This is dumb. This is dumb. I am posting about buying a dresser at Goodwill for $39.99. Really.
I almost didn’t stop at Goodwill this weekend. But, you know, it’s right next door to BiMart and I always stop at BiMart for the dogs. (If you don’t live where there is a BiMart – which is almost everywhere outside of Oregon – I am SORRY for you. I love BiMart!)
Anyway, back to my story: I stopped at Goodwill. I really wasn’t looking for anything in particular but I always check the furniture aisle because I need storage units in my studio and I keep hoping to find good dressers that are under 33″ in height. The vertical walls are 33″ tall, then they angle up with the slope of the roof above. I can’t put anything taller in here.
And – of course! – Goodwill had a GOOD dresser there for $39.99. 32″ tall by 24″ deep by 36″ wide. Small enough to fit into my KIA, deep enough to store artwork flat, and drawers that are built solid.
I bought it. Had Goodwill load it. Called my son-in-law to unload it (he didn’t come until the following day). And with it, I got a bonus: three weird doorknobs inside the top drawer.
Plastic door knobs, bad paint, cut-outs.
The rustic flavor is pretty much lost in the fact these are all plastic. What the heck? But maybe I can remover the plastic doorknobs and insert some glass ones? I have no idea. I have no idea why someone would cut out sections of a door to save plastic doorknobs and door plates??
It is a home-made dresser with solid drawers. Weighs a LOT. Sam carried it up the stairs for me after we removed the drawers. The drawers are deep enough that I can place artwork flat inside them. It replaces several boxes and for that I am thrilled. Now all I have to do is organize.
I did something today that I almost never do: nothing.
It is nigh impossible for me to sit and do nothing but that is pretty much what I did today. It was… nice.
I pulled up a lawn chair, poured myself a tall glass of lemonade and later one of sun tea, set my camera by my side “in case” and then I leaned back and enjoyed…nothing.
I started the day with a mile and half walk with Harvey before it heated up. He was beyond excited: we have not walked nearly as often this summer as we did last summer. I blame the spectre of grief: I had no energy. But sometime in the last couple of weeks, that process has reached a turning point and I feel energy seeping back into my soul and spirit. Of course, my energy surge also coincided with the rise in mercury here in the Pacific Northwest: September rolled in with a heat wave worthy of late July and early August. We’ve had glorious long days of sunshine and temperatures that have touched the nineties (farenheit).
Glorious summer.
So I wrote in my journal and listened to the day’s sounds. We live on the flight path from southern airports to PDX and there are two small airports nearby: Mulino and one over by the golf course off of S. Beavercreek Road in Oregon City. Lots of small airplanes buzz our house in their effort to catch some height. Float planes come off of the Willamette River below and circle overhead as they seek altitude. And commercial airliners drop altitude overhead as they near Portland International Airport.
September 11, 2011: ten years after. It was wonderful to listen to airplanes drone overhead: bi-planes, float planes, two-props, single props, MD-8o’s, 727’s. Ten years ago, air traffic came to a screeching halt for a full 14 days. I thought if any tribute was fitting, it was this: the freedom to fly.
Speaking of the freedom to fly, the reason I kept my camera handy was the proximity of the hummingbird feeders to the chair I was lounging in.
While I filled in my journal, at least three different hummers attended the one feeder in the shade. I identified one as the Broad-tailed and one I think was an Anna’s. One was a female hummingbird and beyond my ability to identify.
I shot all my photos with my 18-55mm lens so they are all grainy. I have been unable to set my Canon to a faster speed (I’ve followed the instructions in the manual but it keeps defaulting back to 125ASA which defeats the purpose of trying to stop motion). I plan on upgrading the Canon early next year with one that comes with a good zoom lens and the manual mode isn’t broken on. I can take much better photos on manual.
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Isn’t it a beautiful thing to possess the freedom to fly? I know the analogy between hummingbirds and 9/11/2001 is a stretch but it is all I have.
I spent part of this weekend trying to get one step ahead of Harvey.
It isn’t that he’s all that smart.
It is that he dreams of greener pastures and he is always trying his boundaries.
His first 10 months with us consisted of staying on the long lead while Murphy ran circles around him. Harvey dreamed of having the freedom that Murphy enjoyed in the backyard. And sometime after my dad died, we started allowing Harvey to roam the backyard untethered.
