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.

Where Was Jill Taking Me?

It's raining this evening. Not a big deal in the normally soggy Pacific Northwest, but it's been about a month since we've had any rain - and endured all-time record heat during that period. So tonight's rain is especially welcome.

I had dinner tonight at my parents' house, with Scott and Esther, who arrived earlier today for a visit. I haven't seen them in a year, and before that, much longer. My relationship with my brother has been tenuous at best over the years, but has seen marked improvement recently. As proof of this, we've got a bunch of fun things planned together this week, something which would have seemed unthinkable in the recent past.

Mom made stuffed cabbage, and we all sat out in the sun room sipping wine, talking, and enjoying the rain falling on the glass. After dinner, Scott let me borrow his GPS unit, which he has nicknamed Jill. We'd talked recently about my desire to buy one, and this was my first time using one. As I set out from mom and dad's house, Jill told me to turn right leaving their neighborhood. So far, so good. But then, as I approached 162nd Avenue, she instructed me to turn right there. No offense, but Jill doesn't know what she was talking about! That would have taken me down Fourth Plain, which I'm sure is a longer drive home. I ignored her and continued straight. Suddenly, she was "recalibrating." Then she had me turn right on 137th. Hmm...I've never gone that way before. But, what the hell - I could see the route she was plotting for me, and decided it was worth a shot. She got me home in one piece, I'll give her that much. And now, I really can't wait to get my own GPS unit.

Time to head upstairs to read a little before bed. I hope it's one of those nights where I fall asleep to the sound of rain falling.

Grout At The Devil

Today was a perfect day.

Wait, I take that back - I was up too damn early. 6:20, obscene for a Saturday. I tried to go back to sleep but couldn't. Finally gave up a little after 7:00. But overlooking that, it was a pretty good day.

I'm unexpectedly kid-free this weekend. MA took the kids early, something to do with a movie they want to film. I've learned never to look a gift horse in the mouth (although, when I came home to an empty house yesterday after work, I actually missed them). So I had to scramble and come up with something to do on my own. A hike would have been the obvious choice, but I felt like doing something different, and so after the usual yard sales (I bought one little thing - pickings have been slim lately), I headed to downtown Portland to check out the farmer's market. I'd only been there once before, last year with Crystal, and I didn't even know where it was, but the internet came to my rescue. I found it easily enough, but ended up circling the streets of Portland several times in search of parking. Finally found a spot on the street by PSU, and took off on foot for the market at noon.

It was pretty crowded, but a good time of year to go - there was a great selection of fruits and vegetables. I loaded up: bought corn on the cob, peaches, cherries, carrots, fresh basil, and fingerling potatoes. Wandered around and people watched. I love the weirdness that is Portland; it seemed as though every girl at the market was attractive, and tattooed, and pierced. I wanted to take them all home with me, but unfortunately stuck with the produce. I stood and watched a trio of old-time musicians playing on a street corner. They were great; had a Soggy Bottom Boys vibe to them. Finally, my arms were growing sore from hauling around bags of fresh produce, and my meter was set to expire anyway, so I headed back to the car. Drove next to Powell's Books, my favorite place in all of Portland. I was looking specifically for a book on the flora and fauna of the Pacific Northwest, to help me out with identifying nature on my hikes, and I had no problem finding one. I also wandered around the store, browsing, visiting the Blue Room and Gold Room, and getting a laugh out of the literary-minded men's room graffiti (people had taken to writing one-liners in the tile grout overlooking the urinal; their musings included "Oscar The Grout" and "Grout At The Devil" which I suppose are actually pretty inane, but for some reason I got a big kick out of those). When I got to the New Arrivals wall, I found a section for Debut Fiction and found the exact spot where my book would go. Ahh, dare to dream. Eventually I paid for my book and stopped by Whole Foods next, before making my way home.

Once there, I put on a couple of records and listened to music on the patio while reading a magazine. Added a couple of rum and Cokes to the mix. And then, for dinner, I grilled a New York strip steak I'd purchased at Whole Foods, with sauteed mushrooms; corn on the cob; and roasted fingerling potatoes with olive oil, garlic, and sea salt. Talk about a meal fit for a king! Best of all, everything I made came either from the farmer's market or Whole Foods. My dinner was sort of a tribute to Portland, I suppose. I put a Netflix movie on after - Monster, with Charlize Theron. Started to nod off toward the end (hmm...could it be because I was awake so freakin' early??).

That was my day, in a nutshell. Lots of fun, and now I'm just about ready for bed.

Murder 101

I am addicted to true crime shows. Every week, I skim eagerly through the listings for the ID (Investigation Discovery) channel, and usually end up adding half a dozen shows - at least! - to my DVR's programming list. The list is endless. Dateline, 48 Hours, Wicked Attraction, Escaped, Crimes That Shook The World, Deranged, Solved, Most Evil. I've had to become more selective in my choices, because every episode of every show sounds intriguing, but if I keep hitting the record button, I'll end up with hours and hours of stuff to watch. And who's got time?! So I've become a sort of gatekeeper to my own entertainment. I'm limiting myself to the very best. The most evil of Most Evil, if you will.

