I cannot get enough of gardening this year! I watered everything, had fresh blueberries and raspberries for breakfast. Wacky Girl made me an iced coffee. I hung out laundry. And more laundry. Then we grabbed rakes and cleaned up underneath one of the rhodys, around (what’s left of) the upright fuchsia, the champagne bush, around one of our ferns. We pulled up weeds and cleared out a messy corner, pruned down suckers from the hazelnut tree, went crazy! We filled up our ginormous yard debris bin the city left, plus our two regular bins, and STILL had a huge pile left over.

After all that excitement, Wacky Girl and her Wacky Brother dragged a blanket under the champagne bush and hid out. (I don’t know what it’s called, this bush, but they grow like crazy. Ours drips long clusters full of white blossoms; my neighbor has one with pink blossoms that look just like pink bubbly. So pretty. And they thrive on neglect — my favorite kind of plant.) They needed a good place to hide. Did you have places to hide, growing up? I did. My favorite spot was right next to my grandparents’ front porch. They had these hedges (a type of laurel? I think) growing up tall and sheltering the porch. It was dry, cool and shady and the perfect spot for me, my two baby dolls, and a handful of books. I spent hours out there.

My other favorite spot (this was at my Dad’s folks place, too) was under the apple tree, sitting perched on a rock. It was the best spot for thinking. Ah, memories.

More from today: Folded laundry, WATCHED GENERAL HOSPITAL (BlackFriend and Laura — finally, some good storylines coming on), baked a fruit tart (with peaches, nectarines and plums), had Indian take-out for dinner (al fresco, the only way we dine around here in the summer) and then… glazed the coffee cake and had dessert outside. This was an A+ day. A+++.

“How much butter?” my husband asked, putting another forkful of cake into his mouth.

Me: “Just a couple tablespoons.”

Our daughter: “Try a couple sticks.”

Oh. My God. So good, with a little lemon extract and vanilla extract, powdered sugar glaze on top…

It was so good that we’re never making it again. No, I’m not including the recipe. You’d make it, eat it and regret it like we are.

Two cubes of butter! Damn. I just lost 10 pounds and I want it to stay lost, not find its way home.

The yard looks great. We’re plotting ways to turn that last empty corner of the yard into a hidey place for the kids. A teepee? A clubhouse? Tents? Trellises, to make a canopy to hide under? We don’t know yet. And we’re missing our fairies! No signs of them so far this year. Maybe they’ll be back soon?

Happy weekend, y’all.

wm

Here in North Portland, sometimes I feel as if all we are is a glorified border town for Vancouver, Wash. You cannot buy “the good” fireworks in Oregon… but you can in Washington! So everyone drives over there, loads up, drives back, and on the Fourth, my entire neighborhood looks and sounds like it’s exploding. Yes, it’s illegal, but the cops don’t mind so why should you! Lock up your daughters is all I can say.

(This was not Wacky Dog’s favorite holiday, especially since “the festivities” start in June and end around mid-September.) (Dear departed Wacky Dog, I’m sorry I called you “stupidass,” you weren’t. You just didn’t like the bang and pop, that’s all.)

Also, Vancouver, Wash., as you may or may not know, is home of “the biggest fireworks show west of the Mississippi.” They shoot ’em off from a barge in the middle of the Columbia River.

God Bless the USA. Now let’s get into the habit of not bombing other countries, what say?

Damn. I’m ready to get back to what America originally stood for, which was what, exactly? Something about “your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…”?

We went to our friend’s house last night, and God love him for inviting us because we were right on the Columbia and that close to the best fireworks ever. Also, we went swimming in BOTH of the pools at his condo, and hot-tubbed. And had yummy snacks and ice cream sodas.

He invited us back to swim, anytime, and to watch the Christmas Ship Parade go by.

I hope he adopts us.

Happy Birthday to my mom, aka My Kids’ Grandma, who several years ago gave them T-shirts that said:

I didn’t do it
I wasn’t even there
I want my Grandma

Happy Birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

random bullets for my Thursday 13:

1) Iowa is settling down. Now it’s everyone along the Mississippi we need to worry about. Life is getting too crazy, weather-wise, with the tornadoes and flooding and fires and whatnot. (If you want to see a YouTube video of the “Book Brigade,” look here.)

2) It’s my birthday next week. (more…)

Marriage has turned out differently than I thought it would. We have too many scares and tears and ER visits, but we also have more flowers than I ever expected, good meals, sitting around together talking, playing dominoes or gardening. I planted herbs and flowers all afternoon yesterday. We sent out for pizza and ice cream, stayed up late watching movies.

But Iowa is on our minds. I never expected, when I first married, that Iowa would become such a big player in our lives, and that I would love my husband’s family this much.

My son is disappointed he’s not there with his grandparents this weekend, in Iowa City, going to the park, playing in the yard, having Pagliai’s Pizza instead of Eddie’s Flat Iron.

