First day camping

This was our first night of tent camping, in honeyman state park in Southern Oregon. Our children are a little worried about the old people tent camping. There was even talk of them pooling their resources to buy us an RV. We didn't think we wanted an RV, so here we are. We did splurge on a bigger tent. This one is 8 x 10. Our inflatable mattress does not touch the sides. That is nice. Luxury!

Yesterday we found a marina bar for lunch. That will become more difficult in Nevada and Utah. so far, we haven't griped at each other much. 

Keeping a cooler cold for 3 weeks seems like a lot of trouble, so we are planning to do without. 

Two nights ago, we were spending the evening with our friends JEFF and Julie Brown. We were talking about the homeless problem that seems to be just about everywhere. We talked about the reasons and possible solutions. 

We used to have a house. We used to have a boat that we could live on. Now we have neither. This does not bother us, although we are a little surprised by that. We are blessed to have family who want us to stay with them.

This morning, we awoke to birds making noise. After we got out of tent and put coffee water on, we said a morning offering and read the readings for the day. Our Old Testament reading is about Job. He is the guy who lost everything and still praised God. That was yesterday. Today Job was lamenting that he had ever been born.

So far, we are still happy to have been born. Stay tuned. 

How long can you go without...

Pooping? Have you ever thought seriously about this? I sure have. Must have been the whole can of Diamond almonds I ate on the plane ride between Seattle and Taipei. As time passes but nothing else of substance does, I am at first calm, then concerned, then worried. 

Here I am in a foreign land, with the kind of health problem no one wants to talk about. Darn, I feel full. Finally I break down and ask my Vietnamese mentor for help. We find a pharmacy in Hanoi, and he procures for me the solution to my problems...a regimen of dual pills, twice each day, two days. Which does exactly...nothing. 

Now worry becomes an obsession. Every social occasion is eating, and I am not that interested. But...I want to be polite. I hit the internet, looking for holistic cures for my issues. The sites assure me this will pass naturally, but you can make a baby poop by putting an ivory-soap-carved pill-sized suppository in the right place. Now I am eyeing my soap, but the sites say laundry soap, no perfume. Damn. 

Olive oil is supposed to help. Now I have taken to eating only fruits and vegetables to keep the mass in check. I wonder what the servers at the Sandy Beach hotel in Danang think when they find the dish of Italian dressing with the oil carefully dipped out to spread on tomatoes and cukes, watermelon and mango. 

Well, if oil is good, surely a bite-sized croissant with three pats of butter ought to "grease the skids". Eating oily foods does exactly...nothing. Except fill me up with oil. I don't have a dipstick but I suspect I am past the "full" mark.  

In my hotel room in HCMC there is a spray nozzle next to the commode. A bidet, after a fashion. I remember once falling on my butt water skiiing, and feeling the cool shaft of water in my loins. 20 minutes later I was squatting just out of sight of my friends, laying a puddle of...well, you know. 

I start eyeing the sprayer. What the hell. Surprise, it helps a little. Very little. I surely must be a comical sight trying to disperse the water in my gut using gravity for assistance, but I am now on the edge where worry becomes real fear. I am drinking water like a whale. 

My itinerary takes me from HCMC to Hanoi to Danang. I get my driver to take me to the supermarket in Danang where I buy a small bottle of olive oil. And drink it like a boozer alone with a bottle of Johnny Walker. Surely...but alas, no. 

I share my predicament with an English speaking gal from Chicago who works at the school in HCMC. She laughs and later heads to the pharmacy to get me something. I would go myself, but there is one little problem. Everything here pretty much is labeled in Vietnamese. Troung Rat Hung Nay Bay. Does that mean "scours your innards like a scrub brush" or "do not induce vomiting and seek immediate medical treatment"? I am really not sure. 

What I want is something that says "makes you go like you have the flu". But, that is a bit tough. My Chicago friend sends the medication by courier to my hotel. I am eagerly awaiting it.  I expect pills, but I get little tubes with 3-inch slender nozzles. My laughing Chicago friend explains over the phone that the pharmacist assured her this was the most effective laxative in the inventory. 

Having appropriately dosed myself, I find only slight relief, but north of nothing. For one meal, I have an appetite. It is glorious, and then, the glory passes because nothing else does. My dinner companions have become mystified. I don't seem to be eating the meat, fish or noodles, just the vegetables. They conclude that I must be vegetarian. Last night I flew from Danang to HCMC, after first visiting a vegetarian restaurant where what I ate was carefully noted. More than usual. Aha! Nick is a vegetarian and too polite to say anything! 

There goes my braised beef skewers and piles of shrimp. I don't want them, but I hope too someday if I don't blow up like a balloon and pop first. Just so you know, watermelon ain't half bad with olive oil and a little balsamic. 

A mountain near Danang

Mountaintop experience

"Hey, where you from? USA? Awesome! Where are you going? I will give you a ride." She pointed to the seat behind her on the scooter, but today I wanted to walk. So much time I have been sitting. "How about on the way back?" "OK, I will see you". Her name was Linh. 