And then we started allowing him to be alone in the backyard for 15-20 minute increments.
He seemed to be content with peering under the boards for neighborhood cats.
Don noticed Harvey was chewing on the boards and pulling at them. He moved in some concrete blocks and screwed some old boards to the damaged ones.
I suggested we not leave Harvey alone for more than 20 minutes, but of course we would forget he was out and he would have time to plot another possible escape route.
He hasn’t done much damage to the backyard because we have managed to catch him at every turn. He tore out a board on the back fence this weekend and was halfway through the hole when I caught him. That hole led into the backyard where two Labs live (one is named Daisy but I don’t know if Daisy is the Yellow Lab or the Black Lab. I only know they have a Yellow Lab and a Black Lab and their fence is falling over into our yard in increments).
I stapled chicken wire and buried it in the dirt. weighing it down with more concrete blocks. Murphy noticed. I don’t think the people with the Labs have noticed. Harvey just moved on.
He pulled back my bamboo screen. I happened to look out a window to see him jumping up and down in the corner, trying to figure out how to scale the four foot chainlink in the corner.
On the opposite side of my little prayer garden, he pulled the bamboo screen and escaped to… our yard! Silly dog! I was merely blocking the dogs from making a traffic area behind the garden shed.
I have stapled the bamboo back up in the corner, purchased some wire fencing to stake along the base to discourage digging, and I’ve painted it all with some foul-tasting mixture called “bitter apple”. I gave up on the other corner and opened it to dog traffic, all the while chuckling about how Harvey finally managed to “escape”.
Today he saw a cat in the yard to the south. I purchased more little wire fencing and put it in the ground to discourage digging and chewing his way out. I put more wire fencing in the ground along all the cat trails through the back yard.
The cats come through when the dogs are kenneled and tease them. I’m sure of that now.
Then there’s the garden gate.
The wood shrinks when the summer heats up and the latch no longer reaches. And Harvey figured this out. And Harvey has been in the forbidden garden, hunting invisible cats.
The chair isn’t a deterrent. It merely slows him down. he gets his nose in there and begins to inch forward when no one is paying attention. Inch by inch that garden gate gives.
And Harvey thinks he is free because he is in a different section of the yard.
He’s been tied up a few times this week. But I think I am ahead of him for now. The rains are not far off and he will simply have to be tied up during the rainy season: we can find him to bring him in. Next summer we may just have to bury chicken wire along all the possible escape routes. <sigh>
The good news is that he doesn’t try very hard. Either he isn’t that bright or he’s not that motivated to escape, but his attempts have all be easily foiled. When I first brought him home, he made an easy job of scaling the front fence. I caught him teetering on the top edge of the fence. But he was a frightened dog in a strange place then. Now he loves it here. His only motivation to escape are the many cats that make our front yard their “home” away from home.
I am hoping my little fences are enough deterrent that we can still allow Harvey to be a dog loose in a fenced back yard for at least 20 minute increments of time. He’s a good dog.
And you didn’t hear it here, but they both are good dogs.
I have not posted as much here as I would like to: life sometimes gets busy or you think you don’t have anything to say. Of course, middle child that I am, I always think I have something to say – I am just not always certain everyone wants to hear what I have to say! HAHA.
My dear sister-in-law Julie spent the night last night and I tried to get her to go yard-saling with me this morning. But she had a horrendous headache and places to be, so had to turn me down. Darn. Next time, Julie! But rest assured: it was a lousy day to go yard-saling.
I thought it would be a good day being the last weekend of “the summer” (so to speak as school begins on Monday in Oregon and it being a 3-day weekend for most folks). Don even thought it would be a great day to go so he volunteered to go with me.
We went high and low but the yard sales were… dry. And few. A lot of Christmas stuff at almost every one we stopped at. I have enough Christmas stuff. Don just rolls his eyes. Unless it is really something unusual, I’m not buying Christmas stuff at yard sales anymore.
Darn, anyway. I’m glad Julie didn’t feel up to going now: it would have been wasted time.
I’m glad Julie spent the night, however. I didn’t get any photos but she spent the night with her son, Austin, and his girlfriend, Kaycee. Arwen brought the boys over to meet Aunt Julie (and Eli won everyone over, including Austin). It was fun to have the 3 little boys with my sister-in-law and her son: all these generations together!! Life is good!
