Jaci Dawn

You can hum the song to yourself or crank up some Judy Collins, be my guest.

We had three lovely days in a row, two of them on a weekend. Monday evening, the clouds rolled in. I wondered if we would get a sunset.

That’s “iffy” here, on the west slope of the Cascade Mountain range. I grew up on the east slopes of mountains, and sunsets were commonplace. Here, they are extremely rare and never quite as spectacular as those in the Great Basin.

I decided that even if we didn’t get a sunset, watching the changes in the clouds was well worth the time – and photography. The winds in the atmosphere were high, altering the shape and distorting the light in the cumulus clouds coming from the southwest. If I captured nothing else, I might capture the light – and as an artist, I could only hope to do that much!

So I sat on the steps with my buddy, Harvey (who was feeling all kinds of better) and I snapped photos.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the wind died. The drastic difference in atmospheric pressure and temperature evened out and the clouds dissipated. We did not get the hoped-for sunset, but we did get a bit of color.

I don’t feel the way about love the way the singer in the song does, but, clouds…

I went to the dentist today. I’m getting new crowns but that isn’t very exciting. My mouth was very numb when I came home and I was thinking about what I might be able to eat for dinner. That isn’t very exciting, either.

I came in the back way, which brings me in on roads that Harvey & I walk. I was thinking about walking Harvey.

I noticed a Black man (read: man of African-American descent) standing in front of a house in the neighborhood. My first thought was, “Oh, new neighbor. Nice to finally integrate the ‘burbs!”

But as I drove by, I noted he was walking away from the house, carrying a bunch of bottles and a black satchel.

Oh. It’s door-to-door salesman season. Darn! I hate that. I hate turning away these young adults who are hired from somewhere in the Midwest and shipped out here to go door-to-door selling products no one wants. I think the companies that do that are preying on young people and ripping them off. I think the young men and women who get sucked up into that just want to do better but find themselves in an awkward situation, like this young man. He’s very Black in an almost All-White Suburb.

As I was still mulling that over, I pulled into my driveway and opened my car door.

This ebullient young woman with multiple face piercings danced (literally) off of our front steps and ran to meet me, her arms spread wide. “Can I be your Chocolate baby?”

I have to tell you, I laughed. I knew she was the partner to the man down the street, the other half of the door-to-door salesman team, but here she stood, acting like my new best friend.

“But I already have Chocolate babies,” I replied.

“I’ll stand up and sleep in the corner,” she shot back.

“My babies will be jealous.”

She pouted. “I’ll be hurt.”

She was so warm and engaging, gave me a high-five and talked like I was her best friend. “You look like a pale Halle Berry” she said.

“Liar.” But I laughed. And I asked her what her name was. Leslie. From St. Louis.

I asked her how she felt about being dropped off in a white neighborhood to go door-to-door. ‘I’m not intimidated by nothing.”

I admired her cool rubber boots.

“Got them at Fred Meyer’s,” she bragged. “And that dog down the street bit them!”

Yep, the neighbor’s Doberman bit her. She wasn’t much fazed by it, so I believe her: she’s not intimidated by much.

She bounced on down out of the yard like Tigger on a Very Blustery Day, waving good-bye and promising she still wanted me to adopt her.

Then I turned to my husband, who looked very sheepish. “I thought it was Chrystal at the door,” he said. She was about the same height and black hair. Said he opened the door and there she was, ready to knock.

“Surprised to see a Black woman on your door step,” she challenged.

“Uh, no.” He really wasn’t. He was just surprised she wasn’t Chrystal.

She sold him a bunch of cleansers.

I think I should have adopted Leslie on the spot.

I hope she makes a lot of money and the company that hauled her out here fulfills all their promises to her.

Leslie is a reminder to all of us: embrace life. Embrace challenges. Don’t be intimidated by anything. And ask complete strangers to adopt you.

(And they’ll buy anything, even cleansers they don’t want. I didn’t ask how much Donald spent… Sucker for a pretty face, that’s my husband!)

Today was the day.

There were hugs and more hugs.

Eliran wore his bear jammies, Guess he was getting in the mood for Alaska.

Javan spent some time saying good-bye to the zebra toy. Grandma brought the zebra back to her house where she’ll have to find a box to ship it to Alaska. It didn’t make the cut for what fit into the trailer.

Bob didn’t make the cut, either. Zephan was quite upset that Bob wasn’t going to Alaska with him. Bob was his first birthday present from Poppa. We promised we would find a way to ship Bob north.

Until then, Bob is sitting in the loft and making Grandma sad.

Best friends!

Carson (same age as Javan) came to say good-bye to his friends.

I didn’t take a photo of the Expedition and the trailer. By the time we got to that point in our good-byes, I was an emotional mess. I’m very excited to see the kids off on their Adventure (in an Expedition, no less!) but it sure was hard to say good-bye.

I won’t be posting grandson photos nearly as often.

But there is good news on the horizon: in less than two months, my first granddaughter will be here.

