Burning yet another vacation day I wouldn’t have been using for anything better anyway, I decided to join in on Wendi’s cunning plan to get the hell out of town for most of a day. We ended up bringing along her usual babysitting charge, Nzhone, but that wasn’t a bad thing.

We packed up, hit the gas station, hit the store, then took off down the Sunset Highway for Cannon Beach. Just before we arrived we decided to stop off for another visit to the World’s Largest Sitka Spruce, or whatever.

Okay, I like trees. But seriously, who travelled the globe, hiked through every forest, just to discover the largest available tree in a particular species? Wow. And I thought I was geeky.

Anyway, we arrived at the beach, trekked out to the sand and surf and proceeded to enjoy the heck out of it all. The kids dug in the sand, we all got our feet wet, we snacked on occasion. At one point Wendi found a… small creature.

No, I don’t know exactly what it was. I’m open to enlightenment, folks.

After our lunch break (no, we didn’t eat that small creature) Haystack Rock became our destination. The kids had a blast climbing around in the tidepools. Alex even scrambled out on his own initiative to look at the sign on the rock. Good heavens, he really is a real boy. (At his age, I’d never have done anything like that. Astonishing.) The girls, of course, busied themselves with the age-old task of getting just as wet and muddy as humanly possible, and enlisting other small children as accomplices. I just took lots of pictures and made a fool of myself for posterity, among other useless acts of nonsense.

Eventually we were all tuckered out, so we piled into the van and headed for home. Other than a traffic jam on the inbound Sunset that forced us to take a scenic route home, we encountered no problems. Except for the small matter of sunburn, that is. You see, while Wendi was making sure that everyone else was appropriately slathered with sunscreen, she forgot about preserving her own skin. (I had assumed she’d already done that, so I didn’t ask. Bad on me.) She’s going to be very, very uncomfortable over the next couple of (working) days. Ouch.

And so here we are, back at home after a grand day at the beach. Oh, you wanted more pictures? Check just below.
Coast Trip – July 2003

Mari and I were chatting briefly yesterday, and several facts presented themselves:

• It’s damned hot outside.
  
• It’s really damned hot outside.
  
• It’s pretty damned hot at home, too.
  
• Malls have air-conditioning.

Based on these carefully collated facts, we decided to get together and dodge the evening heat by wandering around Lloyd Mall for a few hours.

The plan was a resounding success. We grabbed a bite at the food court, though that was trickier than it sounds. You see, nobody had a salad for Mari. Aww. She ended up with a Subway sandwich, which was close enough to “dietarily acceptable” for her needs.

Me, I chowed down on some Arby’s yumminess. I’m not on a diet, you see. (Okay, so I should be. Ah well.)

After our fine dining experience, complete with gazing down on tiny ice princesses, we wandered up and down the mall concourse a few times. I was dragged bodily into a few clothing stores, and took the opportunity to mock various apparel selections. Mercilessly, I tell you.

Closing time arrived, and we decided to head back through Meier & Frank since right outside their door is where the car was parked. But no! We couldn’t actually leave via the door provided! And then when we tried to re-enter the mall concourse, they were closing those doors as well! What the hell was up with that, eh?

Ah well. It was still too damned hot out, so we drove down to the Hawthorne Freddy’s to kill just a bit more time. Mari picked up a pair of dumbbells. No, really, the kind you exercise with. (She already had my company so it’s not like she needed another of that kind of dumbbell.) We looked at “natural” foods, during which time I was mildly creeped out by seeing Paul Newman As “American Gothic Guy” on a bunch of foodstuffs packages. Creepy, I tell you.

Eventually we got bored and tired, so we packed it in for the night. By that time (10-ish) it was dark and quite comfortable outside, so our mission was a complete success!

Don’t you wish you’d been as smart as us, yesterday? Yeah, you know you do.

We’re now solidly in the midst of what is arguably the worst time of year in the fair City of Roses.

Yes, it’s “the hot season,” when daytime temperatures sit patiently between 80-F and 95-F, when the air doesn’t move enough to mean anything, and when the room I now inhabit receives all kinds of direct sunlight since it faces almost due south.

Bleah. I hate hot weather. A large part of the reason I love this town so much is that we really only get a few short months of heat before returning to the nice gray drizzly weather I’m so much more comfortable with.

You can’t do anything in this heat. You don’t want to read, you don’t want to do chores, you don’t want to cuddle up with somebody, you just want to find some ice cream and wait for midnight when the air outside has cooled down some.

Bleah, I say.

Happy Birthday, you.

Another year older, several years wiser, a few pounds lighter, a bit more self-confident, more emotionally scarred, less emotionally crippled, and generally making progress as a mother, a believer, a person, if not any longer as a spouse.

I wish you well. Yes, even now. And I always will.

Okay everybody, it’s your turn now. Go wish Wendi a happy birthday.

You may have noticed my recent silence here and elsewhere (though not everywhere). In large part my lack of updating was caused by a lack of anything to say, pure and simple. A smaller part of the problem, however, is an increasing desire not to get caught in some nasty crossfire.

You may have noticed a certain level of vitriol between various involved parties who I won’t name at this point. My policy up to now has been: I will, in no way, attempt to dictate the content of anyone’s personal website. I will not take sides or attempt to excuse the behaviour of people over whom I have no authority. I encourage everyone to write what they believe to be true, or necessary to say for their own personal well-being.

To this I must add a new policy.

I would appreciate from all involved parties an agreement to at least attempt to deal with relevant accusations and recriminations in some private manner before airing such content publicly. Certain factual errors have crept into various postings that are not helping the situation one tiny bit.

The truth is that many of my friends’ perceptions are unalterably colored by months of negative commentary I made in private correspondence. This has damaged whatever positive relationships may have originally been possible. I habitually took my venting too far out of line without also dealing with those frustrations in a direct and responsible fashion with the party involved.

I can’t take back the things I’ve said or done. I can only apologize to everyone involved for making things ten times worse than they ought to have been. And before you think I’m being whiny and overly apologetic, I will state for the record that at this moment I am in a relatively clear state of mind, and I’m not beating myself up. I’m stating cold hard indisputable facts.

There are several months yet during which I need to be able to live somewhat comfortably under the same roof as the woman I married and still care about. I’m still not going to tell anyone they shouldn’t write what they feel they truly must. I’m only asking for some forebearance, for my sake if nobody else’s, on the topic of the breakup.

Anyone who knows me could tell you that one thing I can’t stand to do is directly impose on another human being. Well, I’m going to attempt an imposition now:

If you have something to say about anything that’s been said or done by myself, herself or anyone directly associated with either, please do so in private first and take it public only if there’s real cause to do so. This world wide mudslinging isn’t helping anything.

Thank you.