Despite himself, Austin liked the little boys. And he loved the big dogs. The big dogs loved Austin. In fact, the two big dogs were beside themselves having company over. I worry about that sometimes: because we don’t have a lot of outside company, how are our dogs going to behave when we do have company? Are they going to threaten guests? Are they going to jump on people? Are they going to annoy guests (yes)?
Harvey and Murphy were so well behaved as dogs go. They wanted to be petted and they begged Austin to go play, but they didn’t growl or bark or jump on anyone. They were thrilled to have house-guests.
Murphy didn’t even steal anything.
Anyway, back to those elusive yard sales. It was a bad weekend for yard sales. Darn.
The only thing I scored were a pair of plastic butterflies in coppertone. I figured I could hang them on the shed next to the square of copper I bought last summer at some yard sale.
Cost: $0.50.
Last of the big spenders, I know. But they do look nice??
Every year the City of Oregon City hosts an open air antique fair on the last Sunday of August. We always go even though the same vendors are always there. The same stuff is not. Sometimes we buy something and sometimes we don’t. It’s all for fun.
Because of the way Oregon City is set up and the lack of parking spaces in the down-town area, we park somewhere on the bluff. We walk along the promenade to the Oregon City Elevator (Elevator Street: the only vertical street in the USA). There’s someone manning the controls of the elevator and it is only open certain hours of the day. The elevator is just one cool thing about Oregon City.
The open air antique fair is another one. Vendors line Main Street for three blocks and up two side streets. Sometimes there are 110 vendors and sometimes there are only 80-some. This year was a little on the down-side. Live music and food.
I usually do not have a specific item in mind. I just want to see what is there and what the vendors want for it. Blue glass ball jars are $3/each or 2/$5. I have lots of those. Same price for most of the antique bottles we own and the line up of old glass insulators my grandsons love to play with. There is always a lot of glassware, costume jewelry and vintage clothes. This year there were plenty of old Tonka trucks and old Playskool barns.
I love to look at the furniture. Some day I want to furnish my home in antique furniture: old sideboards and pantries that I can display my junk on. Book cases, flower pots, planters, windows to buy and paint. Cast iron fencing. Old bird cages. It is so hard to see something you just love and can’t afford to buy right now: $225 for this great cast iron fence.
Don was looking for a round cast iron pancake skillet. We found two but both were made of low-quality cast iron.
We were three booths from the end of the walk when I decided I just had to buy the one item I’d seen at the very first booth we stopped at three hours earlier. I could see it was still there and I just felt I needed to go make an offer on it now. So I left Don and found the vendor just as another couple started eyeballing my “prize”.
It’s not an antique but it is slightly used. And I paid a lot less for it at the antique fair than it sells for on the Internet.
It’s a backpacker’s easel. That I knew. And that was why I bought it. But what I didn’t know was that it is one of the top-line backpacker easels.
I did a little onl9ine search after I got home to see how much I saved because the vendor accidentally put two prices on the easel and I got the lower one. She originally had it marked $75.00 and I offered her $70. But the second tag was for $49.
I found it on eBay for anywhere from $79 (starting bid) to $160. Discount art sites listed similar ones from about the same price to $225.00. Mabef sells it for about $114.00 – $188.00(US).
I could file this under: Can I Kill My Husband Now? Apparently he became an expert on canvas water bags when my back was turned. When we started collecting them he was as baffled by their use as I was but he apparently doesn’t remember that.
Whatever.
Or maybe I remember events differently than he does. That’s very likely. I get a thought in my head and that colors all my memories. So maybe I am not mad at my husband.
When I originally posted about our little collection of canvas water bags, I asked how to use them because they drip (and I had it in my head that they were not supposed to drip).
Eight months after my original post, Al said:
THEY WERE NOT MEANT TO ” HOLD ” WATER THEY WERE DESIGNED TO SEEP THE WATER OUT ” SLOWLY ” SO THAT THE EVAPORATION WOULD COOL THE WATER . THE HAD TO BE REFILLED “FREQUENTLY”
Ten months after the original post, Ken said:
To use them properly they have to be soaked for a couple of days in water. This swells the fibres and seals the bag. The water does seep out but a full bag should last a week if not drunk. The water should be changed regularily anyway. I have one on my Ute and the water quite easily lasts a few day. The bag should not drip but have a damp surface to work correctly. They are some good examples.