And we are planning on a drive to Colorado to see her this summer.

Just one question: why did my kids decide to live so far apart? Alaska isn’t on the way to Colorado.

I asked Zephan about the drive to Alaska. He said it was going to take five days and he was ready to sit in his car seat for five days. He’s very brave.

I’m not so sure his brothers share his enthusiasm. In fact, right about now, I bet he thinks five days is five days too much.

Drive careful, Guys! And call when you get to Homer!

Love, Grandma.

Yesterday was the fifth anniversary of this blog.

I started out with a theme in mind: I was going to write about our adventures camping and hiking in the Pacific Northwest (especially the high desert region) and I was going to blog about gardening.

Five years ago I was not a grandmother. I still had hopes of owning yet another cat (or being owned by). Owning my own dog was not on my radar.

A lot of things have changed in five years.

The last child to turn 18 moved out. The oldest child moved back in, with her family in tow. She moved back out again. Five beautiful grandsons were born.

We adopted Murphy and all dreams of having a cat live here (in the near future) were dashed.

I adopted Harvey.

My garden is a disaster.

I haven’t been camping in over a year.

My blog posts have evolved with my life and with the seasons of my life.

I have embraced some of the changes and resisted more than a few.

I don’t know how to summarize five years of blogging or five years of changes. It is what it is: a life that is fluid and ever-changing, growing in some areas and shrinking in others, a tide that ebbs and flows, and seasons that flux.

Where this blog goes in the next year or five years is a guess I cannot hazard to make. Who I will be or where I will be – those are changes that are yet to come.

When I was in my senior year of high school, I had a young English teacher who requested we all write an essay about what we wanted to be when we grew up and settled down. I wrote that I wanted to be constantly changing and growing. She told me I was unrealistic and idealistic; that life is about settling down and becoming static.

I told her that I hoped I never became static.

There are days when I wish I had never said that.

That was 38 years ago. I have settled down, but no matter how settled I have become, I have never managed to avoid constant change. Life just is not static. Life is about continued growth and change. We are propelled through this life on the wings of change and if we don’t change, we become too rigid and we break.

I will continue to write about my garden.

When we go camping, I will continue to write about it.

Harvey will continue to be a regular feature as he helps me face the challenges in my life.

There are more grandchildren to come. OK, only one at the moment and she is not a boy. My daughter-in-law is in the “final stretch” with this pregnancy.

You may see more posts about birds, faeries, artwork, and antiques. Certainly I will post something about books.

And I am certain to find more things to post about cryptozoology. Notice I said “certain”. Some things don’t change and my interest in cryptids is one of those things.

Stay tuned.

It was a very lovely day today: the sun came out, it warmed up more than was predicted, my girls came over and had dinner with us, and I got to talk to my son on the phone.

Oh, and those little people called grandsons invaded my house.

They hunted for Easter Eggs in the front yard.

No one could find the egg that Sam hid in the bird feeder. Wonder why?

They pulled out every toy in the toy box and acted like they had never seen the toys before.

And then we moved outside because it was just so incredibly nice outside. And the toys that are stored in the garage had to come out: the little plastic shovel/rake/hoe sets and the bucket and the plastic wheel barrows.

My flower beds were attacked with vigor and the hazelnut mulch was carefully rearranged. Javan moved the most mulch. Zephan raked it back into the flower beds for me.

Eli did some sort of exotic dance with the net bag the outside toys go in.

Chrystal and her friend brought us chocolate cheese cake that was “to die for”. I made them take the left overs because I am already fifteen pounds overweight.

Chrystal and her friend took Harvey for a walk. Harvey thought that was the Best Easter Present Ever. Chrystal said she was impressed at how obedient he is on the lease. That’s one heck of a compliment from Chrystal.

Everyone complained about the biscuits. Seriously? I made Pillsbury “Grands”. Apparently everyone thought I was going to break out the sourdough starter and make real rolls. I didn’t even make real mashed potatoes. Or homemade gravy. Even the salad came out of a bag.

I wanted to enjoy my Easter with my grandboys before they move to Alaska. If I had been a little smarter, I would have served Easter dinner on paper plates. But I didn’t think that through and I ended up loading the dishwasher after everyone left.

At least I have a dishwasher.

Keeping everything simple meant I had more time to enjoy THIS. Just look at that! Oh-my-goodness! That is just about the most adorable snot-nosed kid on the face of the planet.

What can I say? I am a Most Blessed Grandmother.

Spring is big news here. The rest of the Nation has been having a “warmer than usual” Spring, but we have not. It’s been wetter than usual (not that I can tell: it’s always wet in the Spring time here), but it has not been particularly warm. We had snow mixed in with the rain on Thursday morning of last week.

But today dawned clear and sunny.

It also dawned cold: Portland set a new record for cold this morning: 31 degrees F. When I left the house to take Harvey to the dog park, I saw where my husband had scraped ice off of his windshield.

