News Trend Seattle Hailstorm |Actual

We Seattlites take a lot of ribbing from the rest of the world about our notorious and ever-present rain.

It's true. We get a lot of rainy days here.

But what most non-locals don't understand is that the rain in these parts doesn't fall like most rain.

It's a slow, soft rain, more of a mist actually.

On the average rainy day here, the drops fall so gently that they make no sound, no mad drumming on the rooftop or even constant patter into puddles as in most other parts of the world.

One surefire way to prove this fact is to look at any street full of Seattle pedestrians on a rainy day. We don't use umbrellas. A basic fleece jacket, or even a sweatshirt with a hood.is all we need to stay reasonably dry.

If there was only one thing I wish the world would grasp about the infamous Seattle rain, it's that we don't get more rain, we get slower rain.

Please, help me pass the word.

Important Seattle Weather Fact Number Two comes straight from today's headlines: especially in springtime, we get a surprising amount of hail.

Certainly, we are not known for extreme weather of any kind, but the truth is that every spring, we encounter a few episodes of bouncy white balls of ice falling from our skies.

Today's episode - the second in the past week or so - filled my yard with  icy pellets. I'd say they were about the size of the red rubber eraser on the end of a standard #2 pencil.

I love to watch hail fall. If they hit a soft surface, like the grass or garden, the hailstones drop quietly into place and stay put, but when they drop onto a hard surface - roof, patio, sidewalk, driveway - the crazy devils bounce with great abandon. I find it endlessly entertaining to stand at a second story window and watch them careen wildly off the roof and then ricochet around the patio.

Today, Gracie and I headed out for our walk just as the hail was transitioning into rain. Though much of it was melting fast, we still found some nice pockets of icy hailstones tucked in my garden beds among the spring bloomers.

But mostly we just got wet.

Well. Gracie got wet. Happily, I was snug and dry inside my Seattle-rain-proof fleece jacket.

News Trend Hard Work |Actual

"Life grants nothing to us mortals without hard work." -Horace

* * * * *

Paint your living room in a weekend!

Choose a fresh color to reinvigorate your space!

Re-painting a room is the easiest, cheapest way to redecorate!

Decor and design headlines shout these soothing claims all the time - If you'll just run out and buy yourself a gallon of pretty paint and a handful of brand spanking new supplies, a freshly painted room can be yours in no time!

And P.S. You can paint in whatever cute outfit you happen to be wearing. No need to even change your clothes or put on a smock!

Though I most certainly wasn't looking for it, I encountered another version of this myth one just five minutes ago. (Scroll down for the video.)

Because that is what this spin-doctored story about home painting is, my friends.

A myth.

A fairy tale.

A fantasy.

An outrageously optimistic twisting and turning of the cold, hard truth that painting is hard work.

At this angle, if I squint just so, this almost looks like the normal room. With the couches and the lamps squished together. Little does it reveal about the squalor laying just beyond.

I earned the chops to make this claim because, once again, I just spent a long weekend with a paintbrush in my hand.

There's something about the color of painter's tape that makes me grit my teeth. Blue or green, it's jarring and ugly. Every moment that it's up, I want it to go away.

And I wasn't even painting an entire room.

My goal was simply to freshen the paint on the lower half of my living room - the wainscoting, if you will - and the other bits of trim around the windows and doorways.

Pamplemousse La Croix is an essential element of my painting ritual.

And I wasn't even starting from scratch. About a year ago, when the wood floors in this end of the house were installed, I realized it was high time I repainted the trim as well. I got a good start on this project by laying down the first coat and doing all the tricky cutting in bits.

But then I got distracted by summer.

And then I tore my rotator cuff.

You know, stuff happens.

Sigh. I would much rather be outside pulling weeds.

Last weekend, I did the dining room. As this week kicks off my spring break, I figured I was fresh out of excuses for putting off the rest of the job any longer. Living room and front hall, here I come.

So, promising myself I would wrap up the living room phase over this beginning-of-my-holiday weekend, I shoved the furniture to the middle of the room, disassembled most of the art on the walls, dug through my painting supplies, and dragged into the house what I needed.

Most of my painting supplies are not shiny and new. In fact, they look pretty rough, used and scrubbed and used and scrubbed, a little grubby to be sure but good enough to see me through another project. My ladders - short and tall - have been around for decades and both have the paint splatters to prove it,

Old towels and rags,

paper towels,

cleaning wipes,

and yards and yards of Frog Tape

went into the making of this chaos.