And nearly two years later, Max commented:
I have used desert water bags for years. So has the U.S. military (and no doubt militaries in other countries). You can soak it before use, in hot or cold water (hot might cause the cotton to shrink though), but you don’t have to. You can fill a dry bag with water. It will leak a bit at first, but as the fibers swell, the leaking will diminish. After a while (one to several hours), the leaking will stop but the bag will remain damp — and COOL, which is the intended behavior. As long as there is water inside, and as long as the relative humidity outside is low, the evaporation will remove heat from the water inside which will keep it cool. The hotter, drier, and windier it is on the outside, the faster the rate of evaporation and the colder the water will get. But when the evaporation rate is faster, the bag needs to be refilled more often.
I have lived for a month or more out in the desert, far from electricity, and enjoyed cool water by maintaining two bags: one for receiving incoming, non-cool water, which is then used to keep the second bag full at all times. The second bag will eventually concentrate any minerals in the water, due to evaporation, leaving mineral solids behind. So the second bag gets dumped and rinsed every so often. And now you know how these bags can be used for a practical purpose.
And nearly two years later, I decided to test out the different instructions.
I picked one bag and filled it with water on the hottest day of the year (the hottest day in nearly 365 days, mind you). It dripped and dripped and slowly, slowly, slowed on the drip-drip-drip. I think it held water for about 6 hours.
On day 2, the fibers were still wet and swollen so I refilled it. It did drip a little bit. A very little bit. And it held water for 8 hours plus (I quit checking after 8 hours).
Then I did the unthinkable. I decided to TASTE it. Yup: taste the water from an old canvas water bag.
It didn’t taste too bad. Not too musty. Maybe a little like burlap. But, really, not too bad. If you were in the desert and hot and thirsty, I think it would taste outright wonderful.
Thanks to Jodi & Mike who commented within hours of my first post:
Oh my gosh those are so awesome! That’s the kind of art I have in my house. I actually remember drinking out of one of those once that my dad had – the water tasted awful. Kind of moldy and well, like burlap. But I guess if you were thirsty enough, it might taste good. (Jodi)
I love water from these bags. It tastes delightfully moldy with a hint of canvas.(Mike)
Anyway, I now have a new skill: I know how to use a canvas water bag. if we’re ever stuck in the desert together, I will bring the water in canvas water bags.
It tastes “delightfully moldy with a hint of canvas.”
OK, it’s a good thing I didn’t bet you any money because you probably just won the bet.
Grandsons.
It would be Grandchildren but since there is no estrogen in the mix, it is Grandsons.
I had THREE of them all by myself tonight. THREE. As my son-in-law left them, he thanked me. And I said, “My own kids didn’t get to spend that much one-on-one with their grandparents…” It was mostly due to distance so I am thrilled to be the Grandma within 20 minutes who can take little boys on when she wants to.
I’m a terrible grandma and Javan went home without any clean clothes despite the several pairs of pants his mom packed. We just didn’t get the pull-ups on in time to save them all.(HAHAHA – I have no compunction against getting little kids filthy dirty wet muddy – and Javan’s mom should KNOW to pack way more clothes…) 😉
(She tried to warn me…)
Harvey seemed to understand why he was in the kennel – that was pretty nice of him considering he loves the grandboys. They’re just dubious of the Big Dog that towers over them and barks Loudly. OK, Javan cries.
Zephaniah is 3.5 years old now and has a vivid imagination. He’s very focused and is becoming a “Bert” personality (as in: “don’t mess with my paper clip collection!”).
“Do you want to drive?”
“No, I want to ride.”
“OK, I will drive.”
Zephan went through several such conversations with the little people toys. He hardly moved from this one spot as he played. It was so funny to listen to him make different voices for different characters.
And, yes, he is wearing a sweatshirt in August at 4:30 in the afternoon. Don’t ask.
This kid is mechanically inclined. At age 2, he’s figured out which direction to turn the faucet to get water or to turn it off. Previously, he figured out how to pull apart his plastic yard “tools”. It comes natural to him.