I was walking to Marble Mountain. It is a rocky outcropping near Danang. There are several Buddhist temples on the mountain. You can climb the steps, or for twice as much, take the elevator. The steps were stony and uneven, and I needed the climb. 

Near the top there is a temple. "Hey, sir, you buy, one dollar US, twenty Vietnamese" She was selling incense. First I started to give her the 20,000VND. But then, a buck is 12,000. The greenback was a better deal for me, and she laughed as I changed my mind and gave her a GW. 

It seems odd to be in a Buddhist temple saying "Thank you Jesus", but that is what I was doing. Twenty incense sticks, lit by a temple attendant with a butane lighter, easily 20 reasons to be thankful. 

Buddha and  Jesus are both popular here, if you look at the statuary. Buddha is usually depicted as smiling and rather rotund. A wise fellow with a sedentary lifestyle. 

Jesus was into climbing mountains, walking on the seashore, getting into a boat and fishing with his friends, and ascending. He liked bread and wine and fish and conversation about real things. He was loving with his friends, even when they did not reciprocate. He was gentle with the downtrodden and showed some tough love with the self-important people of his time. He kept explaining that it wasn't all about power, position, money, possessions, or pleasure. He said it was about love and service. 

I like him, and the better I get to know and understand him, the more I want to be like him. So here I am, lighting incense. Thanking Jesus for life and love. Paying my respects to Buddha. 

On the long hot walk home, I looked for Linh, but she obviously found a customer who was more interesting than me. Can't say I blame her. 

I nearly died today

I nearly died today. 

As someone who has run out of fingers and toes counting up friends and acquaintances who have perished in general aviation crashes, I am mindful each time I fly a small airplane that what I am doing is not safe. I know people who refuse to fly in small airplanes for that reason. While I can't really blame them, I don't wish to join them. 

It seems like a stretch to call myself an adrenaline junkie. It is not that I thrive on extreme risk or high-voltage excitement. However, there is something about risk that makes one feel more aware, more alive. And something in defeating that risk that is highly satisfying. So I fly.

Today (Friday) I decided to walk to work in Ho Chi Minh City. Not a big deal, a few klicks from the hotel, about 40 minutes walking. With street crossings. There was a gal who went to dinner with us recently who spends a lot of time in Vietnam. She refuses to walk, bicycle, or ride a scooter in HCMC. I get it, but I don't want to live it.

There comes a moment when you step out in faith. Walking across a street means that you will be a potential target for zooming scooters. You know that they have no intention of hitting you, and will strive to miss you. Even so, it is best not to look. They whisper past in a flash, slow motion bullets from an assassin's gun, barely missing, gone in a breeze. Crossing a major street, maybe 40 will pass you, some within inches. 

If I looked I might want to stop or try to dodge them, so I don't. I just walk, confidently and predictably. And then, I am across. Walking down a sidewalk that is always part street. Acutely aware. And I realize I am enjoying this. 

One of my realities is that I must someday die. It could be today. It could be now. In fact, it could have been now many times in the past. God spared me for reasons unknown. My mission on earth is not yet accomplished, it seems. 

I am Ok with that. I once had a guy call me to ask about pilot training for a certain billionaire in Seattle. One of the things he said was "my client has a lot to lose". I thought about that. What does anyone have to lose by dying? I know what I have to lose. My wife. My children, my daughters in law, my grandchildren, my family, my dear friends. Nothing else, really. And since i believe in the communion of saints, I get them all back anyway, at least I hope so.

The thought of death so very near is not exactly pleasant, but not entirely distasteful. The thought of not having lived by avoiding all risks is actually much worse for me. Now that no one really depends on me except Marsha for financial support, more risk in my life seems worthwhile. Not that I don't love Marsha, but she understands completely. The Sunday before I left for Vietnam, we flew in a Cessna to Friday Harbor for lunch. She is a person who lives with risk, and she gets it. So I think about her, tell her I love her in my heart, and step out into the street.   

How do you say that?

How do you say that?

So I figured it would be good to say a few things in Vietnamese. This is cause for great merriment at the school, when I attempt to say things like "thank you", "excuse me", "hello", and such niceties. People look at me like I have just walked off a space ship, and then I smile and they laugh and sometimes they are kind enough to correct my pronunciation. 

Vietnamese is a) a tonal language and b) one with no ties to any Western language even if it was scripted by French monks. The exception is the alphabet, which looks encouragingly like my own, creating the impression that perhaps one could simply look at the letters and, using phonics, sound out words. 

It ain't like that. Each vowel has six tones, which are indicated by little symbols that adorn the letters to tell you how the word is pronounced and therefore what it means. 

A simple two-letter word "ma" can mean "ghost", "cheek", "but", "tomb", "horse", or "rice seedling", depending on the tone used. This is tough territory for a tone-deaf, hard of hearing old man. 

One person explained that vowel pronunciation is defined by tongue-in-front and tongue-in-back combined with lips flat or rounded. Then there is glottalization. So a word like khong (zero), for example, is glottalized "hum". The "O" is tongue back and you need that little rush of air the Germans are so fond of. 

