I Need A New Home

I've moved again. Apparently I'm hard to satisfy.

http://markp427.wordpress.com

I think wordpress has some really cool features and a better layout. So...I'm giving that a try. If you're reading and want to follow me over there (again) - go for it. :)

Fangs A Lot

I'm watching True Blood now. Curiosity won me over and I ordered Season 1 through Netflix. I could pretend to be a fan of vampires, but other than really enjoying reading "The Historian" a couple of years ago, my interest in them is fleeting at best. No, the real draw here - naturally - is the sex.

Hey, when you've gone nearly eight months without, you take your erections where you can find them.

I might as well at least have a little drama and action to go along with the soft-core porn. And Anna Paquin is great eye candy. That Southern accent, those skimpy sun dresses that cling to her body like a second skin...mmm. Even the little gap in her teeth appeals to me. I think it makes her more real. In other words, she's not one of those completely unattainable stars like, say, Angelina Jolie. Maybe she has a thing for 40 year old guys who work for pressure washer manufacturers. Whoo-hoo! I have a shot!

Or maybe not. But it's a pretty riveting show, sex and gore aside. I'm only four episodes in, but the first season is only 12 episodes long so I should be able to get through it pretty quickly. Besides, it's a nice change of pace from the regular parade of true-crime stuff that inundates my DVR.

Has it really been eight months without sex...?

Sheesh. Even during that miserable summer of 2006, my dry spell only lasted six months. Thanks to Lynn. But, ugh - never again, no matter how desperate I get! And I've had some opportunities, but always I've held off pursuing them because of Crystal. I may kick myself later, but I know I've done the right thing.

So I have no idea why I texted Tanya yesterday. But that's something I won't dwell on in too much detail.

It's ten minutes to 4:00, and I'm almost outta here. Dinner is already finished; I made a pork ragu in the crockpot - all I've got to do is cook the pasta, and I'm all set. People often debate over the most important invention of the 20th century. Some claim it was television, others the computer. I say both of those are perfectly fine and important, but the greatest tool to spring forth from man's inspiration has been the crockpot. Seriously. I mean, I've been working hard all day, but when I walk through the door in half an hour I'll be met with the warm, enticing aroma of a delicious meal, pretty much all ready to go. I can concentrate on my writing, and more True Blood, and when I'm ready to eat, I have very little preparation left. It's nearly as good as having a wife.

I Support Cheerleaders

The house smells like a restaurant right now. Roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and huckleberry muffins are all competing for dominance. It's an amazing thing, the way a delicious meal cooked from scratch can make a house feel like a home.

There are signs of fall everywhere. The days are growing shorter; we're losing a minute or two of daylight every evening, and again, in the mornings. No longer is there light streaming into the bedroom before 5 AM, and it's dark again at a reasonable hour. Rain began falling overnight, and lasted nonstop until early afternoon; my rain gauge shows we received .83" with showers expected to continue the next two days. This is my favorite time of year.

Today was also a rare Saturday where I did practically nothing. Slept in, had cinnamon raising toast and coffee on the patio while reading the paper, then played the Wii for awhile before finally showering at noon. Then I ran a couple of errands - Target and Trader Joe's - while the kids stayed home. This afternoon I whipped up the aforementioned meal, and everything turned out fantastic, even if it did take me three tries to perfect the muffins (my own fault; apparently I can't read a recipe worth crap - I think I'll leave the baking up to Crystal). Had a couple of rum and Cokes while dinner was cooking. Tonight, we'll watch a movie - I have to pick one from my collection that is suitable for all of us. I don't think Season 1 of True Blood, which arrived from Netflix the other day, is appropriate for the kids. Damn it all.

It's been a lazy and relaxing day, but just what I needed after this past week. School started on Wednesday, and while I'm glad the kids have gone back, it's definitely more work for me. I get up half an hour earlier every morning, and we arrive home later. I can't believe Jason is in high school! That makes me feel old. It was strange, dropping him off for his first day; the school was packed with students, most of whom looked considerably older than my son, and there were even cheerleaders greeting the students outside the main entrance. Ahh, to be a teenager again...sometimes I am envious of Jason. He's got his whole life spread out before him, a blank canvas, and truly the best is yet to come. Although, I still feel that way myself sometimes...I just wish I had maybe ten more years to work with. Being 40 sucks. There was a t-shirt I saw today at Target that said "I Support Cheerleaders." It showed silhouettes of cheerleaders waving pompoms, jumping, and frolicking. I happened to be on the phone with Crystal at the time and told her about it, and she talked me out of buying it. "Maybe if you were 18 or 19," she said, "But you're 40. It just comes across as creepy." Sigh. Being 40 sucks! Inside, I'm still that 18-year old.

