Winter Starts with Family

I had a marvellous three days off work before traveling to the five-day family extravaganza in Seattle with the in-laws. I got to take Mr. Man to his winter camp for three days. Going to school is usually my wife's privilege, but not last week. I spent the first day off downtown in the library and cafes finishing my paper. The quality of the paper is appallingly bad, which is similar to the quality of the educational standards of my particular university. Nonetheless, I'm done class for a while.

The next day I cleaned the house and baked amazing amounts of vegan cookies, bread and candy. I had not made vegan candy before, but I enjoyed making caramel and almond/walnut brittle. Both turned out very well. I also made two kinds of cookies - spicy oatmeal with raisins/chocolate chips and peanut butter. The oatmeal cookies are better; the peanut butter are extremely rich, almost like fudge. For lunch on Friday I made homemade corn dog muffins - cornbread muffins with sections of veggie dogs baked inside. They were super yummy and a great treat for the train ride to Seattle.

On Friday we packed and closed up the house for our trip. I hope you all did your part for world peace on Global Orgasm Day. We did.

The trip to Seattle was enjoyable. We got one of the cool seating areas on the train with a table. We were next to another two-mom family with 2 daughters. When we arrived there was debate about whether the whole family should go out to eat, but since it was Mr. Man's bedtime, I decided to stay home to put Mr. Man to bed. I enjoyed the quiet time alone to read for pleasure. I started reading Mad Cowboy, which ironically also intrigued my brother-in-law, who was born on a farm in northeast Texas with plenty of cows.

Saturday started with massive cleaning and organizing to help my brother and sister-in-law, who recently moved into their new house, after gutting it. I helped organize the kitchen, unpack and clean. I enjoyed helping. Each of required brief excursions out of the house in order to escape the insanity of the parents. Astoundingly, the entire family ate my vegan chuckwagon stew for dinner.

Sunday, being Christmas Eve, gave the pagans solace as the four Christians went to two different church services. My wife and I enjoyed the unique pleasure of flipping around cable stations.

Christmas Day greeted us with the general present opening, followed by a pancake breakfast. My sister and I planned out dinner preparations and started by baking pies. I made my first vegan pecan pie, with fresh pecans that we shelled ourselves (courtesy of the Texas family farm). Vegans sat at one end of the table with their tofurky, dumplings, gravy and veggies. The omnis sat at the other end with a big hunk of prime rib. My sister and I had an awesome time cooking together. The cranberry pecan stuffing and green beans with sauteed onions and pine nuts, both vegan, were enjoyed by all. An hour after dinner we had dessert and I'm proud to say my pecan pie was awesome and disappeared well before the non-vegan pumpkin pie. The rest of the day was spent playing.

By the time Tuesday rolled around we were ready to be home in our own little two-bedroom apartment. Our cat was in serious trauma over our absence, even though a friend came and fed and visited him. I anticipated the worst about this visit and it turned out to be quite nice, laced with a just-bearable amount of parental insanity.

We're in Shmooville Now!

My food prep fest continued tonight. I made carrot muffins with walnuts and raisins. They're yummy. The piece de resistance is the tofu apple spring rolls. It's a Vegan Lunch Box recipe. Jennifer Shmoo's husband says this one recipe alone was worth the cost of her cookbook. He's not kidding.

It took about 3 hours from marinade to rolling, but so worth it. The tofu is pressed and marinated in a fresh orange juice marinade. Then it's baked. It was hard not to eat all the tofu out of the pan. But we diced our tofu and shredded cabbage, apples, carrots and scallions. The fun part is rolling up the spring rolls. My wife and I did it together.

We each have a container of the most amazing spring rolls and awesome peanut sauce for our lunch tomorrow and two carrot muffins for breakfast.

I'm most proud of Mr. Man's lunch, pictured above. He has two spring rolls wrapped in a lettuce leaf, orange sections, a carrot muffin and a rice cake with hazelnut and almond butters. He has soy sauce for dipping, as peanuts are banned from his classroom.

I have to sleep for a few hours, but when I wake up exhausted I get to revel in the fact that I have amazing food waiting for me.

Oh, and our kababs were awesome. Even Mr. Man ate the veggies, seitan and tofu off the skewer like corn on the cob.

Mr. Man Grub

The extreme shopping run on Saturday that required us to haul our groceries back in the shopping cart has been bearing fruit.

On Sunday I made almond biscotti, which was earmarked for a coworker's birthday celebration. The leftovers came back tonight. Mr. Man gave them a thumbs up.

I also prepared a big pot of amazing chili and cornbread. This was by far the best chili I've ever made. I learned that the secret to a nice thick chili is to stir in a bit of refried beans at the end.

One of my new cookbooks is The Vegan Lunchbox. Shmoo's lunches are often the topic of conversation in our house. I finally got my ass around to making Mr. Man's lunches close to that caliber. We've always fed him healthy food and tried to vary it, but we got stuck in a rut.

Today I sent him to school with:

• tortilla wrap (whole wheat tortilla with cream cheese and refried beans rolled up)


• apple wedges


• yogurt


• crackers and hummus

I am certain that the fact he threw up in his lunchbox today for no apparent reason, claiming to feel fine both before and after the event is not related to the lunch contents.

Tonight I spent some time in the kitchen and prepped dinner and lunches for tomorrow. Granted, I didn't do the hours of homework I should have, but I am proud to say that I now have veggies, tofu and seitan marinating in my fridge so we can have kebabs for dinner tomorrow night.

His lunch for tomorrow is packed and contains:

• deli rolls (vegan lunch meat layered with cream cheese, rolled and speared with a toothpick)


• tofu veggie pasta salad


• hazelnuts and raisins


• half a piece of almond biscotti


• a banana

This one could be photographed a la Jennifershmoo. I am quite proud.

Time Stamp

If you had asked me at 8am this morning, I would have told you that today was going to be a horrible, no good, very bad day. At almost 9pm, I'm here to tell you it rocked.

• 6:45 am: Mr. Man wakes up in our bed [We've instituted Friday family bed night.] and asks if he can go play. The answer is always a definitive yes because he occupies himself while his lame ass mommies get a few more minutes of sleep.



• 7:30 am: Mr. Man comes back from his room and announces he wants breakfast. I get up and make him oatmeal. I eat leftover mushroom stroganoff from last night's dinner.



• 7:45 am: Mr. Man decides he wants to watch the rest of the Heffalump Movie which came yesterday from Netflix. (Sue us - he finally succumbed to the damn ads that precede the one and only video he owns - Mary Poppins.)



• 8:00 am: If the Heffalump Movie isn't bad enough, the cat decides to take the mother of all dumps. The stench wafts through the apartment. Some of you who know our cat may remember that he neither remembers to fully cover his shit or to take a shit gracefully. You might also remember that he has very long hair. Chalk this up to a cat smearing shit around the kitchen floor at 8am in the morning. I am tired. I have cramps. I am hormonal. I run to the sleeping wife and insist she must come help me. I clean the cat shit off the kitchen floor only to find that he'll continue smearing it around until we get the gobs off of his tail. The wife and I trap him in a tub full of water. This is the only positive use I have found for sliding shower doors. Yes, it sounds cruel, but we leave him in there until he's sloshed around enough to get the shit off his tail. We've covered the bathroom floor with towels to soak up the shit water that is likely to come off of him when he emerges. (Trust me - we've done this before.) Fortunately he comes out clean. Let's just say I was a tad bitchy to the wife during this process. Mr. Man is all the while watching the Heffalump Movie.



• 8:30 am: The three of us snuggling on the couch conclude the viewing of the Heffalump Movie. We go to the bonus features on the DVD and find a recipe for the type of cookie the Heffalump likes. Pumplerumkins or something stupid like that. Mr. Man decides we should make them.



• 9:00 am: The baking commences, followed closely by a coffee and cookie breakfast.



• 9:30 am: I scrub the kitchen floor. My wife goes back to bed.



• 10:00 am: Mr. Man and I begin making salt dough for holiday ornaments. We rolled out the dough, used cookie cutters and Mr. Man put all the holes in each one so we could insert a string when they're finished. The first two dozen ornaments are baking and we make braided candy cane ornaments with metal hangers with the rest of the dough.



• 12:30 pm: I begin making a menu and a grocery list for the week. I hear the gate open and there's a knock at the door. The woman from NWVeg has come to deliver the basket of goodies we won at the Vegan Holiday Festival two weekends ago. It was like Christmas. In the basket was 2 books about food, a cookbook I really wanted, a bar of soap, a gift certificate to a vegan grocer, 3 boxes of Fantastic food mixes, 2 cans of Amy's lentil soup, a head of garlic, an acorn squash, 3 gravy mixes, 2 Peanut Better peanut butter spreads and 2 Bumble Bars. I might even be forgetting something. It was awesome. My wife rouses herself to come see and we sit down to a bit of lunch.



• 2:00 pm: I get input from everyone and finally finish my weekly menu plan and grocery list. The list is massive. I slowly entice Mr. Man to come to the store with me. We have no idea how we will carry everything back home the 3 blocks from the store.



• 3:30 pm: Mr. Man and I finally finish shopping. He got tired of pushing the cart and eventually climbed in the cart. I piled everything on top of him. Our cart was overflowing. We checked out and I asked the clerk to pack as compactly as possible since we were on foot. By the fifth full bag he said, just take the cart home. I said, okay, we'll bring it back. "No, don't bother bringing it back, he advised. We give the homeless $1 for every cart they return." There was a dilemma I wasn't expecting. Mr. Man loved pushing the cart three blocks home. As it was I carried one bag and the cart was still full of bags. We had to work tag team to get the cart up the hill to our house. We wheeled the grocery cart right up to our door and unloaded it. What fun.



• 4:00 pm: I proceed to reorganize the fridge and pantry to make room for all the food I bought.



