The first fight my husband and I got into (he doesn’t remember this but I do), we were outside of Lisbon, Portugal, at the remains of an ancient Moorish castle. (It was Castela dos Mouros, not the Castle of Sao Jorge.) My future mother-in-law was with us — he took me to Europe to meet his mother! At the moment, I thought that was romantic, now I’m thinking — was he nuts? Did he not realize I was already pregnant and this would complicate matters? (more…)

from the Travel Files:

8 o’clock p.m., Sunday Aug. 5th:

We’re still in Twin Falls, Idaho. We drove out to Shoshone Falls this afternoon, after swimming and hot-tubbing at the hotel. Yeah, this vacation is pretty rough so far… Kidding! I’m loving this.

The falls are called “The Western Niagra” — only taller, and with more water. It’s the site of “Evil Knivel’s ill-fated attempt to jump the river on a rocket bike.” Wow! We took lots of pix, ran around after the kids, and I spent a lot of time sucking in my breath because damn — don’t look down! My son insisted we pick him up and hold him up high so he could see the view. Wacky Boy: “#!$@! railings!” That was a little nerve-wracking, but we were careful not to go anywhere near the edge of the platforms. At one of the landings, a newer one, you could see where the old landing used to be before part of the cliff crumbled away. Yikes.

Afterward we went by Winco to get some TV dinners for the kids, and I overheard this conversation:

One guy to the other: “So, where are you now, anyway?”
Other guy, who’s wearing an Amish-style hat and has his arm in a sling: “I’m working for the City of Ketchum. I quit cowboying a couple of years ago.”

A real-life cowboy, right there in the soup aisle! I almost took his picture to post on Flickr but you know. Then they would have figured out I was a tourist.

All for now,

WM

(We’re back from vacation — did you even notice I was gone? Vixen did! xxox WM)

I have no idea what day it is. We’re on vacation. Wait — lemme think. It’s Sunday, August 5th, sometime in the afternoon. We’re on a road trip. (more…)

I’ve started a new series: The Dogs of Portland.

Just fyi. Because I know how much you love dogs, Internet.

(PS — I’m going to get business cards printed, and hand them out when I take photos of dogs. So if you see your crazy dog here, leave a note in comments. thankyouverymuch.)

Here, dear readers — My day in real time.

Sort of.

5, 6, 7 & 8 a.m.: Sleeping. Ahhhhhhhhhhh. Large Wacky Cat 2, the stripedy one, pins me in on one side; muscular husband pins me in on the other. Why does the Cat want to sleep with us? It’s so flippin’ hot. Unable to move. Sex? No. Have to sleep. Can’t open eyes. Consider a new lifestyle that involves not staying up so late at night. Hmmm. What time did we go to bed? Vaguely remember 11 o’clock news. Keep eyes closed. Sleep. (more…)

It’s only the third of July, but damned if the Wacky Family will be deterred from lighting off fireworks early. I DO NOT HAVE A DOG IS WHY. Poor dog. I miss my dog — every time I walk by the huge fern in the back yard I expect to see him come slithering out. (It was cool and dank under there — nice and chilly on a hot dog’s belly.) But he is gone. I loved that crazy dog. And by crazy, I mean “teched.”

BUT NOW WE DON’T NEED SEDATIVES. So I bought the hugest box I could find at Target (the legal Oregon ones, not the illegal Washington ones, thanks) and Wacky Boy picked out his favorite. It has a big stick.

Because that’s what it’s all about in this life, and my son has figured that out — Who has the biggest stick?

We jammed it in the lawn, lit it, and KABLOOIE! Right away it starts acting like an illegal Washington firework (where they have the good ones. Same as the reservation fireworks. None of this wussy crap. The good ones. Like in Missouri!). It spits sparks and fireballs all over.

“That could catch our lawn on fire,” I say.

“Yep,” my children’s father says.

“It is catching on lawn on fire. I’ll get the hose.”

“Yep,” my children’s father repeats.

The kids just now, on their way to bed: “Wasn’t that so cooooool how dad caught the lawn on fire???”

Happy Fourth, y’all. Here’s to our continued American independence, and our need to thrust our independent ways down everyone else’s throats.

Happy Fourth, Scooter Libby, ya bozo. Whew! Close one.

My Grandma is an interesting chick. She’s funny and loud, a great cook, a good friend and listener. I’ve been meaning for years now (since I was in college) to help her jot down some memories. She doesn’t type, use a computer or take shorthand. I do occasionally write, so there you have it.

She turns 87 next Tuesday (it’s my mom’s birthday, too! Happy birthday, Mom!) so Internet, tell my Grandma and Mom happy birthday, would you? And now, for a 13:

13. Grandparents, parents (and uh, me) tend to sometimes tell you the same story over and over and over. Have you noticed this? Not if you’re really listening they don’t. I started asking questions and off we went…

12. I started out by asking her if it was okay if I wrote some things down for my kids, so they can remember her. Maybe a few anecdotes, a little bit of a family tree. Then we added recipes. My grandma and I love recipes. (See here, here and here for a few favorites.)

11. Next thing I know, she’s telling me about the time she and my grandfather ran off to the Memphis Zoo in the middle of the night.