And, I might add, I wholeheartedly support cheerleaders.

But I suppose she's right. Even though I often forget I'm not still in my early 20s, well, I'm NOT. I may not act my age, but that doesn't mean I'm not my age.

Ten more years would be awesome (see, how many 40 year olds use the word "awesome"?). On the one hand, I'm thankful that MA and I got divorced at a relatively young age. We were both still 37. If we'd waited until the kids were out of school, well, we wouldn't have split up until we were nearing 50. And what's the point then?

I should just thank my lucky stars I'm "only" 40.

The Huckleberry Hound

I've been thinking of myself as a huckleberry hound after yesterday's outing. (Incidentally, "Huckleberry Hound" was always one of my favorite cartoons - there's just something about a blue dog, I guess).

I took a vacation day yesterday and headed into the Indian Heaven Wilderness to pick huckleberries. It's something I've always wanted to do, and seemed like a perfect bookmark to this summer of adventure, which began on a hike into the same area back on July 1st. I've certainly crammed a lot of activities in between both trips.

I left the house at 9:00, and arrived at the Thomas Lake trailhead shortly before 11:00. Immediately, it was obvious that I wasn't the only one who'd come up with this Friday plan, as the parking lot was full when I got there. I set out on the trail, and there were three moms with young children in a group, all picking huckleberries. I was amazed, because the moment I hit the trail I was surrounded by the luscious blue berries. I'd assumed I would have to hike a little ways to find them, but that was not case; you literally couldn't hold your arms out to your sides without brushing against huckleberry bushes. "Abundant" is an understatement. I spent four hours plucking those tart little berries from their branches, ending up with about a half-gallon by the time I finished. And then, because I'm a sucker for punishment, I decided to make the hike to Blue Lake. Unbeknownst to me, this ended up being about a 7-mile journey. I'd picked up a map from the trailhead, but it didn't list a distance to Blue Lake, and I'd never been there before. It was pretty late to set out on a hike - after 3:00 - and the sky was growing dark in advance of an approaching storm. But, I'd missed Blue Lake last time, and I was determined to find it this time around.

It was a pretty good hike, though the first 1/3 of it was a steep climb uphill that had me huffing and puffing. I was a little nervous, because I knew that there are black bears around Indian Heaven, attracted to the huckleberries, and sure enough I saw signs of their presence while walking: bear scat, tracks in the mud, tree stumps that had been clawed. I became keenly aware of the fact that I was hiking alone, in bear country, and the hour was growing late. But I soldiered on, and eventually did come across a few other people. Blue Lake ended up being about 3.5 miles each way, and the journey was well worth it; I haven't seen water that blue since Crater Lake. Unfortunately, the sky was overcast, and so I probably missed out on the true beauty of the water, but it was still a sight to see. Most of the hike was through relatively flat meadows teeming with huckleberries, though it began and ended in the forest. There was a strong wind blowing off the lake, and it was actually freezing there by the water; there were a couple of campers who'd pitched tents nearby, and they were bundled up in winter coats. I don't blame them - I think it would be pretty uncomfortable to camp out there overnight. Plus, you know - BEARS.

On the way back, it started raining a little. Nothing real hard, just a passing light shower. I love the sound of the rain in the forest, the way each drop falls against the trees, pelting the canopy. I made it back to my car about 5:47, and by the time I reached Vancouver again it was late and I was in no mood to cook dinner, so I stopped at Panda Express and picked up some orange chicken, sweet and sour pork, and kung pao chicken. I'd worked up quite an appetite hiking, and the Chinese food hit the spot. Unfortunately, I was very sore after my long day in the wilderness, particularly my lower back, probably from all the bending and stooping involved in picking huckleberries. I had a miserable night with little sleep. I'm thankful that there's still one more day off to recuperate, because today I was busier than I'd hoped to be. Went yard saling, stopped at Best Buy and Target to pick up accessories for my GPS, went to Freddy's for a few groceries, and then made huckleberry jam when I got home. It's been years since I've canned, and I know why - boy, is that labor intensive! But I'm sure it will be worth it. I've got seven jars of huckleberry jam to last me the next year. And, I've still got huckleberries left over. I'll probably make pancakes tomorrow.