• 5:00 pm: I begin making vegetable chowder for dinner. Mr. Man decides he wants to eat the pomegranate we bought at the store. None of us has ever had a fresh pomegranate. My wife conducts internet research so we know what to do with it.



• 5:30 pm: The pomegranate has been scored and is soaking so we can easily peel of the husk to reveal the juicy kernels. We have agreed to sprinkle the seeds over ice cream for desert. In the meantime we eat dinner. The vegetable chowder was okay, but not the best recipe to come out of the Uncheese Cookbook.



• 6:00 pm: We all strip the pomegranate seeds from inside the fruit and have dessert. I loved the seeds. Mr. Man was 75/25 in favor and I think my wife was the opposite. Nonetheless we had a great time with a new fruit.



• 6:30 pm: We attempt a family game of Parcheesi, but Mr. Man tires and we suspend play.



• 7:00 pm: Mr. Man goes to bed. I venture out into the blustery, cold night with a shopping cart. I return it to the store and pick up the tea we forgot to get.



• 7:30 pm: I watch the tail end of the Veronica Mars episodes my wife is watching.



• 9:00 pm: My wife is in the tub. I'm in bed under blankets. I might go make almond biscotti. I might curl up with my sparkly clean wife in bed.

Balancing Act

Lots has developed in the last few weeks. A bit is exciting, some is hard and the rest is more of the same. I'm having trouble balancing all that's on my plate right now. I'm reaching out, trying new experiences to help me battle old ghosts. I've started a new relationship which is exciting and intensely satisfying. Recent events have made it tough for my wife and I to maintain a loving connection and I am saddened by our challenges. Mr. Man has been having trouble sleeping and is emotionally volatile. All of these personal ebbs and flows deplete and sustain me at the same time. I have more emotional issues to wade through than I have energy or time for, yet ignoring them reduces the quality of the relationships with those I love most. I desperately need the safety net below the tightrope walker.

Spit Up

Today, more than any other day, this part of my profile rings true:

I am consumed by a corporation and spit out at night.

My eight years of working for an educational non-profit did not prepare me for the greedy, selfish nature and horrible values of my new coworkers in the financial services industry. It is no surprise that they are all avid Republicans.

Yesterday I got stuck in a conversation between a new employee and a departing employee. The departing employee was trying to convey some knowledge to the new employee when the phrase "organically grown" came up in reference to a new client. The new employee wondered what the phrase meant in that context. This led to a sidebar diatribe on the part of the departing employee, who attested to her love of pesticides. It is a direct quote. She said she loves pesticides. She described at length wanting pesticide treated ears of corn with huge, plump juicy kernels. She described her grief over the loss of alar. To her, apples harvested without alar were not attractive or bright red or appealing as those with. I found myself longing for an IV so that I could dose her full of the banned pesticides she loves so much.

Today I had the pleasure of dining with these same two employees and two other colleagues. The conversation was riveting. I think it started out with parenting. The dearly departing employee waxed on about the perils of being friends with your children. She, the childless expert, was certain that only dominance over one's child was the right course of action. The rest of the table agreed, expressing angst over the excessive tendencies of Child Protective Services - that horrible institution that would ban spanking one's child into obedience.

You might think I was relieved for a change of topic. If only the segue hadn't led us to guns. I was the only person among five at the table not to own or to have shot a gun. Everyone else at the table compared notes. Beretta, Glock, Winchester. Which was the best gun? One shot for sport. One shot gophers in her garden. One went hunting. One told of how his 5yo would learn on the same gun he first shot.

The new employee has mentioned on at least three occasions in the first 12 hours of our acquaintance the prevalence of "weirdos" in the downtown area. Our drive back to the office was riddled with disdain for "Dangerway" - the Safeway store with the highest bottle return and the variety of places that "strange people" can be found panhandling downtown. When one coworker stated how "those people" make $300 a week tax-free, my dearly departing employee explained aghast that in Las Vegas, they make $80,000 a year.

You can imagine how impatient I was to get back to the office, into the solace of my cube. Alas, the car culture they love so much bit me in the ass. The Lincoln Navigator that we all traveled in got snagged in traffic. But it wasn't really their fault, after all it was due to construction, not congestion. When someone inquired what the aggravating construction was for, my coworker described how the roads on this block were being reinforced for traffic so that adjacent blocks could be prepared for more light rail lines. Oh, the snickering at the mention of more light rail! Someone mentioned that Portland hasn't build a new road in 20 years. Quickly, the dearly departing driver raced around in another direction trying to skirt the construction.

I hopped out of the SUV at the corner of our office building, relieved that I was back on foot on a block that would be surrounded by more light rail and a newly designed transit mall in 2009. In just a few short hours I would walk down to meet my family in a public square, where my son was being invited by "those people" to play a game of hackey sack.

Less and More

Less school. More play.
In 10 days my last semester with two classes ends.

Less work. More vacation.
In 2 days I have a 3-day weekend.

Less head. More body.
Last night I had a date. It involved a hot tub. It was reckless.

Vote for Biku

So there's a local contest to write haiku having to do with bikes (biku) and if you win you get a gift certificate to our favorite bike shop. So, all three of us have been writing haiku. Here are some selections. What's your fav?

Bicycles are cool.
Cars stink and are dangerous.
Make Portland cooler.

Whizzing spokes spin round.
Wind whispering in your ear.
Speed or plod, just ride.

Hot bikers surround.
Trailers, buckets, lights abound.
Passing on your left.

Weekend trip all planned.
The route looked good on the map.
Cars destroyed the peace.

I power these wheels.
Inertia, gravity help.
My body the source.

Flowers bloom, leaves fall.
Round and round the wheel spins.
Watch nature pass by.

Click, click. I glance down.
Safety pin stuck through the tube.
Got the flat tire blues.

bodies taut ready
bike commuters are sexy
wheels and bodies turn

Car Free Day

Our family no longer has a car. Instead of going to Carfree Day celebration, I took our car to a dealer and sold it. We're off to the bank.

Equal

I spent 12 hours working or getting to work today. The other 12 were pleasure.

I came home with one flat tire and one inflated tire.

We ate half of a pizza and half of a chocolate cream peanut butter pie for dinner tonight. We'll eat the other halves for breakfast tomorrow.

Tonight equals tomorrow's day.

Happy Equinox.

Impressions From My Commutes

I have been commuting to work since August 31st. It's been an eye-opening experience and I've learned so much about myself. I love the solitude and peace that biking brings. I agree with my father, who says that any activity approached in the right way is a form of meditation. I have certainly found that to be the case with my commuting. The ease of my commute certainly helps, as I am only in car traffic for four blocks and one bridge. The rest of my commute is a multi-use (non-car) path, where I can safely ride as a form of meditation. The down side of a meditative ride is that I arrive to work well-balanced, which sounds good. But being well-balanced in my current job makes me realize how much I need a job that fits me better.

Another aspect that I didn't anticipate is the intense sensual nature of riding. Unlike the many people (all non-bikers) who predicted that I would not bike in the rain, I have found biking in the rain in the dark early morning hours to be invigorating and comforting. My early morning commute has been rainy on at least 3 occasions, some a slight drizzle and at least one pretty wet. Both the wind and the rain offer such strong sensations and I feel alive when I hear, see, taste, touch and smell the world around me. I remember this slightly from when I used to run, but I was probably working so hard that I missed much of nature's impact on me. The beauty of biking is that I'm working, but not hard enough to miss out on what I'm moving through.

I've learned that my favorite time to ride is in the dark. I suspect I'll like my commute more as winter comes, because the 6:15am ride will be dark. My favorite, by far, is night-time riding. I went to an evening meeting after work on Monday and biked home from 9-10pm . I am always astounded by the beauty of the urban landscape - beautiful city skyline dotted with black open natural areas where only frogs and crickets can be heard.

I've seen a lot over the last few weeks. Here are little snippets from my experiences thus far:

1. First, it should be known that I have a mountain bike and that I go a bit slower compared to the racers on road bikes with slick tires. I smile or nod to every passing biker. I think I'm silly. But bikers do communicate with one another frequently. Others nod and smile as well. Many give out the routine "on your left" call when passing.



2. People wear lots of different clothes when they ride. Probably the majority of bikers wear the black lycra skin tight padded shorts. If you take the image of plumber's butt and transform it into biker's butt, you get what I saw on the bridge last week - lycra worn so thin that you could see the riders butt-cheeks quite visibly through the back of the shorts.



3. Also people use all kinds of wheels. There are all sorts of recumbents, some of which look like all the blood is rushing to the rider's head because they're so reclined and their feet are stuck out to the sky to reach the pedals. I see lots of delivery bikes downtown with platforms in front for delivering flowers or just carrying heavy loads. One unique bike I saw recently was like a recumbent, but instead of pedaling, the rider pulled a handle to turn the chain, much like a rowing machine you'd find at a gym. On the path from our house to downtown I've also seen rollerbladers who look like they're doing a version of speed skating (muscles and tight body suits and all) and I've seen roller bladers who are doing a version of skiing, complete with the poles. It's fun to watch what drives by you.



4. As I've been venturing out in all directions by bike, I've been soaking up every local bike resource or link passed along by local bikers. I've learned that there is no limit to what people can dream up with a bike. How about a buscycle in your neighborhood? This weekend at Car-Free Days, there will be a smoothie stand where you can make a smoothie that is blended by a pedal-powered blender. Most of the new blogs I'm reading are PDX bikers, although my new favorite is from Seattle (and his post about a new drive train made me really hot).

Stay tuned for our biku (bike haiku). I'll ask you to vote on your favorites. We're trying to win a competition where the prize is a $50 or $100 gift certificate to our favorite bike shop.

Exhilaration

I have a whole other huge post pending about my impressions about my first week of bike commuting. It will come soon enough, but I must write about my Midnight Mystery Ride (MMR) before I forget how amazing it was.

