Our first living pet joined our household last month. This is huge, breaking news, as Meg and I very publicly loathe the idea of sheltering animals inside our living space (raising chickens in a coop outside? maybe some day). One perk of having kids who are mildly allergic to pet dander is that we have a legitimate excuse for rejecting the kids occasional plea for adopting a pet. Somehow this one slipped through the cracks. May I introduce Shelly, a 15-year old western box turtle. She lived with another family in Westmoreland who, ironically, became too busy with their young children to take care of her anymore. Meg found a listing for Shelly on craigslist while looking for someone who might have lost a cat, as one had recently showed up on our porch and refused to leave. I figured it was a stray, as it had no identification, but Meg insisted it belonged to someone. Meg doesn't like it when I tell this story, but just before bringing Shelly home, Edward picked up the mystery cat, disappeared, and returned maybe 15 minutes later. And that's the last we saw of that cat (that's how I wish the story ended, but it did come back a few weeks later, but our second shooing-away apparently worked)--it felt like a scene from a Haruki Murakami novel (where cats, especially disappearing ones, are frequently major plot elements).
Shelly seems to be pretty resilient to the kids' not-so-gentle and generally irresponsible habits and is still alive a month later. She lives in a large, plastic storage box in Aaron's room. The boys are supposed to take her outside every day, where she loves to crawl around and hide in the bushes throughout our garden. I haven't figured out what exactly she likes to eat, but I do know she loves earthworms and will eat sow bugs. Western box turtles can supposedly live about 50 years in captivity, so Shelly might out-stay even Edward (who has in the past claimed he's never moving out--he has lately softened this assessment though).
1999 symbolizes my "freedom" time: I was a college graduate, gainfully-employed, virtually debt-free, and single/childless. I pretty much did what I wanted and didn't have to report to anyone or commit to any thing. This past week felt like I had stepped backwards in time, as Meg decided, on a whim, to drive to Salt Lake City--with kids in tow--and stay with my parents for a week. Since I wasn't part of the road trip, you'll have to encourage her to share any stories , although she has confessed to me that she's done with blogging. Here are the highlights of the back-in-time party that was this week: Exercise : Besides my daily 11-mile round trip commute by bike to the office, I went on three other bike rides around Clackanomah County, swam at the pool twice, and ran once. Cleaning : Organized some of our outdoor living space, cleaned the house from top-to-bottom, washed the G20, cleaned my bike, and manicured the outside landscape. Sleep : Every night wa...
I don't think I've been on a true backpacking trip before. Back in high school, my friend Bart and I planned a multi-day trip to Carl Lake, but we ended up turning around after one night of camping at Cabot Lake because it was raining so much and we'd rather stay at his family's cabin instead. I also hiked up to Moraine Lake as a scout leader, on the way to South Sister, where we camped in preparation to summit Oregon's third tallest peak, but we left all of our gear at the lake on the second leg of our climb. That was back in 2001. I first learned of the Timberline Trail by reading a brief summary of it in, of all places, Portland Monthly. Sure, it was 35 miles farther than I had ever backpacked before, and it involved two more days and nights, and I would be going solo. But the summer of 2016 is all about change and new beginnings for me. Day 1: Timberline Lodge to Ramona Falls I slept in Tuesday morning, as I was up late Monday night making my final preparat...
It all started with a tweet. The tweet guided me to a blog. The blog inspired me to craft an e-mail. The e-mail led to a phone call. And the phone call led to my agreeing to trade my 1993.5 Infiniti G20 for a 2010 Black Sheep commuter bike (1 of only 13 in existence). All of this happened within 24 hours. From New Bike An informal part of our agreement to move to Portland was for me to get rid of my car, since I had committed to biking or riding the bus to work--and I never did drive the G20 once we moved to Portland, except once every other week or so to keep the fluids moving through the car. I had posted my car for sale at the G20 enthusiasts' site , but I didn't get any substantial bites, nor did I do much to promote its sale (Meg would like me to remind you that I took a year to sell my del Sol after buying the Maxima ). So when I saw a blog post about New Belgium's car swap at the Tour de Fat , I called Meg and proposed the idea to her. She thought it sounde...
Comments
Post a Comment