I made enchiladas for dinner, drank margaritas, got a little drunk, and watched Adventureland. Tonight? I just want to sleep!

Feel The Burn

Ouch.

Saturday I took the kids to Cannon Beach, and ended up with a nasty sunburn. The question I have for myself is, why don't I ever learn? Time and again, I go to the beach, and come home redder than when I set out. You'd think, after all these years, I'd catch on to the fact that I might want to douse myself liberally with sunscreen, and yet, even when I do, I still seem to end up burned.

Oh, well. We had fun, and in a couple of days this will fade to a tan.

I told the kids today, while driving them to MA's house, that Crystal is moving back up here shortly. And then dropped the bomb that she is planning on moving in with me. Danielle was nonplussed. "OK," she said, with a shrug of her shoulders, a non-reaction that made me want to hug her right then and there. I guess with all she's been through in her young life - we divorced when she was only 6, after all - change is the one thing constant for her, and she has adapted well. Jason, on the other hand, took the news a little harder. "Wouldn't this have been better if she had gotten to know us first, and then moved in, while living up here?" he asked. To which I replied, of course. There is no doubt that had our relationship been a conventional one, there would have been a natural progression leading up to this. I feel bad that the kids barely got to know her before she left...and I'd be lying if I said I didn't have some qualms about this whole thing. But despite all we've been through, I do love her still (obviously, or I wouldn't have put up with her indecisive flakiness for so long), and I know that neither of us is getting any younger: if we're serious about having a baby, then we're at the point where it's time to take action. As it is, I'll be 41 at the youngest, well past my self-imposed deadline for having another kid. So, sure, we could go through the motions of having her move up here, get to know the kids again, "date" for awhile, and then consider the next step. But we've been "together" for two and a half years now (though that's a very loose "together"). I think we've talked about the future to death, and it's time to take that plunge. Major adjustment for all of us? Without a doubt. The path to true happiness? Hopefully. A new adventure in all our lives? That much is certain.

Jason was worried about where everybody is going to sit, and told me that they're probably going to be "quiet" for months because they'll be shy around her. Little does the boy know that a little quiet sounds heavenly to dad. Ha. I do sympathize with him, though. But as I told Jason, I've been on my own for a couple of years now, and being single basically sucks. Mama has had somebody in her life the whole time. Me, I've been stuck with a promise, and nothing more. I'm ready to turn it all into reality now. It's time to take the next step, to move forward instead of being stuck in first gear spinning my wheels aimlessly.

Your love makes me smile, she texted this morning. Sweet words, and they made me smile. It's that kind of sentiment that makes me confident that we'll work out, after all.

We haven't talked about exact dates, but I know her work is expecting her back the first week of September. So, this could turn out to be my last week of complete freedom ever. I'd better make it count.

EMF Spikes & Clouds Of Smoke

The past nine or ten days have felt very fast-paced and hectic. It's seemed like I've had every minute of every day scheduled out, with little time to relax. But I've done a lot of fun things, so I'm not complaining.

The highlight of the last week, and Scott and Esther's visit? Definitely the ghost hunting tour of Portland on Friday night. And, umm, what happened right before...

So, I'm driving downtown, crossing one of the bridges over the Willamette River. "Portland's a very pot-friendly place," Scott said. A perfectly innocent comment, right? I agreed with him that, yes, the City of Roses is quite liberal and tolerant. "You've never smoked it in your whole life?" he asked next.

"Nope," I replied. "But I'd try it."

"You would?" he said, clearly excited. "Well, tonight's your lucky night!"

Oops. Somehow...and quite deliberately, it seemed...I had been railroaded into agreeing to smoke marijuana. It felt like an ambush. I could hardly back down now. And the truth was, I didn't want to back down. All my life I've said "no." I'm at the point now where I want to start saying "yes" to things.

