Of Sheep and Taxes

This is what a sheepish girl's hair looks like when it's shorn.

If this were England in the 1500s there would probably be a tax on it.

Baa. 

Journey in a Truck

Four weeks ago I went for a road trip. With my boss. In a truck.

(Waits for those of you who actually know me to recover from your boggled brains.)

My boss told me he bought said truck with the idea to buy the smallest truck possible to haul the maximum amount of cargo he'd ever need to haul at one time. When he said "truck," I was thinking something like a Toyota Tacoma. Then he told me that he was going to pick me up in the truck for the weeklong road trip. I was, admittedly, not very excited about the prospect of riding in a tiny cab. It became obvious to me as soon as I saw him standing next to his vehicle that he is not from the South or from Texas or from anywhere else but New York. I say this because in New York, "quarter" is qwah-tah and water is wah-tah. His truck was a Honda CR-V.




These scenes remind me of the "Hanover Winter Song," wherein the ice-gnomes from "long - forgotten Norways" march. It was a bit late in the season, but the way the snow fell on these trees made me think of thousands of arboreous (yes, that is now a word) soldiers were marching in their Norways, the snow elegantly sticking to their backs as they crested one ridge and resolutely marched down the other side. No undignified windmilling of arms or galloping down the hill for these chaps. Nope. None at all.

We drove hither and yon: over hill, bridge, and dale. Through mountain passes and fertile valleys, we wended our way. We chatted and schmoozed and did our road show approximately twelve times.

I can now do it in my sleep.

Here's our arrival to our second resting place, and the sun setting over it:

Here's the view from my hotel room (below).

Then on the way back, I saw something beautiful: what looked like it was a former river bed. I also ate a fresh strawberry shake at a place that was right across the street from this sign: I wonder if you read it the way I did. I kind of hope so. My boss thought I was kind of lunatic because I laughed so hard and insisted on taking a picture of it with my camera.

Clearly, he didn't read the sign the way I did.

Then, we drove and drove and drove some more.
Basically, the whole day was about eating and driving. We got caught in a microburst and pulled off the side of the road. I really wanted to get home as soon as possible, but under the circumstances, it was probably safer to pull off the road for a few minutes.

It just so happened to be our luck that the nearest pull-off was Multnomah Falls. So I looked at the falls through the windshield, and then, ten minutes later, after the rain had abated somewhat, I rolled down the window and took a picture that was clear...that is, so the waterfall looked like a waterfall and not like spilt milk.

Oops...I did it again (spendaholic version)

I think I did it again
I convinced myself it's okay to spend

oh money

yes I'm sure it's a steal
I know that I've found a true, real deal

cause to open my wallet
That is just so typically me

oh! spending money

[CHORUS:]

Oops!...I did it again

I found a great deal, got lost in the thrill
oh! spending money

oops you'd think that I'd stop
But I'll shop til I drop
Or till they take my card

You see my problem is this:
I can shop all day,
Online or in stores, Wal-Mart or E-Bay

I cry, paying the bills
I say I'm all done, I'm through with deal thrills

But to open my wallet,
That is just so typically me...

[Repeat CHORUS]

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah


Please note:
I'm not trying to make light of people with the very serious habit of overextending themselves financially on a regular basis. It's a serious thing, and I'm not recommending it. I just couldn't resist the parody that popped in my mind one day at work. Also it's kind of ironic because anyone who knows me knows that in a past life I was related to Ebenezer Scrooge in his pre-Christmas Carol days.

Once Upon a (Beach) Time

Once upon a time, a mom and her girl went to the beach. The purpose of the trip was a vacation for the mom, and a working trip for the daughter. They drove to the coast late one night and listened to songs that soothed the daughter and made the mom wonder what in the heck her child was listening to. (With a few exceptions.)

The daughter worked in between bouts of extreme ear disease, wherein she lay near expiration on the bed while the mother, being a mom, took care of her offspring.

When the daughter was working, the mother borrowed said daughter's car and drove up and down the coast, seeing what there was to see, stopping where there were places to stop, and generally enjoying herself.

In some places there were outcroppings of rock. In others, there was plenty of foam. 

In yet other places, there were trees mostly blocking the view, which made for dramatic photo settings.

Seafoam's like the sea's whipped cream...except whipped cream shouldn't hiss.

