Three reasons I blog

I've been an awful blogger lately. I have this thing where I want to blog in chronological order so when I fall behind I get overwhelmed and over it. Also, I want to be clever, so blasting through them isn't really an option. So my options are: quit blogging, or blog differently.

I'll take option two.

So I've decided to blog in a way that works for me:

Three things at a time. No need for clever exposition. Plenty of room for expanding or contracting. Easy options for going out of order. Or rambling. I'm not looking for an audience, which I have to remind myself from time to time (as an avid stranger-blog-reader).

1. I'm an awful journal-keeper and excellent forgetter. You know when people ask what you did over the weekend Monday morning at work and everyone brushes through the weekend, highlighting a thing or two of note? I blank entirely and highlight the only things I can remember. At the end of the same day even, I can't count on remembering. I could be frightened (please don't let it be pre-Alzheimers. What a nightmare!) or I can blog.

2. I like the mental exercise of putting experiences to words. Sometimes I'll be in the middle of something and I'll think out the words I want to use to describe the experience. It makes it richer somehow to attach words and descriptions to something mundane. It makes something exciting feel exciting longer. I catch myself talking like an idiot sometimes (far too many 'likes' and 'yeahs' and 'or whatevers') and I think it's because my brain is out of practice. There's no reason to talk like a pro at work then mumble like a high schooler about everything else. So I blog. Makes me sound smarta.

3. I like talking about myself. Don't we all?

Bend x2

I was in Bend, Oregon last Memorial Day weekend and by my memory it was sunny. Windy, but sunny. We hipstered it up, wandered around rocks and quaint, historic-looking downtown. This year, I'm gonna just say this, it was cold. First night: cold. Second night: sleet. Third night: stayed with Dave because indoors is where you're supposed to be when it's cold outside. 

Caves are also good. Lava caves. The entire Bend area is basically an old caldera with an extinct volcano and lots of volcano sites. This lava cave, where a lava flow once ran and left a mile+ long hole, was renting propane lamps for five bucks a pop but we figured our headlamps would do. And by ours I mean Trent's and Maria's because I couldn't find mine. This lava cave was a mile long and flat enough that we only regretted not renting the propane lamps a few times after slight stumbles (mostly me, the one borrowing light). I'm all sorts of claustrophobic, so it's good that the cave didn't really feel enclosed until the very end, where we had an impromptu harmonica jam session. And by we, I mean Trent because he plays the harmonica and I don't. The cave continued past a 'Please don't keep going sign' put up, I'm sure, because people have died in there. That's what happens in enclosed spaces a mile from fresh air. It's one sign I'm happy to oblige. 

Into the dark

The end of the cave

Cold air

Harmonica in the dark

We also spent some time ambling around an old obsidian flow, which was geologically pretty rad. HUGE shards of obsidian were everywhere, some melded with the also ample pumice stones. Winding paths and a huge ravine made a pumice shot-put throw inevitable:

It also snowed here:

So much for sunshine.

When we did have sunshine, we happened upon a 3 day archery competition. I've never seen so much camo-printed gear in my life. Camo shirts and pants and onesies and scarves and shoes and things that just shouldn't have camouflage print on them. The competitors were out in the woods playing out the game that didn't make much sense to me, but I know included bows, arrows, and targets in the woods. 

Back at base camp, there were plenty to try out, which I did, looking awesome and not actually doing that bad. This is a sport I could get into. Porter apparently has a fleet (fleet?) of bows he has fashioned himself and a quiver of arrows I haven't ever actually noticed and am pretty excited about. This is a sport I could get into. 

I will shoot you.

This target was 15 feet away. I shot farther too!

Lookin' tough

And also:

Yummy desserts

Yummy dinners

Footprints, after the rain

On Sunday, we stayed with our good friend Dave, who recently relocated to Bend (a year now is still recently, right?). Porter and the boys went mountain biking on what sounded like pretty amazing, well-manicured, treacherous trails that don't appeal to me at all. Maria and I took a great walk in a lovely park and lounged on this huge tree trunk.

Looking for crazy murderer men who might be hiding in the woods

Rainy writing

No, I have not been watching Hart of Dixie for two full months. I did finish both seasons in what may be record speed, but I have been busy with other things too. Woodworking class (cuz I'm tough like that). A work/leisure trip to Utah. Selling a house. Squatting at my parents'. A crazed search for a new home. 2013's first camping trip. Paris!

I've got things to blog about, eh?

Just outta the rhythm. So to get the party started I'm going to complain about the rain.

It's dark and wet and soggy and yes, the weather in Seattle sometimes does get to me.

But it does make my mind turn in a way that sunny days don't. Blame the rain for Seattle's hyper-literacy and active local writing community. Something about sun chases good ideas away, and something about cloud cover ignites the brain.

So even though summer is on it's way (it was here a couple weeks ago, right?), I rang in the unofficial summer kick-off Memorial Day waking up to sleet and am in the mood to write.

