Jon's finals have left me bored, carless, and without cable. I've gotten a lot of hand quilting done, which is good, but I have to watch horrible things like Jay Leno (nevermind--hello Star Trek Next Generation!). Why does Kenz live three time zones away? But I do have a couple exciting things to announce. One, I bought 24 boxes of Chex last night and spent $36 and saved $60. Two, I bought our anniversary present today. We usually don't get presents because our anniversary is two days after Christmas, but this year we decided we wanted matching, supersoft bathrobes. Not monogrammed yet, but hopefully soon.
Mal: Scrubs--Medical School seems a lot like...
Jon: Saved By the Bell: The New Class.
Mal: Exactly.
I need to be packing, but I'm wasting time and watching bad/great judge shows, because Comcast figured out they were giving us 40 channels for free last week. (wah wah wah...good while it lasted) And I have had two viruses in a row, so TV watching has been somewhat essential, you know how it is. Back to judge shows. They are numerous, and in my investigation of new-to-me channels I found this jem--
Nothing improves a horrible show with a horrible gimmick. See justice served live, on a sidewalk, with the sound of traffic in the background! (with Judge "Mazz")
When...
You spill water on a newly ordered library book (I am the first to check it out--ever)? I am going to have to turn it in and confess my deed. Do I send it with a note? Do I tell the kind older lady or younger tattooed lady that I would like to buy the book outright, because it pretty much changed my life?
Then, every time I reach the epilogue and turn the very wrinkled pages, it will remind me of that plane ride. The ride where I spilled a full cup of ice water on the book and my lap, making me look like I peed my pants. And I didn't care about other people seeing that guilty looking patch of pants, but I did care about walking around the airport with very wet, cold jeans. Which is the worst. (!) I've come a long way since high school, when I sat in a wet restaurant chair before the homecoming dance, staining my gray satin skirt. I was so emotionally fragile and nervous that I first accused my overly sweaty legs of soaking through 10 layers of tulle rather than think the chair was to blame. I spent the rest of the night overly apologetic and shuffling along walls to hide the dark spot.
So I really hope I can buy this book. Because it reminds me of how much I love being a twin, how much I love actually having self esteem (and not being in high school), and how I probably got the swine flu from the guy coughing next to me on the plane. All equally important and historic facts.
You can never go through too many safety scenarios with your mother. Yesterday, our past conversation about how to deal with sinister dogs on a run became relevant and significant (although became slightly muddled with grizzly tips in the moment).
I was barely out of my house and down the street when an enormous German Shepherd-type dog came running down a driveway, snarling and crouching straight at me. I started running towards a fence and panicked, thinking some thing like, "I'm going to get mauled. Right now. I don't know what to do. What do I do?" Subconsciously I remembered that dogs like to chase, so I stopped running, turned around, and tried to stop the dog with some type of yelled word, a combination of "stop" and "gah." I don't know if the dog just wanted to scare me or I scared the dog, but he ran back to the house. Also I remember thinking "make yourself look big," and then realized I have no idea how to do that. And really, how do you do that?
I learned two things--it turns out I can slightly control myself in a scary situation, and my bear defense skills are severely lacking.
(When I got home I emailed Jon my dramatic tale of horror, and his response was something like "Sounds scary. While we are on the subject, can you turn in the Netflix?")
Mia. You are beyond cute. You love to snuggle. You think I'm the jam. You love to play with great danes. But you are gassy. Real, real, gassy. Next time you come over let's work on that, shall we?
Mal
Each night in September, birds called Vaux's Swifts migrate south and roost in a chimney of an old elementary school in downtown Portland (largest known roosting site in the world, ps). They are tiny, black, bat-like birds that gather at sunset, and suddenly enter the chimney, creating swirling formations and attracting predator hawks. If you are in Portland, I highly recommend taking a blanket, snacks, and join the hundreds of people that watch the show each night. It was amazing. We went again last night, and Jon and I were the only ones of the group that had the honor of being pooped on.
Don't forget your swift costume.
And as I mentioned above, sitting close is exciting, but in the poop splash zone, so weigh the risks.
Although at sometimes disputed, Jon has great (well, passable) fire-making skills. And is partially transparent here.
"Chateau" can mean many different things to many different people. (Can you find me?)
When in Cave Junction, do as the Cave Junctioners do.
When camping, it is important to loose yourself in nature, but don't get too lost. When you go to set up camp and realize you forgot your tent poles at home, having a store nearby to buy a new shelter is essential.
Estimate at least two hours to make a fire.
Try to stay in remote mountian hotels with minimal frills and comfortable lodges. A seemingly minimum entrance age of 65 is a plus.
If you feel like a seven mile hike, skip it and go with the two miler. Trust me.
Jake, Lindsay, and Reese came to visit this week and it was so good to have them here! Reese walked on sand for the first time and was slightly weirded out at first. Jon and I also had some time to take carefully composed, expertly lighted shots with our new camera. Which really means we hit the shutter button and hoped for the best.
I call this one, "Things Sure Were Great Before We Had Kids." or "Wait...for me...please?"