Friday started out pretty ordinary, the regular 5 mile ride to work, although a bit later than usual so I could check out Breakfast on the Bridge. At the end of the day I biked home, fed Mr. Man and put him to bed. I scoped the maps while he fell asleep to plot my best course to the bar where the ride began. I was trying to find the safest route to ride at night. Not only did I have anxiety about finding low-traffic, safe roads, I was quite nervous about biking at night, something I had never done until Friday. After deciding on the route and checking and double-checking my backpack to make sure I had all the gear I needed plus adequate food and party beverage supplies, I took off shortly after 9pm.

The night-time riding was beautiful. The moon was full, although a patch of clouds was moving in. City streetlights are prevalent enough that there's no feeling of being in the dark. I appreciated the freedom of riding over surfaces I could not see. Unlike daytime riding when I'm generally alert to road hazards and glass, the dark freed me from that constraint. I made the 6.25 mile ride to the bar in far less time than I thought I would, and arrived 40 minutes earlier than the meeting time. Since the neighborhood on the surrounding blocks was overwhelming and slightly creepy to me, I elected the scarier option of going into the bar by myself. Fortunately this bar had an outdoor patio where I retreated with my beer in solitude. Not having been in a bar for about 9 months, I forgot how awful they are to be in with the haze of smoke. I continued to peek out into the main area to see if other bikers were appearing, but I didn't see anyone. At about 10:40 I called my wife to express my doubt and announced that in the next 15 minutes I would decide to come home if I didn't find the group. Shortly after that call, I went out to the bar and found 4 people, some of whom had bike helmets on the table. I tentatively approached and asked if they were here for the MMR and indeed they were. Whew. With the main social scariness over, I proceeded to chat with other adults I had never met. (Go me for stepping outside my comfort zone!)

I nursed a beer and chatted with folks for the next hour, as more bikers began to come into the bar. I was frankly surprised by the number and when I inquired with the ride leader how many people normally attended, she said usually about 30-50. About 5 minutes to midnight, a call was made that the ride would soon begin. A small trickle of bikers (in all varieties of fitness and attire) flowed out of the bar onto the sidewalk to gear up and get their bikes. As I went outside, I was astounded by the sheer number of bikers. There were bikes piled up in stacks and there were easily another 50 people waiting outside on the sidewalk who never came inside the bar! There were so many more people than I expected! I couldn't believe it.

We all turned on our lights and got ready to ride. Our leader started off in her SUB. (Sports Utility Bicycle). We were a long line of red and white-flashing bikers. There were mini-bikes and huge, tall bikes and choppers. One of my favorites was a crazy mini-bike rider who came up behind me and yelled, "no hands, one foot" and proceed to speed past me with just one foot on his bike. My other favorite was the biker on an insanely tall bike (his seat was higher than my head) who wore shoes, boxer briefs and a cape that trailed graciously behind him. The only word to describe driving with so many people through the night is exhilirating.

Our route went through town, down to the river and across the Ross Island Bridge with a breathtaking view of the city. We wound our way through downtown. At every turn the riders up front yelled "Right!" or "Left!" as our leader made her moves. At intersections where we encountered a red light, our procession cruised right through. Riders would yell out "Clear!" or "Need a corker!" if there was oncoming traffic. A corker is a rider or two who peel off and block traffic at the intersection as the roughly hundred of us cruise through the red. Can't tell you how good that felt.

We really didn't encounter too much traffic downtown after midnight. There were two times when our group totally enveloped a car on the road in front of us. It was interesting to see the response of the drivers. What can you do, really, when 100 blinking bikers come from behind to surround you? One of the cars was driven by a young woman and her friend, probably on their way to their fun destination for the evening. The driver stopped as we surrounded her, but her friend freaked out. As I passed by I heard her friend yell, "Go left, go left!" in an effort to escape us. When I described this the next day, my family said that it was like water going around a rock in a river. It was an apt description.

We made a stop for some people to pick up food and beer. We continued to weave downtown to the riverfront and suddenly our leader took a sharp left onto a boardwalk-type path down to the riverbank. We all got log-jammed but slowly descended to the river, where a huge campfire was already burning for us. We all laid down our bikes and began to mill about. I sat on the rocks to take it all in. We were on the opposite bank of the river, in a very familiar spot and I never knew this little plot of sandy beach existed. Some people I chatted with earlier at the bar found me and I continued to enjoy conversation, snacks and a little wine until about 2am. It began to mist and then it began to rain. Around 2:30, I decided I needed to get home before I couldn't anymore.

I headed back to my bike, which was totally wet. It was not with dread that I anticipated the dark, lonely, wet ride home. I had easily done my first night-time ride and I was ready for my first rainy ride. I opted for the longer, familiar ride home. As I crossed the Hawthorne Bridge, three pedestrians on the other side whistled and cheered me on. Aside from the crowd outside the bar on Hawthorne (2:30am), the only other few vehicles I encountered were cabs. I had a peaceful, damp ride home and I was so happy.

Learning a Lesson

This morning, like yesterday, my wife and I enjoyed a few late-morning snuggles as Mr. Man occupied himself playing. A few stolen caresses at the 7:30 am hour as opposed to the 5:30 am hour are glorious. It's sort of our unspoken tradition that on weekend mornings I get up with Mr. Man and lure him into the kitchen for breakfast (which we typically do brunch style) while my wife steals a few more precious minutes of sleep.

This morning, I began making biscuits and tempeh gravy for breakfast while Mr. Man played PBS Kids at the kitchen table. Things were going smoothly and as usual, I asked Mr. Man to go gently tell his mother that breakfast was ready. She appeared a few minutes later and we were all seated at the breakfast table ready to eat.

I explained to Mr. Man that he must try a biscuit with the gravy on it, as it was the primary source of protein this morning. He proceeded to throw a temper tantrum, complete with pinching my lips in an effort to make be stop saying what he didn't want to hear. Of course the screaming came in the middle of a bite of plain biscuit, so in addition to tolerating the most obnoxious behavior we had to prevent the choking and vomiting that ordinarily occurs when you inhale food mid-scream. We quickly timed him out to his bedroom to calm down, but largely our primary purpose was to prevent us from acting on our intense need to make him shut up, be rational and behave.

In the precious quiet that followed in the wake of his retreat to the bedroom, my wife and I quickly checked in about how we felt and what we should do. Not a good way to begin a morning (especially with a nice breakfast spread out before us) and my wife's first instinct was to give him up for adoption. I could hardly disagree. While we were negotiating the consequences of his actions and how his lost privileges would totally fuck up our day, his door opened. He comes back to the table slightly less rude and says, "I'm going to teach one of you a lesson." Uh-oh, I think. Round two. He proceeds to explain (aka demand) that my wife try a new food, too. He tells her she must try an apricot while he takes his test bite of gravy biscuit. They proceed to both try their new food and the rest of the meal goes off without a hitch and Mr. Man's mood is much improved. He proceeds to eat more than two-thirds of the biscuit and gravy serving.

Despite the fact that it's easy to believe that my child is out to make my life a loud, screaming fit of a living hell and act like a demon incarnate, I know this is not the answer. In his own way today, he was looking for a way to exert his own influence. Most of the day, people outside of him give him anything from orders to suggestions. Do this. Don't do this. If you choose this, you also choose that. To him it must seem like everything that happens to him happens because someone outside of himself told him to do a certain thing. How frustrating it must be to feel bereft of internal stimulus about major life patterns. He pushes against us so much perhaps because he needs to hold the reigns himself a bit more.

As a parent it is overwhelming to know when to set healthy limits and create boundaries or when to let him sit in the driver's seat. I want him to feel he is able to control or not control his life as he chooses, which means he must have the opportunity to learn how. If I give too many orders or instructions, he might begin to think that the only answers lie outside of himself, that only others can tell him what to do. That road is not far from another path I am familiar with, that of thinking that only others can tell you that you are good.

His tender heart and mind search for understanding of his place in the world, and as one of his few guides, I have no answers for him. I, too, am learning lessons every day.

Fix the Car, Ride the Bike

Our property owners paved the driveway this week and so I needed to move the car. Two nights ago, I got in the car for the first time in about a month. I was surprised it turned over because I knew it needed a new battery. The car turned on, but all the interior lights were extremely dim and the battery indicator was on. I got it down the street to the Goodwill parking lot on our corner and left it there with a note. When I turned off the car the key wouldn't come out of the ignition. Both my wife and I tried to get it out, but to no avail. So we left it there, locked with the key in the ignition. The next day it wouldn't start because it desperately needed a new battery. So I stayed home from work this morning to call AAA to have them give us a jump and see about getting the key out. The locksmith insisted that we needed a new ignition, but I was pretty sure that the key was just locked up because the battery was dead. Sure enough, when I took it to the garage around the corner to get a new battery, I turned off the car and the key slid right out.

With the car at a friendly neighborhood garage, I got on my bike and went to work for the first time by bike. It was cold, even though it was 9:50 by the time I got on the road. The headwind was pretty strong, but I still made it in 30 minutes, which is about what I expected.

My commute is about 5 miles. I leave my block, head west down the hill toward the river and hop on the bike trail. The trail runs parallel to railroad tracks and the Willamette River. I stay on the trail until I cross the Hawthorne Bridge and proceed five blocks to my office. The commute couldn't be easier.

There was a light fog still rising off of the southwest hills across the river as I rode toward downtown. As usual, the sweet smell of blackberries taunted me. I listened to tunes and enjoyed the beautiful views, thoroughly happy to be riding in the cold morning sunlight. I zoomed past the Portland Opera, the worm bin outside the science museum and the Priuses in the fleet of city vehicles. On my way across the Hawthorne I passed the man with the shopping cart and dog kennel who panhandles outside my office in the mornings.