Which is how I found myself smoking pot with Scott and Esther in a parking lot on a busy Portland street corner on Friday night. I still can't believe it happened. Mastering the bong took some doing, but at least I didn't cough as I inhaled the hot smoke into my lungs (yes, Mr. Clinton, I did - what would be the point in not doing so?). Talk about a surreal experience. "Are you high?" Esther asked after a few minutes. As weird as it may sound, I wasn't sure. I didn't feel any different, not really. But my whole body felt very relaxed, which I guess is what the high is like. After awhile we exited the car, and it was like one of those scenes in the movies, the three of us stumbling out of a smoke-filled car. Unbelievable. The relaxed feeling - the high - lasted about half an hour for me. I can definitely see the appeal. It's different from drinking alcohol or taking, say, Vicodin - but a good kind of different. And no, I didn't have "the munchies." How cliched would that have been?

When we arrived outside Old Town Pizza for the Beyond Bizarre Paranormal Walking Tour, I was paranoid that Donna, our tour guide, would smell the marijuana on us, but if she did, she never let on. Hell, she was probably high herself, lol.

The tour itself was fantastic. There were 13 of us in the group - appropriate, no? We walked down to the nearby Max station and boarded the light rail train for our first stop of the evening, the White Eagle Saloon. This is a former bordello that is now a McMenamin's. Talk about progress. Anyway, it's supposed to be one of the 5 most haunted places in America, and for me was the highlight of the tour. There's a tavern downstairs, and upstairs, a hotel. It is here that Sam died in one of the rooms, grief-stricken over the murder of Rose, a prostitute and resident of the bordello whom he was quite fond of. Both their spirits allegedly haunt the place. Donna had passed out real, working EMF meters on the Max train, and we broke them out here and started investigating. One girl next to me was getting some good spikes on her meter, interestingly enough, outside Room 4 - Rose's room. I had the closest to a personal experience here myself; coming down the stairs where one woman was supposedly pushed by a spirit, tumbling to the bottom, my EMF meter spiked about halfway down. Briefly, anyway. A passing ghost? Who knows. The whole place felt old-fashioned and creepy. I loved it.

After that, we hopped back on the light rail and got off at Oak Street. The rest of the tour was spent walking around the streets of Portland, mostly in the Old Town/Chinatown section. We passed various haunted places along the way, including a relatively new spot that Donna said has seen a lot of activity only in the past few weeks - a parking lot across from the old police station and jail. Sure enough, a lot of us were seeing EMF activity like crazy there, myself included. Not sure why, and I'm not convinced it was necessarily haunted, but something was setting our meters off. Other stops included Voodoo Doughnut for a lecture on the art of voodoo (and free samples - whoo-hoo!), a building that was built over a clearing that was essentially an Indian burial ground, the high-water flood mark of 1894 across from Kell's Irish Pub, Hoodoo Antiques - home of an object manifestation - and, finally, into the basement of Old Town Pizza, which was also creepy and haunted by Nina, another prostitute, who was killed on the premises. Again, a couple of people were seeing some EMF activity, though mine was quiet down there. I did pick up some orbs in photos I took there, though - the only place I captured any. Interestingly, Scott and Esther took pictures down there too, and none of theirs contained any such images. Hmm, go figure. One cool thing down there was a section of the underground Portland "shanghai" tunnels. They've all been walled over now, but it was interesting to see, and I couldn't help but marvel over the history that took place there.

The tour ended at midnight, and we piled back into my still-reeking-of-pot car. Jill, Scott's GPS, guided us home effortlessly. I had a great time, really enjoyed the tour, and saw a slice of Portland nightlife that I never knew existed. Let's just say the people out and about - and there were a ton of them - were rowdy, boisterous, and heckled us a lot. But Donna knew how to handle them, and we all had fun, so that's what really mattered.

Saturday I had everybody over for dinner at my place. I cooked chicken cacciatore with fettucine, bread, and a salad. Mom brought over a peach pie for dessert. There was wine, naturally. I said goodbye to Scott and Esther, hugged them both, because they are leaving early Monday morning and today I was on my own. It was good seeing them. I spent more time with my brother than I have in, literally, years. We definitely bonded, in ways I never would have imagined. Ha.

