News Trend Safe And Sound|Actual

Crossing the street toward home, Gracie's mind is on one thing: dinner.

When I heard the unmistakable sound of a dog barking up ahead, my brain sounded a red alert.

Gracie and I were about to round the corner of our secret building on the back property of our local high school. Surrounded by woods and a wide, smooth, and rarely-used paved lane, on weekends and school holidays such as today, this is a perfect place to let a dog off leash for a romp.

Which is fine. As long as the dog is friendly.

I pulled my dog's ultra long leash up short as we approached the turn, and sure enough, we stepped around to find a thirty-ish year old couple and their two big dogs. Both pets were off leash, and the woman was holding one of those plastic ball-flinging devices. I shuffled and stamped enough to make sure they heard me, and sure enough, all four heads snapped in our direction.

Which might have been fine.

Before the walk, I fill her bowl and have it ready to go upon our return.

She wastes no time in digging in.

Since my dogs have been attacked a handful of times over the years in what appeared at first to be friendly encounters, I now go to great lengths to avoid meeting dogs I don't know. When both dogs are leashed, I keep my dog well out of the other dog's range and that does the trick. But when the other dog is off leash, my always-leashed dog and I are at a serious disadvantage.

The English sheepdog showed no inclination to meet us, but the Black Lab mix, who stood a bit taller than Gracie, took a bee line toward us.

"Zeus! Come!" Mama called, but guess what.

Zeus did not come.

He continued his march toward Gracie and me.

I quickly assessed Zeus's body language:

Eyes locked in on my dog,

Ears back,

Teeth slightly bared,

Tail frozen,

Stiff legs,

And prickling black hackles standing up along the full length of his neck.

I recognized the classic signs of a dog in aggressive mode.

Which was definitely not fine at all.

Her nose does not come up out of the bowl until every last bite is gone.

With Gracie pressed against my left side, clearly intimidated, I began to slowly back up.

Zeus continued toward us.

His people were standing and watching, apparently oblivious to their dog's obviously aggressive posture. To be honest, I was terrified.

In the next instant, I was utterly surprised to hear myself speak in a calm yet commanding voice:

"Call off your dog. Now."

Finally the woman acted. Still not seeming to read her dog's behavior, she walked over to where Zeus was backing us up along the lane, and after what seemed like ten minutes rather than ten seconds, grabbed his collar and hauled him back.

Both my mildly panicked dog and I breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and booked it away from them as fast as we could.

Which was absolutely wonderful.

While I get ready to prepare the humans' evening meal, Gracie settles into her favorite post-dinner spot: directly in front of the kitchen sink.

While part of me wanted to give those two a good lecture about the perils of letting dogs off leash who do not come when they are called, I decided instead to share this story with my fellow dog owners as a precautionary tale.

Please learn the signs of potential aggression as well as the signs of a playful pup. This article provides a nice summary.

Watch your own dog's reaction too; in an unfamiliar situation, our beloved pets can change gears quickly and it's our task to take them out of any encounter that isn't going well.

Even though we humans often enjoy the social interaction of meeting up with other dogs and their humans, it's worth remembering that these moments can quickly turn from fun to fatal. What matters to me, more than any lovely dogs we may meet along the way, is getting my dog back home, safe and sound.

News Trend Tulalip Tribes|Actual

Not so many years ago, Native Americans lived on the land where my house now stands.

The Coastal Salish tribes spread up and down the Puget Sound, along the Strait of Juan de Fuca, and up into the Strait of Georgia to the north. Settling near the ever-present coast, the people thanked the land for the bountiful food that sustained them: shellfish, berries, roots and greens, and of course, the salmon. The majestic cedar tree provided housing, boats for fishing, clothing, baskets, mats, and most every other essential of daily life. The Natives lived in abundance and peace, sharing a common language called Lashootseed, living communally in longhouses, and teaching their younger generations through songs and stories.

