I woke this morning to a chorus of roosters once at 5:00 and then again less vigorously at 7:00. A slow lazy start today with no real commitments planned til this evening when my wonderful and captivating story telling uncle Earl and his son and my cousin Joe stop by for bugers.
I had to get the truck arranged and do some extra map reading to make some last minute planning decisions about our route through far eastern Washington and a couple parts of Idaho and Montana. Food gets packed in one bin and camping gear in another. My dad gave me a small box about the size of my head filled with the "extra" parts he accumulated during this last year of rebuilding. That made me feel better... I think. I set the gerry can for gas in the back corner of the bed and lashed it to the inside of bed rail by way of a bungee cord strung through two stainless eye bolts my dad installed for just such a purpose. I unpacked, built, brokedown, repacked and stowed away our tent with a rainfly I bought online and had delivered to the ranch. Its a cheapy one from Coleman but when I got it up and Nate scrambled inside he shouted back out to me," Yeah, this looks like it could stop a sasquach."
Started up our new butane stove and felt like a sissy. Then remembered that our only cooking/water boiling/pancake making device is a flimsy fold up handle frying pan we got at the cheapshit, used merchandise camping isle at Fred Meyer (its like Target Store). Thanks for nothing Big 5 sports. You suck. Oh and if anyone is looking for a c
Chinese sweatshop produced coin sorting machine for home use… they have that right in the middle of their fryingpanless camping goods shelf. Huh? This is a sports store, right?
A couple hours of talking families with my mom and dad turned into supper with the Peth in mom's garden sancuary. It was really nice to visit and Earl and did not disappoint… plenty of great stories of trips they had taked across the pass where friends died, trucks caught fire from too much braking and plenty of reactions like, "20?, oh crap you're not taking 20 are you? Marty, he's taking 20. Good luck!
I hope we are ok.
More tomorrow.
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Monday, July 8, 2013
Saturday, July 6, 2013
One day til departure
Nate and I have one more day til we leave and my mom is trying to kill us before the mountains have a chance. This morning she invited my uncle and his wife for brunch to start the day. Thats normal in her world. Most people reserve brunch for occasions like mothers day or Easter. Not my mom. She doesnt even wait for the normal widely agreed upon brunch day of the week, Sunday. In her Paula Deened world any day is the right day for brunch. We had coissant sandwiches with eggs, cheese and Virginia ham. She had a big fresh fruit platter with fresh apricots and meticulously cut up canteloupe. Cowboy coffee and homemade almond danish also made an appearance. Afterward nate went and raided the cookie jar and guzzled the rest of the half gallon of milk. She forgets how much milk goes into a 13 yearold.
We rested by going to Fred Meyers a local store that appeared to be a lot like Target but with more stuff made in sweatshops in the far East and conveniently can sell you a shotgun or handgun as well as your ammo.
Then when Nate and I pulled back in she announced that was time to get the Tommy's for a salmon bake. The gigantic 45 fish was fresh off the tug boat where he works in the Puget Sound. A little garlic and butter and a low Alder fire turn a regular fish into a feast that only happens here. We pushed on and plowed through another huge meal then watched all of the young kids play in the slip and slide and little pop-up pool. Nate wanted to go in too. I could tell. But he said he was fine. Tough to be the oldest kid.
We spent the redt of our time at Tommy's giving test rides to disbelievers and naysayers as well as, what I am now seeing as normal, folks who say they wish they could be doing something like this. We were sharing stories as we were getting ready to return to Mom's and Tommy, who has lots of hunting experience in the aea we are going to asked if we would be going through RedLodge, MT and when I said yes, he said that we would be going 20 at the top but thats ok because the trip down is straight down except where it diverts to make a wild and crazy turn that wants to sump you in the river.
When we got back to the ranch we set up all of the mounts for our GoPro camera. That should be interesting. High tech.
All in all fulfilling.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
We rested by going to Fred Meyers a local store that appeared to be a lot like Target but with more stuff made in sweatshops in the far East and conveniently can sell you a shotgun or handgun as well as your ammo.
Then when Nate and I pulled back in she announced that was time to get the Tommy's for a salmon bake. The gigantic 45 fish was fresh off the tug boat where he works in the Puget Sound. A little garlic and butter and a low Alder fire turn a regular fish into a feast that only happens here. We pushed on and plowed through another huge meal then watched all of the young kids play in the slip and slide and little pop-up pool. Nate wanted to go in too. I could tell. But he said he was fine. Tough to be the oldest kid.
We spent the redt of our time at Tommy's giving test rides to disbelievers and naysayers as well as, what I am now seeing as normal, folks who say they wish they could be doing something like this. We were sharing stories as we were getting ready to return to Mom's and Tommy, who has lots of hunting experience in the aea we are going to asked if we would be going through RedLodge, MT and when I said yes, he said that we would be going 20 at the top but thats ok because the trip down is straight down except where it diverts to make a wild and crazy turn that wants to sump you in the river.
