Lost...and Found

When we returned from Crater Lake, we noticed that Mary's bike was missing from our corral of bikes and strollers in our carport. Mysteriously, our stroller, Lucy's bike, and Curtis' bike were untouched, though all are much more valuable than Mary's bike, which we bought second-hand at the local bike shop.

We were shocked to think that somebody would steal it. We hoped it would turn up, but we had to break the news to Mary in case it didn't. Mary braved it well and put on a strong face, only commenting that she hoped her new bike was purple, also, and just as fast.

Then, the next morning, we were walking back from the park when I spied something. There, one block from home, was Mary's bike, sitting in the strip between the street and the sidewalk. It seemed in good condition, her "MARY" nameplate still hanging from the back. One of the training wheels was bent, rendering it unride-able. But, otherwise, it looked fine. We rescued it and brought it back home.

So, now it's your turn to help us guess what happened:

Scenario A: The hot September winds carried the bike down our driveway, where it was kicked around until some kind soul put it up out of harm's way.

Scenario B: A preschooler took the bike for a joyride and abandoned it a block away before his/her parents noticed.

Scenario C: A would-be thief tried to steal the bike and while using the stolen property as a getaway vehicle, busted the training wheel and had to abort his plan.

Or, perhaps you'd like to offer up Scenario D?

Peaks and Valleys

For Curtis' birthday, we traveled to Crater Lake for the weekend to join my parents and my sister Amy and her family. Traveling with little ones is always an adventure. We literally and figuratively went through peaks and valleys during the three-day adventure.

On the way there, we stopped at the infamous Rice Hill ice cream drive-in. (It's a bit of a tradition that you must stop there anytime you head south on I-5 through Roseburg.) An hour later, as we were rounding the many curves to Crater Lake National Park, Mary began to feel carsick. Mary's pink peppermint ice cream reappeared as a fountain of sickness. I don't know about Mary, but I can tell you that I'll never be able to eat peppermint ice cream again.

Finally, we arrived at the lake around 6pm, to enjoy a gorgeous scene. We sat in the rocking chairs on the veranda, soaking up the view. And then we learned that the restaurant's next reservation was for 9:30pm. Curtis, ever the problem-solver, concluded that we would just order from the bar menu on the veranda. Except that the veranda was a quiet, serene place with rocking chairs and grown-ups sipping wine and gazing at the lake. And our children, cooped up in the car all day, were wound up like springs. So, we decided to head to our hotel room upstairs in the lodge and have the appetizers delivered there. As the server brought the giant tray of food into our room he said, "Hmm...so this is what the rooms look like." We said, "Haven't you been in them before?" To which he replied, "No, we really don't deliver food to the rooms. This is a first here in this hotel." Oops.

Saturday morning, we did a hike around the rim of the lake with the children. Thanks to careful (and quick!) grandparents, we managed to keep Lucy from going over the sheer cliff to the lake. In the afternoon, Grandma Buck babysat the girls so that we could climb Garfield Peak (a hike which had too many sheer drop-offs for little children who run as fast as Lucy and Mary). It was a gorgeous hike, led by Amy and Tom's daughter Becca who fearlessly forged the trail and reached the top ten minutes ahead of the rest of us.

Saturday night was one of those nights that makes us wonder if we'll wait until the girls are teenagers before we travel with them again. Lucy awoke at 11pm gasping and hyperventilating. After a few scary hours, we were able to calm her down and get her breathing back to normal. What followed was a restless night, with much tossing and turning. We weren't sure whether it was the elevation (the lodge is at 7,100 ft.) or the cold she was developing that night, or a combination of both. But it was truly frightening...and exhausting.

Sunday, we enjoyed a morning hike to Watchman Peak, with both kids safely strapped in carriers. Again, it was a beautiful, blue skied day to show off a glorious bluer-than-blue Crater Lake.