Today was Harvey’s second trip to the dog park. I’m getting braver about it. He was very responsive to me and kept coming back to check in. The only time I was concerned about him was when someone brought in a very shy, submissive dog and that dog rolled over onto her back while five big, bolder dogs converged on her. I called Harvey back to give that poor dog some room.

My rubber boots sprouted holes in them, so we had to go to Wilco Farm Store to get new ones. I would have stopped at BiMart, but in the weird wisdom of department stores, they have already put away their stock of rubber boots. Here, in the Pacific Northwest, where Spring = MUD, you cannot purchase rubber boots in the Spring time. Those are considered “winter wear” and are put away when the bathing suits are put out on display. Only feed and farm stores carry rubber boots year round (because feed and farm people understand MUCK).

Once again, Harvey was the hit of the store. Every child inside the store had to stop and pet him (they all asked permission first). Harvey adores children and I am sure he was just thrilled with the three little preteen girls who loved on him.

No pics, sorry. I am not yet brave enough to try to carry a camera AND the remote to Harvey’s shock collar AND try to control Harvey on a leash. Eventually, that will come.

I hope.

The boy and I came home and he hung out in the back yard while I cleaned house. TIED UP in the back yard. Harvey is on restrictions because one of the signs of Spring is Spring Fever. And for Harvey, that translates into: “How to dig my way out of the yard…”

My husband was livid when he caught the dog. Harvey was halfway under the fence. Probably the only reason he had not escaped is he is currently grossly overweight.

So until I can get more chicken wire and barriers to digging put up, Harvey is relegated to being tied up unless we are outside with him.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I really won’t dig anymore. Um, my toes aren’t crossed, either…”

It was nearly one or 1:30 before I got the first load of laundry finished, but that sun was shining and there was a brisk east breeze and…

It has to be one of the first signs of true Spring: a clothesline!

I love clotheslines.

Last year, my sister-in-law stopped by. She had her son and his girlfriend in tow. The girlfriend looked at the clothesline and asked, “What is that thing?

My nephew dead-panned: “You did not just ask that question.”

She did. She’d never seen one before. How sad is that?

Here’s a sign of Spring: the Camellia is in bloom. It’s the only time of year I like the Camellia. And it only lasts until those lovely pink blooms fade and fall onto the ground and turn into brown mush. I hate the Camellia.

The Camellia is probably going to get cut down this summer. The last few winters have been cruel to it and the extended branches are compromised.

I won’t miss it, except in the Spring.

The wild violets are blooming. My mother’s favorite flowers from her childhood were wild violets.

Her second favorite flower was the wild yellow rose that grows in the high desert of the Great Basin.

Another smiley face of purple.

I purchased this vase at a charity auction a few years ago. I have no idea what the name of the art work is, but I call it “Fish Woman”. It only gets used in the early Spring, when the flowers are short. It’s a strange design for a vase. I use it as a bud vase. Bud vases are hard to find: most people think of cut flowers as having long stems.

Fish Woman is holding the purple hyacinth, Creeping Myrtle (Periwinkle), Violets, and the Anenome. It has to be an Anenome because that is what I planted where it grows.

Oh, and there’s Forget-me-nots in there, too.

I love Forget-me-nots. Mine came from some flyer a realtor left on my door knob several years ago. If only she knew that I worked for a real estate company and I would toss her card in the trash and forget who she was. But i planted the flowers.

And, yes, I know they “grow like weeds”. And the seed pods get stuck in Harvey’s fur. But they are pretty flowers when they are blooming.

I reserve the right to call them stupid flowers in the summer, when I am brushing the sticky pods out of Harvey’s fur.

Last sign of spring: we saw a big old bumblebee today.

My brother and his daughter were in town on Thursday and Friday. Kim wanted to come up and see her cousin before she moves away to Alaska. Kim’s children had never met Arwen’s children. The cousins (Kim and Arwen) have been pregnant “together” twice, so the little second cousins are all very close in age.

I took my camera. Of course.

McDonald’s play areas are not the most conducive places for photography but I think I got some good shots.

Eliran in the little slide.

Every time Zephan came down the big slide, this was his expression.

Elijah and Brooke being silly.

Yes, Kim has an “Eli” and Arwen has an “Eli”. That was unplanned.

It was nice that the girls (er, young women!) got to get together for a brief time before Arwen moves. Chrystal came and joined the fun, but I did not get a photo of the three first cousins. That’s too bad, too – all three girls are tied together by their love and respect for Kim. Kim is the sweetest person on the face of the earth. She is possibly the most thoughtful person.

I adore my brother’s daughter.

Wait – I didn’t get any good photos of Javan! Well, I did get some photos of him, but none of them were all that great. But I did get a video of him.

It’s full of Javanisms. I wish I could tell you what Brooke was saying to him, but I couldn’t hear her over the noise. What he was saying to her was, “Were gots our socks on.” and “Were gots our shoes off.”

“Yeah.”

It was too short of a visit. I hated to see them turn around and leave on Friday afternoon, but I am so thankful they came to visit.

And, yes. Javan picked his nose. Aren’t kids just great?