It’s A Wrap

I haven’t always been a Scrooge.  I loved Christmas when I was growing up and couldn’t wait to celebrate the season as an eighteen year old newlywed.  But the now ex was a bit of a curmudgeon and each year that passed without spending the holidays with my family or children of our own made it that much harder to keep up the holiday spirit.  Christmas with the in-laws always included short tempers and screaming matches.  Of course it was easier to skip the decorating and not mail out cards.

Fourteen years of being a Scrooge is a hard habit to break.  When Mark started decorating the townhouse, I couldn’t help but snicker and roll my eyes.  Garland and lights on the handrail?  Poinsettia in the downstairs bathroom and a wreath on the front door?  I have to buy a stocking too??

But then I was humming along to his Christmas playlist, and I was asked to join the Gingerbread Lalas for the gingerbread house decorating contest at work.  We cut down our own tree and sipped hot apple cider as we drove away from the christmas tree farm.  Almost every evening was spent cuddling on the couch, while the lights twinkled around us.  I watched Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer for the first time in over twenty years.

Mark already wrote about Christmas Eve in Newburg and our Christmas morning of gifts, breakfast, Mimosas, dinner at the Parental’s house, and wrapping presents on the bed while sipping hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps and watching A Christmas Story.  It may not seem like a big deal, but it was during our present wrapping when I realized that Mark had managed to bring out years of suppressed Christmas spirit.

We really are a perfect match.  We compliment each other in every way and while I was a bit skeptical the day after Thanksgiving, I’m grateful that my boyfriend is giddy for Christmas and I no longer dread the merriment of the holidays.

Aside from feeling grateful for all life has given us lately, there hasn’t been too much else going on.  The new job is great and keeps me busy.  We had a record month in November and as an incentive to catch up on back-logged loans and avoid end-of-month bottlenecking, we had the opportunity to earn triple overtime pay.  The incentive was extended through December 31st, but apparently it worked because my drawer is half empty and I worked my regular schedule this last week.  I just hope my loan officer is staying busy and sends up lots of new files soon.

I’ll be heading to Vegas in a few weeks.  I had booked a trip to visit Mark last winter and it was subsequently cancelled when I decided to quit my job and move to Washington.  I now have a credit with Southwest Airlines that will expire the end of January.  My dad and sister have birthdays that fall close to the MLK Jr. holiday, so I’m going to take advantage and spend the weekend with family and friends.  I’m not thrilled that I’m going alone, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit excited for some much needed girl time.

As 2012 draws to a close, I can’t help but feel a sense of awe at how this leap of faith worked out so perfectly.  Mark read one of my earlier posts, written shortly before I moved, and he commented on how down I was.  I remember feeling so emotional, stressed, and scared.  There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about my loved ones back in Nevada.  I miss them all so much and wish Ely was just a few hours closer so we could visit more often.  But…as hard as it is to be apart from them, I’m also revelling in this new life Mark and I are making for ourselves.  I love that I get to spend time with my adorable nephew and I’ve seen my mom more times in the last year than I have in the last ten years combined.  I love that Portland and Vancouver has so much to offer; music, festivals, food, shopping, hiking…  There’s no excuse for being bored here.  We’re already planning new adventures for 2013 and I can’t wait to see what’s in store for us.

I truly thank you for your support this year.  It’s been a rollercoaster and I can’t express enough how much of a difference it makes to have someone that will hug me when I cry, laugh at my silly jokes, cheer me on through the tough times, and still be interested through the boring times.  I love you all and wish you the best in the new year.

Magical B-Dubs

And just like that, my job search is over.

Monday evening, Mark and I were on our way to the grocery store for our weekly shopping.  I was filling him in on my second interview with XYZ Bank during much of the shopping trip and explaining what a loan processor does.  We were supposed to make pizzas on the grill, but then Mark jokingly suggested we head over to Buffalo Wild Wings.  That’s what we did after he had his interview with Allegro, whom he’s now employed with.

It wouldn’t hurt, right?

So we quickly put away groceries, grabbed the kids, and drove across the river to Cascade Station.  It wasn’t until we pulled into the parking lot that we realized it was Monday Night Football.  The place was packed and we ended up waiting about 15 minutes for a table.  Mark has never been to a sports bar during a game so he was a bit taken aback by the raucous cheering, clapping, and hollering.  I just chuckled and reminded him that I had spent 12 hours in a bar in Elko during the playoffs a few years ago…racking up a $200 bar tab and having a fantastic time with a revolving group of friends at our table.  Good times!

