What A Hoot

For at least the past week, I have heard one or more Great Horned Owls calling in the early morning hours. The sounds wake me up around 2:30 or 3:00 AM. Last night, there was a new sound, one which was more than a little creepy. Listen to the sound on the third button at this link:

Great Horned Owl Sounds

That shrieking sound was disturbing. I opened the window to listen but could not be sure. It did sound like a bird. Naturally I thought it might be an injured animal or some prey they had not yet killed. Perhaps an owl fledgling, calling to its parents. There were are least three separate calls, all very close. I've stepped outside in the past in hopes of seeing the shadow of an owl in one of the trees. Unfortunately, they are masters of disguise and good at hiding in the dark shadows.

The owls always make me think of this song, a personal favorite:

There's been a hoot owl howling by my window now, for six nights in a row.

Thank you, owls.

The Sister

Me, Ted, Dave (March 15, 2013)

Brother Ted is two years older than me. Except for the occasional teasing and his insistence that I was adopted after they found me on the doorstep, he's been a great brother.

And boy is he ever smart.

Ted was every parent's dream. Thoughtful, persistent, talented, artistic, studious. He received nothing but straight A's throughout school, with maybe a hard-to-believe A- or B+ to mess with his perfect record.

We never had classes together. Because of the way our school system was set up, after a certain set of grades were completed, you advanced to another school in a separate building. We were at the same school while I was in 1st and 2nd grade, but rarely saw each other. When I advanced to 3rd grade, he moved to 5th grade in a separate school. When I advanced to 5th grade, he moved to 7th grade in yet another school. And on it went.

Ted was famous, though. Oh yes. All the teachers loved him. I was painfully shy and terrified of tests, especially timed tests. Although I was a fairly good student, I never seemed to pass muster when it came to being Ted Thompson's Sister.

Yes. That was my name throughout the years. Every class I was in, the teacher would ask, are you related to Ted Thompson? I would nod my head, yes, thinking... here we go again. As Ted Thompson's Sister, I was expected to be good at science and math and homework and studying and speaking up in class and even to excel at enthusiastically erasing the chalkboards. But, I was not.

By the time I got to 7th grade, junior high (middle school as it's called now), I had grown weary of the comparisons. It was the late sixties and I wanted to be a flower child. I deliberately screwed up in math class. I ditched choir (yes, choir). I began to get into trouble regularly and mom was having none of it.

Then, something miraculous happened. As a high school freshman, back in the same school with brother Ted for the first time since 2nd grade, I signed up for beginning typing. We had to learn on manual typewriters, you know the kind: with a platen you had to slam vigorously from left to right using a handle poised on the left. Only in subsequent classes were you allowed to use an electric typewriter.

Ted was a junior now, well established in high school and famous in his own right as an artist and athletic trainer and overall smart-guy extraordinaire. The miraculous circumstance was that Ted also signed up for beginning typing that year. There we were. Side by side. In the same class. Learning the same thing. And let me tell you what, I kicked his ass up one side and down the other at typing. While Ted fumble-fingered his way through one semester of typing, I was a natural. Finally, finally (thank you, God) I found something I could do that Ted could not. I was on my way!

A career choice had been selected. By this time, I knew I'd never be a veterinarian, what with my sketchy grasp on science and our family's complete lack of funding for any type of higher education. But business classes, oh yes! I excelled at everything in this arena, and threw in some Spanish and literature and writing and social studies for good measure. I finally realized I didn't have to be as good as Ted. I only had to be as good as me...

And it worked!

Years later, a reunion was scheduled for all students attending our high school in the seventies. There I was, milling about the crowd, with a nametag proclaiming "Debbie Thompson, Class of 1975." Still, some people looked from my face to the nametag with a puzzled look, until I would announce, "I'm Ted Thompson's Sister." Oh, oh, yes! Now I know who you are.

It's become a badge of honor.

Polite Conversations

Today I walked the dogs at the open space near our house. It has been so dry and windy; wildfires have been springing up here and there across the state. The wind calmed down a bit and we strolled down winding paths here and there. Much sniffing was accomplished.

Back at the main trail, an older fellow on a bicycle pedaled slowly towards me. He wanted to know about the dogs: whether they were male or female, their ages, breeds. Tonka pushed forward to get a scratch; Daisy held back.

He said he had just returned from a trip to the grocery store on his bike. Up the big hill. He was tired. It's been cold. He needs to do this more often. He's 72, going on 73. His birthday is in May. Told me that, twice. I said I just turned sixty. He said sixty is pretty good; seventy is a lot harder. I told him sixty was good, so far.