For my painting ensemble, I donned a pair of cherished but entirely overworn sweatpants purchased in Danang, Vietnam, and one of my husband's old flannel shirts.

For at least 15 years, Jim Dale reading Harry Potter has been my go-to entertainment for painting projects. I've been through the entire series at least a dozen times and still enjoy every sentence.

Then I cranked the audio books and got to work.

.

Gracie loves painting projects because they tend to keeps me in one room, so she doesn't have to keep track of me and follow me around the house.

In her two and a half years with me, Gracie has grown well accustomed to my painting parties. She waited patiently while I cleared her a path to the couches, then she hopped up and assumed a napping position, her head perfectly propped on the pillows.

She's quiet as a mouse until around 5:30 when she comes out of hibernation and reminds me that maybe it's time for a walk.

Hours flew by.

I climbed up and down ladders,

cursed the imperfect nature of masking tape,

cleaned up a hundred dribbles of paint on the floor,

changed the CDs,

and celebrated each tiny bit of progress.

Gracie drowsily changed sofas once or twice, and kept sleeping. Good dog.

Taping off the pie-shaped sections of the half-circle window and the rounded edges of the trim piece that runs along the top of the four lower windows put my taping skills to the test.

As Sunday afternoon wound down, I faced the sad truth: I wasn't even going to finish the living room job this weekend.

I still have a few stretches of straight, flat wall that need a second coat. Thank goodness I saved the easiest task for last.

But I can't - won't - wait to complete this room because next weekend, I'm scheduled to paint the wainscoting and trim in the front hall. I know, I know - it's my schedule and I can change it if I want. But if I don't scratch this painting job off the top of my to-do list soon, I am going to make myself crazy.

So tomorrow morning, I will resume. Once the last of the painting is done, I'll clean up the mess, scrub the floors, and breathe an enormous sigh of relief. And then next Saturday, I'll start all over again.

My mission for Monday morning: race down this section with a mini-roller for a final second coat, and then I'll finally be done! Until Saturday.

Tonight, as I sit here in my painting paints, speckles of dried paint on my arms, and a self-inflicted chaos of painting debris waiting for me in the next room, let me say with authority and conviction:

Painting a room is hard work.

News Trend Spring Cleaning - Day One |Actual

It was closing in on two a.m. and I was winding down my evening. Scrolling through a last couple links, I was in that headspace of telling myself that I really needed to stop "just one more"-ing myself  because that's a deadly game that I never can win, and head to bed.

But then, I ran into this.

Apartment Therapy's Spring Cleaning Challenge

Oh dang. I've been waiting for this.

Apartment Therapy, if you're not familiar, is "a home and decor site, designed to inspire anyone to live a more beautiful and happy life at home."

Their words, not mine. Though as a long-time reader and all-around fan, I'd say that hits the nail fairly well on the head.

What I really like about AT is its unpretentious style and realistic point of view. The homes featured on the site are not extravagant beyond ordinary means; quite the opposite. They tend to be beautiful and unique, but also affordable and do-able for most of us ordinary folk.

It's one of a handful of websites that routinely sits on my daily check-in list, and that's saying something.

To be fair, AT targets Millenials - and even Gen Zers at this point - relative newcomers to adulting who are still figuring out how to keep house. My impression is that the editors sometimes take this mentorship too far and, in my humble opinion, occasionally talk down to the young home-dweller. Since I am decades beyond their intended demongraphic, I don't take the condescension personally.

But I digress.

That Spring Cleaning Challenge sat me up on the edge of my post-midnight seat and instantly kicked  my adrenaline into overdrive. I've had a lot of fun with this annual feature in the past, and while sometimes it goes a bit far for my tastes - I'm not going to waste time slathering my oven in a baking soda paste just because of some urban myth that says automatic oven cleaning cycles are evil - I'm always game to check out the daily tasks and play along.

So I scrolled past the introductory chatter and looked at the first chore:

Day 1: Clear One Small Surface

Hmm. Okay. Now that's a fun one. Eager to participate, I mentally searched my home for a place that needed this kind of help. But right off the top of my head, I couldn't quickly land on a horizontal surface in my home with a currently messy situation.

I know. The benefits of social distancing. I'm totally on my clutter game.

But at this point, I suddenly and desperately wanted to clean something so I was bound and determined to generate an idea.

And then I looked right in front of my face.