“Poppy’s coming here?” he just asked my husband, hopefully.

“No, honey. He’s staying home with the big flood. The road from his house to the airport is closed.”

Cedar Rapids (where we fly in when we visit my in-laws, where my husband’s brother and wife live with their three girls) is a mess. Our family is fine, their neighbors are fine, but whole sections of town — homes, businesses, cars and bridges — are toasted or severely damaged.

My in-laws are stuck on their side of town — no way to get to downtown Iowa City. They have been helping how they can, but how can you stop a river? How can you stop nine rivers?

Steve put up some pictures on his blog — they formed a book brigade to save the books in the main library. I love that library, where my father-in-law worked for many years. I love the campus and the Writers’ Workshop. Kurt Vonnegut and Raymond Carver did, too, along with about a zillion other writers. I love Iowa. The people, the boating, the farmlands and the huge barns. The parks and great schools and my husband’s old high school, City High, where we went for an ice cream social one time when we were back home visiting. Steve teases me when I call Iowa “back home,” but you know, Iowa is not that far from Arkansas, where my mom grew up and all of her extended family still lives. For me, that all is “back home.”

Ice cream socials and huge gardens and my kids, running with their cousins all over the place. Having gin and tonics at cocktail hour, watching the fireflies — that’s home.

We were about two seconds from moving there, but a lack of jobs (and lower wages, if we managed to find jobs) stood in the way. I wish we were with our family right now, but am so relieved that my husband and kids didn’t fly out. (I was staying home to work and wrap up end of school year.)

So, prayers please, and good thoughts and I can’t believe that the next time we go to my husband’s home state to visit, it will be all different. We still don’t know the extent of the damage and won’t for a while.

Here’s to things calming down and an attempt to get back to normal. Whatever that is.

For now, much love and a Happy Father’s Day to my father-in-law, brother-in-law, and of course, my excellent husband.

please send out prayers and good thoughts to my in-laws in Iowa.

wm

If you ask my Grandma the secret to her long life (she’ll turn 88 next month) she says (and I’m quoting here):

“I get up off of my butt.”

No, you really don’t. Believe me. It involves me getting a migraine and throwing up, then getting over it, going to work and trying to wrap up end of year at two schools (no, three) the two where I work, and the one my children attend. I have two offices at my schools and one at home and they are all three a mess.

A big ol’ mess.

Also, I could use a spa day.

The rest of my time revolves around my obsession/love for Friday Night Lights (Season Two, Now on DVD!) and the Wire (Season Three, scary as hell) and learning to play tennis and being so frustrated because goddamn — how do those pros do it? Tennis is hard. Keeping your eye on the ball is extraordinarily hard. But a good work-out for sure so that is cool.

Also, tennis makes me think of John McEnroe which makes me think of Tatum O’Neal and now, a brief letter to Tatum O’Neal, in regards to her recent arrest for a crack-cocaine purchase in New York City:

Dear Tatum,

love,
wm

Also, why do children “turn up the whine” end of May/beginning of June and then become relentless mosquitoes buzzing until September? All children, not just mine. Why?

Also, a lot of my time is now spent on Wacky Cat 3, who is such a handsome tuxedo-clad boy, but is such a big thug. He non-stop pounds and chews and claws my two older cats. Bad boy, Wacky Cat 3! Out he goes. Then he cries and promises he’ll behave. Comes in, gets a nibble to eat, and starts pounding the shit out of the older cats again.

Internet, can this family get some help, please? Tatum is not the only one having issues here. (Hey! Leave her some love notes in comments, why don’t you? Maybe she’ll stop by and see them.)

See? I told you. Dullsville, U.S.A. Prey for us, wouldja?

love,

wm

“I am no more lonely than a single mullein or dandelion in a pasture, or a bean leaf, or sorrel, or a horse-fly, or a bumblebee. I am no more lonely than the Mill Brook, or a weathercock, or the north star, or the south wind, or an April shower, or a January thaw, or the first spider in a new house.”

— Henry David Thoreau, naturalist and author (1817-1862)

Well, well, well. Let’s review this past school year, shall we? (more…)

Do you love Yvonne even half as much as I do? No, I don’t think you do, because I love her THIS MUCH. Her obsession with bean dip and Rick Springfield (not in that order. I don’t think, anyway), her funny hubs and kids, especially her charming little kick-ass daughter. She is so damn sexy — all the time I’m thinking, honey. You are gorgeous! Go look in the mirror! Also, she takes superb photos. She needs a little lovin’ right now and frankly, so do I.

Plus we are Thyroid Sisters. And now, being older, I can one-up her: I have Other Troubles. (Is that vague enough? I’m sorry, but I cannot be specific. You can e me if you want all the grim details.)

She sez:

Dear You,

Me

I’m asking you — do the same for me, would you? Because I’m so sick and tired of being sick and tired.

wm