(my husband says, "That's not junk! That's a forklift and a submarine!")
Monday, December 28, 2009
happy holidays from people with junk in their front yards
(my husband says, "That's not junk! That's a forklift and a submarine!")
Monday, December 21, 2009
Blogging Instead of Shaking Wrapped Presents.
Not much to report from this zip code.
Alcohol and sugar intake in excess will impair your immune system. And so, with the onslaught of holiday eating and celebration, I welcome all the nastiness into my body. I'm still a little sick.
The weather's still a little warmish, and that means my boots are still muddy.
Alcohol and sugar intake in excess will impair your immune system. And so, with the onslaught of holiday eating and celebration, I welcome all the nastiness into my body. I'm still a little sick.
The weather's still a little warmish, and that means my boots are still muddy.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
piglet flu
Sore muscle and quease in my belly and cold sweat day. I think I have a little flu/cold condition. The onset of this yesterday caused my brain to begin malfunction. We had to make two trips to Whidbey Island Bank on account of I forgot the checks we were fixing to cash. Later the green beans ended up a little ...caramelized. Okay, I burned the heck out of them.
Driving home from the bank the second time, my husband said something cleverly Bow-related that I decided I would include in today's entry. I considered putting it as a memo in my phone, but convinced myself that I wouldn't be able to forget. No mnemonic device necessary, this is classic! And now I'm e-kicking myself because that moment has since passed and wasn't properly filed. Alas, another anecdote lost to the ages.
So, I'm sick today. But that doesn't mean this compulsion that's been growing in me to take wallet to the casino has quelled. The Skagit Casino Resort is just a country mile from our driveway. I did gamble and win recently: and so it begins. Now I find myself too tired to really get dressed for the day, but at the same time wondering if anyone would care if I was sitting at the Blackjack table in my nightgown.
Driving home from the bank the second time, my husband said something cleverly Bow-related that I decided I would include in today's entry. I considered putting it as a memo in my phone, but convinced myself that I wouldn't be able to forget. No mnemonic device necessary, this is classic! And now I'm e-kicking myself because that moment has since passed and wasn't properly filed. Alas, another anecdote lost to the ages.
So, I'm sick today. But that doesn't mean this compulsion that's been growing in me to take wallet to the casino has quelled. The Skagit Casino Resort is just a country mile from our driveway. I did gamble and win recently: and so it begins. Now I find myself too tired to really get dressed for the day, but at the same time wondering if anyone would care if I was sitting at the Blackjack table in my nightgown.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
The family my little sister married into makes Skagit headlines!
taken from: http://www.goskagit.com/home/article/anacortes_police_blotter_dec_9_2009/
Tuesday, Dec. 1
A 50-year-old Anacortes man was booked into jail on investigation of felony assault after he allegedly pointed a shotgun at the father of his stepdaughter’s baby. The incident happened outside a home on N Avenue after the suspect reportedly drove there to confront the other man. The suspect was allegedly upset about the other man over-accelerating his car after he picked up his child for visitation.
The victim claimed the suspect racked the shotgun and pointed it toward him, but witnesses said the suspect only held the shotgun and never racked it. The suspect was later found at a home near La Conner and taken into custody with the help of the Swinomish Tribal Police. The suspect appeared intoxicated and allegedly told an officer he was ashamed of himself. He said he only pointed a piece of lumber at the other man. A small amount of suspected cocaine was found in his pocket.
A 50-year-old Anacortes man was booked into jail on investigation of felony assault after he allegedly pointed a shotgun at the father of his stepdaughter’s baby. The incident happened outside a home on N Avenue after the suspect reportedly drove there to confront the other man. The suspect was allegedly upset about the other man over-accelerating his car after he picked up his child for visitation.
The victim claimed the suspect racked the shotgun and pointed it toward him, but witnesses said the suspect only held the shotgun and never racked it. The suspect was later found at a home near La Conner and taken into custody with the help of the Swinomish Tribal Police. The suspect appeared intoxicated and allegedly told an officer he was ashamed of himself. He said he only pointed a piece of lumber at the other man. A small amount of suspected cocaine was found in his pocket.
Mush Life
And so, the weather warms and all the snow is gone. It was gritty snow and came right after the vacant meth house on Bow Hill Road burned its guts out. It fell on a frozen ground and was fun for a minute while we watched the dogs eat it. Not long after the blanketing, rain followed and nighttime froze that mess.
Monday I agreed to run errands with my father, and as we hit the frozen patch of mud-ice capping our driveway, the tiny Jeep tried with all four wheels to take us into the ditches. Or maybe my dad was just playing around. Errands complete and rain beating against us, we careened in the dark back toward Bow Hill. My gut turned a bit as he passed the Chuckanut Drive exit, opting to stay on Interstate-5 a couple exits further. When my dad is at the helm, it seems that driving is his secondary objective to whatever else. The interior guage lights had dimmed and as he was repairing them with his left hand, he managed to turn off the headlamps several times. On the freeway. At night. In the rain.
Earlier that day I'd taken a Burlnigton trip to Fred Meyer, which I explained to my southern husband, is like a Kroger-brand WalMart. In the produce area, I investigated some artichokes. I decided I'd get some a different day and was putting one down when a man came up to me.
"My wife is German-Russian." He said. "You have to have those prepared German style. Oh boy!" He went on with the recipe twice and finally gave his card. The man's name: Volcano Vic. I was to email asking for the specific recipe. I bagged two chokes and thew 'em in my basket. He went on. After about 15 minutes of listening I knew that he had cooked professionally in the past, had sold a recipe to the Marriot for bloody mary construction, but now worked as a food demonstrator or bread bagger for 14 dollars an hour. And that he has a German-Russian wife who fixes to die-for artichokes.