Oh, right. The desk upon which my computer sits. Not exactly a pigsty, but with a messy stack of books on left side, a couple of empty LaCroix cans on the right, and Lord knows what kind of dust bunnies lurking in the cords behind the screen, I knew I had landed just the right job.

So delightedly, I leapt into the project.

Books whisked back to their proper shelves.

Cans deposited in the recycling.

Dust eliminated.

That was fun.

But I finished my project with barely two minutes of work.

Clearly this was not going to satisfy the burning desire to clean that had been so quickly and completely ignited.

So I did what any over-stimulated late-night clean freak would do: I attacked the drawers.

My bamboo desk has three cute little cubbies for stationery, notes, important papers, what have you.

And while they weren't exactly a mess, I emptied and wiped out and decluttered and straightened until my desk was a masterpiece of tidy and I was satisfied.

^ Stamps,

my favorite art gum eraser in a bubble-painted clay pinch pot,

and a paperweight I made in first grade.

Greeting cards tucked in the back.

^ Pens,

notebooks,

a leopard print case for glasses that I never wear.

A stack of useful business cards,

a couple of very important memory cards for my camera,

and a little red box.

Hiding in the far back: a pile of IKEA receipts and a pom-pom.

^ A super cute 2020 date book that I always forget to use,

and a utilitarian/ugly spiral notebook that I use almost every day. Go figure.

My favorite Crayola fine-tip markers.

Underneath the notebooks, a few important papers.

With a sigh of contentment, I snapped off the desk light, called to my dog, and headed up the stairs to bed. And as I fell contentedly asleep, my final thought for the day was, "I wonder what tomorrow's challenge will be."

News Trend Double Delight|Actual

It's not at all unusual for me to wake up in the morning to find a bone in my bed.

Well, it sure beats a horse head, but it's still a bit odd.

But Gracie loves her rawhide treats and sometimes, when I give her her daily after-dinner bone, she opts not to chew it right away but to save it, I suppose, for the proverbial rainy day.

When we go to bed, my big red dog often carries her treasure up the stairs and tucks it under my bed, behind the curtains, or into the corners of her favorite sleeping chair.

I suppose it's when she comes back to bed after her early morning breakfast that Gracie apparently retrieves one of her hidden bones - my husband says he often hears her thumping and rattling around in our room from his listening post in the kitchen below - and brings it into my bed.

It's only later when I'm making the bed that I often come across one of these precious bones, laid across the blankets, tucked underneath the comforters, or even buried behind the pillows. Not exactly sure what her emotional motivation might be, but I imagine this as the canine equivalent of a toddler bringing along her beloved teddy bear when she hops into mom's bed to greet the new day.

I can understand that others may not share my sentiment, but I find Gracie's little habit to be endearing and sweet.

So just imagine my double delight today when I found not one but two of Gracie's morning surprises tucked in my bed.

News Trend Hopes and Dreams In The Silverware Drawer|Actual

Like every other bride who tossed on a white dress and marched into wedded bliss, my newly married brain was positively bursting with hopes and dreams for my new life ahead.

A home.

A family.

A life full of action and celebration and plenty of good food.

Though my imagination visualized this fantastic future in many forms, I was particularly fascinated by our new set of silverware.

We tagged Oneida's American Colonial in our gift registry and as the days crept closer to our wedding day, the place settings began to show up at our doorstep. Before we drove off on our cross-country honeymoon, my husband and I were the proud owners of a full 12-piece service.

At least as much as the ring on my finger, my silverware made me feel settled and established. Though my husband and I began to use our forks, spoons, and knives day to day right away, those hopes and dreams niggled at the back of my mind.  I wondered over and over again, would they ever come true?

Yes, they did. My actual life since those days has more than surpassed my twenty-five-year-old imagination, and my set of silverware has indeed been at the center of that marvelously madcap life.

So much so, in fact, that a few pieces of it have disappeared here and there over the years.

Left behind after a picnic.

Carried off in a school lunch.

Pitched into the garbage with a sea of takeout wrappers.

As the years went by and I began to realize that some of my silverware had gone missing, I consoled myself; Someday you can buy replacements of whatever's been lost, and your set will be whole again.

Which sounds easy enough. But during those crazy years of raising four daughters on a single income, buying extra teaspoons seemed like an outrageous extravagance. Someday felt like a long, long time away.