The merge into the left lane and around the statue on Main wasn't as tricky as I thought it would be and I cruised right into the parking lot of my building, where I parked my bike in the basement bike cage and headed toward the Sweat Shop for a shower. (Yes, the fitness center in my building is called The Sweat Shop!) The logistics of packing professional clothes in my backpack and showering at work weren't as tricky as I'd thought they'd be and I was at my desk by 10:45. (I left home at 9:50).

My mom used to have a tacky framed embroidered thingee that said "This is the first day of the rest of your life." I remember looking at it everyday as a kid and being perplexed by what it meant. We're close to selling the car and from here on out more days are going to be like this for me and eventually for us, as we bike and walk more and drive almost never. As I look around me, I see that this city is home to me and that home here really means sustaining and transporting yourself. Here people move entire households by bike. Here the neighborhood association assigns me a bike buddy to help support my desire to bike more. Here I can take my son to an awareness action to remind drivers about safety around bikes. Here is where I belong - probably for the rest of my life.

(Here's a shoutout to my family back in the Midwest. This cool mom is trying to make a go of car-free living in your neck of the woods.)

Beautiful Poem

With your beautiful eyes, I see a gentle light
my blind ones could never see;
On your feet, I bear a burden
my lame ones could never bear.
With your wings, I fly though featherless;
By your mind I'm lifted ever upward;
At your whim, I pale or blush,
cold in the sun, warm in the cold of winter.
In your desire alone is my desire;
my thoughts are forged in your heart,
my works are breathed in your breath.
Alone, I am like the moon, itself alone;
our eyes see it in the heavens
only as the sun enlightens it.

- Michelangelo, 1534

I discovered this poem while reading The Sacred Depths of Nature by Ursula Goodenough. This book is an excellent example of how scientists can understand the physical world and from this learning find deep spiritual meaning.

A Sing-Along

I've been singing this song for a few days. Sing along with me.

My pants are too big, too big.
These pants too big.
Woo hoo, too big, too big.
My pants are too big.

I guess making up songs and singing them to your child sticks with you - even when you don't want it too. If you can't sing along, you need a kid.

The combination of exercises prescribed by my chiropractor along with the biking has been transforming flab into muscle. About a year ago I had given up on further weight loss and stopped trying. I recently finished reading Now is the Time to Open Your Heart, a novel by Alice Walker. She reminded me that the weight I carry is an emotional burden that I do not need to hold on to. Aside from biking and strength exercises for chiro, I've not consciously been trying to lose weight. However, I have been actively trying to shed the emotional baggage that has haunted me since childhood. House cleaning usually ends with a big pile to give to Goodwill. So it goes with my body.

Look for an update tomorrow night about my first bike commute to work. I'm so geeked.

What I Don't Want

I've been doing more research lately about bike activities around town in the hopes of meeting other people for fun bikeyness. I took a risk and joined a 25-mile ride on Sunday with a bike club. I didn't know a lot about the group or its members (other than I assumed they like to bike). The description of the ride on Sunday was that it was a group ride for beginners, mostly flat with a few hills.

I rode all 25-miles without quitting or walking my bike up any hills, but I was one of the two slowest riders and probably the one with the least experience. I enjoyed the ride, despite its difficulty. In my mind, this was not a beginner ride.

The greatest benefit for me was that I learned what I do not want. For example:

• I do not want to go so fast on a Sunday morning ride that the scenery and landscape are a forgettable blur. Additionally, when I come across an amazingly beautiful huge traffic circle covered in roses with an aroma that is overwhelming, I don't want to race by.



• I do not want to wear padded Lycra black bike shorts, no matter how much my ass hurts in the 15th mile.



• I don't want to drink or eat on the run or in 2-minute stops. I shudder to think about what other bodily functions some folks might do while riding or quickly stopping at the shoulder.



• I do not want to be a jock or be competitive on social rides.



• I do not want to be a bike snob, insisting that all bikers should have a certain type of bike, tires, gear, etc.

However, I do very much want to have fun and enjoy the ride. Suffice it to say that this did not occur on Sunday and I have yet to find my bicycle peeps. I trust they are out there and I just haven't found them yet. I have high hopes for the upcoming midnight mystery ride and the various other events organized by SHIFTers. Also, the neighborhood association is running a Bike Buddy program for the month of September and I might get paired up with a cool biker.

Meanwhile, my son is my favorite biking companion. We ride slowly, appreciate the sights and still arrive at our destination. We journey well together.

Beautiful Saturday on the Beach

Mr. Man and I took an adventure today while my wife worked and had personal time. We simply pulled out the bike map for North Portland. I had previously mentioned to Mr. Man that there were bike trails along the banks of the Columbia River. (For the benefit of my Michigan friends, the Columbia River is the north border of Portland and is the dividing line between Oregon and Washington.) The Willamette River, which flows into the Columbia is the river that bisects Portland between east and west.

So we determined that we would take the train to the end of the line, get off and take the bike trails along Marine Drive. It was quite beautiful. We biked about 3-4 miles through lots of industrial areas that support the nearby pier and docks for the Port of Portland. Our intended destination was Kelley Point Park. We didn't know what was there, but we knew it was where the Willamette and the Columbia intersect.

It was beautiful. Our biggest surprise was the beach! Yes, sandy beach right along the river bank. Mr. Man played for a while in the sand. We enjoyed watching the boats, tugs and freighters go by on the river. It was a beautiful sunny day, yet we remained in the shade the whole time because of the beautiful tree cover. Felt so good to have sand between our toes. The water was cold!

We biked back to the train station along a much friendlier route by taking the bike trail the whole time. Turns out part of the bike trail is actually a road that has been closed to cars!

Mr. Man and I were exhausted from the ride and the hot sun beating down on us. We convinced Ama to meet us in China Town for dinner at Vegetarian House. Yummy end to a beautiful day.

Waste

I'm at computer training out in Beaverton, a suburb. The training is in an office building in an "office park". What, exactly is an office park? Definitely not natural. During lunch I decided to walk to see how far it was to the nearby transit center so I could take one less bus when this boring class is over. Walking in "office parks" in suburbia is not friendly. I'm very happy to work in a downtown that is far more alive and to live in a community that is far friendlier to people than cars.

Speaking of cars, I watched all the drivers pass by me as I walked. I didn't see one driver smiling. They all looked either bored, disgruntled or half asleep. Many were shoving food in their face or talking on their phones. It didn't look like fun to me. I watched the drivers and I remember the stress and headaches of driving, having to negotiate other stupid drivers, a chatting child and the glaring sun. It was not for me. Now it's really not for me. I am basking in my driving-free life. As the cars roared by me and I waited for the walk sign at the endlessly long intersection, I was smiling, listening to tunes.

Office parks have cornered the market on how to get nature under their thumb. While there are many more trees in the Portland suburbs than in Michigan, there is still the feeling of being in a dead zone. I had to work to avoid the spray from the sprinklers watering the chem-lawn green grass and assorted flowers. On my way down the street between Creekside 5 and Creekside 6 (office park residents), I came across a sign, much like a historical marker. I was curious. Unbelievably, it was a tribute to the "natural area" that had been left behind in the building of Creekside 5 and 6. The sign directly acknowledged that in the building of the structure and the parking lot, much of the wildlife had been forced out. Nonetheless, they left a small swath of land behind to remain "wild." Just exactly how wild can you get shoved in between two daunting boxy buildings? There were no paths for people to enter the "natural area". No getting dirty in the woods on your lunch hour. No sitting quietly meditating in the shade. Nope, just a way to make developers feel better about leveling the earth for sprawl.

A few weeks back I got in the habit of reading the Wall Street Journal and the Oregonian at work each day. I was bored and they were the only print media in the office. As I read, I started seeing how oil and consumption are really at the heart of most global conflict. Of course I knew this, but an urgent invisible thread started growing in my head as I read the awful propaganda.

Signs from all around me make me incredibly happy that I haven't driven our car in over a month and that I'm only going to drive it once more to a dealer to sell it. I will consume that much less. In an interesting tidbit, I learned last night that an experiment at Johns Hopkins discovered that bikes are up to 97% energy efficient. Cars are 10% energy efficient.

Imagine all the wasted energy I walked by today.

Lessons

While we were getting ready for our ride tonight, Mr. Man started asking where we would bury Pumpkin (our cat) when he died. I told him our family would have to talk about it, that we could decide to bury him or to cremate him. Mr. Man continued to ponder the ancestor world and started to strategize how we would find Pumpkin in the ancestor world.

(Our family discusses how when you die you go to the land of the ancestors. Mr. Man has previously told my wife and I that when we become ancestors we'll have to find each other again. We have agreed.)

Anyway, we were discussing this general theme, but now it involved the cat and Mr. Man was again wondering how we would find each other. He said, "because you know, it will be a huge world to explore." He said something else which I missed because I was flushing the toilet. Then he said, "You have to save some surprises for the end, right?"

Tonight at bedtime Mr. Man asked me why I was grumpy. I said it was because I needed quiet and we've been talking nonstop for the last 4 hours. He said, "I think it's because you don't like yourself." I shit you not. That's what my 5yo said.

I'm starting to feel like I'm the only one in my family who is on their first life instead of their hundredth or thousandth life. But at least I'm taking notes from my kid. Should help me next time around.

Letting Loose

Suffice it to say that for many complex and varied reasons I've bottled up the part of me that really lets go, is creative and experiences joy and fun in all of its frivolity - say for about 5+ years. The transition to a cool city and several recent personal events has helped my wild woman rise to the surface and she has started to knock on the glass. In fact, I've peeled off about five layers of gunk over the course of the last ten days, which have been the most intense emotional whirlwind in a long time. The whirlwind has largely been positive and holds much promise, despite its intensity. The outcome of all of this is that I want more for myself and I want out of the prison I've built for myself.

So I've started taking steps. I have previously mentioned my love of biking in this city. I recently found a funky group of bikers and I'll be participating in their next Midnight Mystery Ride. People show up at 11:00, usually at a bar, then a leader takes the riders on a midnight bike ride to a mystery destination where people generally hang out near a fire and, well, probably drink a bit more. Some folks actually shed some clothing on the ride.