I made up little flash cards with the numbers from one to ten. I grab someone now and then and have them quiz me. Sometimes I even get most of them right. Now I understand why Vietnamese spend years learning English. 

There's tons of aps and you-tube videos, so there is no lack of information available. Sometimes (like this morning) someone realizes that I really am making an effort, and they will try to help by teaching me a handful of words. I try to explain that it won't work. I can't soak them up that fast. 

Fortunately, I get sympathy points for trying. At first they were all worried that I would be mad when they did not understand, but now they know we are likely to burst out laughing together and they are more relaxed. I am becoming entertainment. Suits me. 

A restaurant, horns, and a bank

The shark was thrashing around, breaching the surface and splashing water everywhere. The diners in the restaurant did not seem to notice this display of pique. Other creatures in the tank moved around to make way for the shark, who finally rolled over and was playing dead, or so it seemed. All around the shark tank were tanks of sea creatures - moray eels, snails, conchs, lobsters, crabs, skates, rays, and many varieties of fish. They were there to serve as dinner for the hungry customers. 

Last time I was here (in Vietnam) I ate slugs. I can tell you that I am not a fan. This time I tried a snail. Everyone else was piling in with gusto, using little forks to drag the snails out of the shells and munch. So what the heck. It was about what I expected, chewy and slimy at the same time. There. I ate mine. My attitude is that if the others at the table enjoy them, I should give them maximum opportunity. 

Thanks to having moved to Seattle 16 years ago, I no longer am squeamish at the idea of busting into a crab shell and cleaning it out. The first time I did it, it took a lot of beer to get started. Now it is easy. Clams, mussels, etc are no issue for me. Just the snails. 

The way people use horns here would be considered rude in the U.S. I awaken to horns every morning. Scooters and cars, blowing every few seconds. Watching my drivers use the horn, I have come to realize that it can be a courtesy. "I am in your blind spot". "I am taking the right of way". "Passing on your left". Those are what I have come to think of as courtesy horns. When trapped behind a vehicle, the drivers tend to flash their lights, which means essentially "outta my way, Peck". That signal is ignored more often than not. 

I had an interesting experience trying to open a bank account here. In response to my inquiry about a savings account, the bank said:

"I am so apologise to inform ANZ is not offering service to US person because of reporting requirements and withholding obligations imposed on banks by US regulation and the IRS, which is not in line with bank’s policy on protection of customer privacy information. Hence, we are not in a position to bank with US persons. Funny, I used to think communist governments were oppressive. Apparently the IRS has imposed reporting requirements that have banks simply deciding not to have U.S. citizens as customers.  

When I was here seven years ago, there were beggars. This time I planned ahead and brought money to share with them. However, one obvious new thing was an absence of beggars. In seeking an explanation I found that people are no longer allowed to beg. The economy is good, there is plenty to do, so beggars are required to find work. Interesting. It would seem that the Vietnamese attitude has shifted from "each according to his need" to "he who does not work does not eat". 

This country seems to be singing the praises of privatization, and is moving toward prosperity very quickly. I have seen exactly one picture of Marx and Lenin, and that was in a government office. 

Vietnamese dinner

I think my worst fear is getting lost in a huge city where I do not speak the lingo. Last night was the first night I have really spent alone at dinner time in HCMC, or in Vietnam for that matter. 

I was determined to find some place to eat, and figure out how to make that work. Since my hotel is at an intersection, I decided to take each direction from the hotel and walk until I couldn't or didn't find anything. 

My second fear is getting hit by a motorbike. They are everywhere, even on the sidewalk (sometimes especially on the sidewalk - a popular if illegal way to get around stopped traffic). Crossing a street you have to walk steadily and pretend not to see them, and in theory they go around you. I avoid crossing busy streets, although the locals do it. 

As it turns out, I live in a garment/banking area where restaurants are scarce, so I did  a lot of walking. There was  KFC, but I did not want to give in to the temptation to eat there. I kept going and eventually stumbled upon a Pho place that had seating for maybe 25, one Pho pot by the front of the store, and a few customers. 

The Pho was good as far as I can tell. People ask me if it was good Pho. How would I know? I put in a lot of those hot yellow peppers. To me, the Pho tastes like pepper sauce. Then it becomes an issue of texture. Noodles, meat, and the leaves I tear up and throw in. I really don't know what "good" is. If my scalp tingles and my forehead is dewy and my nose runs, it is darned good Pho! 

After dinner, I offered them either 100,000 VND or 5 dollars US. They took the VND and gave me change. I think I ate a good dinner and had a beer for about 40,000VND (about 2 bucks). Not a word of English was ever exchanged. 

I try to say stuff like "Cam on", which if I say it right is "Thank you". People smile and nod. I know my pronunciation is horrible. I just can't tell when I say it that it is horrible. Sounds right to me. But then, I can't tell good Pho from bad, either. 

Thoughts on Vietnam

Impressions of Vietnam...