We ended up having lots of fun, enjoyed some tasty burgers and wings (and fried pickles, of course!) and cheered along with everyone else when Seattle was given (because no, they didn’t really score) the winning touchdown.

The next day I had a voicemail from the first person I interviewed with asking me to call him so we could discuss their job offer.

Holy shitballs!  Eating at B-Dubs totally worked!!

It was just my luck that I got his voicemail and it felt like an eternity while I paced the living room, waiting for him to return my call.  The butterflies in my stomach were almost painful!  Twenty minutes later, he finally did and I found out I will be one of their new loan processors and my first day will be October 8th.  Normally, I would’ve started this next Monday, but the manager I’m working under is gone all next week so that pushes my start date out.  Which, I’m totally fine with this because as of last night, I’m driving to Ely on Sunday to meet the new renters that will be moving in on Thursday.

When it rains, it pours!

I’ve often wondered if this is how it would be.  I would worry and stress about not finding a job and running out of money.  It would build and build and just when I got to that point of breaking, everything would fall into place.  How fortunate that within days of closing out my IRA and depositing the only remaining funds I had, I landed a job that will pay me almost $2.00 an hour more than my last.  And there are production bonuses.  And overtime.  And no commute.  And great benefits.  And, and, and…just pinch me already!

I clicked on my trusty Excel spreadsheet to see how long my last payout would last me.  All bills are paid through mid-October.  My upcoming trips to Ely and Seattle are covered, as is my ticket to see BRUCE MOTHERFUCKIN’ SPRINGSTEEN on November 28th!  I even had enough money to buy some new outfits for work.  I’m so not surprised that none of my old work clothes fit.  However, they are stashed in the closet and will come out again soon, once Mark and I start working out together in the mornings. 

So…that’s basically it.  Lots of other cool things these last couple of weeks like our one year anniversary, camping, and horses’ asses, but head on over to Mark’s blog for that stuff.  He’s much better at this than I am.

Checking In

*tap tap tap*

Hello?

Oh, hi there, neglected blog.  How’s it hangin’?

I guess Mark has pestered me enough about writing a post, and seeing as how it’s a little before 5am and I’ve gone through all my bookmarked time suck websites, I may as well get this done and shut him up for a while.

I mean that in the nicest way possible, darling.

There are a of couple reasons for staying away.  One being that Mark always beats me to the punch when chronicling out latest happenings.  Two being that I can’t knock out a post in thirty seconds like he does and my time has been better spent trying to find a job.  Lastly, there’s been a little bit of depression floating around and when that happens I tend to limit my communication to only what is absolutely necessary.

The fog it lifting and I hope to keep up the momentum.  So, here I am.

Aside from the whole “being an unemployed loser”, things have been going well.  There’s never a shortage of things to do and sometimes we have to force ourselves to not make any plans just so we can relax, clear out the DVR, or get things done around the house.  I can’t believe it’s been almost five months since I left Nevada.  Some days, it feels like I’ve been here for years.  Other times it feels like I barely left.

Speaking of Nevada, I had to make a quick trip down there last month to check on my house after the renters moved out.  I had mixed emotions about the trip and while I was excited to see family and friends, I was dreading the drive and I’d had several weeks to agonize over worst-case scenarios for what the condition of my house would be when I got there.  I was also dreading the fact that it was going to be in the 90′s and neither my house or my dad’s has decent air conditioning.  I sure have gotten spoiled with the mild temperatures up here (and the central air in Mark’s townhouse).

One huge highlight from that trip was meeting up with an old BFF from my Utah days.  Twenty-one years ago, Mandi and I were inseparable.  Then I moved to Idaho Falls and though it took a few years, we eventually fell out of touch.  In fact, the last time I saw her was just a few months before I got married in 1995.  We reconnected on Facebook last year and have been trying to meet up ever since.  A quick stop in Boise for lunch turned into a two hour visit.  I met her kids, husband, and cat, and wanted to stay a few more days just so we could catch up.  Dad was expecting me though, so I had to get back on the road and book it south.

Boy, did we laugh about all our teenage shenanigans!

Summer of ’92. Rockin’ the b.u.m. equipment and Girbaud jeans!