"Unfortunately, Jon Hates to Be Excluded"Last week: Face in AC unit, sweating, cursing.
Today: Long sleeves, fingers freezing, hot peppermint tea.
But for $3, who wouldn't? It's a sweater, by the way. And Photobooth does not show that this is a distinct pea-soup green. Also not pictured--a sailor suit, toddler size 5. That was Jon's purchase.
I can't even try this on--the thought makes even my fingernails sweat in this 107?8? degree heat. The past few days I have sat in a completely dark apartment, listening to my so-so AC unit, and staring at my neighbor's central AC fan with pure, unadulterated jealousy.
Don't get me wrong. I love Portland very dearly. But, each season here has had a week of freakishly snowy, or freakishly hot, or freakishly dry weather that others swear "never happens." Other Portlanders seem to have a selective memory when it comes to weather--winters are always 40 degrees and rainy, spring is just plain rainy, and summers are always 80 degrees. Has this paragraph turned into a slight rant? Forgive me Portland! It's just my knee pit sweat talking.
I happened to stumble upon the greatest of Martha shows today--it was completely devoted to my most secretly favorite of all foods, the hot dog. And this creation left me speechless. I am always talking up the wonders of hot dogs and macaroni and cheese (to Jon's disgust), but I had not thought about combining them on a bun! Man.... oh man.
I called my orthodontist in Boise last week, asking about getting new retainers sent to me because I am gnawing holes through them at night. The conversation went something like this:
Me: I'm calling to get some new retainers. My name is Malorie Hall, but I might be under...
Receptionist: Oh, we have you here under Malorie Naylor. Let me check with Dr. T. Are you going to be in town soon?
(Pause for the WORST hold music I think I have ever heard. A rendition of a classic orchestral piece by someone who was a huge fan of "Lampchop" and "This is the Song that Never Ends.")
Receptionist: Looks like we need to get a new impression. The front tooth of your model chipped.
Oh, the irony. Plus, can we note that she basically knew me by my first name? The first time I got braces I was called Marjorie for 3 years, so I guess you get braces on twice and you become a celebrity.
Or, everyone remembers you because you were 20 the second time around and you sobbed uncontrollably the whole time they were putting them on. Yeah, maybe that's it.
Before you all think I am consumed by vanity, (but let's not ignore that meeting my future in laws in silver braces was horrifying enough, and probably responsible for a certain family pushing someone to "date other people" that summer) braces were to me a time machine sending me back to 14 years old. And if you knew me at 14...well, you might just understand. I mean, do you want to be 14 again? That's what I thought.
And in the now humorous spirit of remembering that time four years ago, I would like to apologize publicly to my brother, who got home from work and was told by my mother--"Now, it was a surprise, but Malorie had to get braces put on today." I think she tried to give him a look like, "This is not the time to make a joke!" He then promptly made a joke, and I think I gave him a look that would have made the lighting bolt-shaped scar on his forehead burn with evil (if he were to possess such a thing, of course).
This is what happens when you leave your hand drawn "self-portraits" around the house. Look how carefully his little axe hands are sketched.
With berries like this, who needs grandbabies?
We made enough delicious jam to last me a year (I hope)
Bet you can't tell this wasn't spontaneous.
This picture has little significance except you can see my bike, and we have no idea why it distorted the way it did.
It's hard for me to believe that I have completed a marathon, although the entire lower half of my body did a good job of reminding me any time I even looked at a stair the past few days. Less than 2 years ago I was running/limping a 5k with my mother in law, Jon dragging me to the finish line as I cursed every awful step. The only thing that was the same this time was that Jon's mom still beat me. In all my training I never really hit the proverbial "wall" on a long run, but at around mile 24 we became intimately acquainted. I felt like I was going to throw up, collapse, and start crying as I warbled to Jon, "I know it's just 2 miles away but I just... just... need to walk." After that passed we were able to run to the end (4:39:50) feeling good. I'm pretty proud that we didn't stop to walk for over 23 miles. And grateful that Jon slowed down and ran the whole thing with me.
Running in Seattle was beautiful and there was even a bald eagle perched off the course, but the end left a little to be desired, refreshment and recovery wise. I guess I was spoiled in Ogden, but the hot concrete and dried up bagels were not what I was looking for, and it was ironic that after 5 hours of drinking sugary weird Cytomax the only other non water option was iced tea, which I don't drink. But, I'm nitpicking here.
If you're really interested you can go to the Seattle Rock 'n' Roll website and look up my name to watch a webcast of our finish. But if you don't, I'll sum it up for you. We're happy and holding hands, smiling... smiling... Finish! The smile is wiped off my face and I slowly slump away.
Jon finished his first year of dental school yesterday. I told him to sit back and relax, run a marathon with me tomorrow, and start school in another week.
You give me money while I learn things (Bruce Lee did not complete his college degree; the Chinese used forks before they used chopsticks) but you also let me know that the striking bird I saw outside my window with the mohawk was a Stellar's Jay.
Possible parachute.
Unusual size.
Purple.
Pleasingly crinkly.
Waterproof potato sack races.
All reasons why this bag is not being thrown away.