The first thing is that it is hot here, and humid a lot. When it cools down, it feels really good. The next thing you notice is that people dress modestly. Not what you would expect in a hot country. Long sleeve shirts, long pants, lots of jackets. Impressive in 80-90 F heat. The women in particular have a style of dress that is classy without being overly sexualized or provocative. I have come to realize that I really appreciate that. It is decidedly un-American, but I don't really care for modern American popular culture, so I like it. 

Traffic, especially in the big cities, is crazy. I am beginning to appreciate how effective it is, though. Lots of people are moving, mostly on scooters. scooters are far more effective than cars, simply because they are more maneuverable and smaller. If people here had cars like the U.S., traffic would look like...well, like I-5 through Seattle during "rush hour", which is to say at a standstill or crawl. The turning part took some getting used to. People turn in front of oncoming traffic, and the oncoming folks either slow down or go around. Pedestrians do not have the right of way, which I cannot get used to, at least not yet. I cringe when we have near-accidents, which is a constant in the city. Danang is not so crowded, so the pace is more comfortable. 

When music is played in public, it is often classical piano. Went to a hotel bar recently and the pianist was playing Pachelbel's Canon in D. It is one of my favorites, played well. I also went to a department store and they were playing Western music - some woman screaming into a mike with the usual background noise. The contrast was striking. 

Another great thing is how friendly people seem to be. It is really nice that people smile and say hello. Until last night, I had not been in a restaurant with a television. That has been so refreshing. Broke the streak last night, kind of a disappointment. 

Western culture intrudes here like everywhere. Coca-cola, Pepsi, etc. Now that Vietnamese have traded walking and bicycles for Coke and scooters, I suppose it is only a matter of time before they start dealing with the weight gain issues so common in more developed nations. 

Beer is indigenous, like Beire Larue. However, it makes one appreciate the craft beers of the PNW. They like Heineken here. Maybe it is because of the red star symbol. Some day they will discover Deschutes and Rogue breweries, I hope.  

Food here has been mostly wonderful, but not so different than a vietnamese restaurant in Seattle or Bremerton. Lots of vegetables, rice variations, and meats. Restaurants are plentiful and cheap, so most people do not cook.  Our meals tend to go on for a while, kind of like Italian dining. That is nice, but since I don't speak the language I can't tell stories or understand them. 

No one really cares whether you use chopsticks or forks and spoons. Both are readily available. It seems common to use facial tissues for napkins, which works out about like you would expect. Sometimes I am the only one at the table using chopsticks. 

Tonight is something new for me - I apparently do not have a dinner invitation. That means I am on my own for the first time. Should be an adventure. 

The Second Day of Christmas

The Second day of Christmas.

I once had an on-line discussion with an atheist arguing the relative merits of atheism vs. (for me) Catholic Christianity. At  the beginning of the session, I had decided to be open-minded. So open-minded, in fact, that I told my atheist friend that if could present a compelling argument for atheism, I would become an atheist.

Sometimes I dreaded his notes. What if he was right? What if my intellect was forced to recognize that atheism presented a stronger case for itself than Christianity? As it turned out, I needn’t have worried, As a result of my interactions with him, I am a stronger Christian and Catholic.

One of the things I most appreciate about Christianity is gratitude. Gratitude is a wonderful gift. It enables me to see each day as a present to be unwrapped, and each new opportunity as an offering from a loving God. It also enables me to see that the “bad” things that come into my life are often ways that God shows me something I need to learn.

Thanksgiving is tough if there is no one to thank. I thank God for life itself. I recognize that many bad things could have happened in my life and didn’t. I also recognize that many of the things that seemed bad at the time were beautiful gifts in ugly wrapping paper.

God has a plan, but it is certainly not my plan. My plan had Marsha and me comfortably retired and hanging out on our boat, inviting our friends to adventures, and in general living the dream life. God has seen fit to show me that my dream life may not be what He has in mind. This has caused some disquiet and downright anxiety, but lately I’ve been finding some peace.

I went through this with a number of things – our initial financial struggles with jobs, kids and debts; our marriage as it turned to harsh partnership and avoidance; the need to explore my inner self as a requirement to present Marriage Encounter weekends; the wrenching realization that I believed if Marsha really knew me, that she would reject me; the fear of being out of control that I wrestled with; the move to Seattle, trying to become part of a new community; yanking ourselves out of that community when it just seemed to be going well; parenthood every which way, rejection by a boss, financial setbacks, a layoff, another move.

What I have learned is simply that if I am willing to detach myself (“let go and let God”), He will take me where I am and show me somewhere else that I can serve and learn. My life has been so much more of an adventure in part because I was willing to let God steer and me to provide pedal power.

 Yesterday was Christmas day, and we went to the Irish house (Lauren’s parents). There was a gift exchange, but Marsha and I did not participate, we are saving that for when Adam gets home, whenever that is. All the same, I felt a profound sense of peace. I was spending a lot of time with Madeleine, the almost-one granddaughter. She was investigating new sights, sounds, tastes, and touches. I had nothing more important to do at that moment than to follow her as she crawled around, keeping her from dangerous investigations.