That life changed forever in 1855 with the Treaty of Point Elliot. The United States government laid claim to the lands around Puget Sound and backed the tribes onto reservations. Along with the presiding government dignitaries, Chief Seattle and a couple dozen other tribal leaders signed the documents with an X, and that was that.

Point Elliot lies in the heart of Mukilteo. The treaty that robbed the Coastal Salish of their home was signed a few miles from my home. The natives who lived here in Mukilteo, the Snoqualmie Tribe, were moved to the Tulalip Reservation about twenty miles north of here, along with a handful of other local tribes. They live there to this day.

Look, I'll be honest. I'm completely ashamed at the way my ancestors, my countrymen, treated our native people. When I first learned about treaties and reservations in grade school, I couldn't believe what I was hearing.I felt sick to my stomach to think how the United States set out to systematically obliterate the culture of these people, without ever taking the time to learn from them or even understand them.

So when my fourth-born proposed that we pay a visit to the Tulalip Tribes' Hibulb Cultural Center, the old familiar queasiness rushed to my gut. I dreaded the stories I would encounter there, the ugly truths about my people. But after a bit more thought, I decided that the best way to show my respect to the local natives, who since time began guarded the place that would become my home, would be to learn more about them.

So. Last Friday, off we went.

^ Sitting under the green spires of evergreens and alongside a healthy creek, the Cultural Center looks quite at home in nature. Native plants and curving walkways made me feel connected to the earth even as I walked in from the parking lot, and I felt like I was starting off on the right foot.

^ The cedar tree is central to the Costal Salish tribes' way of life, and is well represented at the Cultural Center. For starters, much of the building's exterior is covered in gorgeous cedar planks. Just like my roof at home.

^ The heart of the Cultural Center, just as it was in the Natives' original way of life, is the longhouse. This replica showcases the traditional construction of solid cedar. Every inch of the ceiling, walls, framing, and seating are fragrant, gorgeous, glowing cedar. I found it difficult to capture the spirit of the long house through my camera lens, especially while trying to edit out the terkini-day additions of speakers, spotlights, and projectors. Even quiet and empty, the room rang with high spirits.

^ When the U.S. Government gained the upper hand over the tribes, they outlawed the long house. Existing structures on ceded lands were demolished; no new ones could be built on reservation land. Well. Correction. None were built until 1915, when a forward-thinking Native named William Shelton suggested to the US powers that perhaps the Tulalip Tribes might be allowed to build a long house in order to properly celebrate the upcoming sixty-year anniversary of the Point Elliot Treaty. He was granted permission. Clever man.

If I've got the story straight, Mr. Shelton constructed much of that first longhouse himself, and lovingly carved four cedar poles to adorn the room. The original structure is gone now, but his poles live on in the Cultural Center's longhouse and I was thrilled to see them.

^ Long boats, another key feature of Coastal Salish life and gift from the cedar tree, line the hallway that runs through the Cultural Center. I could hear the waves lapping at the side of the hull and see the fish flapping in the bottom of the vessel as the traps were emptied to be carried back to camp.

^ We spent hours poring over the exhibits. I loved the visual displays that focused on two central elements of the tribes' pre-contact lives: the salmon and the cedar. I was also charmed by this photo of Shelton's daughter, Harriette Shelton Dover, dressed in traditional clothing and standing by one of her father's handcarved poles, looking at a 1938 copy of Life magazine featuring actress Carole Lombard on the cover.

At the other end of the spectrum, I was disturbed to learn about how the U.S. Government forced the native children into boarding schools and used that institution to break the family unit and destroy the culture. They almost succeeded.

The actual Treaty of Point Elliot is also on display, on loan from the National Archives. Protected by a framed case and a thick layer of glass, the words of the treaty aren't legible but the signatures are. All the anger and anguish I've ever felt about the injustices to our native people came to a boiling point as I stood and examined the names of the Native leaders who made their mark in good faith, and the government officials who surely knew that they were making promises that would not be kept. To think this monstrous moment took place at my hometown beach, a place that I associate with fun and freedom and the glory of my charmed life, well, that really makes me sad.

And mad.