 

The house ended up not being as bad as I feared, although I still had my work cut out for me.  It needed a good cleaning, contrary to the renter’s pissy text message a couple days later that the house had been left spotless.  I know we all have our own ideas of “clean”, but mine does not include six months of greasy build up on the top part of the stove, a bag of mostly melted ice in the freezer, and a bunch of crap left in the storage shed and one of the utility room cupboards.  I tried to come prepared by packing a bunch of cleaning supplies and my tool box, but there were still multiple trips to town for more supplies…and a pneumatic shock for the front storm door after I found out they had ruined the existing one.  I was being pestered about their security deposit, but its funny how things got suddenly quiet after I emailed pictures with a line item list of all the cleaning and repairs.  This may be my first time being a landlord, but I’m no dummy.

Aside from dealing with house stuff, I had a great time visiting family and friends.  My first morning in town was spent with Doreen for our traditional morning coffee bullshit session.  Two hours later I finally drug myself out of the office to get started on the house.  The power was turned off so I couldn’t even run the ceiling fans and it was quickly approaching 90 degrees.  Lesson learned, I worked on the house in the mornings for the rest of my visit and spent the afternoons trying to squeeze in as much visiting as I could.  My last night in town a few of us met at the softball fields to watch a game and then met a few more later on for dinner and drinks.  Good times all around!

Since I had given myself a week to travel, get shit done, and drive back to Washington, I decided to detour to Elko to visit more family.  Dria and I had lots of catching up to do and just like most of our past visits, there were lots of beers and laughter involved.  Friday was my free day to just relax and hang out with Dria and the baby before leaving early Saturday morning.  We did just that and while I really wanted to stay up for another late night of girl talk, I knew I had to hit the sack early.

Not surprising, I tossed and turned most of the night.  By 4am I had given up trying to get any more sleep.  I had been smart the night before and had packed up the car except for a change of clothes, a ball cap, and my toothbrush.  Five minutes after climbing out of bed I was back in my car and headed home.

Not only did I get to surprise Mark by showing up an hour earlier than he thought, I was greeted with a beautiful sunrise just south of Wildhorse Reservoir.

Nevada always treats me to her best scenery whenever I leave.

I think the days following that trip is when things started to go down hill for me.  I had a come-apart the night I got back; a culmination of exhaustion and hormones.  After a really good cry and a decent night of sleep I was feeling better, but I never pulled myself completely out of the funk.  I think it’s partly from missing my friends and family.  I hated saying goodbye again so soon.  I kinda miss my job, but I miss not having a paycheck more.  Nobody likes to admit they can’t get a job and I’m just so sick of submitting resume after resume.  I’ve lost track of how many jobs I’ve applied for since I got here.  A hundred? More?  Of course it’s discouraging, especially when the turn-downs come in, even after you thought you totally nailed the second interview.

Besides feeling like a loser, there’s the added stress of money.  My stash is quickly dwindling and depending on how quickly I can get another renter moved in, I’ll be tapped out in another month or so.  I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’ll more than likely have to get a service industry job until I can land something more permanent.  I’ve already looked into getting my food handler’s card (a state requirement) and have been keeping my eye out for decent openings (with decent shifts).

Sometimes, when I’m tossing and turning during the wee hours of the night, I wonder if I made the right decision.  Was it worth giving up a secure, decent paying job with excellent benefits, and my retirement to move up here?  Should I have waited it out a few more months until I had a better handle on my savings and job situation?  Was it worth risking my good credit, health, and sanity?  When I think of all the memories, all the times I held my nephew in my arms, all the laughter, tears, passionate embraces, and tender kisses…I think abso-fucking-lutely.

This little guy makes it all worth it.

And so does this guy!

I’m No Bill Dance

Yesterday, I discovered I don’t know nearly as much about fishing as I thought did.

Several weeks ago, Mark and I started planning a camping trip with the kids.  Since Audrey and Rusty’s wilderness activities have been limited to hiking and staying in a cabin at Battle Ground Lake seven or eight years ago, we wanted to make sure this trip would be the real deal…pitching a tent, cooking over the campfire, and fishing.  Those poor city kids have never been fishing!