To have nothing more important to do than simply “be” with another person, even if that person can’t talk, is an extraordinary thing.  When our kids were growing up, even when I was with them my mind was often somewhere else, stressing about something. Simply being is a wonderful thing.

I’m grateful for the gift of grandchildren, and for the opportunity to be with them with no agenda, no rush, no need to do anything but to be there. This is a blessing, and if being so blessed means I give up my “dream life”, then so be it. God always seems to have a better plan than I do. One of these days I’m going to learn to really trust Him.

a different life

Life is different now.  There has never been a time in our marriage, ever, when one or the other of us has not had a job. This is a new adventure for us, and I am watching myself to see how I handle it.

In a sense, I have a job, since I am working on Adam and Lauren’s house. All the same, there is no boss to report to, no personnel to manage, and none of the mental tautness that seemed often to accompany each day – the sense of trying to outrun the avalanche.

Marsha and I talk to each other about what would seem to be next. There must be a next, since we cannot afford to live indefinitely without income. Marsha is pretty sure she is through with executive management. I can’t say I blame her.  She applied to be a barista at Starbucks.

Both of us have worked since we were young teens, at one job or another. Both of us rose eventually to jobs that were executive-type roles. We are grateful for the opportunities that came our way, and the things we were able to be involved in, but overall we are not enamored of what we have seen.

There seems to be something wrong. I have been continually flummoxed by the behavior of many of the people I’ve seen in executive positions, and Marsha shares my bewilderment.

As I think about it, I realize that I have a couple of expectations regarding executive managers that are probably completely unrealistic. One is that they behave as mature adults. The other is that they approach their work with a stewardship mentality, recognizing that the owners of the company (shareholders, perhaps) and the employees have a right to prudence &professionalism from an executive manager.

We keep seeing people put themselves on pedestals, with an apparent desire for power, prestige, position and pay that transcends what seems to us should be a more dignified humility that comes with the recognition of responsibility for people’s livelihoods.

I got to thinking about this attitude, and its origins. There is no question that the concept of stewardship is bound up with our Catholic heritage. The notion that our responsibility for what we do goes beyond ourselves  to all of human society is not uniquely Catholic or even Christian, but it certainly is a mainstay of Catholic teaching.

The desire for power over other people, it seems to me, is a sign of existential emptiness. As we were crafting our marriage seminar, we came to the startling conclusion that there are really only two ways to go: you can have a power and control relationship or you can have a love and affection one. I’ve met people with functional marriages that have a strong power and control component, but I’ve never seen a happy one. As a supervisor, I tried to treat power as a last resort. To me it almost always meant that I’d failed to win over a heart or mind, and while I was willing to use power, I never liked it.  There are people who really like having power over others. My belief is that those people should not operate in what should be leadership roles, as they are very inclined to substitute power for real leadership.

Prestige to me seems like a second-hand way of validating one’s worth. Here again it appears to me that someone who needs prestige is dealing with an existential emptiness. Prestige is fickle, like people, and is an illusory way to establish one’s sense of worth.

It seems odd in a way that my happiness quotient is as high or higher as I paint a cabinet for my son’s house to hide circuit breakers than it was managing a flight school or running a company. I liked those high-pressure jobs, and they certainly paid more money, but a simple task in service to another brings a quieter, more peaceful joy.

I wonder what will be next. Our pastor has our marriage seminar outline for his perusal. I look forward to seeing his comments.

Overall, I feel pretty content and happy. That could change anytime, but I am grateful for it right now.

Settled in Bremerton

Dear friends,

Sorry I sort of stopped the blogging. There wasn’t a lot of feedback, so I figured only a couple people were looking at it. Maybe I needed a few more people to scratch me behind the ears and say “good dog”.

Anyway, since I blogged, we landed safely in Bremerton. We did a little painting and unpacked our stuff. Considering we sold almost all of our furniture, and gave away a lot of our clothes, there was still a lot of stuff. But…when you get around to hanging pictures, you know you have made a home.

What is really cool is getting to spend time with Lauren (daughter in law) and Elena (3 and don’t you “no” it) and Madeleine (8 months and genuine all-terrain baby).  It is such a blessing to have this time. Adam and Lauren will probably leave in July or August, so we arrived just in time to have some quality grand-kid time. We wake up to the pitter-patter of little feet overhead, and just smile.  We have dinner together almost every night, and spend a little time playing with the kids. What a joy!

Being around in-laws has other advantages as well. We are able to spend time with Lauren’s folks. We all get along, which is really nice. Lauren’s dad is a very enthusiastic sailboat racer, and they sailed over on Friday in their Cal 40 sailboat to spend the night at our marina tied up next to Dulcinea. I begged a ride, and got not only to go from Bremerton to Seattle on the ferry, but to steer the sailboat back to Bremerton, which took about 4 hours. It was rainy, windy, cold, and glorious.