* * * * *

Fast forward to last week. As our lives slowed to a Covid-19 crawl, and I've become more reflective about what matters in life, my silverware situation came to the forefront of my mind. While I'm not saying that buying flatware became my moral imperative, this seemed like the right time to reinvest in my family, in my vision for who we are, and who we are in the midst of becoming.

Filling in my silverware set took on

an air of optimism,

an act of confidence in the future,

a willingness to believe that life still holds out promise for us all.

So I inventoried my collection, scraped together some cash, and bought what I was missing.

Now my silverware settings are complete once again, and my hopes and dreams live on.

* * * * *

Read more stories about life with Covid-19 here in suburban Seattle:

Sitting Pretty

Scenes Of An Ordinary Easter

Our First Church

Silver Linings

Hopes And Dreams In The Silverware Drawer

Life Of A (Socially Distant) Math Teacher: Midterms

Keep Life Simple

What I'm Doing Lately

Do Dinner

Covid Cleaning

Gracie's And My Daily (Socially Distant) Walks

Life Of A (Socially Distant) Math Teacher

Miracle Of Light

Social Distancing In My Dining Room

Social Distancing In My Kitchen

We're On The Road To Shambala

Sunshine And Disco Balls

Feel Better

Covid-19 Is For Real

A COVID-19 Update

Checking In From Coronavirus Central

News Trend Silver Linings|Actual

You wouldn't know it from this shot, but my neighborhood sidewalks have been hopping lately.

Even though Gracie and I have been delaying our daily outings until five thirty or six p.M. In order to avoid the heaviest human traffic, we are still coming face to six feet away face with dozens of people (and dogs) as we tour around. Biking, scootering, pushing strollers, jogging, walking dogs, holding hands - you name it. As a long-time walker, I can say with confidence that the volume of people out and about is many times more than what used to pass for normal. Even on sunny spring days, by early evening these streets used to be close to empty, and I marvel at the energy and enthusiasm, not to mention downright family fun, that I'm seeing every single darn day.

* * * * *

Earlier today, I was doing some reading on notable conservationists from the nineteenth century. (I know, that's a jolting segue, but I'll explain more in a day or two.) Here, if you'll indulge me because I promise to connect these dots, I learned that John Muir, famed naturalist, writer, and passionate protector of lands destined to become some of our proudest national parks, started out as a inventor of machines. But then an accident involving projectile bits of something sharp and dangerous nearly put out his eye, and he decided to look for another line of work.

In this funky time of not knowing what would happen next, Muir took to hiking and walked alone from the Midwest to the Gulf of Mexico, thereby fueling the sense of adventure and love of nature that propelled him into his new career as the father of terkini environmentalism and proud papa of Yosemite National Park and Sequoia National Park, among others. Muir founded the Sierra Club to further his ideals and goals, thereby securing a legacy of environmentalism for generations to come.

Hmm. Interesting. I read on.

Next noted personality on my research list was Frederick Law Olmsted, a Scottish-born Connecticuter with big plans to go to Yale. But just before he shipped off to school, he suffered a bout ofsumac poisoning that weakened his eyes and derailed his plans for Yale. Poor Olmsted spent years drifting through a series of apprenticeships, and even tried his hand at farming before settling into journalism. His career took off and, while rubbing shoulders with intellectual giants, Olmsted struck up a friendship with a charismatic landscape architect named Andrew Downing.

Despite Downing's intent to enter in the design competition for the new proposed park in New York City, he died in a steamboat accident before he could submit his plan. With absolutely zero pelatihan or experience in landscape architecture, Olmsted stepped in to further Downing's ideas and ended up winning the hearts of America and the world for not just the majesty of Central Park but a string of other urban parks that graced the United States like a necklace of emerald stones. Olmsted believed that green space should be available to all people at all times, a concept that stands at the heart of a public park, and an idea that may sound obvious to us but was at that time, a revelation.

* * * * *

As Gracie and I walked along today, dodging kids on bikes, wagging hellos to other pups, smiling and greeting neighbors that we saw along the way, Muir and Olmsted popped back up in my mind.

Covid-19 is no one's idea of a good plan. This determined virus is our piece of flying metal, our case of poison sumac, and it has - at least for now - thrown us off the path we planned to follow. And we are allowed to grieve that fact.

But after some time for the licking of our collective psychic wounds, after this disease finishes its rampant run through the world, after we come to terms with the loss of loved ones who have not survived, we may be able to see Covid-19 as something else.