On the ride home, we drove through Bend and enjoyed lunch by the Deschutes River with the family. From there, we went to Gresham to pick up Greta, who spent the weekend with the Loebs since dogs are not allowed at Crater Lake. The Loebs reported that Greta was a good Catholic. "A good Catholic?" we asked. Afraid to leave her home alone in her nervous state, they brought her with them to church. Not in the parking lot. In the church. Apparently, she still has trouble making the sign of the cross, but she did sit through mass without making a peep, which is more than we can say for Lucy these days. "But, of course, we didn't take her up to receive communion," Jim joked. Thank heavens. St. Francis would have approved, but we aren't sure Fr. Charles felt the same.

All in all, a grand adventure and well worth the valleys to experience the peaks. That being said, next time, we pray for fewer valleys and more peaks.

La Playa

We know it is coming. "It" being the cold, rainy, damp autumn.

But, fortunately, graciously, the weather gods are being kind to these sunny-weather-loving transplants. The summer weather continues as though the calendar pages are still in July.

Wanting to take advantage of every bright blue-skied day left in the season, we escaped to the beach for the day.

We spread out a blanket and spent the entire day building sandcastles and letting the waves splash over our toes.

Mary (and Lucy) Maids

Exactly how much longer do you think I have before they realize "sweep and dust" isn't an official children's game?

Shh....nobody tell. Please nobody tell them.

Ode to Team Impala

Seven years ago today, I was in Texas with two business associates, Kate and Shelly, for a quick one-night business trip. We were attending an early morning school meeting to discuss a grant when our security department placed an urgent call to my Texan colleague and asked him to return immediately to our nearby work campus. From there, we were glued to the TV screens in horror as the Trade Center buildings went from smoldering to crumbling.

To be away from home when it felt like the world was collapsing was unsettling. Knowing my friend Theresa was at the embassy in Egypt trying to flee the Middle East because of violence to US citizens was terrifying. Waiting to hear from my friend Miriam, a teacher at the U.N. School just blocks from the Trade Center, was torturous. Seeing the images of so many people missing and killed in the plane crashes and towers was heart wrenching.

We waited for two days, hoping (and yet, also not) that planes would fly once again. Finally, we decided that our rental car, a sturdy Chevy Impala, was going to be our best mode of transportation back to the Golden State. After a quick stop at Old Navy for comfortable travel clothes and another at AAA for maps, we were off. "Team Impala" was our moniker for the dusty drive through more ghost towns than an old Western flick. Across the landscape, flags were flying in the most unlikely places. In a time when people felt vulnerable, God Bless America was akin to saying, "good morning." And the skies were void. No planes, no noise, no activity, aside from the occasional flock of birds. It was a surreal road trip.

After three days, we made it to the long driveway at Kate's house, so glad to be back on familiar turf. And there was her mom, at the end of the driveway, like a pillar. She had left the office early to await our arrival. She embraced us, hugged us, welcomed us home. Kate's husband made "Team Impala" t-shirts to mark the journey. A business trip with a most unexpected detour.

Even in the midst of such despair, goodness reigned. The three-day journey across Route 66 cemented my friendship with pals Kate and Shelly, who prior to that trip were simply business associates. So, today I send hugs to Team Impala on the anniversary of our friendship. A positive marker on a day that is a most sorrowful anniversary in all other ways.

Lucy Garmin Loeb?

Curtis just got a fancy Garmin watch with GPS. But, I say, who needs a Garmin when you've got Lucy along for the ride. She has an uncanny sense of direction and location.

Last week, we were driving downtown on our way to meet a friend and we passed Curtis' office building (which to me, looks like every other tall office building downtown). Lucy pointed excitedly and said, "Daddy works there!" I was shocked.

Yesterday, we were walking in Sellwood park, which is adjacent to the Oaks Bottom Reservoir, where we went hiking last weekend with my dad. Lucy pointed over toward the reservoir and said, "That's our hike with Papa over there." We were nowhere near the trailhead, but she was right. That was exactly where we had hiked. How did she know?

