Every Moment is Golden...

...if you can recall the moments that is. Sometimes during busy days, it is hard to remember an actual highlight because the whole day just whizzes by like a cheetah on the hunt, a blur of colors and sounds. Today seemed like one of those days, or maybe it was just because I didn't sleep enough last night that the day seemed blurry and unfocused?

I started the day by running to work with my REI Flash daypack holding my lunch, which was homemade chicken curry with coconut milk today and very tasty, and a change of clothes. The run to work is only 2.5 miles or so, but it is enough to work up a sweat and get energized for the day. The endorphins usually linger until late afternoon. I have vivid memories of the run like the freshness of the air post-rain, the shininess of large puddles I jumped, and the stillness between the roaring of cars spaced out by red traffic lights. Then, once I arrived at work, there was no time for reflection. I barely remember a thing until it was time to leave again. This can't be good. I mean, who wants his or her life to speed along so fast there is not time to toss out a few memory anchors every now and then? If there are no memories, life is a big blank space like a wiped harddrive barrelling towards oblivion. My superhero goal for tomorrow is to slow down time.

Freely Giving

Seeing that my kids enjoyed participating in Occupy Portland last Thursday was extremely satisfying. Bailey was immediately inspired to organize a sympathy sit-down protest at his high school, and both Bay and May wanted to come back and spend the night at the park with the occupiers. I wanted to let them even though they are under-aged. There is curfew in Oregon; kids under 18 are not supposed to be roaming the streets after midnight. Well, the decision was made for me when there was a conflict with the Portland Marathon downtown. Apparently, the marathon people had reserved the two parks where the occupiers set up tents months and months ago. Eventually the two sides worked out a peaceful agreement, and the occupiers helped clean up after the marathon. Generosity.

I went to pickup our share of vegetables from “our” farm, Dancing Roots Farm, today. Shari and Brian, the owners, said they had gone down to Occupy Portland last Thursday evening just like we did and listened to the speeches and hung around the crowd. In addition, they brought a donation of fresh food to the occupiers, and they are going again on Wednesday with another donation. It makes me happy to buy my vegetables from such altruistic and involved people. Generosity.

The other night my husband offered to give me a massage, a full body massage. He told me I deserved it and that my shoulders are always too tense. His hands are strong and he gives great massages. What’s not to like? Anytime, babe! Human touch drains away fears and worries. My husband’s touch always does. Problems dissolve in warm oil under dimmed lights. My mind goes blank as my skin comes alive. Thirty minutes rolled by fast like the surge of a single wave. I was glowing and grateful. He gave of himself and his time. Generosity.

Adjusting to a Semblance of Normalcy and Order After Travelling

Returning from a long trip is always surreal. The jetlag and my generally light sleep pattern cause me to wake up in the middle of the night discombobulated not knowing where I am due to the vestiges of travel stimuli. The recollections are vivid and wash over me like waves swirling around in my brain in the early morning hours. My mind and memory are full of impressions, reactions, sensations, and images. I spend time in the dark digesting the events of the last month and awaiting daylight.

First, Chris and I travelled to Chicago to spend a week at the National Education Association’s annual national assembly as elected delegates from our union local. It was a week of meetings, eating out, and snippets of enjoying Chicago’s smorgasbord of attractions. Highlights of the meetings included Vice President Biden’s speech at the convention to 10000 educators, an appearance and speech by some of the Wisconsin 14 senators, as well as the general hubbub of the enormous gathering of people in a giant hall. The food in Chicago was infinitely better than in New Orleans, where we went last year for the national assembly and where every morsel was deep-fried and a salad consisted of sections of iceberg lettuce topped with a pound of shredded cheddar cheese, but for me the Chicago hot dog and pizza hype fell flat. It is still junk and the lines to all the famous pizza joints were way too long. An early morning run along the lakefront was memorable. Bulbous clouds were building up over the lake and the breeze was light and refreshing right before the ubiquitous humidity and heat rolled in over gobs of runners, bikers, rollerbladers, and swimmers. Chicago has very smooth and clean—hosed down daily it seemed—concrete sidewalks which allow for some easy barefooting. The requisite Art Institute, tall Willis building formerly known as Sear’s Tower, and handy river taxis all delighted as well.

Then we went to Sweden. Aaah, Sweden, the old country. I had envisioned an amorphous three-week bender of carousing, rambling about the country, and sleeping poorly in diminutive bunk beds. I was correct.

We arrived at Kastrup, the international airport of Copenhagen, and boarded a train for Kristianstad where my sweet sister Rille and husband Björn with kids live. After a few days of good food and drink, we headed by train for Göteborg to meet up with our friends Lisa and Kåre from Portland for five great days of parties with their amazing relatives and island hopping in the archipelago. On the island of Grötö, we encountered the first bunk beds, which actually was an entirely acceptable sleeping arrangement because the bunk beds were housed in a little cottage down a steep path from the main house right at the water’s edge. Sliding big screen doors facing the beach allowed us to rest to the sounds of the sea of Kattegatt. Unforgettable. I envy Kåre who spent every childhood summer on this tranquil island.