I haven’t been trout fishing in ages.  I prefer to cast lures for bass or troll for walleye.  In fact, the last time I went out fishing with a little styrofoam container full of nightcrawlers was back when the ex and I had a boat and were living in Island Park, ID…almost nine years ago.  But that’s not as bad as Mark, who hasn’t fished since 1999.  We know this because the old fishing license was in his tackle box.

We figured it would be a good idea to have a test run before our big adventure next weekend.  Tuesday, I got my Washington driver’s license and then hurried over to the sporting goods store to purchase my “resident” fishing license.  We picked up a few miscellaneous camping items and, of course, the worms.  The next morning we packed up our gear, threw together some snacks and drinks in a cooler, and headed north to Battle Ground Lake.

Not only is my trout fishing knowledge limited, so is my gear.  The ex took all the fishing gear we had accumulated over fourteen years, and was kind enough to break the tips on my fishing poles when he moved out.  I bought a new rod and reel combo last summer, along with some tackle.  We were still short a pole for next weekend, so I bought another pole last week and some more tackle.  Knowing we would be fishing for trout, I stayed away from the lures and loaded up on PowerBait, leaders, weights, and bobbers.

Mark was feeling a bit emasculated after all the comments we were getting on Facebook, so he was quick to string his own line and bait his own hook.  Granted, I had to give him pointers along the way and the look on his face was priceless when I told him to pinch one of the worms in half since it was too long for his hook…but he caught on quick and grew more confident with each cast.

We got a few bites to start, which was encouraging, but none of those bites turned into catches.  After my first cast I realized I had the wrong size test on my reel and struggled with rats nests most of the morning.  The longer we went without reeling anything in, the more I started to doubt what we were doing.  Were the hooks on the leaders too small?  We were fishing too close to the bank?  Should we move to another spot?  Are there too many weights on the line?  Too few?  Is the bobber too close to the hook?

I know fishing a new area is trial and error and some days are just better than others, but I sure was feeling like an idiot out there.  I started thinking about all the fishing trips I’ve been on over the years and how easy it was to land those walleyes and reel in the bass.  But it wasn’t me that knew which lure to use or which bank to troll.  It was my Dad!  No wonder fishing was so easy when the poles were already strung up, there were hundreds (no joke!) of lures to choose from and all I had to do was pick one out (that he suggested, of course) clip it to the swivel (no tying knots for me!), connect a planer board, kick back, and drink beer.

The ex could’ve easily killed my love for fishing.  Very seldom did we ever go out and not get into a fight.  He had quite the temper and was always getting pissed over the dumbest things.  He hated if I brought a book to read, literally balled up his fists and stomped his feet when he lost a lure once, and loading or launching the boat always meant there would be cussing and yelling.  Once, while living in Kansas, we were fishing under a bridge after a co-worker told him it was a great place for jigging.  I started to jig, just like my dad had taught me, and the ex said, “You’re such an idiot.  You’re doing it wrong!”  It felt great to tell him to piss off after I reeled in a 12″ crappie ten minutes later.

Thankfully, fishing with my dad more than made up for all those bad times.  He recently bought a boat specifically for ocean fishing and has talked about bringing it up here so we can hit the Oregon coast.  In the meantime, Mark and I will get better at drowning those worms.  He couldn’t have a bad temper if he tried, so I know we’ll always have a good time.  And just so he’ll feel better about all those years of not fishing, I’ll even let him gut the fish.

Picture Perfect Portland

A couple weeks ago, I saw an announcement on TV for the Starlight Parade.  I haven’t been to a decent parade in years (although the 4th of July parade in Ely is always fun) and since it was on a Saturday night and we had no plans, we decided to go.  Those plans evolved into spending the whole day in Portland, starting with the Farmers Market and ending with the parade.  Our day didn’t go exactly as we had discussed (we never did find a park for a picnic and a couple hours to lounge under a tree to read and maybe take a little snooze), but we still had a great time.  We walked A LOT, ate some great food, and saw all kinds of eclectic weirdness that makes Portland so wonderful.

Here’s our day, in pictures. Lots of pictures…

The “June Gloom” was in full effect as we headed into downtown Portland. I held out hope it would warm up to Friday’s temperatures and foolishly wore capris and sandles…and forgot a jacket.

 

Our first stop, the Portland Farmers Market, had me drooling over all that green deliciousness.

 

And swooning over the beautiful blooms.