But as my daughter and I finally left the Cultural Center and walked back toward the parking lot, my mood softened. I hadn't noticed it when we arrived, but towering over my car was a massive cedar tree. Still a youngster by coastal standards, this tree is the embodiment of everything that the Tulalip Tribes, and my very own Snohomish Tribe, stood for, a proud and self-sustaining symbol of their pre-contact way of life.

The U.S. Government stripped the Natives of their land, and tried to take away their culture, their identiy, their traditions, their language, their dignity.

But just like the mighty cedar, I'm glad to say that the Tulalip Tribes are still standing tall.

News Trend Birthday Hikes 1 And 2|Actual

Another birthday for my fourth-born nature-loving daughter, another hike in the wilds of the Pacific Northwest, right?

Wrong.

On this birthday outing, we hiked two lovely trails in a single afternoon, each one a dream.

Gracie loves to lead our hikes. She also loves to double back, walk in circles around us, and tie us up in a life-size cat's cradle.

The original plan was to combine forest and beach in a single hike along the beach access trail at South Whidbey State Park. But due to beach erosion, that trail has been shuttered indefinitely. So we shifted our sights to the Wilburt Trail, an easy .8 mile stroll through old growth.

Approximately once every 2.Lima seconds, she swivels her head back to make sure we're still coming.

And what a tale these trees could tell, if only they could talk. Back in 1977, this lovely glade was slated to be clear cut until a local small-scale logger named Jack Noel recognized the value of rhis place as one of the few remaining stands of old growth on the island, and vowed to protect it. Noel rallied the community to help him, and together they formed a group called Save The Trees.

One key feature of an old growth forest is the wide spaces between the towering mature trees and plenty of leafy ferns on the forest floor in which the Ewoks hide.

Yes. You've heard the jargon. This is where it all began.

Way, way over our heads, the trees' canopies nearly block out the sun. Which on a rainy February day in the Pacific Northwest is a particularly funny joke.

The Wilburts, for whom the trail is named, joined the group and were apparently particularly stalwart defenders of said trees.

I'm no expert but over the years I've learned to tell most local evergreens by their distinctive bark. The Western Red Cedar features smooth, even lines that are just begging to be harvested by a Coast Salish native and woven into a delicate basket.

Fast forward to the happy ending: these majestic old trees were indeed saved, though not without being encircled by humans holding hands to protect the trees against chain saws and bulldozers.

Try as I might, I failed to convince my dog to pose for me inside this cedar tree.

She has her own mind.

I am not kidding. These woods gave birth to the tree-hugging movement and forever changed the way Washington manages its forests.

I

If a class of threatening loggers suddenly burst from the brush, I have no doubt that my birthday girl would hug the Ancient Cedar for all she's worth.

This particular tree, known as the Ancient Cedar and revered as the Queen of the Forest, dates back at least 500 years and was one of the favored trees protected by the tree-huggers. Visiting just a week after Valentine's Day, we noticed that the ground around the trunk was strewn with red rose petals, which led us to theorize that someone used this magical place for a marriage proposal. Brilliant idea.

Pretty feet. Good thing we brought plenty of towels.

We cruised the full length of the Wilbert Trail, then followed our steps back again. A great trail for little kids, though we saw mostly dogs with their humans.

Gracie explored thoroughly and repeatedly demonstrated her fearlessness of oozing black mud.

Which was all well and good. But now our muddy princess was in desperate need of some beachfront playtime and salt-water bathing stat.

She marched right into the water, well above the line of mud on her legs, and I breathed a sigh of contentment and relief.

Happily, our old friend Double Bluff Beach waited for us just a few miles down the island. The mud didn't even have time to dry before Gracie was romping across the sand and into the chilly water.

"Ducks! I see ducks!"

Plenty of dogs and their humans at this spot too, though even at high tide, the beach offers plenty of room to spread out. Gracie greeted a handful of dogs her size in a subdued fashion, then found a poodle wearing a turquoise fleece vest who really captured her fancy. Their joyful romp set us all to smiling.