Porter and I are moving into our new apartment on Mercer Island this Friday which kicks off resolution time. Can't blame half my life being packed in boxes. Can't blame a long commute. Can't blame the rain (because it will go away... right?).

It's go time.

Giggling

There's nothing quite so fun as sitting in a room by yourself, smiling (or giggling, unabashedly) to entertainment intended for 14-year-old girls. Of late? Hart of Dixie. 22 Episodes on Netflix. Four episodes this morning (jet lag, ok?) and I'm in a fabulous mood.

Mushy gushy

You gonna write about me?

I generally tend to shy away from public proclamations of mushy gushy love. There's nothing inherently wrong with them, though I grimace and roll my eyes more often than I would probably admit when I see it, hear it, or read it. I love that people are in love, and I even love knowing that they're in love. I should have no aversion to letting the world know that a significant other is freaking amazing.

So, without further ado,

My husband is freaking amazing.

He holds me together when I don't even know I'm falling apart. He makes me think and question and believe and care about things. And he's nice. And good. And a total badass.

Bad-ass, what?

I love him. So much. With one of those deep in your bones emotions I didn't, honestly, know that I even had.

I can't keep my hands off him.

I'll kiss him on the beach

On a bus

In the woods

In the mountains on the other side of the world

Everywhere I can. Every day.

Cuz he's the cutest.

Every day 'til forever

3 Things: I Love About Craigslist

I am a Craigslist junkie.

A fiend.

Obsessed.

Well, in a healthy way (I think). I'm on Craigslist way more often than Pinterest (or maybe even Facebook some days) and here's why:

1. Window-shopping isn't a new pastime. Problem is, unless you're in one of those mish-mash stores that sell a little of everything (you know, Goodwill, TJ Maxx, most dollar stores. [All three are also favorites of mine]) most stores have just too much of one thing. Too many good choices to choose between sometimes (I'm looking at you, J. Crew), others too much garbage that it's a waste of time. Craigslist has a little bit of everything. Literally. Sometimes I browse the talent ads where people offer services as tea party specialists, or are selling a one of a kind engine from some specific WW2 bomber plane. What kind of jobs, or houses, or amazing pieces of furniture are out there for someday. It's people watching 21st century style.

2. Fun, (often otherwise expensive) unique things. Relatively cheap. Furniture, I believe, has a worse resale value than vehicles. I have a tendency to pick an item I want to buy and search it compulsively until I find the perfect one I want. Like this bench I bought a couple weeks ago. I've got a thing for benches, comfort be damned, and NEVER would have searched physical or online store for an antique birthing bench. But how amazing is this? I can hook my knees on one end and sit for hours. Eat your heart out, Pier One, Ikea, and LaZBoy. If you're not in a hurry, Craigslist can blow your mind and your living room. Plus, I found my job on Craigslist (in a less passive search, admittedly), and I never would have thought to look for Food Resources Developer, so basically I should be thanking Craig for my rewarding job.

3. I can get rid of my shiz and make money. If that's not a double whammy of Craigslist goodness, I don't know what is. When I moved back home before I got a job I made like $500 selling things I found in my parents garage. I promise, I was doing them a favor. More space, less clutter, full pockets o' cash. It's a beauty!

Now, I know there's an ugly dark side of my beloved CL, but it's not in my face so I don't ever think about it. Craigslist is there just for what I need it to be: good fun and great deals.

Homecoming, Homegoing

We've been home nearly two weeks. I ought to make some joke about the lack of sunshine and summer, but honestly, Seattle hasn't been doing too bad. Besides a few days of torrential rain and overall gloominess (on my day at the Capitol, for instance, I looked like I just stepped out of the shower. Way to wow lawmakers.), Seattle has either been blue-skied, or my personal favorite: bright white. Cloudy, yes, but without rain and almost blinding in brightness. Don't get how beautiful that is? You must not be from Seattle.

The first week back we spent with Trish and Jeff, a week deserving of a post in and of itself. It's like a resort at their house, complete with heated mattress pad, hot-tub, and lake view. I may or may not have been completely useless to all the chores we had to do, but by Thursday our tenants were all moved out and we were cleared to move in.

Tenants? Say, what? Move in where? I keep asking myself this question- usually while talking with my real estate agent, because how did I get a real estate agent?

Some girls marry into debt and emotional baggage. I married into a house that has wildly appreciated since Porter bought it some 3 years ago. And a husband who knows what's up, generally, and specifically with all the preparations necessary for handling the listing of the house for sale.

Week two home was house prep time. Cleaning, landscaping, cleaning, and decorating. We moved just our bed and some accent pieces (easy chair, coffee table, area rugs), as well as an office desk for Porter because apparently space is good, not empty space, but not full space. Also, I've become a Maxxinista and klepto (stealing mostly from my mom. Only from my mom.) trying my best to play interior designer with artfully placed pillar candles that won't be lit; draped, layered towels of different sizes in the bathrooms (not for use either); and even a place setting at the kitchen nook that we don't use for meals. Form before function, I guess.