 

This lively bluegrass band was awfully creative. The old suitcase was used for a kickdrum and the guy with the banjo has a tambourine duct taped to his foot. Way to multitask!

 

Even though I’m not an Oregon registered voter, this guy let me take his picture. Potheads are cool like that.

 

After the market, we stopped in at Powell’s for a potty break and to look for a NW camping book. This is my third visit and I still haven’t been on every floor.

 

Lunchtime was a upon us, so we made a beeline for the food truck pod at 10th and Alder. We sampled some Dump Truck dumplings, then went our separate ways to decide which truck we would try this trip.

 

I went for the Frying Scotsman since I’m not getting nearly enough fish ‘n chips up here. The Scotsman was really nice, but hard to understand with his thick Scottish accent.

 

Do you know what else was thick? The batter on that piece of fish! Fried to perfection and so very, very good. I could’ve filled up on just that one piece, but I’m glad I got to taste their yummy fries and coleslaw too. BTW…all that food for $7.50!

 

Red Robin ain’t got nuthin’ on this YUM.

 

While walking to the Saturday Market (aka Hippie Paradise), we saw some interesting sights along the way. Here’s the line for Voodoo Donuts. I can attest that their maple bacon bar is absolutely worth the long wait.

 

Which came first, the bumper sticker or the mural on the building? Either way, this slogan describes Portland to a T.

 

What’s not so weird is Portland’s fanaticism for recycling. I’m now scared to death to throw anything away in a regular garbage can for fear the recycling Gestapo will haul me away.

 

The Saturday Market is flush with hippies, hemp, tie-dye, cheap jewelry, street art, and so much other stuff I can’t begin to list it all. I was on sensory overload at this point and didn’t snap a single picture. I did manage to pick up a super cute shoulder bag, sporting a lime green peace symbol on the front, of course.

 

On the fly, we decided to stop at Old Town Pizza on Davis Street. Since Mark has always been fascinated with the paranormal, we were excited to sit at the table in the elevator shaft were the resident ghost, Nina, plunged to her death over a hundred years ago. We kicked back for a couple hours to enjoy some tasty adult beverages and garlic knots. More YUM!

 

Mark channeling the spirit of Nina…or getting buzzed from the lemonade with black currant liqueur, vodka, and cranberry juice.

 

We made our way back to the parade route and found a spot to kickback while waiting for the parade to start. Once the streets were closed off to traffic, the kids around us took advantage and played with sidewalk chalk, footballs, and anything that makes annoyingly loud noises.

 

What does an author do while waiting for a parade to start? He reads, of course!

 

Before the parade, we got to watch the Starlight runners whiz past us. Costumes are encouraged and some of these guys had us pointing and laughing.

 

The guy with a mixing bowl and apron was one of my faves.

 

Also before the parade were a bunch of firemen with a ladder and a safety net. The ladder would get hoisted up and secured in place with ropes. A guy would run up the ladder and then fall onto the net. It only took a few minutes before the ladder was down and they were hurrying to the next block to set up again.

 

It was a long and cold wait for the parade to start, but well worth it. There was a great mix of floats, marching bands, and local organizations. My favorites were the drumband, Star Wars group, Fright Town, and Pirates of Portlandia.

 

Not Luke’s father.

 

Please, don’t shoot me!

 

These drummers were one of my faves.

 

With each beat of the drum, the inside lit up.

 

The “people” from Fright Town.

 

I will sleep better at night knowing they are out there to protect us.

 

Argh!!

 

Things to remember for next year:  Dress in layers!  Bring a jacket…and gloves!!  Bring CHAIRS!!!

Smorgasbord

I stepped on the scale the other morning.

Yikes.

I shouldn’t be surprised, what with all the amazing food we’ve been eating since I arrived here.  All the entrees, coffees, cocktails, and maple bacon bars.  My fat jeans quickly became my every day jeans.  My lounge pants are no longer comfortable for lounging.  And I’m typing this while nibbling on a chewy peanut butter cookie (the secret is to substitute half of the brown sugar called for in the recipe with honey).

I wasn’t surprised that I had gained some weight, just surprised I had gained that much.