Now the kids are back with me (after being away for 9 days). I'm looking forward to a more normal week...I'd say quieter, but what I really mean is, more routine.

It Didn't Stop Woodstock

It's been a busy week! Between work, writing, and hanging out with Scott and Esther, I haven't had a lot of down time. But it's been fun, so I'm not complaining.

Last night we went to Esther Short Park for the Six to Sunset concert featuring Johnny Limbo & The Lugnuts. It was my first concert in the park there, and the first time I got to see this 50s/60s cover band that I have a weird connection to (I used to work with Chris, "Gator" the saxophonist's son). I got there about 4:30, found a place to park, and met up with mom, dad, Scott and Esther a little later. We found a spot on the grass and spread out our lawn chairs. About this time the sky became ominously dark. Still, dad said it had never rained during any of these concerts for as long as Vancouver has had them. We grabbed dinner from a vendor (I had a kalua pork combination plate from Tommy O's) and settled down to wait for the show. The mayor came onstage, promised it wouldn't rain, and introduced the band. Johnny Limbo & The Lugnuts came out, and it started raining right on cue. Not just raining, of course. It decided to pour. About 1/3 of the audience packed up and left, Scott and Esther and mom included. "It didn't stop Woodstock!" Johnny Limbo announced into the microphone, referring to the drenching rain. I stayed put for the whole concert, and enjoyed it. Walked around for a bit, went up to the front of the stage, then wandered around behind. They put on a good performance. Played songs from Grease, Roy Orbison, Simon &

Garfunkel, The Mama's And The Papa's, Elton John, Elvis, The Supremes, some surf music, etc. I wouldn't mind seeing them again sometime. Afterwards, I drove dad home, since the others had taken their car back.

This morning, I grabbed a sausage McMuffin (WITH egg!) from McDonald's for a quick breakfast, then drove over to mom and dad's house to pick up Scott and Esther. I had promised them a hike, and wanted to take them somewhere impressive, so we went to Fall's Creek Falls. Before leaving the house, I loaded the coordinates to a geocache hidden near the viewpoint, because I've always wanted to try that out. The weather was overcast and cool, and we encountered some sprinkles along the way, which I'm sure had Scott and Esther thinking "oh, shit - here we go again." But it turned out to be perfect hiking weather. I went there with the kids just a few weeks ago, and like every other hike I've done this summer, it had been sunny and hot. The clouds and cool temperatures made the experience much more pleasant.

The views this time around were every bit as impressive. Scott and Esther were pretty much blown away by the hike, exactly the reaction I'd hoped for. To a couple used to hiking in desert-like settings with cactus and lizards, I can only imagine how lush and green the whole experience must have seemed to them.

Best of all, we found the geocache! Although this can mostly be attributed to luck, as I failed to save the coordinates into the GPS unit and when Scott switched Jill off, everything was lost. Oops. But the clues given had been good - I knew the cache was hidden in a crevice by a moss-covered boulder on top of another boulder, to the left of the falls. OK, well, there were a bunch of mossy boulders in that area, but Scott and I were looking around in a likely spot and another man there saw us and came over.

"Are you geocaching?" he asked. When we said yes, he laughed and said he'd just found the geocache himself, but would be happy to hide it again and let us find it. He also pretty much pointed out where we should look. We were close, and might have found it on our own anyway. So we ate lunch overlooking the falls - bologna sandwiches, chips, and cherries - and then Scott and I scrambled up the hill to a makeshift (read: NOT OFFICIAL!) trail that brought us out to the base of the upper falls. A really impressive lookout, though the short detour there was pretty treacherous and involved some climbing, and at one point crawling beneath a fallen tree that was too large to scale. Worth it, but I probably wouldn't do it again. We came back, found the geocache - score! I took a gold coin and left behind a Hotwheels car. It's safe to say I'm addicted to geocaching now and can't wait to try it again. Of course, there is the not so small matter of buying a GPS unit first.

We drove back home, and I dropped them off about 3:20. Tonight is our ghost hunting tour in Portland - I'm really excited about this! We'll head out about 9:00. I'm not expecting to get back home until after 1:00 AM.

In the meantime, I'm cooking chili and enjoying a Mike's Hard Lemonade.

Today's adventure-filled Friday sure beats the typical one.