Yes, I Can!

While I am certain that the following is not what our new, and much beloved, President had in mind when he first (or last, even) spoke the words "Yes, we can!" here is a short list of non-political things I learned on Inauguration day:

1. I CAN stand in a jam-packed Metro station for an hour and a half without having an anxiety attack or getting frustrated or angry.
2. I CAN stand for hours in below-freezing weather, hopping around to avoid the knife's edge that called itself the wind and to spare my toes the threat of frostbite; and bobbing my head side to side to get a better view of the jumbo tron.
3. When absolutely necessary I CAN tell absolute strangers in the 5'9" and over set that they have strayed into the Short People Section and that they will have to move on. NOW.
4. I CAN go more than 13 hours without eating or drinking or peeing.
   
5. I CAN, when circumstances compel, swallow my own vomit. A little explanation is probably in order: My friend, Sharon, and I got up very early to leave for the Inauguration. As it didn't occur to me that I might not get anything to eat for hours, I took my several medications on an empty stomach, rode in the back seat of a car on a winding road, and then bounced around in a hot, crowded Metro car. Although Sharon offered me her newspaper to throw up on and the man in front of me encouraged me to "just let it out--they have people to clean that up," I couldn't bring myself to do it. And it wasn't just because I was too embarrassed (though there was that), but the thought of some other happy Inauguration-goer stepping on to the train and into that--well I just couldn't do it.
   

Random Question of the Week

The serving size for ice cream is listed as ½-cup. Is that calculated using:

1. The amount of ice cream that comfortably fits into the ½-cup (i.e.: loosely scooped);
2. The amount of ice cream you can force into the ½-cup; or
3. The amount of melted ice cream that fits into the ½-cup?

Interesting Fact of the Day

Australian researchers found that mixing liquor with diet drinks can intensify the alcoholic effect by 50%.

(Source: Womens Health)

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Mall

You've seen, on television and in the paper and everywhere online, the crowds that packed the National Mall, waiting for Barack Obama to be sworn in as the 44nd President. None of those people drove to the Mall. A few were dropped off by limo or taxi. Many of them walked. But many more arrived by Metro, Washington D.C.'s subway system.

My friend Sharon and I took the Metro in from her home in Bethesda, MD. Because her stop is almost at the end of the line, the cars were relatively empty when we boarded. But by the time we transferred to the correct line, the trains were full, and when we finally reached our station, the cars were packed so tightly that you didn't actually need to put your feet on the ground.

It took us 40 minutes to get from Bethesda to the L'Enfant station. It took another hour to get from the train door to the street:






The funny part? No one was angry. Some were afraid that they might miss everything. Some were pushing, but only because they were being pushed and had no choice. But everyone apologized for pushing and made sure no one pushed or knocked over the little kids. But no one was angry about being stuck underground for so long with no idea when we were going to be set free. We just laughed and chanted "Let my people go" and "Yes We Did" when we finally moved toward the gates.

Of course there were a few other, less polite, chants:

Inauguration 2009--The View From The Mall, Part I

I wanted to capture a little of what it sounded like to those of us on the Mall. The echo was at first annoying but came to feel appropriate, as a voice ringing down the halls of history ought to sound and feel.

A Note About the Inauguration

Can't post photos yet, but a note:

This was the happiest crowd of people I have ever seen. Patient. Joyous. Singing. Chanting. Laughing.

Two million people and not a single Inauguration-related arrest.

Two million people and not a frown in sight.

I've loved being here and I love this day!

Let the Inauguration Begin!

Well, tomorrow anyway.

Hannah is a Brilliant Artist--and Only Six

The Convergance of Life, Politics and Family

I am going to Barack Obama's Inauguration

I'll probably have to walk two miles to get there.

I have no ticket to the swearing in.

I have no guarantee of a spot on the parade route.

I don't have an invite to a ball, or a party of any type.

I'm not sure I even have a coat warm enough for the East coast weather.

But when I allow myself to believe it, I am, for the first time in a very long time, gloriously and incandescently happy.

Because I am going to Obama's Inauguration.



As an added bonus, I am going to DC alone, which means six hours on a plane by myself. And six more on the way back. Very happy indeed.

Vice Presidential Handlers Lure Cheney Into Traveling Crate

From The Onion:

Vice Presidential Handlers Lure Cheney Into Traveling Crate


January 13, 2009 | Issue 45•03

WASHINGTON—A team of nine specially trained handlers have successfully lured outgoing vice president Dick Cheney into a reinforced steel traveling crate in order to transport him back to his permanent enclosure in Casper, WY, official sources reported Monday. "He's a smart one. Once he sees the crate, he gets pretty nippy, but we've learned a few tricks over the years," chief VP wrangler Ted Irving breathlessly said while applying pressure to a deep gash on his forearm. "If we break a rabbit's legs and throw it in there, he will eventually go in to finish it off. Doesn't work with dead rabbits, though. Cheney only eats what he kills." Irving said that the latest vice presidential relocation went much more smoothly than September's diplomatic trip to Georgia, which was delayed for several hours after Cheney mauled three secret service agents and escaped inside the White House walls.

HT: Thomas :) Thanks for the laugh!

Glacier National Park in Summer

Until I'm feeling more like myself, I thought I'd share a few of the photos from our road trip last summer.

Thomas and the girls walking up the glacier at Logan Pass:





Wildlife in the parking lot:


The reason it looks so close isn't because the zoom on my camera is working better, but because I took the photo from the door of the minivan. Into which I leapt to avoid the horns.

12 Days of Christmas Reinterpreted

Because it gave me a much-needed laugh . . .