I want my jiggly arms, stomach rolls, and cottage cheese thighs to forgive my transgressions and try to understand just how delicious the food is around here.  It seems like everywhere we go there is some special dish or new-to-me place we just HAVE to try…cajun tater tots at the Bagdad Theater, clam chowder at Pier 101, fish and chips at the Rouge Ales Public House (they put frickin’ DILL in their batter!!), mac-n-cheese at Beecher’s Handmade Cheese.  And then there are the homecooked meals…Mark’s spaghetti and meatballs, my egg rolls and sesame noodles, his chicken cacciatore, my barbecued chicken (made with his homemade bbq sauce, of course).  And since Mark doesn’t bake, I’ve been kind enough to show off some of my favorite recipes…Better Than Sex Cake (it’s really not, but its close), beer bread, potato rolls, cookies.

We really need to knock this shit off.

In my defense, I’ve lived in small towns for the last twenty years.  Granted, they have their own great places to eat and my dad is one helluva cook, but they don’t have one tenth of the variety of stores, pubs, markets, and restaurants.  When I was living in Nevada, anytime I went out of town I had to eat at the places we didn’t have back home.  I’m still of that mindset because A) there is too much variety out there to not try as many different things as you can and B) I really, really, really like eating.  Besides, life is too short to waste time eating crappy food.

Honestly, I don’t see this changing anytime soon.  I’m not overly concerned with the weight gain.  I’m still a few pounds below my heaviest weight and Mark and I have started walking in the mornings.  As soon as I’m working and settled into a daily routine, it’ll be a lot easier to stick to healthier breakfasts and lunches.  We want to get a family membership to the Firstenburg Center, which is just a couple of miles from here.  They have an indoor pool and walking track, exercise equipment, and classes.  The price for all four of us is very reasonable and I know the kids will enjoy it as much as we will.  More activity will offset all that rich food we’re consuming.  Hopefully.  Maybe.

Live Here, Love Here, and Die Here

It’s after 12pm.  I’m still in my pajamas and still sipping my second cup of coffee.  It’s one of those mornings where I have zero energy and zero motivation to get anything done.  We spent the weekend playing along the Oregon coast and I’m plum worn out!

Mark has already done a bang up job of writing about our weekend.  Not only does he have a great way with words, but he’s able to express what I’m feeling without me even saying anything!  We’re so in sync with each other it can be scary sometimes.

Hard to believe its been almost a month since I left Nevada.  Even though I’m without gainful employment, we’re staying plenty busy.  The unpacking, organizing, and cleaning is mostly done.  We’re at a stopping point because the patio is still inaccessible and the grill, patio furniture, and fireplace thingy are taking up residence in the garage.  Once we can move all that stuff back outside, we can finish organizing the garage and go through the last half dozen or so boxes.

Now we’re focusing on other things.  In between submitting resumes, going to job interviews, scrubbing bathrooms and running errands, we’re playing too.  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, right?  We’ve gone hiking with the kids, took a drive down the Columbia River Gorge to see a couple waterfalls and have a picnic lunch at Crown Point, spent two nights in Seattle to swoon over my baby nephew, visited Powell’s Book Store, ate my first food truck lunch, and tonight we’re rocking out to the Black Keys and Arctic Monkeys at the Rose Garden.  We’re also seeing The Lonely Forest and Campfire OK at the Doug Fir Lounge Wednesday night.

As much as I love the Black Keys, I’m more excited for the Wednesday night concert.  We saw Campfire OK during City Arts Festival in Seattle back in October.  Not only is their music really good, they put on a great show.  The pure joy on their faces as they play on stage is contagious.  The Lonely Forest is a local band Mark introduced me to and I just can’t get enough of their music!

All this awesomeness only confirms that I made the right decision.  Yes, it’s only been three weeks, but we’re adjusting to co-habitation quite nicely.  I love hanging out with the kids and we’ll never be lacking in things to do.  This weekend we’re having a yard sale and since the kids are going back to their mom’s early, I’m sure there will be some imbibing Saturday night.  We’re kicking around ideas for Sunday.  Lounge in bed?  Farmer’s Market?  Or maybe hang around the Hawthorne District and check out some vintage stores.  Decisions, decisions….

Sometimes, its tough to be me.

Getting Settled

Eight whole days have passed since I landed in beautiful Vancouver, WA.  Aside from being tired, sore, more tired and more sore, I’ve loved every minute so far.  I’ve been wanting to sit down and share lots of pretty pictures, write a play by play of our visit to Seattle and our trip to the Gorge on Saturday, but I’ve been too busy, ya know, cleaning.