Crystal (who is every bit the fan I am, which might explain our attraction to one another) asked me an interesting question the other day. "Do you think that by watching all these true crime shows, you have learned enough to be able to commit the perfect crime and get away with it, if you wanted to?" My answer is a resounding yes.

The usual disclaimers apply. I do not have the heart of a criminal, and don't ever wish to get away with any of the horrible acts portrayed on these programs. They're fascinating to watch, in the way that you'd stare at an accident while driving past, but the thought of actually committing a murder does not, as they say, "get the juices flowing." Thank god for that. I'd have to have myself locked up on general principle if it did.

However, I do think that watching all those shows has, at the very least and in theory, prepped me for tips on how to get away with it. Or looking at it another way, figuring out what not to do to get caught, which is really just a backwards way of getting away with it, after all. Learning about the mistakes these other guys made on the way to capture would, naturally, prevent me from making the same mistakes. Some of the actions to take are obvious, others less so. Do not leave fingerprints (that's probably basic Murder 101). Do not try to frame somebody else for the crime (which rarely works) - if nothing else, make it look random. If you're going to kill, do so while naked (you won't risk any telltale blood spatter on your clothing). Don't use a phone near the scene of the crime (even cell phones can be traced to the closest tower and put you within spitting distance of the body). If you're going to make up an alibi, and are relying on another person, make sure in advance that your stories corroborate perfectly: rehearse all the details until they're drilled into both your brains. And so forth and so on.

Ironic, in a sense, that these true crime shows can actually serve as a blueprint to murder (or rape, or kidnapping) if studied closely enough. In a way, that almost makes me feel guilty for even watching them. And yet, like that car wreck, they're impossible to resist. I figure, since the novels I write tend to revolve around people with certain deranged motives, I can chalk it all up to research, anyway.

It's a damn good thing I'm not a sociopath. Which troubles me, though, because - what if there are crazy, psychotic individuals out there taking to heart all this free advice? What if the next Ted Bundy or Gary Ridgway or John Wayne Gacy is, even tonight, watching that latest episode of Wicked Attraction that he's got saved to his DVR?

There's a sobering thought.

Taking Back Sunday

I have developed this habit of doing awesome things on the weekends. Hikes, trips to the coast, jaunts downtown. Only, they always take place on Saturdays. Sundays I rarely even leave the house, except to run brief errands. I've always blamed that on the fact that Sunday is the day I either take the kids to MA's house, or they come back to me. Either way, I know that at 6:00 there is something penciled into my schedule, every Sunday, without fail.

Still, that's a pretty poor excuse to treat Sunday as this day where I can't go out and do something fun. Because in doing so, I'm essentially left with a one-day weekend. When the weekend rolls around, my attitude is - whoo-hoo, Mark, go crazy, have fun, get out and about! But only on Saturday. And then there is the whole mental attitude that Monday is coming, Monday is coming, oh no oh god back to the daily grind, and that automatically leaves me dreading Sunday. Poor Sunday. What did it ever do to me to deserve my wrath? It's a perfectly good day in its own right. I can sleep in as long as I want, I often make a nice breakfast that morning, and best of all, well, I'm not at work. Monday is much worse, and yet, I probably am most depressed on Sunday. Thinking about what will be, instead of living in the moment and enjoying what is. I've made a vow to change all that, though. I plan on taking back Sunday. Turning it into a fun day in its own right, one in which I can - and will - get out more and do things.

Today was the first day of this great social experiment of mine, and I have to say, as far as Sundays go, it kicked ass. I was up early - about 7:30. And out the door by 8:45. I decided to go hiking, since it had been a couple of weeks since I'd been out, and I was itching to hit the trail. My original destination was Siouxon Creek, but unbeknownst to me the road there was, umm, basically destroyed thanks to a landslide. I've never seen a road "washed out" this badly before. Fortunately, I left home with a Plan B. I'd actually been torn between Siouxon Creek and June Lake, and so I simply turned around and headed for the latter destination. It's out past Cougar, 7.2 miles down Forest Road 83. Got there and set out for the lake. The nice thing was, much of the hike meandered through second-growth forests, so there was plenty of shade. The bad part? It was still hot as blazes. Ended up hitting 94 today, not the best hiking weather, but I was a man on a mission, and I did enjoy the hike. June Lake is kind of "haunted" looking with dead trees in the water, but at the same time it's beautiful. It seems to "pour" right out of the side of a cliff, surrounded by second-growth forests of hemlock. A very unique lake. I stopped there and ate lunch on an old log, the only person at the time. And then, because I'm adventurous, I decided to continue on to the Worm Fields, a series of old lava flows that my book said required careful navigating. Now, there was an understatement. I don't often like to admit defeat, but this 50' wall of boulders and rocks conquered me. I tried, though. Got about half way to the top, but it was really high up there and I figured, while the view would have been spectacular, I've seen Mt. St. Helens up close and personal already this summer. Decided that, really, I was good after all. So I carefully traversed my way down and returned to June Lake. I chanced upon an animal swimming in the water, and when he saw me, he hopped onto a log and eyed me curiously. I assumed it was a beaver at first, but the otter-like body and thin tail made me realize that it was actually a mink. How cool to see him up close! He was putting on a show for me. Nice little encounter with nature, kind of a Call Of The Wild moment for me. Not only am I becoming knowledgeable about wild animals, but I am also learning to identify the various wildflowers I come across on my hikes. This one, for instance, is larkspur. I did not know that at the time, but I checked my guidebook later, thought it looked close, Googled it, and sure enough, I was right. I like how I'm really getting to know the land and the flora and fauna. Finally, I headed back, because as I have stated it was HOT and my beverages were running low. I was quasi-dehydrated, as it was. I really need to pack along more water and Gatorade on these hikes, but my backpack is getting heavy as it is. Still, a heavy backpack beats heatstroke. Learn your lesson, Mark.