We got to see Max and George, too. Max is making his living as a crab fisherman, crewing on a 2-man boat. He came over for dinner with Stephanie (his intended), and at the end he had to arm wrestle me. I used to be able to hold my own, but Mr. crab-pot heaver beat me in about 1 second. Oh well. Went to visit George and went to the shooting range. I proposed a contest for beers, 5 shots each out of 3 guns, and he beat me 134-118. I’m pretty sure the days when I could count on besting my sons is long gone. They take great delight in beating me, too. I get the trash-talk for days afterwards. George sure can cook up a nice feast, though.  He and his roommate and Nicole (his intended) fed us dinner. A real adult dinner party at George’s apartment.  The food was good and the company better.

The Pacific Northwest (PNW) is stunningly beautiful when it is not raining. I was out tonight with Adam’s dog Charlemagne (C-mangle, or just Mangle) throwing tennis balls into Dye’s Inlet, looking at the glories of the Olympic Mountains. Florida has great sunsets, but PNW has extraordinary topography.

An examination of my mental and emotional states shows that I am no less happy to be living in a basement apartment than I was in a big house. Stuff is just stuff, after all. Once you have the basics, more doesn’t add much to happiness.

Marsha and I have had some quality togetherness. We haven’t really spent a day apart since she lost her job and I returned from Virginia where I was taking a class. What we have learned has only reinforced what we knew before: we really enjoy spending time with each other. I don’t think there has been more than a few minutes of friction in 4 months despite some very real stresses.  Our string will be broken tomorrow, since she flew to Melbourne, FL (of all places!) today for a consulting meeting.

The house is gone. That chapter is over, despite the fact that I got a notice in the mail yesterday that we were eligible for a loan modification.  In the end, we didn’t come out too bad. We lost our down payment, but we got about half of that back by selling the furniture, so no complaints. Marsha does not think it is likely that we will ever own a house again. I don’t much care one way or the other.  Pretty sure I’d be happy in a trailer or on a boat.

We visited with our Pastor, Fr. Lappe, and explained what we wanted to do from a marriage seminar standpoint. He was very supportive. We are nearly finished writing our outline and hope to begin maybe for Valentine’s Day. Our new parish is very vibrant and active, with a lot of ministries ongoing. We just happened to have something that fills a gap.

We have been walking to morning prayer, which is done communally in our parish. We finally were able to go all 10 blocks without dressing for arctic winter and clutching our mugs of hot tea, so some of the Florida is seeping away, and the blood is thickening up, so to speak. Just as well. We were walking past the high school, seeing kids with t-shirts and shorts walking to school, with us bundled up like Eskimos because it got down to 30.

There is a YMCA about 1.5 miles from the house, which also makes a nice walk. We can go to yoga classes almost every day, and we do. They even cut us a deal because we had no income. That was a new thing. The “sliding scale” works out in our favor these days.

Bremerton is a small town, without pretentions. There is a navy shipyard, which is the big employer. For us, almost everything is within walking distance. We only really need a car if we want to carry something home.  That makes our decision to reduce to one car a very reasonable one.

There is a little hole in the wall joint down by the boat that passes for a marina bar. They specialize in craft brews and Belgian-cut fries (whatever that means, which does not seem to be much). The only rub is that even at happy hour, the beers were $3 and the fries $4.25, which worked out to about $11 for what used to be a $6 visit to Crabby Bill’s. So we went to Costco and got a 24-pack for $18 (Costco craft beers, I kid you not – and pretty good, too). Now we’re back to $6 if we take the fries on the boat where we have the beer stashed, and the view is way better than Crabby Bill’s.

There is really not much else to tell. We miss our Florida friends, but we are joyfully renewing acquaintances here, and making new friends as well. Even in our little apartment, we still have a guest room, so we have two if you count the boat. As always, visitors welcome!  

Glens Ferry, Rain and Wind

West of Evanston, we drove through wind, rain and cold, and lots of lowered visibilities. At one point, I shouted “Look Dear!” Marsha was afraid I’d done something silly, but I was pointing out a break in the clouds that seemed to extend for miles. It was just outside Glen’s Ferry Idaho, and there was a camp ground at Three Islands.

We had despaired of camping because the weather was so crummy, so this looked like a welcome development. The campground was gorgeous, with lots of nice trees and a view of the Snake River. Most of the campsites were reserved for the coming weekend, but available to weekday campers like us.

We were able to set our tent up in dry weather, but by the time we got back from the grocery with beer and wood (and some other, less essential supplies) it was blowing and raining. I have a 10x10 tarp that I tied to the kayaks and held up on the other side with telescoping poles and guy lines. The rain immediately started to puddle in the middle and pull it down, so Marsha held it while I rigged a center pole with a hiking stick, camp box, and our soggy box of Duraflame logs. The wind was blowing rain in from the side, so I rigged another tarp on the side between the tree and the car.

This was cold wet work, and about the time I was finishing up, a woman from a nearby RV came over and asked if we would like some hot stew. We immediately accepted, gratefully. With the wind blowing like it was, it would have taken a long time to heat dinner on our camp stove.