When we got back to the ranch we set up all of the mounts for our GoPro camera. That should be interesting. High tech.
All in all fulfilling.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:LaConner
Arrival at moms
My parents were nice enough to slog down to Seatac and pick us up when we arrived tonight at 10:30. The alternative would have been to catch the last shuttle of the night at 11:30 that comes this way. It would have dropped us in Burlington at 2:00 am which is still a good poke from mom and dads place. Interesting to note how different the arrival area and more specifically people's actions vary from Chicago to Seattle. There was literally one vested man patroling the entire arrival pick up area. People just stopped where ever they saw their party. If they spotted them from the outside lane they would just stop right there. WTH? It looked like an Idian bazaar. Chicago cops would have freaked out and folks would have been shot. Seattle... very chill of you.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Mount Vernon WA
Friday, July 5, 2013
Day one. Leaving chicago
We are at the airport both of us sitting in the more comfy chairs at potbellies after eating a bit of pre travel chow; me a salad and Nate... A large chocolate ice cream cone from Ben and Jerrys. Masterful Nate.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Just getting set up
So I decided to try to write a blog about my upcoming trip with my son to retrieve my 1958 Ford F100 from my parents house in Mount Vernon Washington 2200 miles away. Stay tuned.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Monday, November 1, 2010
A Long Time Between Tweets/FB Updates/Etc
Man, it has been some time since I last connected with anyone on our blog. I was reminded that I have such an outlet by a new patient who looked us up then explored the site to find some archaic postings we left about coaching, mattresses and life in general. I am sorry for being a techno-nincompoop but I have just not caught up to my kids and their digitally interfaced world. I have a Twitter account and have no idea what I am supposed to do with it. I am pretty sure that I am suposed to surrender up all of my personal financial info as well as corrupt all of my email contacts. I hear something, every other day it seems, about how Twitter was hacked and Facebook was comprimised and it makes me worry for a moment. Then I think, "Wait I haven't used either of those services for a month or so. I am probably safe. Maybe not. I don't know." I have patients who come in and say, "Hey, I sent you a friend request. Why didn't you respond?" It makes me look like I am antisocial when in reality I am just sort of technologically retarded. I have a hard time remembering to log in. It seems to me that these outlets are best reserved for kids with no real commitments. The other night for instance, I got on Facebook (which my oldest daughter tells me I should not be capitalising) and proceeded to spend four hours creeping ( another term taught to me by my daughters) on old friends and more disturbingly as I have been told by both of my girls, young classmates of theirs. I shirked bedtime to do this. I love bedtime. What the heck am I thinking? My eyes started to hurt and I had to get up and wet them just to make them feel like they could function a bit longer. I realized when I got up that I had been wiggling my leg and holding my urine for a while so I had to tend to that too. My butt cheek was asleep from sitting on my wallet so long, something I tell my patients to avoid like the plague. All this and yet when my vision had been restored and by bladder emptied and my limp receding to normalcy I ran right back to the place from where I came and got right back to the time sink I had just previously left. I was addicted. I heard my wife harrumph and roll over in the middle of sleep but irritated enough by the hum of the computer and glare from the monitor to pull the blanket up over her head. That was my final sign. I logged off reluctantly. I laid there and thought that I should check my responses to updates I had left the next day. I forgot and didn't log on again until maybe a month later. Man am I bad at this.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Kids and Sports
As many of you know I am the head coach of my son's football team which is to say that I am an expert at herding cats. You don't so much coach 8 year olds in football as you lead them toward the idea of playing football. We had a great game this weekend and it brought a lot of old feelings about my youth to me.
I can recall the vague rememberance of playing football as a kid for Mr. Richardson. We played in the Pop Warner system in Fairless Hills, Pennsylvania. We practiced and played at my Grade school, Elanor Roosevelt, where my recollection was that we were pretty good. I played fullback and also played on the defensive line. I remember that I had to lose weight just to play and recall having to eat nothing but apples and Slim Jims for about two weeks in my personal attempt to control the battle of the bulge. I am almost certain that my parents didn't know I was eating so well. I also realize now that I may have a distorted view of my time spent playing for the mighty Richardson's Rams. I had a talk with my dad recently and he asked me how it was going with coaching and everything. I said it was hard to get a bunch of 8 year olds to do anything let alone something as complex as a double wing offense and a gap mirror defense. he sat across from me, his face tanned from retirement but grooved from years of battling me as a son and he smiled a knowing smile. I asked what was so funny and he said that I probably don't remember how it was when I was in little kid football. I said that I thought I did and went on to say that I thought kids probably had more interest then. We seemed from my memory to be committed to winning and at the very least could pay attention to our coaches for a whole practice. I went on a little rant then and talked about how some of our kids complain about getting kicked in the shin or banged on th elbow. They seem a little "light" I say. His grin widens and his eyes look over the top of his glasses now as he pulls his chin back and offers up that he isn't sure about whether kids are less tough now or not but that he is pretty sure I have a distorted memory of my time in the "Big Leagues". I was taken back a bit, sure that my recall was nearly perfect and asked him what he meant. He said, I am not sure that you remember but the most important thing to you were your socks. You perseverated over whether mom had washed the socks for practices and game days. You had to have the right socks and they had to be pulled up to your knees at all times. You would constantly be fidgeting with them on the sidelines and in the huddle. people would make comments about your fascination with your socks. It was so bad that as you ran you would look at your socks to make sure they looked OK. I am not certain but I would tend to bet Mr. Richardson probably went home at the end of practices and said to his wife, ' oh my God, there is this big bull of a kid who just can't get his stuff together 'cuz he is always looking at his socks.' I guess you all have your crosses to bear as coaches but I think it will always be the same. Kids are kids. You're not going to change that... so you better learn to embrace it or you will drive yourself nuts."