Oh, yes…you knew that was coming.

I told Mark there would be a rebuttal to his post from yesterday, so I’m going to just dive right in:

Your house smells nice.  – Yes, I have Scentsy warmers and a few candles, but so does he.  He even has an incense burner.  Since Mark isn’t a pothead, I can only assume this is a nod to his hippy tendencies.

There are about fifty pairs of shoes filling your closets. – I really don’t expect him to understand why different outfits need different shoes.  And he certainly doesn’t complain when I wear the sexy heels or the sexier knee-high “hooker boots”.  I will admit that they need to be sorted and a few pairs tossed…but only so I can go buy more.  By the way, I have fifty pairs of shoes, he has fifty flannel shirts.  I rest my case.

You’ll have less shower space thanks to the gazillion and one bath products stacked up in there. – According to Mark, there are no less than TEN bottles of products in the shower.  Actually, there are only eight.  So there.

Your living room will resemble an arboretum. – What can I say…I have a thing for houseplants.  Even more so than shoes and Scentsy!  Growing up, my mom always had beautiful plants.  A house has never felt like a real home to me until there are plants scattered about.  Thankfully, I’ve inherited green thumbs from both sets of grandparents and I’m looking forward to extending all that greenery to the patio soon.

You will learn the true meaning of the word “clean.”  – I had to save that one for last, for obvious reasons.  I don’t know why I feel so defensive about this.  Maybe because I don’t want everyone thinking I’m a Pine-Sol nazi or something?  Yes, there is a difference between ‘neat’ and ‘clean’.  I will hand it to Mark…he’s very organized, is really good about keeping the house picked up, and is quite fanatical about not having dirty dishes in the sink.  This is a complete 180 from an ex who thought it was okay to drop fingernail clippings, used q-tips, used toothpicks, and the occasional candy wrapper behind the couch.  Seriously.  Every time I pulled the couch out to vacuum, his little pile would be there.  And the only time he ever washed dishes was when I was on the road for work and not around to do them myself.  Tell me again why I was married for fourteen years???

When Mark and I first started dating, and I shared that little tip about the stove knobs, he asked if I was a germaphobe.  I’m really not!  I don’t mind getting dirty.  I’m not obsessive-compulsive and wash my hands a hundred times a day.  I’ve been known to spend the occasional day in my pajamas and not shower.  And riding around in the desert on a four-wheeler tends to involve grit, sweat, and exhaust.  But my mom was (and still is) a clean freak.  So was my step-mom.  I learned at a very early age how to use bleach, Ajax, and Murphy’s Oil Soap.  I learned to wash dishes when I was eight years old.  And Mom always said that “doing dishes” includes wiping down all the counters, table, and stove.  And that whole thing about not letting Mark wash dishes anymore because he missed a spot on a pan?  So not true!  I won’t say that I enjoy washing dishes, but I don’t mind it.  In my sixteen years of adulthood, I have NEVER, ever had a dishwasher.  Not only am I better at it, I can usually get it done in half the time.  Which means we can get busy doing other things. 

Now that I’m said my peace, I can get over the fact that his shower curtain had never been washed…until yesterday.  That his rugs had only been washed “a few times”…in the last couple of years.  That he has only recently discovered the wonderfulness that is Downy and that it can go in every load of laundry…not just towels.  And that washing windows and scrubbing floors can be fun…especially if alcohol is involved.

I gotta hand it to the guy, he’s been a great sport.  Not only has he helped haul my heavy-ass stuff up a flight of stairs, he patiently follows me around the store while I stock up on cleaning supplies and gives me a pat on the back and a kiss on the cheek when I get all geeky about finding good deals on things like the hanging shoe racks for the closet.  And, he really does have a great sense of decorating style.  That was one of the first things I noticed when I visited back in August and we’re great at bouncing ideas off each other when trying to figure out what to hang where.

I’m very much looking forward to the day when all the boxes are unpacked, all the bins are in storage, and instead of discussing which room we’re going to tackle over coffee, we can lounge on the couch and read the paper…or sleep in!  Until then, where the hell is my Magic Eraser??

 

 

Hasta La Taco!