The stew was yummy, and after we cleaned the dishes, we took them back. The lady (Cindy) was camping (if you call staying in an RV with a satellite dish camping) with her husband and a couple friends. I explained how we were traveling from Florida to Washington, camping along the way, and how while we don’t know what the future holds, we trust in God that all will work out, and how we thought Cindy was an angel, or nearly so.

The rain eventually stopped, so we up-ended a picnic table as a windbreak near the fire pit, and were able to watch the sunset with our backs toasty warm from the fire while the rest was a bit chilly. The sunset was glorious.

I was pretty tired of the mattress cooling off and sagging in the middle of the night, so this time I rigged an extension cord with the pump and left the pump in the tent. Apparently it was cold enough when I filled the mattress that it did not shrink much, as the mattress did not sag. It f igures. I had also prepared for rain in the morning by bringing our ponchos into the tent. All night long, we could hear the wind roaring through the trees.

Morning brought glorious views of sunrise, and no rain, but lots of wind. We teamed up to pack the tent, stepping on stuff so it would not blow away. Buttercup came with heated seats, and we would have not taken them if they were an option. We didn’t even know if they worked, but we found out today. What a luxury to be shivering and have your seat warmed in a friendly way!  Alas, it was windy on the Snake too, so we dispensed with the idea of wetting the kayaks. Happiness is coffee.

There are so many cool places to explore in Oregon, but our break from the rain soon ended, and it became clear from the forecasts that our initial plan to go to Bend was one that might need tire chains. It is a little weird to go from loading a 130 degree POD to contemplating tire chains in a few short weeks.

The sun is long gone, replaced by mist. Trucks are leaving contrails of spray and the wipers are getting a workout. This is PNW, for sure. 

 Here’s a picture of the sign near Deadman’s Pass. This area has a number of runaway truck exits that direct a truck up a hillside. All of these have tire tracks. Puts one in mind of “30,000 pounds of bananas”.

On our drive, we remarked to each other how much our faith has enabled connections with people who come into our lives. Sharing faith as a common bond helps us feel connected to people in a way that simply contemplating our common humanity does not.  This is a wonderful gift, and we are grateful.

We bonded with Jeff and Julie Brown 20 years ago working on a Marriage Encounter after-weekend experience. In a way, we grew up in ME together. Julie and Jeff watched our children while we went to Hawaii on our 10-anniversary honeymoon trip, and we have see their family grow and shared visits in Wichita, Kearney NE, Seattle, Salem OR, and Florida. We are now on our way to see J&J, and several of their 8 children will be home this weekend. We can’t wait. 

Flaming Gorge

We stopped at the visitors’ center in Utah. We explained that we were looking for campgrounds at Flaming Gorge. There were not many on the map. The nice lady explained that there were lots, but they were closed for the season.  The nice place was Dripping Springs, which she said we would really enjoy.

It was raining constantly. Hard, soft, in between. We looked hopefully for some break in the clouds, and saw what looked like a break in the direction we were going.

The roads twisted and wound, but nothing like the sphincter-clenching drop-offs of Colorado. After one missed turn, we finally arrived at the Dripping Springs campground. The place looked like Mordor from the LOTR movies. There had been a fire some time ago, and every tree had burned, leaving a charred carcass. The rolling hills of the campground were surrounded by the more forbidding sharp upslopes of the area, and they were enveloped in mist. The wind was 20-30. This did not look like fun to us, so we abandoned the campground with regret. Flaming Gorge is truly an extraordinary place, and must have been a delightful sight before the fire.

We popped for another motel, in Evanston WY. All of the great camping we envisioned in Utah and Idaho looks like we’d collide with early season storms. So we are likely to go west from Salt Lake City and see what northern Nevada has to offer.

So far, through rain, wind, missed turns, and disappointments, we have had about 10 minutes of being grumpy with each other. That seems remarkable to me. We flow really smoothly as a team, and setting up and breaking camp has become fairly easy. We marvel at how well we work together, and look forward to finding ways to help other couples enjoy the teamwork that makes this journey so much fun.

Rocky Mountains National Park

There is no way to describe the Rocky Mountains National Park to do it justice. The aspens are turning, gold, orange, occasional red. 


Driving though, we were still enjoying the care package from Brian and Gina.


 We camped just outside at Lake Granby. We had purchased sleeping bags (thanks, Greg!) at our favorite emporium. Camp was set up in time to enjoy grand vistas, etc. 


There was no water at camp, which meant no bathrooms, a fact that came to our awareness after our tent was set up and we found out the pit toilet at the boat ramp was 1/8 mile away. No worries, until the wee hours of the morning when nature demands the return of the fruit of the vine. It got down to about 32, and we had frost on our gear. We also had a nice cool walk at 3 am. But – the stars were fantastic, the Milky Way clearly visible.

We drank wine and ate rice and beans, cherry tomatoes and peppers from Gleasons, and read old dialogue books until dark by a roaring fire. I don’t want to part with the dialogue books. In an intensely personal way, they describe our journey from hallway sex to powerful love. (Hallway sex is part of a joke, not printable. Call for details).

Now we are headed for Flaming Gorge recreation area. 