Then..........

Him: Are you a Christian?

Me: [silence...thinking, where did this come from?] Not really.

Him: You must have been a Christian at some point. [why, because I'm a blonde?]

Me: When I was a kid, yes.

Him: What kind?

Me: [what kind? really?] Episcopal

Him: Well, Jesus loves you [there seemed to be an implied, "anyway" here].

Me: I'm sure he does.

Him: You should read his word.

Me: [silence]

Him: I pray every day and you should too.

Me: [silence]

Him: We need to pray for our country. Things are so bad. The world is dangerous. Our leaders don't even try to work together for our country.

Me: No, they don't. And it's going to get worse with that new guy in charge.

Our polite conversation ended abruptly at this point.

Him: [takes to the pedals] Goodbye.

Me: You have a good day.

Him: [silence]

Our lovely walk resumed. I did not look back.

Here We Go

Good morning. Today is my 60th birthday, which I've been anticipating for a while. Since a number of family members died in their fifties, I figured if I could make it to sixty, I'd be set for a while. Fingers crossed.

So here's a question: Is sixty still considered middle-aged, or am I now a senior? Not quite ready for the senior title just yet.

Brother Ted tells me that I'm now "advanced" middle-aged. He is 62 and considers himself a senior.

Oh, and March came in like a lamb, as it usually does. Here's a post I wrote in 2011:

In Like A Lion

Year of the Rooster

Right now I'm staring at the screen, as I have for the past four years or so, with nothing to say. Nothing to tell the world, nothing to tell myself, even. My head is a jumble of thoughts careening wildly from my current state of health to the state of affairs in our country and indeed in our world. I feel lost and confused and lonely.

My birth year, 1957, was the Year of the Rooster, and again this year, 2017, is the Year of the Rooster. In one more month, I will turn sixty years old. From what I've heard, this is an auspicious time in Asian custom; age sixty marks the completion of five life cycles, twelve years each. So this year, I will attempt to add notes to this new and private journal in hopes that some of the words swimming around in my head can be released to "paper" as it were.

For today, I have no definite plans other than the usual: laundry, shower, run errands, walk the dogs, attempt to stay away from the internet which is a cause of much stress in my life, and to eat better. I may or may not be successful at any of these tasks.

We shall see.

Morning Hearse

Every weekday morning as I'm sitting in the "office" enjoying my morning computer time, I see a black hearse drive down the street (there is a mortuary about four blocks away). I don't know where it's going every morning, maybe just for coffee? In any case, I'm always pleased that it passes my house and keeps moving right along.

From the Kitchen to the Ocean

Reflections on a rewarding and enjoyable year, for which we are grateful.

In the spring, we decided to vanquish the last remaining traces of the color blue from our home. The kitchen had blue walls, a dark blue/gray vinyl floor, and baby blue countertops covering pale yellow cabinets. Behind the sink was a backsplash featuring lemons and other assorted fruits. Although not a color we would have chosen, we decided to keep the cabinets and replace the countertops and flooring with earth tones, while adding a snazzy backsplash made up of hand painted Mexican tiles. The best part was creating a new pass-through from the kitchen to the dining area. It opened up the room and added a nice touch.

This year we chose to go on our annual trip to Salida in late July, and boy was it hot! After checking into our favorite cabin at the bottom of Monarch Pass, we took the dogs downtown for a swim in the Arkansas River. Tonka loves the water, although he is timid in strong currents. Daisy stays by the shore but loves to splash and chase Tonka. Dave and I brought water shoes and joined the dogs in the river for a chance to cool down. Later we stopped for a beer and takeout at Moonlight Pizza then returned to the cabin to laze about.

On day two, after brunch at the Salida Café, with yummy food, sketchy service, and a pet friendly patio, we took a bumpy ride over rugged, rocky Marshall Pass, located south of Mount Ouray (elevation 13,961). The pass is named for Lt. William Marshall, who in the fall of 1873 mapped the route while making a journey from Silverton to Denver to visit a dentist, rather than have a blacksmith pull his tooth in Silverton. Here’s hoping Lt. Marshall had lots of whiskey on hand, because that’s a long trek on horseback. The summit of Marshall Pass is near the Colorado Trail, which on this day was filled with happy wildflowers, free range cattle, backpackers, and mountain bikers zooming along at breakneck speed downhill. The west side of the pass spills out onto Highway 50 near Sargents, Colorado, a non-descript town featuring a post office, a trading post, and no noticeable inhabitants.