The timing of my design blitz falls quite conveniently after my HGTV design show binge, the few days after our big W hike in Patagonia when we happened to be staying in the only hotel on our trip with a TV AND Satellite coverage, AND HBO, HGTV, Cinemax, AND 3 days to kill, tired and in the mood for sitting in our king-size bed ALL DAY.

I'm well-prepared.

Check it out.

Or buy it!

http://www.redfin.com/WA/Bellevue/6335-121st-Pl-SE-98006/home/414727/nwmls-453061

Central Chile, aka the Pacific Northwest in disguise

Turns out Central Chile is my home's Southern Hemisphere version of itself. Puerto Montt was all about smoked salmon; Pucon nights feel like August at 9 pm - still light out and just crisp enough out that a long sleeved shirt feels perfect with shorts and flip flops; Villarica had blackberries growing like weeds. Blueberries (3 bucks for a monster box. I'm still high on my overdose yesterday), peaches and nectarines, it's a fresh fruit extravaganza and I can't get enough of it.

We've breezed through most of Chile, which I feel great about, even though it has been plenty pleasant. Beyond pleasant.

I originally had high and magical visions of a horseback ride through Patagonia (mostly planted by this girl I met at a work conference i happened to go to a month before we left who, in an odd turn of events, was taking a short sabbatical to travel South America. She was crossing the Andes for 10 days on horseback, which is too long for me, but I loved the idea of camping out under the stars with our faithful horses tethered nearby. Rustic and amazing, right?) and had communicated with the company most highly praised on TripAdvisor (mostly by one snob if a horse rider who was traveling with her non horseman boyfriend and went on and on and on about how great the company was and how healthy the horses. Sounds great, right??) Well, we didn't confirm it in time and lost our spot and then got stuck in the doldrums of not wanting to plan anything ever again (definitely hitting a wall in that department) so we bagged the overnight trip and opted for a quick jaunt in the countryside. Shorter, less romantic, but in all honesty, probably a better match for my behind.

I apparently got the naughty horse, and had to be led out for the first 10 minutes which wouldn't have been embarrassing probably if the leader of the group wasn't a 12 year old boy who kept mumbling directions like I spoke 12 year old mumbled Spanish and not polished, enunciated classroom Spanish. We were led to a very cool waterfall with a 'complicatado' trail, meaning straight up and down on tree roots. Porter took a quick dip (seriously, those shorts! Isn't he the cutest?)

High Velocity Wind Jog Commentary

You probably already know that Kami is not too keen on running. What you may or not know is that she is married to someone who LOVES to run. Me. I even love running enough to do it in 50 mph winds. That's what I did the other day, and here are a few of my recollections.

It was sunny, which was part of what tricked me into thinking that this would be a good day to do my long run, which was supposed to be an hour and 45 minutes long. So I set out.

Very quickly, my senses reported to me that this was going to be tough! The wind was super strong along the waterfront, strong enough to whip the water spray all the way to me.

Since Puerto Natales is a pretty small town, there was really only one option, which was to run along a highway filled with buses and big trucks. Oh boy.

At one point, I kid you not, two big chunks of somebody's galvanized roof came off and flew, bounding across the road and into the fields on the other side, about 100m in front of me! I could've been taken out by galvanized aluminum.

Three times, I had to just stop and stand my ground against the wind. Frequently, the wind would push my feet around while they were in the air, making me stumble and get off track. I was seriously concerned that the wind was going to shove me a few feet over into the road into the path of an oncoming vehicle!

With about 20 minutes left, I took a breather for about 30 seconds behind a construction sign jus to recollect myself mentally. The combination of wind and sun beating on my face was intense.

When I returned, it was definitely one of the toughest runs I've done!

Glacier Madness

I quite hate the word crampons, for obvious reasons, but I wore them the other day. I generally hate tours, mostly because I have my dad's pride that pretty much any place or experience is better without guides tiptoeing you through it, and because I have probably unnecessary anxiety about making sure it's worth the usually high cost. We opted out if a pricey tour in Brazil's Chapada Diamantina, opted in at Iguazu, and here in Patagonia sat somewhere on the 'do it' side of the fence on the Perito Moreno glacier's Big Ice tour.

Pay a couple hundred bucks for a tiptoe on a glacier, can I really be worth it?

Yes.

Even with crampons. I can't count how many times I noted the grandeur of the white and blue and crevasses and ICE LAGOONS with something elegant like Holy Crap.

Climbing up down and sideways with metal picked shoes was harder than I thought, but I got the hang of it (not the sideways so much, actually, but up and down were ok). I can't believe how different the ice looked from different angles. I can't believe I got to tiptoe all over those angles.