Pink Martini

On Saturday night, Jeff and I went to a concert at the Oregon Zoo.
It was one of those concerts where you have to carry in your own seat, not knowing if it's going to rain, so you also carry your umbrella and raingear.
Where you have to arrive two hours early to make sure that you get a parking space and a place in which to park your chair.
You know those kinds of concerts?
I think I'm getting too old for them!
But Pink Martini was playing and the tickets were less than $20 each.
So we braved it.
We sat through an hour of the Oregon Army Band, which was okay, especially the part where everyone claps and cheers (especially me) for the branches of the armed services as they play the anthems.
Then an hour of an excruciatingly corny show called "Oregon, Oregon!"
Which made you almost ashamed to call yourself an Oregonian.
(If you were so lucky as to be able to do such a thing)
And then the show that we had waited for for four hours.
Pink Martini.
The incomparable China Forbes.
Whose voice can soothe, thrill, or amuse you.
Whose voice is sometimes like honey, smooth and dulcet, but at the top of her range is reminiscent of Sarah Brightman, clear and pure and totally controlled. She lilts, croons, and sometimes shrieks, with a voice so big it commands every bit of your attention.
These videos are a few years old. China is now a little larger than she used to be. In my opinion, her voice is also better.

Here are a couple of tunes for your enjoyment.
Turn the volume WAY up!



And my personal favourite, which now resides at the top of my playlist...

Let's hear it for the boy!

Charlie and Annie are home.


Charlie drove home from San Diego through the night.
Sixteen hours, on his own.
I was impressed....till I found the caffeine shots in his truck.
Ah, that's how he did it!
Still, his Marine training is showing.

The house has been crawling with family and friends all week.
Grandchildren having sleepovers.


Daniel and Joshua adore their Uncle Charlie.

My schedule has gone crazy, trying to fit in all the family stuff as well as work.
On Wednesday, for the first time, I missed a music therapy session.
I remembered at 11:30 on Thursday night.
A symptom of my recent cognitive dissonance.
Partly stress over our upcoming trips.
But mostly, I suspect, at the prospect of Charlie's deployment.
It is no longer an intellectual exercise, but reality.

Bits and Pieces

Note the new blog link on the right, Cake Wrecks.
Thank you Ellen, it is hil-arious.
And a little bit naughty sometimes.
So be warned.
But only a little bit.

Also, check out the David Bowie song at the top of my playlist.
It was quite popular in the 70's on the radio and as unlike any other DB song as you can imagine.
There are a couple of his songs from "Labyrinth" on the list as well.
Osborne kids take note.
And any of my peers that fell secretly in love with David when they saw the movie.
Go on, admit it, you did too!



And one more.
My favourite.
Just want to eat David Bowie up in this one.


Mmmm-mm.

American beauty

The first time I set foot in Oregon I knew I wanted to live here. It was green, hilly, and uncrowded. It had four seasons a year, unlike Southern California. It took a little finangling, but four years later we headed north. With two kids riding shotgun, a third one almost due, a big truck and a little Toyota Starlet packed to the roof with our belongings.

And here we are.
Still.
Till we die.
Our burial plots, recently purchased, are in an idyllic little cemetery on the mountain that overlooks our house.

Jeff and I spent the weekend at the beach. It was relaxing, with reading, crocheting, and crossword-puzzle-solving being high on the list of activities. We did, however, try a little hike at Cascade Head, just north of Lincoln City. The trail-heads are quite hard to find, but after a little reconnaissance, we found the north entrance. It is a six-mile, one-way hike. Knowing we weren't in the mood for 12 miles, we decided to hike in for a while and then turn around.

The forest was in its usual state of dampness and we found many weird and wonderful fungus specimens growing on old logs. Here are some of the best ones.


Some of them were just growing in the damp, brown, fertile soil of the forest, like these.


Several times along the trail I almost jumped out of my skin when one of these brown frogs hopped off into the undergrowth.
Jeff said, "You scared it."
"Well," I said,"It scared me!"