After we finished our glorious trip overseas in 2014, Dave and I decided our next visit would be a little closer to home: the Oregon Coast. We didn’t have much of a plan until we met an Oregon native at our favorite local hangout. He directed us to the town of Seaside, on the northern coast. Dave’s sister, Barb, was interested in our trip plans and agreed to join us. We booked a fifth floor beachfront condo for late September and spent relaxing evenings on the balcony drinking local wine, watching beautiful sunsets, and listening to the surf. The weather was windy but otherwise nearly perfect.

Dave served as chauffeur for our day trips up and down the coast. Our first trek was to head north across the mouth of the Columbia River to western Washington, where we visited Cape Disappointment State Park. We hiked out onto the north jetty, which helps create a protected channel for ships into and out of the river. After being blown by wind back from the jetty to shoreline, we hiked a steep trail past the Cape Disappointment Coast Guard station to the lighthouse. The lighthouse keeper told us the day’s warm, sunny weather was unusual for the area, normally socked in by fog or subject to fierce winds, even worse that what we experienced on the jetty.

Everyone told us that we absolutely must visit Mo’s Restaurant in Cannon Beach in order to experience the best clam chowder in existence. Off we went, stopping first to hike along the beach and admire the breathtakingly beautiful Haystack Rock. None of us are big fans of clam chowder but Dave tried it and said it was mostly okay. After hiking up and down the beach and taking endless photos of Haystack Rock and the Needles, we were grateful for a chance to sit inside and watch beachgoers fly their kites. On the way back, we scoped out the site for the next day’s adventure: Indian Beach at Ecola State Park.

After first enjoying a late breakfast at the local Pig n’ Pancake, we headed south to Indian Beach to enjoy another warm, sunny day. Surfers in wetsuits weaved about in the waves; off came our shoes and socks and we waded into the cold Pacific waters. Waves splashed high as our knees at times, while up and down the beach we strolled, only stepping out to let our toes warm up before heading in again. On a rock outcropping off in the distance stood the former Tillamook Head lighthouse, known as “Terrible Tilly” because of its dangerous location. The lighthouse was decommissioned in 1957 and is now a privately owned columbarium. What a stunning place to leave your ashes for all eternity.

The next day we drove to Tillamook to tour the Tillamook Cheese Factory, where we sampled Tillamook cheese and Tillamook ice cream, purchased Tillamook memorabilia, and posed for photos with the Tillamook factory’s resident plastic cow. Cheesy, right? Then we were off to the coast again, this time to visit the lighthouse at Cape Meares and the nearby Octopus Tree. First we stopped at the beach in Oceanside, where Dave collected seashells and we wondered about the abundance of hillside homes for sale. The lighthouse headland offered spectacular views of the vast Pacific Ocean and the Three Arch Rocks, although alas, we could only see two arches.

Our last day was spent scurrying up the coast to catch a ferry from Bremerton, Washington, across the sound to Seattle. What a beautiful way to view the Seattle skyline. We spent the afternoon on a whirlwind tour of the waterfront: drinking margaritas and sangria at the Copacabana, strolling through the Pike Place Market, and riding the monorail to the Space Needle.

As dusk fell, we returned to the waterfront in time to see the Seattle Great Wheel lit up at night.

The next morning we headed home to begin planning our next vacation.

Gettysburg, anyone?

(more vacation photos here)

We hope this year treated you well, and as always wish you

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Peace on Earth

Debbie and Dave

Tonka

Daisy

Cloudless Skies

August, Colorado: You can almost hear the grass gasping, tiny rusted shoots stranded in a high, dry desert. The sky is bright blue with nary a cloud, and the sun sears itself into your skin, like a branding iron from above. Omnipresent waist-high weeds undulate to and fro in a lover's dance with the hot breezes. Autumn seems so far away...

Adventures with Daisy

Adventures with Daisy, Day Two. A sweet little girl wearing cowboy boots ran up to meet us at the park. She asked if my dogs were friendly. Daisy freaked out and backed up, ending up lodged beneath Tonka's belly. She let out her best scary "woof" while I untangled them. I let the girl pet Tonka but told her Daisy was afraid of strangers. She then said, "I have two dogs and my dogs are just like yours, only different." :-) What a cutie!

Scary Santa

While out on bunny patrol, Daisy was distracted, sniffing like crazy. We passed a house with a plastic Santa clinging for dear life onto the gutter. Well, just as we walked by a breeze made Santa flap noisily in the wind. Skittish little Daisy jumped to the left and knocked Tonka into the gutter. Santa and Tonka are both okay. Daisy is resting quietly in her room.