He was watering my lawn – one wheelbarrow at a time.
And this guy… His personality is just emerging. He’s more like his oldest brother at this stage than he is like Javan. I don’t recall Javes ever playing with the antique insulators on the fence but Z was always fascinated by them. Eli heads straight for them.
We played in the water, rolled balls down the handicap ramp, ate mac and cheese, drove trucks and played in the water, and watched Netflix together. Thankfully, they did not request “Stuart Little: Call of the Wild” one more time. Netflix needs to get some better kids’ programming in.
I just want to say this: I am thankful that I can say “Yes, I will babysit” once in awhile. I think of how much my own children lost by not being close (geographically) to their own grandparents. I want my grandbabies to remember me with exquisite fondness.
There are a few fun things to do at Cape Kiwanda but none of them more entertaining than watching people get stuck in the sand on the beach. Just google or search youtube for videos of cars stuck by Haystack Rock, Cape Kiwanda, or Pacific City.
A little background: some of my family has been four-wheeling since Jeep was invented. My brother still has the same 1953 Willys Jeep he bought when he was 16. Some of the family are serious off-road junkies. Some are serious mechanics.
Did you ever see “My Cousin Vinny”? That movie never fails to crack me up. Not because I can recite auto parts like Marisa Tomei’s character can but because I know my dad and brother always wanted that stuff to rub off on me. A conversation between the two of them was always something technical about spark plugs, O-rings, calipers, rotors, distributer caps and, well, mechanical stuff. Stuff that goes right over my head.
But I have a couple cousins who caught that gene or married into that gene pool and raised children who also caught that gene.
That I am missing it is beside the point: I have been yelled at enough (before I was 18 years old and on my own) to know how to unstuck a car. I know better than to drive where my car cannot go even though it says it has 4-wheel drive (it has clearance of about 6 inches).
There was the Firebird that drove down into the sand. Seriously: Firebird? That has a clearance of about 2 inches, doesn’t it? And you want to drop it into soft sand? BWAHAHAHAHA: tow bill.
One of my first-cousins-once-removed races 4×4’s in her spare time. She was the greatest critic of the different “stuck” situations (“A mini-van? seriously?” “Oh, hey, should I walk down there and show the guys in the pickup how to get out without damaging their drive train? HAHAHA!”) She knew which rigs torqued their 4-wheel drive and which drivers knew what they were doing (even if they were in street cars).
I only picked up on bits and pieces of this because I didn’t spend a lot of time at the beach. The one day I did wander around was when Don came down to join us.
Cheryl, Danielle, Tad, Patti, Jan, Pegi, Lloyd, Aaron
It was low tide and we even got to see some things in the few tidal pools at Cape Kiwanda.
It was a rather fun stroll on the beach with everyone, exploring things not seen at high tide.
Don, Pegi, Cheryl & I wandered back up the beach before anyone else. On the way, we watched someone pull a minivan out of the sand. As Pegi said, “They’re walking around the tow rope? I’ve seen those things snap…”
And me as the minivan came lose from the clutches of the sand: “Turn the wheel! Straighten it out! Turn, Turn, Turn!” (They didn’t) But you can bet your bottom dollar those words have been yelled at ME and *I* turned the wheel.
We crested the sand-covered concrete ramp to the beach. It’s there mostly for the dory boats and their rides: big V-8 trucks with trailers or diesels with trailers. But cars mistake the ramp for an easy stroll on the beach, too. As we walked up the ramp, we saw a parade of “professionals” some down it.
These guys were so good, they turned off the ramp into the deep sand before they got to the bottom of the ramp and the nice hard damp sand. These guys were not getting stuck. They were laughing in the face of being stuck.
I missed the first one.
But I got the other four. These are for my brother. And for Danielle, if she reads my blog.
Here come the pros (warning: these are not Jeeps. They’re International Scouts):
I’m a Jeep girl all the way, but there is something so nostalgic and real about the old International Scout that you can’t help but give these folks a “thumbs up”. Just drop the air pressure in the tires a little and put her in four-wheel drive, easy on the gas.
Terry & Danielle were not there to see the Scout Parade, so I took photos.
Sorry I missed the first one.
