Mom had this painting sent to me last week (thanks Uncle Bill). It hung for years in our entry hallway in Fondy, then in Mom's apartment on Diversey, then at Grandma Mickey's while Mom's been abroad. I'll be lucky if the plant next to it will last a fraction of that time. I've always loved this painting, feel very luck to have it in my home. I should know more about it —anyone know the story?
It looks fantastic in the living room, I could look at it for hours. It's starting to feel like a permanent home here, one little piece at a time.
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I love the Oregon Coast. Driving the 101, the vistas, the moody weather, the rock formations looming out of the ocean, the cliffs and bluffs, the small towns and inlets…it reminds me of Door County on steroids.
I spend as many 'weekends' as possible out there–my 'weekends' usually falling on weekdays when the majority of the population is in town at work. The coast is vast and sparsely developed, during the week the experience is solitude defined. Ruby adores the trips, it hardly needs mentioning. Just ask her how many dead animals she's scavanged off the beach and brought to me, anticipating a reward.
A few months ago, about the same time I developed this stress rash (more on that later), I started dreaming of having a cabin on the coast. Not a big dream, not fantasy. But a little dream, a realistic one (is this what growing up is? Realistic ideas that still take a load of work to reach?). Realistic on my budget is a run down cabin on a bit of land no one else wants. Though not as developed as those coastal regions that offer the benefit of warmth and sunshine, property here still goes at a premium. Add a view, add a couple of zeros. Not a local? Good luck with zoning sucker.
Internet daydreaming landed me on a real estate listing for a run down old mobile home, not exactly on the ocean, but pretty close. And for a minute, I thought–well, how bad could that be? Ok, it could be pretty bad. But what if it's just a start? And in a couple of years, the old mobile gets torn down and replaced with…with..
….. Dream No. 2, not so realistic, is to quit all work, get an Airstream and a Wagoneer and spend a few years traveling the States, photographing and journaling and adventuring. But that's later….so what has the efficiency and affordabilty of a travel trailer but doesn't travel?
The Park Model Home. Only I didn't know that until weeks later, when I was on I-5, heading to Seattle for work (Reason No. 1 for getting away on the weekends!)….. -
Tom called the other day, something he doesn't do very much. I'm never home according to him, as I cannot easily be reached. I will not get a cell phone, don't bother bugging me about it. So, I called him back, hoping it wasn't bad news.
It wasn't.
He got a new car. A Lotus Elise! -
The Breckenridge brochures arrived in today's mail, along with a notice from the US Dept. of Education —my little cottage specs and my biggest debt in the same mail pile.
This is the second time that the US Dept of Ed. has messed up my automatic loan repayments–all this time, nearly two years, I thought my monthly payments were being automatically deducted. They weren't. Now the loan is in default. And this time, it's not my fault!
I actually got through to a live person at the other end of the 800 number, and this time, they promise me the arrangements will be kept. Of course, now, it's a higher payment and a black mark on my already sketchy credit rating.
But at least it's a step forward. Maybe my little cottage on the coast is meant to be. Perhaps I was meant to get serious about taking care of this messy bit of finance so I can see a path to getting my little cottage mortgage.
I realize that this entry seems out of the blue, there are about five or six entries I haven't written yet to describe how I got to ordering trailer home brochures…will post soon, under the category "Cabin on the Coast". -
Cleaning out my computer files, I found this copy of a funny IM conversation I had with my brother a while back. Enjoy.
tnoe@mac.com: hey, do you know how to pronounce Hibou, which I think should be french for owl
Katemikkelsen: ok, that's the strangest question
Katemikkelsen: if it is french, then drop the H "eeebou"
tnoe@mac.com: like boo
Katemikkelsen: still say the "i" , but pronounced like our "eee"
Katemikkelsen: so "eee-boo"
tnoe@mac.com: right
tnoe@mac.com: is it boo or bow
Katemikkelsen: boo
Katemikkelsen: bou = boo
Katemikkelsen: beau=bough
tnoe@mac.com: like a ghost
Katemikkelsen: yes, like casper
tnoe@mac.com: thanks
Katemikkelsen: it's not coming up in my dictionary
Katemikkelsen: where is this from?
Katemikkelsen: oh wait, it's L'hibou…yes, owl
Katemikkelsen: have a good one
tnoe@mac.com: you too, thanks -
I have become a lazy bastard, addicted to the comforts of a couch and fireplace. The room containing these luxuries does not contain the computer. My new couch arrived in December, just in time for dark nights that begin at 4pm and the launch of a new local tv station that airs Seinfeld twice each week night. Two different episodes.
It started with the fireplace. It started with having one–I never before have had a working fireplace. The dog presses herself up to the screen, risking bodily flammage to be as physically close to the warmth as possible, and snoozes for hours, days on end. I have learned to watch how the dog lives her life and follow her lead–she doesn't have stress zits or sleepless nights or an unidentified rash or hormone rage.
First the cord of wood, then came the couch. A couch may seem a triffling thing, but I have been without a proper one for five years. I didn't know I was suffering. I had Mom's cozy lounge chair, the armless cubes and for some time now my beloved new retro-armchairs. I had forgotten about the couch's dirtly little secret—sitting down, I am faced with all that luxurious space next to me. A leg sneaks up, then the other. Shortly, I am prone.
And then I am asleep.
I don't have time to blog, I am drooling on my toss pillow. -
Last week, I went to Las Vegas at the last minute to attend two days of the World Market Home Furnishings Trade Show. I went to Vegas, with my boss, to work. Contain your excitement on my behalf. We stayed at the Luxor, said to be visible from space. The Great Wall, the Amazon and …The Luxor–what a planet.
In short, my impression of Vegas is summed up in this story:
One evening, walking back to the hotel from dinner, enjoying natural air and a moment devoid of casino-din, my boss said to me: "Wow, look up at that moon!"
It was full; perfectly round and full and glowing with celestial beauty.
My reply, with a tone of intense disgust: "Which hotel did THAT?" -
Stella has shot up, and I was caught unawares. I made this Dress for her for Christmas. Note I said "Dress". It was not intended to be a sassy hipster's belly shirt. -
I've tried speed dating, Match.com, set-ups, social clubs.. you name it. And nowhere can I find a date that isn't deeply, deeply wrong.
Is searching the Craig's List Missed Connections in pathetic hope that you might have been noticed by some stranger, is that as sad as it feels? Even sadder when I realized the only place anyone would have the opportunity to notice me is at the grocery store?!!? -
After a week of false alarms, Portland finally got the big snow storm yesterday morning. Big wet flakes, low visibility, closed roads…the works.
I was trapped at home, up on the hill, unable to drive or even walk down the slippery slopes. Just down the road from me, my old street was closed to traffic. SW 20th, the road I usually take to work, was the scene of more than a dozen accidents. A nieghbor even filmed a domino-series of accidents as an SUV failed to make the hill and crashed around like a pinball, hitting every parked car on its slide back down.
A co-worker with tire chains, and fortitude, is coming to pick me up this morning. He had 'chained up' and headed to the mountain for ski-ing yesterday, so has no fear of this little trek. Oh to be young again, and not worried about car insurance rates!