I went for an hour-long solo ride last night while my wife put Mr. Man to sleep. This was my first opportunity to ride solo, as most of my rides are with Mr. Man. It was amazingly liberating. I basically took the route I will need to take when I start bike commuting next week. The beauty of the route is astounding and unbelievable. I used the time to ride hard, clear my head and stop by the nearby creek to journal.

This Sunday I'll be taking a 25 mile ride with a local riding club. Probably not funky people, but my guess is people who just like to ride. Hopefully not too intensely athletic and with a sense of enjoyment.

I have joy in here and I want to let it out - for myself and also with others. Better look out, or next year I'll be in the naked bike ride video...

Pespective on Wealth

I'm not poor, I simply don't have enough money [to support two households]. I am rich in ways that are more valuable than wealth. Perhaps my discomfort with our shortage of money is rooted in being so rich in other ways. My wife and son are beautiful blessings. Our home is safe and welcoming and conflict-free (save for the occasional temper tantrums...). Love, humor and creative abound in our lives.

It's as if I've learned the difficult part of living and am tripping on the mundane motions that are required to "survive." I am able to intuitively parent my child and help instill pagan and nonviolent values, but I am unprepared to decide whether to buy cheap, less nutritious food to feed us for a week or more expensive vegetables and whole foods. I can attune myself to my body's cycles and am capable of caring for my soul, but I wring my hands over the reality that our life insurance policies will lapse.

The veil of security I so desperately cling to exposes how far from poverty I truly am. The man who panhandles outside my office each day and who sleeps on the Springwater Corridor does not contemplate life insurance premiums. The dozens of homeless folks sleeping on the sidewalk on Burnside do not question whether to get broccoli or 99-cent pasta at the grocery store. That I have the luxury of these dilemmas makes me rich.

The beauty of the present and my many riches drives me to secure the future. I want to insure more todays.

Each day I go to work for a division that supports the affluent and acquires the investment accounts of more millionaires. I spend hours handling account size data, knowing the people I serve aren't burdened by my dilemmas of groceries vs. creditors. Do I want their wealth? No, but I do want their ability to insure the future.

When I release my fear the only shoes that fit and that I like are my own. So I'll continue to walk, carrying all my riches with me as each day like today becomes the future.

Night Stage in Portland

Last week was Michigan Womyn's Music Festival, which many of our friends attended. Our family reminisced last week and randomly discussed where the girls would be and what would be happening on the Land. Well tonight it was our turn to enjoy spirit-filled and land-inspired music.

Here in Portland there is a 15-day free music festival in Washington Park. Last Thursday we went to a Taiko drumming concert. On the way to get our seats in the beautiful terraced amphitheater surrounded by a huge rose garden and overlooking the city, we were offered a program by a festival volunteer. I declined, but my wife accepted and perused the program before the concert. Good thing she persisted because she learned that Rhiannon (one of our favorite MWMF performers) was playing tonight!

So we planned ahead and my wife packed a backpack full of essentials - napkins, utensils, blankets and coats. We went to Whole Foods and bought some great food from the deli for dinner. It felt like going to the Night Stage at Festival with all our provisions.

Rhiannon came out and the first syllable that came out of her mouth gave me the chills, just like her sets at Festival. She did some of our favorite songs as well as ones we'd never heard and, of course, her famous improvisation. The audience didn't fill up the amphiteater, allowing Mr. Man plenty of room to run around. We actually got to enjoy the whole concert!

Our commute home on the train and our local bus was beautiful. The sky was dark blue and the city skyline was lit up. Even though we've lived here for 5 months, we've never had the opportunity to see the city at night because we're always putting Mr. Man to bed. Tonight was a rare treat. While we waited for the #70 at Rose Quarter, I snuggled Mr. Man and wrapped him in a blanket to keep him warm. He fell asleep on the bus ride home and I carried him the 4 blocks home.

The dark, cool night embraced us as we headed home to put our son to bed. It definitely felt like Festival to us. For a finishing touch, my wife used her flashlight so she could see to open the front door. You would have thought we were camping in the woods of Michigan.

Beautiful Day

Today was the day for the second-largest cycling event in the country. We got up early, ate a big breakfast and headed to the bus stop - 2 bikers and an Ama (dutifully carrying our bike flags). [We couldn't affix the bike flags because they would impede the vision of the bus driver when we put them on the bike rack.] According to the online trip planner our #70 was to arrive at 7:58. We got there early. And waited. And waited. Finally we learned by calling the transit company for details about our stop ID, that this route was detoured. We don't have another nearby northbound route, so Mr. Man and I revert to Plan B - the much less desirable method of getting to the Bridge Pedal where you intend to bike 14 miles with a 5yo. Plan B involves riding 4 miles down the Springwater Corridor to get to the start line. I really didn't want to wear him out before the event, but we're uncertain that any busses are successfully getting across the river today. So I run back to drop off the bike flags, which now we can't carry, and to pick up jackets for the cool shady ride downtown. We get downtown (across the Hawthorne Bridge) and arrive at the starting line with time to spare. We run into my wife, who bussed down and arrived about the same time. Mr. Man stretches and takes a brief rest, we send kisses around and get in the pack to start the 6-bridge, 14-mile ride.

Mr. Man has done the Hawthorne bridge several times already, so this one is a breeze for him. The Hawthorne is a steel deck bridge and to prevent tires from acting weird on the metal grate, there was plywood placed on the length of the deck. I appreciated not having to stare down into the river the whole way across.

Next we headed south through some familiar territory and made a steep assent up to the Ross Island Bridge. The first climb was the hardest part of the trip. When we reached the point in the hill where it was time to turn onto the bridge, Mr. Man said, "When is the downhill coming?" We pulled over for a 30-second rest and Mr. Man continued on up the bridge. At some point on our ascent Mr. Man lost the plastic insert into the mouthpiece of his Platypus (drinking container for his backpack.) We didn't dare stop to find it, although I did see one biker stop to go back and retrieve his inhaler. This bridge was kind of freaky because eastbound traffic continued to whiz by (damn cars!). Mr. Man was cruising, but of the two eastbound bike lanes, the right lane was crowded by those resting or snapping photos from the bridge. I advised him to take the left lane and immediately regretted is as I saw the traffic coming toward him. He did great, though, and we coasted down the other side of the bridge and entered the twisty, hilly section to get on to the Marquam Bridge.

The Marquam Bridge is a double-decker interstate highway. The upper, eastbound deck was closed for us today, but the westbound traffic continued to thunder underneath us. The approach wasn't too hard and frankly I totally missed the "entrance" ramp feeling that you get when entering a freeway in a car. Maybe it was that we didn't need to merge. As soon as we got on the three-lane highway, ecstatic bikers started weaving across all lanes just because they could. We had a nice downhill followed by a long uphill on the highway to get up to the bridge. Mr. Man and I stopped to look out over the bridge at the point where a metal fence extended above the concrete barrier. Once we got out on the bridge it was simply a 3-foot cement wall between us and thin air. This also gave us a chance to rest on the gradual approach. Up on the Marquam Bridge was a full-size brass band under a tent - pumping out the music to keep us going. There was also a place to get your snapshot taken. The view was amazing and the height was breathtaking. The other half of the bridge is a steep, steep descent down onto the bank of the river. It was a huge downhill, by far the biggest we've been on so far. We enjoyed coasting down.

When we got off the highway, we meander through some eastside industrial area where no less than 5 ice cream vendors had set up. Once we came out of that, we turned the corner to the amazing scent of baking cookies. No idea where it was coming from, but we quickly turned away again and started across the Burnside Bridge - a nice flat ride. On the bridge was a duo playing guitar and drums - with a sign that proclaimed that they were riding their bikes (with their instruments) from Canada to Mexico.

After coming off the Burnside, we cruised down to Union Station (our Amtrak station) and before the difficult up onto the Broadway Bridge, we took a break. Mr. Man suddenly had to pee, so I took him around the corner and he peed in the grass. We sat and stretched and took off our backpacks and ate an energy bar. He was getting pretty tired, but the sugar and protein pumped him up and he was excited to go across the Broadway Bridge. It's quite a beautiful red bridge with great view of the amazing real estate in the Pearl. We coasted down to the coordinated rest stop and ate a nectarine (me) and cookie (Mr. Man). Suddenly a volunteer came along with a bullhorn and announced that we had to keep going because the Fremont Bridge would soon be closed. She was very urgent about it. For reference, the Fremont Bridge is another double-decker interstate bridge and is the highest bridge of them all. The ascent is steep and long. I looked at Mr. Man and asked him what he wanted to do. He wasn't interested in going on and neither was I. We had tacked on an unexpected 4 miles to the beginning of the 6-bridge route and we had successfully pedaled across 5 of the 6 bridges. It was success to us!

We decided to go back across the Broadway Bridge on the other side and learned that it has a beautiful bike/pedestrian bridge on the north side. We coasted down the bridge and stopped near Union Station. We made arrangements with Ama to meet at the Chinese Gardens. All three of us strolled through the amazingly-gorgeous gardens. At my suggestion we walked a few blocks to Vegetarian House, a Chinese restaurant in China Town that is touted as "a vegan's delight". No doubt. It was so good. Mr. Man loves veggie shrimp and also got some chow mein. My wife got General Tso's veggie chicken and I got kung pao chicken. It was all amazing and good - and VEGAN! We wandered back to the lightrail station, stuffed and satisfied.

What a beautiful day.

High Queen and the Wave Piercer

Mr. Man and I rode to the local park, where he likes to climb these sturdy, small trees that resemble rhododendrons. The leaf looks identical, but these are more like trees than bushes. They're everywhere here, but I don't know what they're called. He likes to climb these trees and he does it well. Tonight when he got to his highest perch, he loudly proclaimed, "I am the highest queen!"