It's Sunday evening now, late. I should be in bed because 6:05 will be here awfully early. But, maybe because I did go out and do something fun today, this Sunday - even as I am about to turn in - feels more complete than any other has in a long time.

A Misunderstanding Over An Inch

I've been "blogging" on the internet, off and on, in one form or another for the past 8 years. It has been a strange and fascinating experience; I have met some of my closest friends online (not to mention a woman who changed my world). I occasionally go back and revisit old posts from the past, and it amazes me how much my life has changed. I have charted the course of my kids growing up, jobs coming and going, and even the crash and burn of my marriage, every word and emotion saved for posterity.

The problem with that unnamed site is, I feel like I've become a "character" over there, almost like the protagonist in one of my novels. For a while there I wrote amazingly honest entries straight from the heart, but then there was drama and everything spiraled out of control. I clammed up. It took me a long time to begin writing again, but to this day I rarely open up the way I used to. Instead, I play the role that my readers expect. I am the funny guy. The liberal. The pseudo-hippie. The writer. The hiker/photographer/chronicler of the Great Outdoors. The spork fanatic. All of those roles do help to define me, but it's like I exaggerate them over there. Even the name of my blog is telling - "Here We Are Now, Entertain Us." I was poking fun at society's need for constant gossipy entertainment (and also quoting the late, great Kurt Cobain), but the truth is, in the end I was writing to entertain a large group of people. The only real, honest, soul-searching entries I could muster up were private ones. Well, I don't want to pay $30 a year to entertain people, when I can write for free and from the heart right here. And besides, I found less and less time to devote to the other site. Facebook came along and swept me up in its grip, and the people that I truly want to keep up with I follow there, through simple 180-character status updates. In the frenzied early 21st century, FB is perfect for those with short attention spans or not enough time on their hands. I fall into the latter group (but sometimes, the former). So, to make a long story short - I'm going to give this site a shot.

This time, I'm writing for me.

And, well, maybe someday for the masses when my book is published and I can officially declare myself an "author." But I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Today has been a quiet Saturday. Actually, I slept in later than I have in years, awakened by a text at 8:48. Normally, I'm up by 8:00 on the weekends. I was surprised when I looked at the time. And kinda wished I'd made it 'til 9:00, just to say I did.

I made coffee, checked gmail/Facebook/the weather. Fed the cat, showered, grabbed a bite to eat, went out yard saling. Didn't find anything to buy. Stopped by Big Lots to look around and bought a few things at Fred Meyer. Came home, watched an episode of Ghost Hunters International. I'm planning on ordering pizza tonight and drinking some of that Bacardi Hurricane mix that's been taking up space in the fridge for the past month. Oh, and watching Fight Club. Can't believe I've never seen it before! In other words, it's been a typical kid-free Saturday.

I got a haircut yesterday after work, and I am not pleased with the result. Apparently there was a communication misunderstanding; I wanted her to take an inch off, and she thought I wanted to leave an inch on. Sheesh. I only realized midway through the haircut what was happening, and by then it was too late. To make matters worse, the girl was slow as molasses. Which meant I was forced to sit there for an interminably long amount of time watching helplessly as way more hair than I'd wanted to hit the floor. It's short now, really short, the kind of short that will spark all sorts of "Oh, wow, you got a haircut!" comments at work come Monday. I keep touching my hair and groaning when I do, and if I happen to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, it's still a bit of a shock. Oh, well. In about three weeks it'll end up being the length I had originally wanted in the first place.

Last night, mom and dad treated me to a "wine maker's dinner" at Rusty Grape vineyards. I'd never been there before. It was billed as a dinner under the stars but at 7 PM there were no stars to speak of, just a bright blue sky and a fiery midsummer sun. They turned on twinkly lights that were strung overhead, but the ambience was lost. It would have been perfect in late September or early October. There was live entertainment, a jazzy trio with a female singer who had nice legs, but the wine was just okay and the meal a disappointment. A cold chicken breast with diced tomatoes and green olives, a dab of cold rice pilaf, and a small leafy green salad. At least the cinnamon scone with whipped cream and fresh strawberries and blueberries was delicious. I just don't think it was worth $55 (!) and mom and dad were clearly of the same opinion. They kept apologizing and promising to take me to another one sometime, but they don't have to be sorry - I still appreciated it and had a good time.