This morning, we were walking to the riverfront, and we passed the back side of the yoga studio building, which is a real estate office. She said, "That's mommy's yoga class." (She could tell from the back of the building??)

Later on our walk, she pointed to a house and said, "Meg the dog lives there." I was puzzled for a minute, and then remembered that about six weeks ago on a stroll home from the park, Greta had played with a dog named Meg who was lounging in the front yard of this exact house. I wouldn't have recalled which street or which house it was. But, Lucy did. Incredible.

Now that she's riding her bike the whole way to the park by herself (well, aside from the occasional boost from mom to climb up a hill or the more common mom's seat-grabbing slow-down for a street crossing), at least we know she'll always be able to guide us home.

I'm considering checking her curly locks for a hidden GPS device, because this is truly uncanny. Little Lucy "Garmin" Loeb.

Our Teetotaler

Today Mary scraped her elbow when taking a turn on her bike that was faster than the training wheels could handle. As we were cleaning the wound, she sniffed the bottle of rubbing alcohol, then looked at me with those big blue eyes and said, "I don't understand you grown-ups," with great disdain.

I looked at her quizzically. "Why?" I asked. She said, "This stuff smells awful, and it's alcohol." I said, "Yes, that's true." She went on, "You told me that wine has alcohol and that's why kids cannot drink it. Why do YOU want to drink it? Yuck."

Let's hope we can remind her of this conversation when she goes off to college?

Wild Animals (oh, and the ones in the zoo, too!)

The sweet new baby elephant. He was 286 pounds at birth, and now he's a whopping 319, his keepers told us proudly today.
A quick snap outside the Elk Meadow, with a lovely native American saying about the Elk. (Not so subtle hint: this just might be directed at Curtis as hunting season approaches...)
Wild Animals abound at the zoo - this one escaped from her stroller! Fortunately, she was safely contained once again, just moments after this photograph.
Back at home, snuggling with our favorite wild creature.

We took our inaugural trip to the Portland Zoo today. The gorgeous mid-80s day made it feel like the middle of summer and allowed us to store a few more sunshine watts in our bulbs.

The new yet-to-be-named baby Elephant was as adorable as you can imagine. We also enjoyed watching the sea lions "perform" during feeding time as they followed the trainer's instructions to receive their fishy lunch. Dare I say it, they are better trained than Greta...and, gulp, better listeners than my own children? It's true.

Reconnections

Papa and the girls for his birthday cake moment.

The downside of Portland is that we miss our friends horribly. But, this week has provided a bit of consolation as we've spent the better part of the week re-connecting with old friends.


Last Friday, we had dinner with a friend from high school and his wife. Good conversation with smart people. We loved it and kept them up way too late. On Sunday, Curtis golfed with a high school buddy who was in town visiting from L.A. Later Sunday, we had dinner with one of my college roommates and her family, and it was wonderful to catch up and watch our kids chase and play.


On Wednesday, we hosted dinner for another high school friend who was here from Dallas with his wife and kids, along with the aforementioned buddy who was still in town visiting. And the dinner included the parents of both friends and Curtis' parents, who sat together through four years of football and basketball and baseball games back in the boys' Glory Days. It was pure chaos with sixteen people here, but well worth it to watch these former teammates trade conversation about diapers and politics and life.

On Thursday, I met up with one of my very oldest friends (since the second grade!) for coffee and the chance to meet her beautiful little baby. That night, we had my dad (mom is out of town for a wedding) over for dinner for his birthday, and my parents' friends (our former next-door neighbors growing up) were able to join us, too. A great celebration. I'm positive that the girls' excitement for the cake was triple that of the actual birthday celebrant!

And that brings me to Friday, a visit with a high school friend and her sweet kids. Tromping to the park, watching ducks, marveling at a fuzzy caterpillar crossing the sidewalk. Reconnecting is wonderful.