10. Then she’s pouring her heart out, talking about my grandpa, and my dad (my Grandma loved my dad and stood by him when he was so sick), and we’re talking about all this, and about all the places she loved to go camping when her kids were little kids. To her, it seems like that was yesterday. My kids are little kids right now and some days? It feels like it will last forever. But I know it won’t. (I am looking forward to them growing up and dreading it, too.) Time goes so fast. You know that, but you don’t really know it until you’re almost 90, I guess. I made a list of all of her favorite getaways and am including that in the book.

9. The book? Yes. We’re turning it into a book. We can print it through Cafe Press. (PS — Shameless Commerce Plug — You know I sell Wacky Mommy gear at Cafe Press, yes? Go buy some!!!) I am so psyched about this book. She can sell it to her buddies at church, to her family back home, to the neighbors, to her own kids (ha, ha). Funny, eh? She wants to donate the proceeds to Meals on Wheels. (Thank you, Meals on Wheels, for visiting my Grandma five days a week.) I already have I don’t even know how many pages typed up. Twenty or so? I’m shooting for something around one hundred pages. Mebbe one twenty five. And I’ve typed up a bunch of recipes.

8. Including this one. It’s perfect for Fourth of July:

SHOYU CHICKEN
2 lbs. chicken
¼ cup oil
¼ cup soy sauce
¼ cup brown sugar
Garlic (1 clove)
½ tsp. grated ginger

Mix. Marinate. Bake at 350 degrees 1 hour or barbeque, turning twice. Sauce can be thickened with cornstarch.

7. Which reminds me. I need to get her potato salad recipe. And the recipe for the salad she makes with butter lettuce and milk dressing.

6. I’ve found out all kinds of stuff about our family, the Depression, World War II, her life. For instance, her brother was a bootlegger. And she and my Grandpa used to own a store, back home in Arkansas.

5. My mom is psyched, too — she has a family tree she’s going to send me, so we can include that in the front. It goes back to 1730!! Geez, who knew? That’s on my Grandpa’s side. And my Grandma’s side goes back to her grandparents, around the 1860s? My mom is going to keep researching.

4. It has made us closer, talking. I’ve been trying to call her at least every other day, and interviewing her for an hour or so at a time. Sometimes it’s a little much for her, tripping down memory lane. It can be a little intense.

3. But her mind is so clear and her memories are so strong. I’m grateful for this.

2. It means a lot to my mom.

1. My cousin and I are planning to add a memories section to the back, with our favorite stories about her. And we’re going to put a section of “Grandma-isms” in there, too. Fun!! Happy Thursday, everyone!

“The great thing about getting older is that you don’t lose all the other ages you’ve been.”
— Madeleine L’Engle, writer (1918- )

Oh, Friday Advice Column, how I miss you! But I have been busy. And Swiffering.

How about a Tuesday Advice Column instead?

Love,

WM

Dear Wacky Mommy:

Do your children pick up after themselves? Do they put their own clothes away? If so, how do you get them to do this?

Signed,

A Little Messed-Up

Dear Messed-Up: (more…)

If you want a delicious Chocolate Sundae for your birthday (or for any other reason), here’s what you need (recipe by Wacky Girl):

wip cream
cookie dough ice cream
vanilla ice cream
chocolate syrup
chocolate chip cookies
Oreos
gummie worms

We just got back from the ocean — Seaside! It is touristy and loud in Seaside, which is why we always go to Neskowin. But it’s fun for the kids. But not for the poor octopus at the Seaside Aquarium! Nowhere to hide. Aquarium people, you are sadists.

We skipped Pig ‘n’ Pancake and went to Pudgy’s instead. Wacky Girl would not recommend you go to Pudgy’s (although my crab ‘n’ cheddar omelette — something about the coast makes me want to ‘n’ everything — was delicious and so were the chocolate chip pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse). (Wacky Boy: “Is that real dead crab?” Then later, at the aquarium, “Like those ones?” Who’s the sadist, eh?)

One of the waitresses at Pudgy’s had a little downtime and decided to clean all the windows, inside and out. This made Wacky Girl want to hurl. (A rhyme.)

Don’t trust a breakfast place where the waitress has downtime during mealtime. It has a lounge-y nightclubby feel, Pudgy’s. Then when we were leaving, I spotted the lounge through a separate entrance. Gamblers anon. needed.

We also had double-decker cones at this cool little place where an older man made the waffle cones hot ‘n’ fresh. (See? It’s ‘n’ again.) I can’t remember the name of the place, but it was right across from the other ice cream place, where they also sell espresso, and right down the street from that one gift shop.

With all the sand toys.

Off to water the parched flowers. More later…

love,

WM

“Words are things; and a small drop of ink / Falling like dew upon a thought, produces / That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.”
— Lord Byron, poet (1788-1824)

me, this afternoon: “I’m going to write for a while.”

Wacky Girl: “You always write! That’s all you do!”

me: “You should be glad you have a mother who’s an artist. You could have some boring old mother.”

Wacky Girl, leaving the room and calling out over her shoulder: “Writing. Is. Not. ART!”

I’ve started writing up my Grandma’s life story. She’s 87 next month. She’s a pistol. That’s what everyone says when they meet her: “Your Grandma is a pistol!” I’m like, damn straight.

You know her a little from what I’ve written here, here and here. She of the Coconut Cooky fame. She can tell a damn story. I wish I could share it with you, but I can’t. But once we get it published on Cafe Press you can order a copy. Pictures, recipes and all.

So, Internet, is writing art? Or not?

WM