But here you go: not everyone who drives on the beach at Cape Kiwanda is behind the wheel of a 2-wheel front-wheel drive. 😉
Cheryl is the oldest. My first memory of Cheryl was when I was 10. She was around before I was ten, I just don’t remember those days. She graduated from high school when I was ten and we made the cross-country trip to Durand for her graduation. She was the only one of the cousins to spark a family reunion.
Cheryl is one of my closest cousins. I don’t feel any age difference when I am with her – I just feel the love. OK, she treats me like “the baby” and I’m not even the youngest. I love Cheryl.
Pegi is next in age. I love this woman. She waved at me in every photo I took (except one). Hi Pegi! (Waving back).
Parade wave, of course.
I only wish her husband, Dale, could have come. Dale is pretty cool. Her youngest son, Keith, came but I did not get any photos of him. I did, however, wave him down when he idled into the campground on his Harley. He must have sensed that I was a “Melrose” because he obeyed my wave and came over. I mean, would you just go over to a stranger waving at you??
“I’m too sexy for my shorts…” Oh wait, that’s a song by Right Said Fred. Wait. That was SHIRT.
Wait. That’s my BROTHER. Bother. Bother Brother.
Terry is next in line, age-wise.
Patti has had white hair for as long as I have known her.
Well, maybe just since she turned 21. I don’t know. It seems like she’s been white-haired forever. I do remember she had dark hair as a kid. She’s a tad younger than Terry. Janis (in the background) is next in age.
Patti is Cheryl & Pegi’s sister. Just in case you are trying to keep track.
Ellen cheering on her Aunt Patti.
Janis. Janis is a few months older than I am. She put this whole thing together. Her dad picked the site and everything went from there. She organized the games, the events, the camping, the food. Janis is awesome.
I love you Janis.
My sweetheart with my cousins Cheryl & Pegi. I swear that is *not* dog poop in Pegi’s hands. I don’t know what it is, but it is *not* dog poop.
Not shown: Val (she was out shopping) & Wendy (she turned her head in every photo I took that had her in it).
Also not shown: Tori (she stayed in Wisconsin. She lost her youngest daughter this spring. Times are hard for her right now) & Jonn, the “baby” (he was chained to his job).
Next year, we’ll all try to gather in Wisconsin to celebrate the nuptials of cousin Aaron and lovely Heather. Heather is assimilated: this is the second family reunion she’s braved.
The time was too short and now it’s back to regular life without my cousins. Randi, Val, Danielle, Jerry, Tad, Ellen, Heather, Aaron, Terry, Pegi, Lloyd, Wendy, Patti, George (and Bubba) & Jan. I miss you guys!!
I get car sick so I always get the front seat. Someone once suggested I keep a stash of Dramamine for riding in the car? I dead-panned with, “Why would I do that? I get car sick; I get the front seat. I don’t get car sick; I ride in back. Car sickness has its perks.”
I got the front seat with cousin Cheryl driving.
Cousin Patti had control of the GPS. She sat in the second seat and played with the controls until we were driving a Monster Truck and the GPS had the sexy Australian male voice of someone named “Lee”. We changed Lee’s name to “Mick” because it sounded more Australian. Probably had nothing to do with Mick “Crocodile” Dundee.
Mick continually reminded us when we missed a potential turn to Cape Meares.
“Recalculating,” he would say politely. “Turn left on Bay Oh-see-an Drive.”
Bay what? Oh-see-an. you know: Australian computer for Ocean.
We turned left on Bay Oh-see-an Drive behind the rest of our party. We made certain we had our load secured (the signs beside the road warned us to) when we began the climb up to the point the lighthouse sits on.
The lighthouse has been vandalized but it still is an interesting landmark, the volunteer staff was wonderful, and the day was a perfect summer day on the Oregon Coast; the fog burned off and the wind hadn’t started.Cormorants called to each other from flocks floating on blue water. A sea lion played in the waves. We looked through telescopes at tidal pools. Some of us spent a little money stimulating the Oregon economy and purchased trinkets in the gift shop.
Then we headed back to Highway 101 and, eventually, Tillamook.
Mick couldn’t find the cheese factory. We just followed the car in front of us. They turned right when they should have turned the other right. We drove out to the Air Museum instead of the cheese factory. We turned around. Mick now knew where the cheese factory was and started recalculating.