I ate lunch (paid for by El Corpo) today on a floating restaurant. Forget that seafood dominated the menu. I enjoyed the sun and bobbing on the soft sway of the river. Nearby on the marina was this cool, space-agey looking small sailing vessel. At least we thought it was a boat - it's unlike any I've ever seen before. Riding home on the bus tonight, I got a better look and saw that it is called Earthrace. Turns out it's a 4-crew, 8-bed, 100% biodiesel, wave-piercing ship traversing the globe. Read more about it. It's super cool - and the GPS system will allow you to track it to our beautiful city.

Fantasies

As mentioned yesterday, I'm quite happy with many, many aspects of my life. But along comes a day like today and I'm overwhelmed by the F&A about how little money we have to get essential and non-essential items. We've had tight times before, but since the move I feel deprived. I don't think that we've been in this position of having to forgo essential items like clothes, haircuts and food since Mr. Man was born.

This post is purely indulgent--a way to give life to the daydreams I harbor. Perhaps by voicing them, the universe will breathe life into them.

• I have a really, really full fridge with tons of fresh fruit and vegetables (all organic). There are rarities like heirloom purple and green tomatoes, baby bok choy, endless avocados for homemade guacamole and fresh basil for pesto. Each day brings two new pints of local berries. The freezer is stocked full of yummy vegan protein sources - bacon, sausage patties, neatloaf and soy chorizo. There is a non-stop supply of soy yogurt, as we empty a large container every other day. Even though we don't need the sugar, we can make chocolate-peanut butter cream pie because we have all the ingredients. There are at least two kinds of Stumptown coffee beans waiting to be ground. Two bottles of wine are available for dinner guests and a six-pack of Oregon-brewed beer is chilled for dinner.


• The sitter arrives at 10am after we've had a family brunch. The fridge is stocked with wholesome lunch and dinner options for Mr. Man and the sitter. My love and I catch the bus to the Hawthorne, Division and Belmont areas for a day of window shopping. We eat Thai or Indian for lunch (my choice) and head downtown for a stroll through the Chinese Garden. While downtown, we stop at Paddy's and have a few drinks--the really good whiskey, of course. We head to the Baghdad for a movie or catch a show. When we come home, Mr. Man is fast asleep and we crawl into bed to collapse after a very difficult day of nothing but fun.


• I take off one morning and head to a funky salon to get a haircut. My split ends land on the floor with a thud. I trim off 3 inches of the length and the stylist uses the fun curly product to produce maximum body. On a whim, I add some stripes of blond color.


• I am a bike commuter and I easily negotiate the transition from the sweaty commute into professional attire. I have a messenger bag for the few things needed for the day and other personal care items are stowed in my storage sacks on the back of my bike.


• Alternative Outfitters just shipped my order for two pairs of shoes - one sexy pair of black heels for work and a light sandal option for jeans day. Deva has shipped two items of clothing for work - both are machine washable, professional and unique. I browsed at Nau's new shop in the Pearl and purchased two items of completely sustainable outdoor apparel.


• My wife's multiple birthday gifts are wrapped in homemade wrapping paper and merely waiting for the day to come. All of my friends and family got a card and a homemade gift from me for their birthday.


• Mr. Man has socks that fit him and he has shorts and a clean shirt (not a t-shirt) for school, even though we haven't done laundry in two days. His winter coat is hanging in the closet in anticipation of the cold season.

High

I knew this city was cool, but I feel like only recently have I realized how much in love with Portland I am. Despite the recurring F&A (my wife and I abbreviate fear & anxiety) about going bankrupt, my mental health baseline is better than it was in Michigan. Is it this place? Is it that we're slowing getting settled and are really only missing 3 pieces of furniture? Is it that my son and I are slowly becoming bikers in a city that worships at the foot of chainrings, calipers and forks? Whatever the cause(s) and despite the 9-5 stint with el corpo, I am happy.

Mr. Man and I have been biking 10-20 miles for the last two weekends. Next weekend we're registered for the Portland Bridge Pedal. I have no idea if we'll finish the entire 14-mile event, but we'll give it our best. We'll do the 6-bridge event, which includes two high double-decker interstate bridges. Check out the Fremont Bridge and the Marquam Bridge. We've already traversed the Hawthorne and the Steel Bridge on our local rides. We live about 6 blocks away from the trailhead to the Springwater Corridor, an old rail line that was converted to bike path. Our 4.5 mile trip to downtown is through protected wetlands where we can easily spot a dozen herons and other migratory birds. We can stop for gallons of sweet blackberries anywhere along the trail and rest by an eagle's nest. We ride along the river and can rest on picnic tables, benches or stone art. We have taken the Hawthorne bridge across the river into town and today we learned that the Steel Bridge is far friendlier because bikers and pedestrians have a special route on the lower deck next to the freight and Amtrak rails. All cars, buses and the lightrail (Max) thunder across the river on the deck above us. We can ride up and down the river on both banks through a waterfront park or an esplanade.

It's simply beautiful to bike here. Everywhere I go with Mr. Man, people comment on his cool bike and how great he is doing. They're right, of course, but it's cool that this community sees how hard he is working and urges him on. He always gets comments from passers-by. He is strong and dedicated to biking. On Thursday we were taking a new route with a steep downhill toward our local creek when he got going too fast, braked too quickly and wiped out. He skinned both knees, but took serious layers of skin off his right elbow. In super kudos to me, I don't freak out as the blood begins dripping off his elbow onto the street and his shrieks begin. Some neighbors come out and patch him up (complete with the awful stinging of hydrogen peroxide! Yikes!). Nothing slows him down and we were back to steep downgrades on Saturday on our 8-10 mile ride.

We explore more each weekend, but we have barely scratched the surface of biking possibilities here. I've checked out two books from the library on local rides (ranging from 14-100 miles). We can get up to the Columbia River, cross it and bike around Vancouver, WA or head east through the Columbia Gorge and the breathtaking cliffs and waterfalls. There possibilities are limitless. We're loving it. I haven't had a chance to take an all-day adventure on my own, but hope to within the next month.

When money is plentiful, Mr. Man and I fantasize about getting Ama a cruiser so she can join us on journeys. We've seen ones that we like in nice shiny colors with a basket and wide-ass tires complete with whitewalls. Every time Mr. Man and I pass by a cruiser, we comment on how it would be good for Ama.

So, to review - I really like biking. I really like this city. I have an awesome family. I'll be finished with school in May. Our house will sell and we're getting rent from the new owner in the meantime. We're starting to find other queer families through monthly events at the Q Center (Yes, we have a queer center!). I'm happy and satisfied.

Independence Day

Before we left Michigan, Mr. Man's teacher said he was great, but expressed concern about his inability to sit still. We began noticing he was more emotional and volatile. Then we moved across country. We gave him time to adjust, but things did not improve, rather his behavior and irritability increased. He is non-stop talking, walking, pacing, moving, jumping - simply H-Y-P-E-R. He can't sit still or in the chair for the duration of a meal. We thought it was the lack of a school routine. We thought it was adjustment to a new city, new home. We thought, we thought, we thought until he is out of control, we are out of our minds and there are no excuses left. What changed, my wife wondered? We moved here and yes we had to adjust, but more importantly our grocery budget fights with our past-due bills for a bit of the stage. So we buy what we can and I try to make things stretch, which largely translates into lots of cheap vegan baked goods to get us by for breakfast and snacks and desserts. It boils down to cheap simple carbs and lots of sugar. Ah...his nutrition is in the shitter and the sugar is juicing him up.

My wife gets a book from the library on sugar-sensitive children. She has read the first two chapters on the bus ride home and tells me she thinks it fits him to a T and encourages me to not only read it, but to make an effort to also change my eating habits. I am reluctant. Nonetheless I dutifully read the book until I realize somewhere in the middle of the first chapter that the description of sugar-sensitivity fits not only him, but me, perfectly. So I am on board in a serious way. I need some freedom.

Identity Crisis

Since I started this blog, my profile has read:

My life is a mishmash of oddities that don't find a collective home many places. I live in the House of Eris with my partner of 13 years and our 4 yo son. By day I manage a non-profit and exert control over many projects. By night our family blurs all the lines that I've drawn perfectly straight during the day. It's a constantly changing world and I find myself reeling sometimes by the intensity.

Some analysis is in order.

My life is a mishmash of oddities that don't find a collective home many places.

This is probably still true, although the oddities are probably more welcome in Portland than mid-Michigan. My crisis with the mishmash really boils down to when do I really reveal my oddities? Where is the space that my true self shows? It's true that since I conceived my son my fun factor pretty much died and my ability to express anything but stress increased proportionally. Even in Portland that is still true. The stress of money, school, Stonetree's travel, Mr. Man's emotional outbursts and not having a date with my wife in 4 months seems to leave no time for the real me to shine through. It takes all my energy to act responsibly to get through the stressors of each day. My identity crisis begins in feeling like a boring, uninteresting person who works too much to be any fun.

I live in the House of Eris with my partner of 13 years and our 4 yo son.

It's now the House of Eris West. It's 14 years and our son is 5. All these changes are awesome and sweet. No crises here. Beautiful new city with more days with the two people I love most.

By day I manage a non-profit and exert control over many projects.

Aha. Now we come to the most unsettling part of the identity crisis. I left the non-profit 3 months ago after 8 years of service. They were kind of lame, but I had a rewarding professional career and I did no harm. Circle 180 degrees to a total profit-driven organization stinking of money, stock prices and deep incentive packages for executives. (My coworker says our CEO got $8 million in stock options last year.) I walk daily among El Corpo and its zombies. The Corporation (the movie) was on point. It's a sick place to work (and I know this after three months), yet I go in every day eager to please. I remind myself that I like my supervisor, a man clearly bound for upper echelon executive leadership within 5-10 years, who I think is a "good guy." I work every day doing a good job, but am so out of place. Because I am who I am, I learn everything new there is to learn, not because I'm interested but because it's a challenge. But underneath there are rumblings that say "What are you doing here and what does this mean about who you are?" My wife would chuckle because I've always said it doesn't matter what I do as long as I do a good job. I'm learning that's not the truth about me. I'm not sure where my professional place is. I don't think I have a calling. But I don't think a 2000-employee, NYSE-listed, financial services corporation is it. Maybe it is and I'm just scared of what it means if I build a career here. I feel lost, both internally about this issue and consumed by this corporation.