Maybe, just maybe, this pandemic will be the turning point in our postmodern lives. Though in these early days, it's been looking like nothing short of a tragedy, maybe, just maybe, the coronavirus is leading us in the direction of a better life, a life that at this moment in time of pain and confusion and loss, like John Muir and Frederick Law Olmsted, we can't even begin to imagine.

And so it may be that heading out for with the family for a socially distant walk around the block on a sunny spring afternoon might just be the sliver lining of this storm and the start of something really good.

* * * * *

Read more stories about life with Covid-19 here in suburban Seattle:

Sitting Pretty

Scenes Of An Ordinary Easter

Our First Church

Silver Linings

Hopes And Dreams In The Silverware Drawer

Life Of A (Socially Distant) Math Teacher: Midterms

Keep Life Simple

What I'm Doing Lately

Do Dinner

Covid Cleaning

Gracie's And My Daily (Socially Distant) Walks

Life Of A (Socially Distant) Math Teacher

Miracle Of Light

Social Distancing In My Dining Room

Social Distancing In My Kitchen

We're On The Road To Shambala

Sunshine And Disco Balls

Feel Better

Covid-19 Is For Real

A COVID-19 Update

Checking In From Coronavirus Central

News Trend Our First Church|Actual

"Father and Mother are apostles, bishops, and priests to their children, for it is they who make them acquainted with the gospel." -Martin Luther

It's easy and fun to celebrate worship at home. To prepare, we bake communion bread according to the classic recipe from Luther Seminary, and use whatever wine -red or white - we have on hand. After dinner, we set out the sacraments, and add a few treasures: a candle because Jesus is the light of the world and a few pebbles because, you know, he rocks.

You won't be shocked to hear that on this Good Friday evening, when we would traditionally head off to join in the special Holy Week service at our church, my family honored the day with a worship at home.

Covid-19 strikes again.

But what may be a bit more surprising is that this is nothing new for us. Almost exactly one year ago, I stopped going to Sunday worship at church. The 9:30 a.M. Start time was throwing my delicately calibrated delayed sleep phase schedule out of wack and taking a toll on my health. So while my husband still heads off to church, I've been staying home.

This is not a decision that makes me happy.

I miss seeing my friends' smiling faces.

I miss the songs we sing together.

I miss sharing that weekly slice of life with people I care about.

I haven't found a workaround for those sacrifices, and that makes me sad.

But what I can do is gather my family around the table after Sunday dinner and worship at home. We read together the bible verses of the day, talk a bit about however we feel moved, and then celebrate communion together.

Though it started out as a second-group substitute, this family worship time has become a meaningful practice in its own right.

We search Google for the day's bible verses  -  "ELCA lessons today" - and pass the phone around the table so everyone gets a turn to read. If my husband heard the message at church, he may share a few points from the preaching, but mostly we discuss our own responses to the texts.

My guy, Martin Luther, held some strong opinions about the sacred dimensions of family life.

An ex-monk who married an ex-nun, Luther and his wife gave birth to six children and adopted four more. Their home was a happy one, overflowing with music, beer, and love of life, and he held no place to be more full of God's glory that his own dining room table during the evening meal.

Parents, Luther believed, carry the joy and responsibility of opening their sons' and daughters' hearts to the love of God. And while he allowed that this might happen in places that we call churches and Sunday School today, Martin Luther saw the family home as the First Church and the center of the beating heart of faith.

Finally, we share the Lord's Supper and pray the Lord's Prayer. While this procession isn't fancy or finely tuned, it is ours. And that seems the most important thing.

So Good Friday will come and go, and eventually Covid-19 will loosen its grip on our activities and we'll be free to resume our normal lives again.

But my family and I will keep worshiping on here at home, in our First Church.

* * * * *

Read more stories about my life with Covid-19 here in suburban Seattle:

Sitting Pretty

Scenes Of An Ordinary Easter

Our First Church

Silver Linings

Hopes And Dreams In The Silverware Drawer

Life Of A (Socially Distant) Math Teacher: Midterms

Keep Life Simple

What I'm Doing Lately

Do Dinner

Covid Cleaning

Gracie's And My Daily (Socially Distant) Walks

Life Of A (Socially Distant) Math Teacher

Miracle Of Light

Social Distancing In My Dining Room

Social Distancing In My Kitchen

We're On The Road To Shambala

Sunshine And Disco Balls

Feel Better

Covid-19 Is For Real

A COVID-19 Update

Checking In From Coronavirus Central