It doesn't lessen our sadness, it doesn't replace that hole in our hearts we feel because of the absence of our Bay Area friends. But, it does provide a glimmer of hope that one day, our Portland life will be as full as it once was in Pleasanton.

Is it too late to make a U-turn back to California?

Okay, so I'm exaggerating a bit. I'm not quite ready to leave beautiful Portland and the myriad of great things here. But, it's not all roses here in the city of roses.

For starters, u-turns are not permitted anywhere here. (To be fair and to prove that I really did get a 97% on my license exam, I will note that u-turns are permitted in about three intersections where it's legally posted and on rural roads without traffic for 1,000 feet in either direction. So, basically, that's nowhere.) The other day, I tried to get to a gas station on my left from a red light, and had to literally drive through the intersection three times to access the gas station. I was missing my California u-turning days like crazy!

Second, I cannot pump my own gas. Now, growing up, I saw this as a great advantage. And I'm sure on cold rainy mornings, it will seem like a plus, as well. But with two kids (one who inevitably is hungry or tired) and a million things to do, it's really no fun waiting for the attendant to meander over to my vehicle and slowly ask me what kind of gas I want. It's even less fun when you hear the click of a full tank and have to wait until that attendant notices it and saunters back over to replace your gas cap for you. (Because no, you can't even do that part of the transaction by yourself! I asked last week and was given a very polite response.)

Third, people here are green. Really green. So green that they have a bit of a "greener than thou" attitude. We got scowls from the neighbors for using our gas-powered lawn mower. (Truth be told, we were going to trade it in for an old-fashioned push mower anyhow...but, really, did we need to be scolded for it?)


Okay, I'll stop there. Before my neighbors find out we haven't gotten around to starting our compost bin yet...

Pedaling to Preschool

Today was Mary's first day of preschool. She decided that she wanted to ride her bike to school, "just like Dad." She excitedly had breakfast and then strapped on her turtle backpack. And began pedaling at lightening speed, going the entire way to school alongside Curtis.

She loved her new school and her teachers, declaring that her favorite part of the day was playing on the playground. But reading was a close second (whew!).

The Bikram Burn

One month ago today, I walked by a little yoga studio in our neighborhood. I thought yoga sounded like a peaceful, restorative activity to help heal my shoulder and knees and gain more mobility. So I went to the class.

Turns out this studio was not any yoga studio. It was a Bikram Yoga Studio, which means that the room is heated to 105 degrees. And the class is 90 minutes. (Yes, nine-zero minutes in 105 degree heat.) I walked into the room and was overwhelmed by the oppressive heat. It was a struggle to stay in the room. I felt like the soles of my feet were on fire at times. I withered as I moved through the 26 poses to balance, stretch, and sweat. As the instructor would describe the pose and tell us how the full version ought to look, I would scoff inside. But, sure enough, if I furtively glanced at the yogi next to me, she was IN that exact pose, with her forehead resting flat on her shins, or balancing her entire body weight on one set of toes for sixty seconds. I was incredulous!

However, I persisted. I made it through, came home feeling dizzy, fatigued, sore, and headached (I am making that a verb despite what Webster says). Not for a few hours. Not for a day. For four days. Then, despite my anxiety and misgivings, something inside me decided to go back to the yoga studio. The heat was still stifling, the poses were still rigorous, but I loved the challenge. I came home and guzzled water the entire day. And I felt great. And I returned every few days for the rest of the month. With each class, I felt stronger and a teeny tiny bit more flexible. And the heat in the room was there, but as ambiance, not as a smothering presence.

Today is my one-month Bikram anniversary. On this lazy holiday, I got up at 5:30am to get to class. Shocking. Even more shocking is the fact that today I was able to do the toe-stand pose for the very first time. I puffed up with pride to the point that I bungled the next three balancing poses. Humility is apparently part of the yogi learning process. But what an amazing process it is. Namaste!