One day, the daughter left work and decided to go to the state park with her mom. It was late in the day, but they wanted to make every minute count. Although they couldn't see the tide pools, they drove down to see the lighthouse anyway.

The daughter had been so intent on going to play that she forgot to take her name tag off, and as it was cold and time was short, she didn't notice until it was too late and the white blob was in all the pictures.  

Oh well. At least she's labeled!

The fog around them was fast and thick, moving not with little cat feet, but with slithery snakiness. From the time these two pictures were taken, no more than five minutes had elapsed. The lighthouse went from being picturesque to fulfilling its purpose while they were there -- if you look hard, you can see the beacon of light at the top of the house.

The mom and daughter had been having a discussion about this blog. The mother told the daughter that implied presence was very important. (They had a discussion about proper office decor. It was a suitable segue.) The mom wanted to be the implied presence for the rest of the photos.

Here's the mother's implied presence.

Then they went to dinner, and had calamari and crab cakes, some prawn delicious salad (the daughter found that although prawn are tolerable, it was really the rest of the salad that was magnificent), and some Brazilian stew concoction with coconut milk. They shared with each other. :) (The mother said the crab cakes were in her Top Five Ever.)

Thank you, Yelp, and Local Seafood, for helping them achieve this yumminess.

The pair shopped in bed in the hotel room (a surprisingly fun novelty). They evaluated crockpots and used a color/frame wheel to put their favorite prints with the very best combinations of framing combinations. They ate salad out of plastic containers and pre-peeled boiled eggs. The daughter ate vast quantities of potato chips and the mom ate lots of everything else.

This just goes to show you that while you can lead by example, you can only lead a horse (daughter) to healthy food; you can't make her drink (partake).

On their way out of town, they spied a tree that had been trimmed to avoid the telephone/electricity poles. And they stopped at a little gallery. Black and gold bowls and glass intricacies caught the mother's fancy, and a series of oils of the coast were the focus of the daugher's experience. There was also the ultimately comfortable rocking chair for the mother, which was not the most comfortable rocking chair experience ever for the daughter (unsurprising), and there were an awful lot of contemporary abstract lamenesses, regardless of whose point of view you take.

The daughter was so enchanted with the oils that she bought not just one, but two. She had them wrapped, like Mallow and Wallow, and they are still bundled safe in their little cradles of bubble wrap, in anticipation of next week's move.

Another road trip, another set of experiences, and another beach comb behind them, mother and daughter are now on to the next adventure.

What's next? Stay tuned to find out. (The story won't be on the 11 o'clock news. These things take more time to develop than the next headline.)

Fed Up**

I'm fed up with you.
I'm fed up with you.
I'm not fed down, fed around, fed under
Not fed in, fed out, just about fed over
You starved love 'anywhere a cat can go'
All that's left is up so that's where I'll aim for
Got no emotion left to give to you
I'm just fed up. We're through.

You treat me like I'm nothin' when you know full well I'm not.
Don't even have the grace to give me notice of your thought
That maybe we're not good as two and single is your pref
I'm shouting via text to you and you pretend you're deaf 

That's why:

I'm fed up with you.
I'm fed up with you

I'm not fed down, fed around, fed under
Not fed in, fed out, just about fed over
You starved love 'anywhere a cat can go'
All that's left is up so that's where I'll aim for
Got no emotion left to give to you
I'm just fed up. We're through.

You never call me when you say you will and that's not cool 
Then give me lame excuses like you think that I'm a fool
I tried to make excuses and I told myself 'it's fine'
I truly can't believe I ever wanted you as mine.

I passed initial numbness and moved on to Angry Girl
I'm out of softish objects that it's safe for me to hurl
I skipped right past resigned and now I'm at this new heart stage:
'The lameness that you are should incite a public outrage.'

And so:

I'm fed up with you.
I'm fed up with you
I'm not fed down, fed around, fed under
Not fed in, fed out, just about fed over
You starved love 'anywhere a cat can go'
All that's left is up so that's where I'll aim for
Got no emotion left to give to you
I'm just fed up. We're through.




**All characters in this work of fiction are purely fictional. Any references to real people, events, or places is incidental and should not be construed as anything else. Meaning, I did not write this about me. Or about you. It's what my mom would call a high school poem.