The woods were beautiful, with a palette of brilliant greens and rich browns dotted with the yellows and purples of tiny wildflowers. It must have been a rugged winter on the coast because the trail was criss-crossed with fallen trees.



Jeff mostly went over them.
I, of course, mostly went under them.
THEN
we came to some places that had been washed out, trees uprooted.


I gamely struggled on, thinking that things HAD to get better soon.
Didn't they?
But no.
We climbed down yet another little ravine, turned a corner, and saw THIS.
My nemesis.


This one looked too much like spelunking for my taste.
I have lost my yen for the derring-do.
We turned around.
Defeated.
Except for we did have a very nice hike.
At least a couple of miles.
Enough to justify a piece or two of rhubarb cake when we got back to the beach house.

Lucky me

Thursday afternoon.
Daniel asks, "Nana, can I spend the night?"
"Sure."

A little later, Joshua walks up and asks, batting his little eyelashes over his lovely blue eyes, "Nana, can I spend the night too?"
"Oh, okay!"

Last of the Summer Wine

Grape juice in the making.
Oh, I hope we're at home when these are ready to use.

Mom angst

Charlie is coming home.

I have been feeling a strange malaise the last couple of weeks. It's hard to explain, but my default mood of happiness has abandoned me. Which is odd, because it's summer and I have been able to indulge in lots of my favourite activities. Playing with the grandchildren, evenings spent with the local offspring, lunches with women friends, a satisfying amount of work, outings with Jeff, outdoor concerts, puddling around the garden, riding the bikes, lots of time for reading, a calm and tidy house, exciting trips to anticipate. These things usually bring me joy. But lately, when I am left to my own devices I revert to inactivity and mindless diversions and a general feeling of ennui. My lazy self is gaining dominance.

Ennui.
Of French origin.
Describing EXACTLY how I feel.
Boredom, languor, listlessness, tedium.
States of being for which I normally have no tolerance.
Antonyms: bouyancy, enthusiasm, energy, vigour.
I usually lean towards the antonym end of the scale.

What, then, is my problem?
The only anomaly on the horizon of which I can think is that Charlie is coming home for a few short days before deployment to Iraq.
Maybe I am not as mentally steeled against the prospect as I imagined.
He is, after all, my baby.
Albeit a strong and manly, tending towards the ornery, baby.

Charlie came at the end of a particularly horrendous pregnancy. For him, I endured nine months of constant vomiting and twice-daily self-administered heparin shots in my ever-expanding stomach. My dear Dr. Weil called it my "psychadelic stomach." It was every shade of the bruising spectrum, from purple to green to yellow. I had hoped to have another baby after Charlie, thinking he would be a lonely little soul, six years behind Annie. But it was not to be. Just as I had feared, Charlie would be almost like an only child at times, needing friends to fill the place that his three siblings often filled for each other.
He was an angelic baby, the delight of all of our lives. Blue eyes, blond curly hair, and a happy disposition. He loved pieces of string, empty boxes, playing with friends, and being outside. If you were to accuse us of doting on him, you would be correct.

As the years went by, Charlie was shaped to some extent by the people who loved him, his family and friends, and by the difficulties we have all shared. He has always been gregarious and charismatic, drawing people to him in numbers that are unprecedented in our family. The last few years were quite troublesome in many ways, yet he always had that fan base, especially at church, of people who loved him unconditionally. For which I will always be grateful, because sometimes they loved him when I found it hard. When he comes home on leave now, his time is spent frenetically connecting with those friends. And I'm okay with it.

Here he is, on his last leave, at Abby's pizza with a whole squadron of friends.


Charlie in one of his favourite roles, that of uncle.


Charlie, songwriter and musician.


This was at the dance festival in Portland. Charlie was well known for his break-dancing and hip-hop skills. Turns out he dances a mean ballroom too.


Brother and sister, before their birthday outing to see Rascal Flatts. Did I mention they are both big country music fans?


Charlie the patriot.


Charlie the Marine. Dead centre of the photo.


Charlie loves to have fun. Especially on roller coasters.


Now what?
Might have to hit Jeff up for some TLC.
For a change.