I wish all the thunder storms weren't on work nights...
The air has been charged all day. Now that the storm is here, you can feel the bolts as they flash: deep in your chest, almost in your lungs. Zoosh.
Somehow the ones without thunder are the wildest and the weirdest - when they crackle across the sky, splitting across like a wiry branch. Holding your breath for the deluge of the boom, and it doesn't come.
Maybe a faint rumble far away.
Probably not from this strike.
Just a brief charge, more like a flutter of your heart or a sharp suck of breath.
The dog is pacing; walking around the living room in circles. Clicking his nails on the floorboards. I think he'll sleep in our room tonight, he's nervy when there are storms.
7.31.2011
7.30.2011
Spontaneity
After work last night, we decided to go on a picnic and escape the 95 degree heat in the valley. I tossed together a little bag with an old flannel sheet (plaid, perfect for picnicing), two wine glasses, a couple of forks and some sunscreen. We stopped at the Co-op, had a couple of their gourmet sandwiches made up, raided their deli for a tasty green bean and pesto salad and some cookies, and snagged a couple of cold drinks.
From there, we drove about an hour north of town through yellow, sunset hills to a little picnic area along the banks of the Payette River. When we got there, the river was already shadowed by the surrounding hills, but it was quiet and comfortable. Charlie paid the small day use fee, and I set us up with a picnic on some wide flat boulders above the sandy shore.
The river was cool and green. Kingfishers were diving for their dinner, flycatchers were zipping and somersaulting to grab bugs just above the water. Just upstream at a picnic table in the trees, a family was grilling, and their little blonde and red-headed kids were shouting and laughing. Dad set up a chair on a sand bar and buried his feet. We all waved to the rafters and kayakers who were floating down the river, trying to get in one last paddle before it became too dark to see.
We had such a lovely night. I think we were both surprised at how easy it was to throw things together and just canoodle for an evening away from home. Sitting out by the river, we saw fish jump, watched a spider craft a web in the branches far over our heads, and listened to the sound of the water as the sky grew dark through the long needles of the Ponderosa Pines above.
On the drive home, with the hills along the highway just long, dark silhouettes, we asked each other why we don't do that more - it's not outrageous to get an easy dinner together, drive for an hour (or less), spend the evening out, and get home by 10:30. It's the sort of thing that would be simple to do even on a work night.
And it made us both so, so happy.
From there, we drove about an hour north of town through yellow, sunset hills to a little picnic area along the banks of the Payette River. When we got there, the river was already shadowed by the surrounding hills, but it was quiet and comfortable. Charlie paid the small day use fee, and I set us up with a picnic on some wide flat boulders above the sandy shore.
The river was cool and green. Kingfishers were diving for their dinner, flycatchers were zipping and somersaulting to grab bugs just above the water. Just upstream at a picnic table in the trees, a family was grilling, and their little blonde and red-headed kids were shouting and laughing. Dad set up a chair on a sand bar and buried his feet. We all waved to the rafters and kayakers who were floating down the river, trying to get in one last paddle before it became too dark to see.
We had such a lovely night. I think we were both surprised at how easy it was to throw things together and just canoodle for an evening away from home. Sitting out by the river, we saw fish jump, watched a spider craft a web in the branches far over our heads, and listened to the sound of the water as the sky grew dark through the long needles of the Ponderosa Pines above.
On the drive home, with the hills along the highway just long, dark silhouettes, we asked each other why we don't do that more - it's not outrageous to get an easy dinner together, drive for an hour (or less), spend the evening out, and get home by 10:30. It's the sort of thing that would be simple to do even on a work night.
And it made us both so, so happy.
7.25.2011
Sometimes.
Sometimes life just feels hard. You feel lonely, you feel tired. It's hard to add the "fun" into another day of getting up, going to work, walking the dog, working, coming home, making dinner, walking the dog again, and then going to bed and starting it all over again. I feel like I've read several blogs lately with the same slightly sad lament: how do you make it wonderful? How do you make that life that feels worth living, rather than one that's just biding time until the next thing comes along?
It seems like this sort of sentiment always comes along at the peak or end of a season. Mid-summer, winter's dragging end. There's no real reason, except that maybe it feels like something is coming to an end (again), and you don't have a lot to say for it.
Tonight I made homemade tortillas. Silly how easy it was (Masa flour, water, salt. Mix into a soft dough. Roll into balls. Smoosh with a heavy pan into flat rounds. Cook on the cast iron skillet until they look like tortillas.). Little things like that help. It's something new, something different, it's an escape.
Sometimes I get tired of being responsible. Of going to all the things that we're supposed to. Of showing up on-time ready to get some shit done. I want to just flake out a little. Not turn up where we said we were going to. Go to bed way too late and sleep through my alarm. Have a glass of wine and a stack of cookies for dinner.
Is that what it means to be a grown-up? Our responsibilities are pretty small comparatively. No mortgage, no kids. We could survive on far less than we do. We're tucking a little into the bank every paycheck in hopes that some day we'll have a little more than we do now.
But there's an itch. Maybe it's wanderlust, maybe it's a selfish squirm.
How good would it feel to just load up the car, roll down the windows, and drive off into the mountains? Doesn't matter where. In fact, better that there isn't a plan, I think. Might end up somewhere more interesting.
In my imagination, it would be nice.
It seems like this sort of sentiment always comes along at the peak or end of a season. Mid-summer, winter's dragging end. There's no real reason, except that maybe it feels like something is coming to an end (again), and you don't have a lot to say for it.
Tonight I made homemade tortillas. Silly how easy it was (Masa flour, water, salt. Mix into a soft dough. Roll into balls. Smoosh with a heavy pan into flat rounds. Cook on the cast iron skillet until they look like tortillas.). Little things like that help. It's something new, something different, it's an escape.
Sometimes I get tired of being responsible. Of going to all the things that we're supposed to. Of showing up on-time ready to get some shit done. I want to just flake out a little. Not turn up where we said we were going to. Go to bed way too late and sleep through my alarm. Have a glass of wine and a stack of cookies for dinner.
Is that what it means to be a grown-up? Our responsibilities are pretty small comparatively. No mortgage, no kids. We could survive on far less than we do. We're tucking a little into the bank every paycheck in hopes that some day we'll have a little more than we do now.
But there's an itch. Maybe it's wanderlust, maybe it's a selfish squirm.
How good would it feel to just load up the car, roll down the windows, and drive off into the mountains? Doesn't matter where. In fact, better that there isn't a plan, I think. Might end up somewhere more interesting.
In my imagination, it would be nice.
7.24.2011
Summer, so far.
January 1, huh? That was the last time I typed something up? Sad indeed.
We've been doing the usual mix of day hiking and car camping (no backpacking yet this year - where do the weekends go?). Now we have a dog-kid to keep us company (had to buy a whole new tent to squeeze him in). Unfortunately, he's a wimpy city dog ("Sleep on the ground? Me?"). But he's still pretty cute, so I imagine we'll keep him.
We've been doing the usual mix of day hiking and car camping (no backpacking yet this year - where do the weekends go?). Now we have a dog-kid to keep us company (had to buy a whole new tent to squeeze him in). Unfortunately, he's a wimpy city dog ("Sleep on the ground? Me?"). But he's still pretty cute, so I imagine we'll keep him.
1.01.2011
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