My dad is sage. I have come to try and embrace the thing that makes kids great. They don't carry with them the weight of the world. They don't dwell on the past. They live for the now. While that doesn't always work out for us adults and our busy deadline oriented lives, we could take a page from the book of kid wisdom and relearn from it. Slow down a bit and take time to just be kid-like. Remember that joy comes from doing that which you love seldom does that include the drudgery of work or chores. Remember how we would do just enough to get by before running off to "play". I can remember days of my youth where we were gone from sun up to sun down playing all over the neighborhood. In all that time I can't ever remember having a care in the world. My imagination was as big as the sky and my world seemed limitless. Of course it was all a ruse but the sense that I got from my kid's vision of the world is what mattered.
I admonish each of you to try and rediscover what it is to be a kid. Coach or hang out with some if you are having a hard time. If you have kids, watch them and see how their world is limitless and without boundary.
I can recall the vague rememberance of playing football as a kid for Mr. Richardson. We played in the Pop Warner system in Fairless Hills, Pennsylvania. We practiced and played at my Grade school, Elanor Roosevelt, where my recollection was that we were pretty good. I played fullback and also played on the defensive line. I remember that I had to lose weight just to play and recall having to eat nothing but apples and Slim Jims for about two weeks in my personal attempt to control the battle of the bulge. I am almost certain that my parents didn't know I was eating so well. I also realize now that I may have a distorted view of my time spent playing for the mighty Richardson's Rams. I had a talk with my dad recently and he asked me how it was going with coaching and everything. I said it was hard to get a bunch of 8 year olds to do anything let alone something as complex as a double wing offense and a gap mirror defense. he sat across from me, his face tanned from retirement but grooved from years of battling me as a son and he smiled a knowing smile. I asked what was so funny and he said that I probably don't remember how it was when I was in little kid football. I said that I thought I did and went on to say that I thought kids probably had more interest then. We seemed from my memory to be committed to winning and at the very least could pay attention to our coaches for a whole practice. I went on a little rant then and talked about how some of our kids complain about getting kicked in the shin or banged on th elbow. They seem a little "light" I say. His grin widens and his eyes look over the top of his glasses now as he pulls his chin back and offers up that he isn't sure about whether kids are less tough now or not but that he is pretty sure I have a distorted memory of my time in the "Big Leagues". I was taken back a bit, sure that my recall was nearly perfect and asked him what he meant. He said, I am not sure that you remember but the most important thing to you were your socks. You perseverated over whether mom had washed the socks for practices and game days. You had to have the right socks and they had to be pulled up to your knees at all times. You would constantly be fidgeting with them on the sidelines and in the huddle. people would make comments about your fascination with your socks. It was so bad that as you ran you would look at your socks to make sure they looked OK. I am not certain but I would tend to bet Mr. Richardson probably went home at the end of practices and said to his wife, ' oh my God, there is this big bull of a kid who just can't get his stuff together 'cuz he is always looking at his socks.' I guess you all have your crosses to bear as coaches but I think it will always be the same. Kids are kids. You're not going to change that... so you better learn to embrace it or you will drive yourself nuts."
My dad is sage. I have come to try and embrace the thing that makes kids great. They don't carry with them the weight of the world. They don't dwell on the past. They live for the now. While that doesn't always work out for us adults and our busy deadline oriented lives, we could take a page from the book of kid wisdom and relearn from it. Slow down a bit and take time to just be kid-like. Remember that joy comes from doing that which you love seldom does that include the drudgery of work or chores. Remember how we would do just enough to get by before running off to "play". I can remember days of my youth where we were gone from sun up to sun down playing all over the neighborhood. In all that time I can't ever remember having a care in the world. My imagination was as big as the sky and my world seemed limitless. Of course it was all a ruse but the sense that I got from my kid's vision of the world is what mattered.
I admonish each of you to try and rediscover what it is to be a kid. Coach or hang out with some if you are having a hard time. If you have kids, watch them and see how their world is limitless and without boundary.
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