By night our family blurs all the lines that I've drawn perfectly straight during the day.

Well, the blurring continues. My wife is "branching out" on a personal level and I'm excited for her. She and I have really, really good times together and it is renewing and refreshing. Mr. Man and I try to stay in the flow and in these ways I release some of the linear-bound world of my days.

It's a constantly changing world and I find myself reeling sometimes by the intensity.

This continues to be the essential truth. Remove the sometimes. Each day is the same, but also different and I'm truly wiped out by the time sleep overcomes me. I told a friend in the last few months that life is good, but hard, which is what I think it means to live anyway. Having always been a fairly intense person, I wonder if the intense life is attracted to me or if I call out to the intense life. If it's the latter, I wonder how to stop sending that signal. I'm exhausted.

So what to write now as a way to define me? Right now I think this:

My life is an intense tug-of-war between responsibility and the true expression of my essence. I live in the House of Eris West with my wife of 14 years and our 5 yo son. By day I am consumed by a corporation and spit out at night to a family who fulfills, sustains and exhausts me. I move through constant change and arrive on new shores hoping to find more of myself in each sunrise.

Bus Rides

Portland loves its transit system, as well it should. It rocks. Here's a sampling of transit experiences in the last three months:

• My daily commute takes me eye-level past a gigantic eagle's next. I have seen the eaglet peeking out of the nest.


• Mr. Man charms the pants off of every bus driver--except for the one and only grumpy driver we encountered when we thought we could ride the #14 around in a circle past the end of the line. She snarled at us, "Last stop. Last stop. How many times do I have to say it?" We got off her bus, walked 100 feet to the next bus hut and got back on her bus after she took her 1 minute idle in the parking lot.


• The busses and trains all contain poetry. Art is present in bus huts and light rail stations. It's not a boring or ugly ride.


• The handicapper vans are all running on biodiesel. There are hybrid busses.


• A regular driver for my evening commute regularly cracks jokes about street names or says things like, "Next stop - Las Vegas."

Silence.

Fear Rising Up

I had recurring terrors that something awful was going to happen on this trip or associated with this move. I had terrible fears that I couldn't release. I ignored them. What else to do, really?

Today our party of two vehicles ventured forth from Rock Springs, Wyoming in snowy conditions. Weather was reported online to improve as we moved westward. We decided to take it slowly. 15 miles down I-80 I watch our precious "Yellow Bug" (aka our rented Penske van) gracefully glide in an exit-like motion. It's a sly off-to the right and down sort of descent. I soon realize that this is not an intentional exit that was unannounced over the talkies. It's an accident. A slide into the ditch from icy roads. I hit the same patch of ice in my Subaru and negotiate our car to the side of the road. We soon learn over radio that everyone is okay. With hazards flashing, I abandon our Subaru to the far shoulder and run down to the truck. Shaken friends are safe inside. Library Lady is praising her mother's training on the use of anti-lock brakes. She comments that the coffee hasn't spilled. Nothing in the truck, including the harp, shifted. (Kudos to Biker Boy for his talent with ropes and knots.) On the way down into the ditch the truck hit a sign post and the driver's side-view mirror is busted off. A few scratches mar the driver's door. Amazing.

We get the vehicles off the road. Amazingly the forces larger than us time this at an exit ramp. I bow down to my all-wheel drive and am pleased that I have paid over $20K so that I can easily drive down across the ditch to the exit ramp. We proceed back to the nearest exit with hotel/gas/food and stay put.

Penske, meanwhile, is planning to bring another mirror to us. They have the part but are unwilling to drive from Salt Lake City to us because the highway patrol advises against travel. Penske, it should be noted, is from my home state of Pennsylvania and every customer service rep I speak to on the emergency outline is the pinnacle of helpful, quality service. I love them. I'm also thanking the gods that I got the comprehensive damage insurance that prevents me from paying anything in the event of damage. We will not get the mirror until tomorrow and given the weather conditions cannot continue forward without the crucial driver-side mirror.

By the time we check-in at the hotel my wife admits that she has a migraine. Biker Boy does his pressure point magic to help stave off the pain and nausea.

I spend the day with Mr. Man and we do fine until I get the call from my brother that my father is in the hospital again, after over 24 hours of roaming the streets. My brother needs to vent because the cops and my dad's landlord are pressuring him to "do something" about my dad.

These are all my worst fears about moving west. The burden on my brother. My dad's deteriorating mental health. My mother's deteriorating physical health. Driving across the mountains in the winter. Losing my family.

Meanwhile the landscape is breathtakingly beautiful. Really. The rocky buttes rise up and appear from nowhere. Much like my fears.

Tension in Wyoming

We traversed most of Wyoming today. It was rough at the beginning, as the white, cloud-covered horizon blended in with the snow-covered mountains and made my eyes tired. Eventually we got into bluer skies and had easier driving. The good news today was that we managed to skirt all the storm systems around us and our conditions for driving were ideal.

What I never expected about Wyoming was the number of oil wells and oil refineries. They seem to be everywhere along I-80. Also, the train runs parallel to the highway, so we watched huge freight trains barrel alongside us all day. The land varied a lot, ranging from flat open areas to rolling hills, rocky buttes and occasional high mountain peaks. There seemed to be little civilization along most of I-80.

About 30 minutes east of Laramie, Wyoming, we stopped at a Denny's-like diner for lunch. It seemed ironic that in a seemingly hick-like town we were served by a considerate, very gay waiter. The laugh of the day was that Library Lady's order requiring blue cheese was very weird to him, but our orders of skillet meals without eggs or cheese didn't make him blink.

I'm exhausted today and I'm in a bit of a fog. While I got to release UST (unspoken sexual tension - a term coined by Library Lady), the rest of our group is still tense. I think sleeping 4 adults with a child in one room for five days is starting to wear on our need for privacy. I hope the next few days go smoothly and we find an easy path back to our respective homes. As much as our traveling companions are dear to me, I'll be happy to be back in the comfort of my family's rhythms.

Release on the Road

So my intentions to post every day since BikerBoy got on the train haven't been realized, as you can tell by now. In short, the days before the trip went like this:

Day 3 - Realization that change was coming. It finally hits me that I have a new job.

Day 4 - Party Day. Mr. Man has 12 ~5yos running screaming through the house for 3 hours for his unbirthday/farewell party. This is followed by a wonderful party thrown for us by friends. Amazing vegan food, drinking and a great grownup time.

Day 5 - Work and Pack. Work and Pack. Stress. Work and Pack. Work and Pack.

Day 6 - Last day of Work. Stress. Work and Pack.

Day 7 - Load and Pack. Clean and Pack. Pack some more. Amazing friends help with all of this.

We were slated to leave early Wednesday morning, but we were delayed because there were more errands and yet more packing. We actually left around noon, just in time to hit Chicago traffic at rush hour. We sat on the highway parking lot for hours and eventually made it to Davenport, Iowa. The last 20 minutes was spent in a horrible storm - huge flashes in the sky, torrential rain and hail. In the morning before leaving Davenport we went to the Mississippi River.

On Thursday, we traveled from Davenport to Omaha. Iowa is beautiful and very sensual. The hotel in Omaha was downtown. The staff was amazingly unhelpful once we realized that the truck wouldn't fit into the underground parking lot. In general the service was very bad. The hotel gave me flashbacks to the hotel in Angel.

We spent the first part of today visiting the Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha. They have a huge indoor jungle and rainforest exhibit with animals and birds and all sorts of stuff open and all around you. There is also a huge dome with a desert inside it. The aquarium was also very nice. This gave Mr. Man time to have some fun, which was much needed.

Nebraska is not Iowa! Let's talk flat for miles around. It's nice in it's own way - a great wind across the open space, but not much to make the driving easier. We made it from Omaha to Oglalla today. Another big storm front moved in so we were happy to get off the road. When you're out in the open, the storm fronts look huge!!! One cool thing is that Nebraska must be on the migration route for cranes. There were thousands of these birds all around - on the ground, in the sky, etc.

I guess it's Nebraska where there's nothing to do or think about in the great expanse except sex. We were goofy today and the tension among the 4 adults is high. The women of the trip, well, let's just say we communicate. When hotel plans were being made for a 2 bedroom jacuzzi suite, we started thinking of adult options for the group. When that hotel fell through because of the cat, Lovely Librarian Lady devised a plan to give my wife and I some much needed time together.

In perhaps the most irresponsible move since we Mr. Man was born, my wife and I sent BikerBoy and Library Lady to the pool with Mr. Man while we had a much needed quickie(s) to release some energy. It was all very good until BikerBoy returned with Mr. Man for a potty break. Enter lots of giggling and furious attempts to cover the birthday suits. Somehow BikerBoy missed all the planning we had done to orchestrate this event and was quite confused. All went well, the pee break finished and my wife and I got back in the sack. I'm quite relaxed now and can continue into any weather up ahead in the mountains.

Who Woke Up a Grownup: Day 2

Today was one of those snow days that shouldn't have been, where all schools for counties around closed school. I wonder if there's a domino effect for this sort of thing. If one school closes, do they all start to fall in nearby districts by mere inertia? We had a bit of ice but nothing treacherous. However, I took pleasure in my last opportunity to exercise my current employer's inclement weather policy: If the local school district is closed, use your own best judgment. Seeing as Mr. Man already had a 10am doctor's appointment we planned a family breakfast at the only diner in town that can present a good vegan breakfast.