Waffle House Chef Salad

From the Great Smokies we drove Tennessee and into Arkansas, having agreed to push on and get a motel room with shower!!!!, before we presented our stinky selves to our friends and relatives in Wichita.

Just outside Little Rock, we stopped. The best dinner option looked like the Waffle House. We had never been to a Waffle House. After perusing the menu with wonder, Marsha ordered a Chef Salad. The waitress said “What would you like on your Chef Salad?” This was a question she had not anticipated. So Marsha said, “well, what normally comes on a chef salad”. The waitress said “what’s that?”, so Marsha explained that it was usually ham and cheese and some vegetables, and hardboiled egg. Off she went, and soon we were presented with a most unusual chef salad.

There was lettuce, for sure. And ham bits. And torn up slices of American cheese. And chopped tomatoes, radishes, and carrots, onions, and hardboiled egg. And canned mushrooms. And dill pickle slices. And black olives. And jalepeno peppers.  Marsha was advised that she could not have blue cheese dressing. By this time, she was so taken with the salad she didn’t care. It was a wonder. It was wonderful. What a delightful piece of Americana. Our compliments to the chef.

ICT

Oklahoma is one of those states you drive through with some relief that you are not actually going to stay there. We got turned around in Tulsa when gypsy (our GPS navigator) chose some closed roads. I got frustrated and gripy. That was the first time I got pissed off since we started this trip. I drive erratically when mad. Marsha was uncomfortable. We had to stop. After a few minutes, we came up with a strategy and away we went, away from Oklahoma. Hurray!

Wichita means family and friends. Our age-old problem is: how do you see everyone you want to see? The answer is, you can’t, especially if your stay is only a day. Our first stop was at John Frisch’s house, where we were treated to the latest of a series of extraordinary photos that John takes at Chisholm Creek Park. Look for John’s pictures on flickr.com. We rotate friend visits in Wichita stops, and were able to see Joe and Kerry Seiwert and Tim and Mary Kay Chavez on Friday night and Saturday morning.

Staying with the (Mike) Frisches is always an adventure because the house is so full of action. We added ourselves to the fast-moving life of a house with two parents, six kids, two dogs, and a cat. We wondered if Plumbob would take a look at us and run away so we would not take him away, but Plum greeted us warmly when we showed up Friday night late. He did not disappear until we actually left, then he was nowhere to be seen.

Bill and Pat Bell were warm and welcoming . Pat took off Saturday morning for a lunch date with us, and we were able to catch up. Bill is working wonders in stained glass, and presented us with two beautiful windows that were intended for our Florida home but now will live in our new abode.

 During our Saturday lunch with Bill and Pat, we got a call from Denise Elder offering us a bed in Pittsburg KS. Mike and Denise were the very first couple to work with us on our Marriage Encounter talks. Marsha and I reminisced about how we fought on the way to their house because we were so uptight about being on time. We were abhorred by being 10 minutes late, and when we came into their house, they promptly put us to work washing dishes and folding the laundry that was all over the living room. We marveled that they could be so relaxed about appearances when people were coming to their house. It was a valuable lesson for us, one that we hold to this day. If you wait to have people over until your house is perfect, you will lose many opportunities to visit. And the kind of people who would be put off by a little mess you probably don’t want at your house anyway. A good life lesson for us.

Fr. Chuck Gallagher said that it is not the food, not the décor, not the clean perfection of a house that makes it welcoming, but the affection among the the members of the household. He is so right. Our favorite places to visit are often short on gourmet meals, fancy china or dust-free perfection. There is something about being welcomed into a happy family that has no earthy substitute. I envision heaven as a huge,  extended happy family.

Saturday evening was a cheerful crazy mix of Frisches, Hendersons, Weesners (Steve), and various friends of the above who wandered in and out. Mike cooked up a feast of kabobs and we ate and talked forever. Every time we visit Wichita, we feel the gravitational pull of our families. We wish we could be there more, or have them where we are.  

Sunday morning we arose early and headed to Salina for early Mass and brunch with Marsha’s brother  Brian and his wife Gina. They were very honoring and cooked a wonderful brunch. Brian helped with some house paperwork that we needed to get to the bank. We got to hear of the exploits of Bethany, Brian’s daughter, who is now 18 and very independently minded. Brian and Gina sent us off with a care package of grapes, meat and cheese, crackers and homemade cookies.

Most of Sunday was driving through Western Kansas (see my note about Oklahoma above) on our way to Boulder to visit Kevin Gleason and his wife Ilene. Kevin is my oldest friend, and we worked together as  apprentice janitors at St. Thomas Aquinas grade school. We had adventures together through high school and college, and nearly died together on Fall River reservoir when the Snipe we were sailing had a rudder attach failure and capsized.  Our dinner-and-breakfast visit was far too short, and after they loaded us up with newly harvested potatoes, tomatoes, and peppers from their garden, Kevin led us to the local Walmart where we bought some sleeping bags for the high country. As I write this, we are on the peak-to-peak scenic highway headed for Grand Lake on the western side of Rocky Mountain National Park.