Oh, man…now we’re just four short days until my arrival in the PNW.  Last week was crazy, busy, stressful, and woah…emotional, much?  It’s all good though because this week I’m at peace with leaving my job (and I can admit that it’s been pretty darn awesome handing everything over to my staff, especially after having principal responsibility for these programs for so many years) and I’m getting more and more excited to show up on Mark’s doorstep.  The last couple weeks have been dominated with conversations about all the fun things we’ll get to do once I’m up there for good.  Fish Taco Cook-Off in Lincoln City for Cinco de Mayo?  Hell, yeah!

Yes, I am very easily amused.  Simple mind, simple pleasures!

Anyway, I didn’t want my last post, which was kind of a downer, to be the last thing I share for awhile.  As some of you know, I work(ed) for an agency that provides housing programs throughout rural Nevada.  Over the last 8 1/2 years, I’ve spent a lot of time on the road.  Towards the end, I got completely burnt out on traveling for work, but I will admit that I was lucky to see so much of this state that I never would’ve seen otherwise. 

Some of the more memorable trips included an inspection in Pilot Valley where three HUGE rottweilers roamed the property.  As I was getting ready to leave, one of them was sitting on a bench on the front porch…just as sweet as can be.  Another time a former employee and I stopped to fish the Owyhee River after a meeting in Owyhee, a little town that straddles the Nevada/Idaho border.  And then there was the three hour detour to the Yomba Tribe to do a quick 15 minute inspection.  Driving home included 50+ miles of freshly grated dirt road.  The dirt was too soft to drive much faster than 45mph.

During all these travels, I’ve almost always had my personal camera handy.  Nevada may be desolate and sometimes barren, but it holds its own kind of special beauty.  I’m sure gonna miss this place…

Lamoille Canyon

  

Along Highway 50 - The Loneliest Road in America

  

On my way to Cherry Creek

 

Kingston Canyon

  

Highway 722

 

Sweet puppy!

  

Taken along Highway 305

 

Last Memorial Day Weekend...
Definitely won't miss this!!

Here, There, and Everywhere

My little ticker says I’m just nine (9!!!!!) days away from leaving Nevada and starting a new and exciting chapter in the book of Tara’s Life.

Holy shit.

I think all the excitement, stress, and worrying these last two weeks is finally taking its toll.  Today was hard to push through and even now, I’m sitting at my desk at work and letting the tears flow.  Sometimes, you just need a good cry.  I hope Mark doesn’t freak out reading that.  Don’t worry, babe.  It’s totally a girl thing…especially when the hormones are being a little wacky.  Once, not that many years ago, I came home from work and changed into my favorite pair of pj’s, sat on the bed and cried.  For a solid fifteen minutes.  No particular reason and it freaked out the ex a bit.  I couldn’t even explain why.  And I couldn’t stop!  But once I did, I felt a million times better.  Go figure.

The week so far has been a rollercoaster.  First off, the response to my first post was surprising and completely wonderful.  You guys are effing awesome!  I know 90% of you were here because of Mark, but I don’t mind riding the coattails of my amazingly talented boyfriend.  I miss writing and I love the interaction and feedback from others.  And meeting new people, of course!  Mark and I “met” online while blogging, so I have no doubt we’ll continue with our good track record of introducing great people into our lives.

Secondly, work has been ca-razy.  There aren’t enough hours in the day and I’m torn between wishing I was getting out of here tomorrow and begging for just a few extra days to get everything done.  Monday night I worked from home until 9pm or so.  Tuesday night I was here until 8:30pm.  Last night I almost left on time, but that was only because I had to get home to bake a cake.  The plus side to all this…the days are flying by.

Lastly, and definitely most importantly, my nephew finally arrived.  A day late, because he obviously has that Cutler stubbornness in him, but I’ll forgive the little bugger because he is totally and completely perfect in every way…

Sir Anthony Thayne

 

I’m so happy for Eric and Anne.  They came home today and are adjusting to having a little one around.  Anne and I were texting earlier and she said that Eric has been wonderful with the baby.  This makes my heart swell with pride.  Mom is head over heels in love with her first grandson.  When we talked Tuesday morning, about an hour after Anthony was born and right after I had seen the first picture on Facebook, we were both blubbering on the phone…full of emotion and crying happy tears.  Kinda sucks that I won’t get to see him for about two more weeks, but they’re all posting or texting pictures, so I can live with those for now.

I guess I’ve procrastinated enough for this evening.  Those procedures aren’t going to write themselves, ya know!  ‘Til next time…