Mr. Man was excited for the morning. So much so that while I began to shower, he put on his red briefs, got himself dressed and marched downstairs to put on his boots. All of this without any urging from us. In fact, it all happened before I was out of the shower and before my wife even got out of bed. When I got out of the shower he was ready to put on his coat. I wasn't sure who this kid was, given the struggles we have on school days. Too bad we're moving to a city without snow days.

Later at breakfast without telling us what he was doing, he kindly flagged the waiter with his hand and requested a straw. I think we put a 4yo to bed last night and woke up with a 7 year old. Also, I think he took a talking pill. He's usually a talker but today he seemed in high gear. At bedtime he went on ad nauseum about the space shuttle and space camp and about some crawler that moves the shuttle when it's standing up for launching. Apparently the crawler moves at a speed of 1 mile an hour. I watched him talk, enthralled by what he knows and how he learned it. The beauty of his maturing weighs heavy on my mama heart, for traces of our baby seem far gone.

Today we got photos of some apartments we thought seemed good and for a lesbian-owned property management company. The one apartment is absolutely beautiful, just thoroughly remodeled with new appliances in a nice, trendy neighborhood. There's even a fenced in patio area in the back where Mr. Man could play and my wife can could container garden. We saw the pictures and immediately said "I want it." Stay tuned. I'm thinking the forwarding address could be coming soon.

What You Need to Know: Day 1

The lack of posting in almost a month is not due to lack of interesting things to say. It's due to lack of time to say it. Here's what you need to know:

• I got the job. In fact, I start on the 20th. Better yet, my last day at current employer is Monday. You got it - three business days.


• We pack our belongings into a truck on Tuesday. We will begin driving across country on Wednesday with a rental van and two very kind friends. Right now we have shit loads to pack or purge, despite very valiant efforts on our part prior to this month. Damn houses...big fat vacuums for tons of stuff.


• Currently we have no place to live. Apartment search has been difficult and slow. We're information gatherers, so we used the awesome, stupendous Portland maps site and can tell you everything about every neighborhood we've considered. (Enter this address to see what Portland has online: 6421 SE 52nd) We're now on the path to some lesbian-owned property management companies and we might be heading in the right direction. Who can answer the question: Will we have a forwarding address on the day we drive out of town?


• Mr. Man was promised an unbirthday party with his friends before we left. It happens on Saturday. We invited 15 5yos to a chaotic free-for-all amidst boxes and packing tape. We told their parents to drop their kid off or bring a lawn chair and earplugs. You'd have to know these parents to appreciate their expressions reading the invites. What a hoot.


• Today Ton Ton left Seattle on his preferred method of transport, the train, and is on his way to us to help pack and load the truck and drive back to the Pacific Northwest. Today is the beginning of the journey.


• Tonight Mr. Man said, "I'm excited to move to Portland."

Holy Shit

I've been anxiously awaiting my itinerary to learn more about what is in store for me on Sunday and Monday. I was not prepared for what I learned tonight. The person handling my travel arrangements assures me that he tried to find the most comfortable arrangements that were within the budget. I'm sure this is his way of apologizing for the fact that I have to fly out of Detroit and take a redeye back Monday night. No worries, he says, because I'll arrive in Portland around 1PM PST and will have plenty of time to check out the city and get a good night's rest. I'm sure the good night's rest won't be a problem, as I'm staying in the Heathman Hotel. If Conde Nast Traveler believes the Heathman is one of the "World's Best Places to Stay" and Travel + Leisure feels it's one of the "500 Best Hotels in the World", who am I to argue? Perhaps I'll just appreciate the fine art, including pieces by Warhol and mirrors from the Waldorf Astoria or browse the library for some light night reading. If I have any trouble, I'll simply contact my personal concierge, as all hotel guests are assigned a personal concierge to attend to their every need. I'm sure sleep won't be a problem, as I have a bed and pillow menu from which to select.

I'll find out how the Heathman food service is at 8AM Monday morning when I meet the hiring manager for breakfast. After our meal we'll retire to the company's downtown headquarters (which by the way are valued at $47.7 million). At 9:30 I'll meet with my HR contact and we'll presumably discuss my life history and hopefully handle every pre-employment detail as I'm with her until 11:45 when I meet with someone new. Following the 11:45 meeting, I meet two more individuals for lunch at the University Club of Portland. When I'm sure I can't possibly smile any more, I'll catch the Max back to the airport for my evening flight and arrive in Detroit at 6am Tuesday morning. And no, I'm not in first class.

Questions of the hour: Any bets on whether the white male privilege at these establishments will totally overwhelm me? Can I pull off six non-stop hours of interviewing? Am I really all they seem to think I am? And, if so, will I get the pleasure of dreaming of my start date on my redeye back?

The Suit

Tomorrow I receive my intinerary for the paid trip for the interview. I never expected any company to pay my travel costs. It's still a bit of a blur. I purchased a suit tonight to assure that I come off appropriately polished. Having worked in a casual office for the last 7 years, I'm out of the habit of buying professional business clothes. Paying over $100 for a suit takes my breath away. One thing I hope for in a new employer is a beautiful workplace. Working in the "garden level" of a dingy office building for 7 years has me yearning for a classier environment. This suit sets that tone. And if I land the job that requires me to relocate a division into new offices in ground-level prime retail space on the transit mall, there's no doubt I'll be buying more business clothes. That would be fun.

And an Hour Later

The assistant calls me to schedule the in-person interview and book the airfare. I'll fly in on Sunday night and fly back on Monday.

A job offer by my birthday doesn't seem so unreasonable after all.

Quote of the Interview

"So if we were to buy you a plane ticket and make you a hotel reservation, would you be willing to come out here and meet some more people from this division?"

Catching Up

Yikes. Over ten days since my last post. Updates in brief:

• I only made it to Thursday and then we went out to eat. So easy to cave...


• On Friday of two weeks ago I spent the day interviewing 6 candidates to fill my position when I leave. None of them are prepared or possibly able to face my daily workload. The experience of interviewing candidates with a Board member and my boss was a unique one. There's an entry to this blog entitled "Dufus, Sourpuss and Miss America" that will never be posted for legal reasons. Inquire in person if you want me to characterize the day further.


• I had an informal interview with the manager who is losing her staff person due to the internal hire. She seems interested in me and I like the sounds of the job. I expect to go through a more formal interview process for this position in the coming week(s). Meanwhile, the HR department from the company contacted me to say that they are considering me for another position and I should hear from the manager to schedule an interview soon. My favorite line from her message was when she said "and if he is as impressed with you as Pat was, then we may want to fly you out here." Anyone else hear that maybe the airfare lands on their credit card instead of mine? I'm feeling good about this company - especially now that they're considering me for positions for which I didn't apply and advocating for me to get the position higher on the hierarchy. (This new position reports to a VP instead of an AVP or a Director.) So I interview with the VP on Wednesday.


• In other good employment news, I got a call for a first interview for a position with an employer that offers really great benefits and has a good salary range. The web page describing employee benefits actually mentions domestic partner. I was really happy to get this call. I interview with them on Friday.


• On the home front, we had a crazy, trigger-filled 20 hours with my wife's parents this weekend. In theory this should also be the last visit we have with them before we move, as they go to Florida for the next 2 months. Let's just say they have a hard time thinking about anything else other than their million ailments and how the world is out to screw them (as rich white Republican rural folks). My wife wanted to cry from the moment we began driving home. We raced across the state at speeds of 85mph to get to a birthday party Mr. Man was attending. We arrived only 10 minutes late. The party was at the Y, so my wife and I got a day pass and spent over two ours walking together and working out to burn off the stress and frustration of the parental contact. As a bonus, we got to soak in the whirlpool together.


• Today was designated a cleaning day. At breakfast I announced a great plan to reorganize Mr. Man's art supplies to make them more accessible. We had been talking recently about going through his toys to decide which ones he didn't play with, which ones were for littler children and which ones were simply "cheap pieces of plastic crap." While I was cleaning up breakfast he marched upstairs and started to bring his first load of toys down for processing. He and I spent at least an hour going through ALL of his toys. He put a LOT into the "go" pile. I am so proud of him. We consolidated his toys easily by half. The only thing we didn't tackle were the stuffed animals. After a day's worth of work, the office and the living room are much more organized and pared down. My wife did a great job taking everything off the porch that we don't want to give away and loaded up all the stuff that we do want to freecycle on the porch so it can be easily distributed. We're getting it together!


• I tried a new recipe and made some biscuits for breakfast and they were pretty good. They weren't light and fluffy, but great with the vegan sausage and bacon and/or margarine and jam. In an effort to begin celebrating Imbolc, I made a pot of Brigid's soup containing all red ingredients (kidney beans, carrots, tomatoes, veg stock) and pureed most of it. Mr. Man ate it up! It was very tasty. We discussed transformation (and did some in our home) and fire and Mr. Man did a lot of creative things today. We're planning to make flaming bananas as a treat on Wednesday night. Stay tuned, I've never flamed anything before...


• If the flaming goes poorly, there's always an insurance payment to get us out of here, seeing as the sale of the house is stalled again because the buyers are having trouble getting approved for a mortgage with a real lender. Damn.


• On a personal level, I've put concerted effort this week into getting back onto the Weight Watchers plan. After growing out of most of my business clothes and gaining about 15 pounds in the last year, I had enough. I remained on plan all week. Instead of binge eating, I've taken up binge sleeping. Mr. Man and I are fighting a bit of a cold. On at least 2 or 3 occasions this week I went to bed with him at 9pm and chose not to get up and do work, sleeping through to 6 or 7 am.

I hope more frequent posting will resume, especially given the minimum of 2 interviews I have this week and the potential for things to fall into place for another trip to Portland.

P.S. Don't accidentally put a full bag of carrots into the freezer instead of the fridge. Once they freeze solid, they don't really thaw out into their old selves.