Inadvertently Inappropriate

1. Me, playing with the puppy:
"Hey little man! Where are your balls? Get your balls!"

2. Hannah playing with the puppy:
"Oh, how sweet! He's hugging my leg! And dancing!"
No, Hannah. He's neither hugging nor dancing.

3. Charlotte in the theater at Hannah's school performance. Every time the lights were dimmed, she shouted:
"Ooooh, dark-y!"
The inappropriate part was that, the first time she yelled it was after the first act. The lead dancer, one of the most talented kids in the K-2 program, also happens to be African American. Fortunately, speech therapy continues.

4. Hannah, after climbing onto my lap:
"What do you have in your pants?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"What do you have in your pants that's crunchy?"
uh . . .
"Oh! No! That's a (dog) poop bag in my sweatshirt pocket!"

Yes. I leave you for a week, and this is what you come back to.

How They Grow

I was all ready to send a friend over to see photos of the girls when I realized that I hadn't posted any recently. So . . .

Hannah is smiling here because I told her to. Normally we have no trouble getting her to mug for the camera. In fact, we generally have to tell her to knock it off please, so we can get a nice photo for Grandma.:)

A Peet's girl from her infancy.

Charlotte's favorite show is Mickey Mouse Playhouse, and you simply must have the Minnie Mouse costume in order to properly execute the hot dog dance.

Charlotte sick and looking unbearably fragile. She is, of course, anything but.

When Puppies Attack

I introduced Kairos to the camera today. Unfortunately he's still at the stage where he eats everything first and then asks if it's actually edible.

He is the Very Model of a Modern . . . Golden Doodle

The new puppy, Kairos, has settled right in and is quickly proving himself a member of the family: He's very fond of gadgets and gizmos, particularly if they have lights, make noise or--most importantly--have cords. He's also taken a liking to my computer and even offered to help out with work while I'm sick, the licking and pawing of the keyboard a lovely, modern twist on "the dog ate my homework."





(My apologies for the poor quality photo--it's from my iPhone. Not bad for a phone, but not great for publishing.)

Hannah-isms

Thomas recently had an on-camera interview for a short documentary about urban chicken farming. Due to a misunderstanding on my part, Hannah and Charlotte were told that they might be interviewed as well. And because Hannah has yet to meet the camera unworthy of her adoration, she was very excited.

So when a friend asked Hannah how the interview had gone, she replied:

“Really it was boring. Charlotte and I had nothing to do. It was all about my dad. You know he used to be a magician, so why couldn’t they be doing that? That's way more exciting.”



On hearing that Thomas was going to get his hair cut short:

“Now he’ll look like a normal dad!”



Our school's PTA sponsored an art contest as part of a program run by the CA PTA. I had mentioned it to Hannah several times, but she was uninterested—until the night before the piece had to be turned in. She spent seven minutes whipping out a portrait—not bad for seven minutes, but not really suitable for submission, even to a contest with the ridiculously ambiguous “Wow!” theme. So I asked . . .

“What about this will make someone think “Wow!”?

(Exasperated sigh.)

“Um, my talent?”

Even My First Grader Gets It

From one of the books that Hannah made in class. The teacher didn't even have to tell her how to spell "Obama" or "President."





It's from my phone, so it's not the best image, but the text is: "America is Obama is our 44 President."

Moving On

I found Argus' collar this weekend. I was cleaning the plant room and didn't see it right away. I should have because it's red. And yes, it has lots of shiny tags on it. Yes, it jingled when I picked it up. Yes, that sound made me weep.

It seems ridiculous to me that I obviously haven't moved past this. I don't cry about my mother, and haven't since she died. But someone on the outer reaches of our neighborhood has a Great Dane. She was walking him down the street. I was cooking dinner. I heard that bark and my first thought was, "Oh no! I left the dog outside!" In the same moment I realized that it couldn't possibly be Argus, I snapped off the stove, threw down the potholder and dashed out the door.

She must have thought me a little crazy, running barefoot across the street as I did. Trying to hide the tears as I touched my forehead to his; as I dug my hands into his fur--that spot right behind the ear that always worked for Argus, and probably every other dog. She and I talked a bit. The dog was a rescue she'd had for a year. He was taller than Argus and a Blue. Sweet, with the classic Great Dane temperament. His eyes were green, which I wasn't expecting, and from his lines and the way he carried himself, I would guess he was a purebred.

But I found myself, well, finding fault. He wasn't as handsome as Argus. He was too tall. He was too thin. His eyes were too close together.

The truth is, he wasn't Argus.

More than a month passed and there I was. Sitting in a flowered chair surrounded by rescued poinsettias, overgrown aloe, scraggly ivy, the Christmas cactus that always blooms at Easter and Thanksgiving and a few other plants whose names I forget. Staring at the collar in my hand, the doggy smell slightly sour and faded. Turning the tags through my fingers, noticing that we never updated his address from Campbell to Redwood City. Wondering if I’d had his lo-jak deactivated. Wondering why this silly dog can still turn me into a puddle of tears.

We’re going to pick up our new puppy on Saturday, a Golden Doodle. Thomas didn’t think another Great Dane was a good idea since they’re not really what you’d call “portable.” The girls are really excited and have made a Puppy Countdown calendar. Thomas has already re-read all of the puppy books—there’s so much you forget in eight years. Me? I’m still crying over Argus and wondering how in the world I’m ever going to love another dog that much.

I know I will. I’m just not convinced that this is the right time. Which is completely beside the point because 1) I’m outnumbered, and 2) they’re pretty darn cute puppies.

Time to Think About Other Things

Between Argus dying, my mother dying five days later, the school year starting, work, the election and pretending to work on my book, I never got around to posting any photos from our trip to Canada this summer. This is one of my favorites--Moraine Lake in Banff National Park, Alberta.