pine forest that surrounds the mansion. After the ceremony, there is, of course, the usual gluttony of alcohol, food and dance. The highlights of the evening include the yummy sundae buffet, the enormous hearth in the reception room now warmed by the glow of a gas fireplace and two very cozy benches, and the fact that no one spit up on my dress the entire evening. George and I arrived back in our hotel room at 11 or so to a snoring baby, who, according to reports, had been subdued by the wonders of Baby Einstein for most of the evening and then dropped off to sleep after a short bout of passionate vocalization about the absence of boobs.

FRIDAY: After partaking of the free continental breakfast, we head into downtown Denver for a tour of the Denver Mint. Owen, disappointed that there isn't anything shiny to actually touch, quickly loses interest. After a long and frustrating search for a public bathroom, we begin the marathon of eating known as A Taste of Colorado. George and I had nibbles of just about everything, including Indian food, wings, and cheesecake on a stick which is exactly what it sounds like- cheesecake on a stick. Four hours later we finally emerged from the debauchery and stumbled home, exhausted. Our very gay, very rented PT Cruiser, we were alarmed to discover, had sustained a sizable dent to the front driver's side fender. It looked suspiciously as though someone or something heavy had simply sat on it. We regrouped once again that evening at Ken and Holly's for wedding leftovers and a peek at the photos, but left early enough to get Owen into bed at a reasonable hour.

SATURDAY: We arose early prepared for battle. After picking up breakfast at Einstein bagels and a childhood favorite of mine, Winchells, we rendezvous with the crew and headed south for The Royal Gorge Route. After a two hour drive, we arrived at the train and embarked shortly thereafter. As soon as Owen heard the train whistle and puff into the station, he smiled from ear to ear. The cranky old guy who had appointed himself chief tour guide and boredom inducer extraordinaire managed to put Owen to sleep about halfway through the ride, so I didn't see much. George was outside snapping photos, most of which are of Ken for some reason. We stopped at Applebee’s for dinner on the way back and Owen and I camped out at the hotel for an early night while George hit the Govnr's Park downtown with Reed, Ken and Holly.

SUNDAY: The entire crew gathered together once again for a hearty breakfast at The Delectable Egg in downtown Denver. It was... well, delectable. We regrouped again a short time later for an excursion via automobile up Mt. Evans, a 14er only about an hour away. After some white knuckle curves and a run-in with a family of mountain goats, we were thwarted in our summit ambitions by an empty gas tank and had to settle for a mini hike around Summit Lake. That evening we met for a final hurrah at Wynkoop Brewery, a restaurant in Denver, before scurrying home with an exhausted bobblehead and packing up.

MONDAY: After a short tour of the mammoth Whole Foods in Lakewood, we began our drive home in earnest at nine am. It was mostly uneventful and we certainly left lighter than we arrived. Only a scarce hour away from home we encountered holiday traffic that added a half hour or more to our already excruciatingly long trip. George, Owen and I stumbled in the door at nearly six and after throwing our bags in a heap in the middle of the living room floor where they still reside today, we "fixed" the fender and returned the very gay PT Cruiser to it's very gay rental car agency. George and I fell into bed at ten last night like a ton of bricks and will, I am sure, spend the better part of the week trying to recapture some semblance of rested human.

So that's our vacation in a nutshell. If you'd like to take a look at our pictures for the trip, click here. We picked up two very tired and ecstatic dogs from the kennel this morning and I spent most the day attempting to make a dent in the laundry pile. Don't expect much excitement around here for the next few days. I think the old married folks have had their fill for now.

As for Colorado as a future relocation destination, we were fairly impressed with the countryside beauty and the lure of the big city sights. Not to mention the sheer amount of alternative and hippie choices available to the average Denverite. For now, let's just say that it sure beats Mormonville.

Celebration

Do you know what's cool about weddings? Friends like these. Congratulations Ken and Holly!