Another train ride took us back to Kristianstad with the oft-visited Otto’s ice cream store in Åhus, and nearby Sölvesborg where my parents reside in the country in a small community of summer cottages by the Baltic Sea. It was a whirlwind of my mom’s fabulous cooking, ice cream indulging, and visiting with dear friends and close relatives. My sister Suss and her kids and husband who usually live in London were also at my parents’ place. I met my new niece little adorable Daisy for the first time. My sister Kit along with my nephew Danne came down from Stockholm. One magical evening was spent by the nearby docks and boathouses. The twilight of a summer evening in Sweden lasts for hours and is best enjoyed outside preferably in the company of hotdogs, wine, and people idly dangling their feet from the docks watching the reflection in the water. One of the finest hours indeed.

Stockholm was next on the agenda. A few wonderful days were filled with Kit and Tomas’ hospitality and outings. We saw the state rooms at the Royal Palace, the changing of the guards, had ice cream in Gamla Stan, met up with old online friends in real life, visited Danne’s place of work which is the only remaining cavalry in Sweden, and ate endless good food in the company of wonderful people including my brother Håkan. After two days the train took us back south to my mom’s for another party with neighbors and relatives. You have never lived until you have played bocce ball or petanque late at night in the waning light holding a cocktail in your other hand. The whole international party walked over to a nearby court after dinner. We played hard until it was so dark the tiny ball, the jack, was barely visible. Players trying to mark the spot of the jack using feet and shoes had some close calls with heavy metal balls that night. The American team prevailed and beat out the Brits and Swedes.

The easy living at Rille and Björn’s and the ice cream store beckoned again. The last few days we relaxed at their house enjoying even more good food and beverages. Little niece Alize and Chris had time to develop a special bond despite language barriers. “I love you” easily rolls off even a Swedish three-year-old’s tongue. Blond blue-eyed girls take to him for some reason. He can’t resist Swedish girls and giant freshly made waffle cones filled with enormous scoops of sweet pear ice cream laced with milk chocolate ripples and eaten while walking on a sandy beach.

My visit to Sweden also holds multiple memories of days and evenings with long-time childhood friends, beautiful friends whom I have known for forever and who live entirely too far away but reside permanently in my heart.

Every time I see them, it is as if no time has passed and we just pick up where we left off only a little wiser and more wrinkled. I savor every minute I get to spend in the company of Lotta, Cilla, and Åsa and their families. In my eyes they don’t look a day over 9 like the shiny-faced, bright-eyed and fun-loving fourth graders I remember from good years past. Reconnecting with them and some other dear old friends (Unfortunately this time I missed a few I really would have liked to have seen.) grounds me and gives me a deep and satisfying sense of belonging even when I am far far away in a foreign land.

Morning Routine

How did the day begin? Well, I got up early. I usually wake up when the first few shafts or hints of daylight wend their intricate way through my beige cotton bedroom curtains, which at this time of the year is at 5 A.M. Yes, unfortunately that early. I am like a rooster. I am always up at dawn no matter when I go to bed. At least I don’t crow. Quiet as a mouse, I slip out of bed. The dog opens one eye watching me from dreamland but doesn’t follow me. Not yet.

I tiptoe downstairs and make my tea and slip outside to retrieve the paper out of the mailbox in our cul-de-sac. Early morning is a very serene time of day. The house is still and quiet. The kids snooze innocently in their beds. The husband mumbles in his sleep. The dog is too tired to pay attention.

Before I step out for the paper, I fill the shiny electric kettle just to the one-cup water line and press the on button. When I walk back in, the water is already boiling and gurgling away on the tile counter. I leave about an inch when I fill the tall glass with the hot water in order to add cream and then cold water. My teabag goes in the glass, seeps for a minute—I like my tea weak unlike everything else in my life—and gets disposed of in the compost bin under the kitchen sink. I leave about an inch when I fill my glass with the hot water in order to add cream and then cold water.

Cold air envelopes me as I open the fridge to reach for cream. The bottle of cream makes a faint clanging sound against the grey tile when I put it down to remove the plastic cap. It comes off with a little pop and out pours the thick off-white goodness. We buy the tastiest locally produced cream in glass bottles. A tablespoon or so goes straight into my glass of tea. As the heavy cream mixes with the hot Chai Tea, or sometimes my first cup is Jasmine Green Tea, it swirls around in circles. In order to sip my morning beverage as soon as possible, I add a few squirts of cold tap water.

The paper is spread on the wood counter island. I gently put my glass down after the first heavenly sip and start scanning the front page headlines. The house is still quiet. As I leaf through the paper and enjoy my tea, I hear the dog yawn, stretch, and clip-clop across the floor upstairs. The morning spell is interrupted when she descends the stairs noisily and joins me with huffs and puffs of joy and the occasional lick. Morning has broken. Literally.

Bike Bar and Baby

6/18/11
One of Chris' favorite breweries is Hopworks. Whenever we talk about going out, he usually wants to go there or to Double Mountain in Hood River, but that is a little far just for lunch.

Saturday, the day after the last day of work, we had a few errands to run in Portland and decided to hit a new Hopworks watering hole, Bike Bar, on Williams in North Portland. Chris was not disappointed. Along with a fantastic pint, he ordered a bacon cheese burger all the while playing with his brandnew computer, right out of the box. Outside Bike Bar, they have two stationary bicycles which generate electricity for the beer joint. Cool. Chris had a good time!

However, the favorite part of my day was holding a newborn little baby, baby Odin. Heidi's and Josh's. After lunch at Bike Bar we drove to West Linn to visit. Little Odin was beautiful particiularly after eating when I had him resting peacefully in my arms. Special. I should have taken a picture. Darn.