Yesterday I drove my friend Ayrn to the airport in Seattle. We left around six am and saw the sunrise above a herd of brakelights and morning commuter traffic. After dropping her, I locked my car doors and took hightway 99 through Sea-Tac hitting the morning stop and go stop and go as I entered Seattle. I scrapped my plan to get a savory crepe from the place on Second Avenue across the street from Corbis where I used to work. I'd get off at 8 am and nearly every morning scoot across the street for ham and brie wrapped in skinny pancake before the meter maids would ticket my car. Being in Seattle provoked a ton of memories from the five years I spent living there. I phoned a couple people but really knew all my folks would be working and sleeping at that hour so it was time to do that northbound crawl. Only it was a smooth boring drive and I texted Ayrn while she was waiting for her flight to depart.
Back on the Hill, I napped to Jurrassic Park after throwing a log on the fire.
Outside now is only mud, hinting nowhere that we'd only just had a nice caking of white.
Monday I agreed to run errands with my father, and as we hit the frozen patch of mud-ice capping our driveway, the tiny Jeep tried with all four wheels to take us into the ditches. Or maybe my dad was just playing around. Errands complete and rain beating against us, we careened in the dark back toward Bow Hill. My gut turned a bit as he passed the Chuckanut Drive exit, opting to stay on Interstate-5 a couple exits further. When my dad is at the helm, it seems that driving is his secondary objective to whatever else. The interior guage lights had dimmed and as he was repairing them with his left hand, he managed to turn off the headlamps several times. On the freeway. At night. In the rain.
Earlier that day I'd taken a Burlnigton trip to Fred Meyer, which I explained to my southern husband, is like a Kroger-brand WalMart. In the produce area, I investigated some artichokes. I decided I'd get some a different day and was putting one down when a man came up to me.
"My wife is German-Russian." He said. "You have to have those prepared German style. Oh boy!" He went on with the recipe twice and finally gave his card. The man's name: Volcano Vic. I was to email asking for the specific recipe. I bagged two chokes and thew 'em in my basket. He went on. After about 15 minutes of listening I knew that he had cooked professionally in the past, had sold a recipe to the Marriot for bloody mary construction, but now worked as a food demonstrator or bread bagger for 14 dollars an hour. And that he has a German-Russian wife who fixes to die-for artichokes.
Yesterday I drove my friend Ayrn to the airport in Seattle. We left around six am and saw the sunrise above a herd of brakelights and morning commuter traffic. After dropping her, I locked my car doors and took hightway 99 through Sea-Tac hitting the morning stop and go stop and go as I entered Seattle. I scrapped my plan to get a savory crepe from the place on Second Avenue across the street from Corbis where I used to work. I'd get off at 8 am and nearly every morning scoot across the street for ham and brie wrapped in skinny pancake before the meter maids would ticket my car. Being in Seattle provoked a ton of memories from the five years I spent living there. I phoned a couple people but really knew all my folks would be working and sleeping at that hour so it was time to do that northbound crawl. Only it was a smooth boring drive and I texted Ayrn while she was waiting for her flight to depart.
Back on the Hill, I napped to Jurrassic Park after throwing a log on the fire.
Outside now is only mud, hinting nowhere that we'd only just had a nice caking of white.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Snow, Shuffleboard, & Being Bored
At the end of the match, Red Dan came up to me for a review and rundown and a "see you after the holidays." Course, after seven lost games we were a little beer-warm and there wasn't really much to say.
I had played well though.
"I was worried there for a second," he said, "With the way you played that first game, I thought we may lose our last place spot in the league." Sure, I know resurrecting this compliment is a a little pat-myself-on-the-back-ish, but as a rookie, I'm pretty proud that I don't suck.
The team from Gene's bar walked out with their visitor's victory and their bad taste in jukebox music. I paid up and sneaked out with the cook and Tom. We went to the the other tavern two blocks down the street. That's what Edison has. The Edison Inn and The Longhorn Saloon. The Edison has shuffleboard and old people. The Longhorn has some trampy bartenders, a younger, louder crowd and awful lighting and plastic seating. We went there anyway for a cap.
Tom is called Frog by most of them down there. He lives just houses away in his grandparents' garage and can be found any evening at either the Edison or the Longhorn. I like to think of those bars as his parents. They take care of him there. Fact, let this note serve as my reminder to bring him a space heater next time I roll in.
I had played well though.
"I was worried there for a second," he said, "With the way you played that first game, I thought we may lose our last place spot in the league." Sure, I know resurrecting this compliment is a a little pat-myself-on-the-back-ish, but as a rookie, I'm pretty proud that I don't suck.
The team from Gene's bar walked out with their visitor's victory and their bad taste in jukebox music. I paid up and sneaked out with the cook and Tom. We went to the the other tavern two blocks down the street. That's what Edison has. The Edison Inn and The Longhorn Saloon. The Edison has shuffleboard and old people. The Longhorn has some trampy bartenders, a younger, louder crowd and awful lighting and plastic seating. We went there anyway for a cap.
Tom is called Frog by most of them down there. He lives just houses away in his grandparents' garage and can be found any evening at either the Edison or the Longhorn. I like to think of those bars as his parents. They take care of him there. Fact, let this note serve as my reminder to bring him a space heater next time I roll in.
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