I’ll skip the cheese factory: all of Portland was packed inside the building, there was only a self-guided tour, the lines to the lunch counter were almost out the doors, the aroma of cow manure and ice cream was overwhelming outside, you could not have a personal bubble inside the building, it was noisy and there were too many people.The elderly among us opted out and went to Denny’s for lunch (elderly=over 80).
I headed straight for the ice cream line and got myself a mint chocolate-chip ice cream cone. Then I looked around for the rest of the family.
They were in line behind me.
We ate ice cream and left. Scratch that off of my “to-do” list forever.
I was with Cousins Cheryl, Patti, Wendy and Janis. Patti, Wendy & Pegi are all accomplished seamstresses and quilters. Everyone else headed to the Air Museum; we headed to the Latimer Quilt & Textile Museum.
Pegi, both aunts and Uncle Bob caught up with us at the quilt museum. Uncle bob is a saint: he didn’t want to go to the quilt museum; he wanted to go to the air museum. His wife of 59 years wanted to go to the quilt museum. He took her to the quilt museum. What a guy.
It was a very cool museum and we coerced some guy into taking a group photo of all of us that went.
Then we went to the air museum. I would have liked to have gone in but my ride was not interested. That’s OK: I know I can get Don to go down there with me and we can do it together and that would be a whole lot more sun for me. My ride wanted to get back onto Highway 101 with Mick and search for a grocery store.
Nevermind that we just drove by a Fred Meyer in Tillamook. That was back towards the cheese factory and the quilt museum. No looking back: we were going to let Mick find us a grocery store on the way back to Pacific City. We wanted one large enough to have a bakery where we could purchase a cake for Uncle Bob & Aunt Phyl’s 59th wedding anniversary. Did I just mention we passed a Fred Meyer in Tillamook?
That’s OK: Mick apparently didn’t catch the significance, either and began calculating the distance to the next corner grocery/bait shop between Tillamook and Lincoln City (24 miles on the other side of Pacific City from Tillamook). I happen to know where the Safeway is in Lincoln City. But it was much more fun to let Mick give directions.
Mick had a sexy Australian voice. And he told us where every store in every small town was. Sadly, the store in Cloverdale was closed so we had to head for the store in Hebo. And that was where Mick failed us entirely.
If you read my blog, you know how I feel about relying on GPS for directions. And you know how I feel about venturing out with only a GPS and no paper map to guide you. Yet here I was with my cousins, enjoying the front seat, letting Mick the Australian Voice GPS tell us where to go in my own backyard, the Oregon Coast.
Hey, I don’t get out often.
Mick said to turn left in Hebo. As we turned left, I saw the market/bait shop on the right. And Mick immediately began recalculating. He told us to turn left at the next intersection.
It looked like a private drive. But Mick insisted we go straight .35 miles and turn right.
“He’s turning us around!” some bright soul cried out.”
Someone cued “Dueling Banjos”.
Cheryl pulled into the driveway of an abandoned garage. Cheryl started laughing so hard she had an asthma attack. We all started laughing so hard we peed our panties. Did I mention we now had two more bodies in the car? Ellen & Heather had joined us. Ellen and Heather are young and don’t know what incontinence is. The rest of us wished we were old enough for Depends.
Some guy in a pick-up truck came down the road and stared at us. He drove on by.
When Cheryl could finally breathe and drive again, we turned around (how hard was it to say “Turn Around Here”, Mick? How hard?). We did not stop at the bait shop in Hebo.
Cousin Janis suggested the grocery store in Pacific City might have what we needed.
“There’s a grocery store in Pacific City?” Cheryl intoned.
Well, yes. There is. We drove by it on our way to Cape Meares in the morning…
We didn’t get a bakery cake, but we got a nice cake at the Pacific City store. Happy 59th Aunt Phyllis & Uncle Bob! Love birds.
P.S. – Uncle Bob got to see the Air Museum. Aunt Phyllis waited for him.
It is a home-made dresser with solid drawers. Weighs a LOT. Sam carried it up the stairs for me after we removed the drawers. The drawers are deep enough that I can place artwork flat inside them. It replaces several boxes and for that I am thrilled. Now all I have to do is organize.
Jaci Dawn 