The sky was filled with waves of  rolling grey clouds, straight in off the Pacific Ocean. We filled our lungs with snapping cold air till we felt renewed; raindrops fell but not hard enough to threaten our fun.

Gulls soared through the air, ducks floated in platoons across the waves which always delights Gracie, and we saw a bald eagle at the top of the bluff, watching us staring back up at him.

My husband came along and so we had binoculars. He's the type who always remembers to bring the binoculars.

We hitched a ride on the MV Tokitae, the older of Mukilteo's two ferries. Launched in 2014 to carry 144 vehicles across the water more than a dozen times a day.

And then, with the afternoon well spent, we headed home.

Okay it's not Palm Springs but I love this place.

Just a few miles back across the island, and then a hop, skip, and a jump across Possession Sound, and we're home.

On both of our crossings today, we were one of the last cars boarded, affording us a lovely view from our mirrors. Here's looking at you, Whidbey Island.

And while this marks the end of another splendid birthday outing, with not one but two satisfying adventures, we will soon be back, Whidbey Island. We've always got our sights set on you.

News Trend My 2018 Handmade Valentines|Actual

"I'm like the kid in kindergarten. I really do send Valentines to everyone."

-Susie Bright

Me too, Susie. Me too

I find few things as satisfying as gathering up bits of paper and bottles of paint, and busting out a flurry of Valentines at my kitchen table.

This year's batch was easy, fast, and fun.

I ripped watercolor paper into postcard-sized pieces.

I painted each card three times:

The first time, I covered the whole card with pink or red watercolor.

The second time, I added the same color to the bottom two-thirds of the card.

And the third time, I painted just the bottom third.

In order to get the crisp lines between the graduated colors, I patiently let each layer dry before I added the next.

That's a lie.

I may have waited. But I guarantee that I did not wait patiently.

Watercolor makes me crazy with all the waiting for layers to dry. But, as I must constantly remind myself, it's always worth the wait.

Once the watercolor layers were dry - and I mean thoroughly dry, out came the gold acrylic paint and a small, pointy brush.

The small, pointy brushes never stay properly pointy for long. Their bristles tend to wobble and spread, and again, if we're being honest, I'd rather just go buy a new one than try to coax an old timer to shape up and get the job done right.

I bought a new one for this project.

To really get top notch saturation on my gold Xs and Os, I double-coated sections of the letters as needed.

The Valentine manufacturing process is not for the faint of heart.

More dying time. Lots more drying time.

We ate dinner in the dining room for the better part of the week.

But in good time, my creations were ready to be tucked into envelopes and mailed off across the world.

Which is just as it should be. Love is meant to be shared, and Valentine's Day is the perfect time for me to remind all the people in my life that they matter.

And that is why, just like a kid in kindergarten,  I send Valentines to everyone I know.

* * * * *

Every year, I make my own Valentines and every year, they're just a little bit different:

2019 Valentines

My 2018 Handmade Valentines

2014 Draw This: Watercolor Valentines

2013 Valentines: Take Heart

2012 Handmade Valentine Love

News Trend Harbingers Of Spring |Actual

In autumn of 1986, I was a brand spanking new, first-time homeowner with an itch to plant a garden.

Along with a dozen bright red tulips and several miniature 'Tête-à-tête' daffodils, I bought a dozen purple crocus bulbs and without any concern for light requirements, planting depth, or soil amendments, I simply popped them into the ground.

My optimism trumped my garden experience. I simply hoped for the best.

Thirty some odd years later, I think it's fair to say my crocuses have taken hold.

For all these many years, these hardy fellows have been first to greet me as they spring forth in the last days of winter. The strengthening sunlight coaxes the blooms up among the old leaves of autumn and persuades the purple petals to open.

Each blossom waxes and wanes in just a day or two. Thankfully, more blossoms pop up every day, so the waves of new flowers rolls on for a week or two.

Even so, the season of the crocuses is always over too soon. Which always makes me feel a bit sad.

I remind myself every year that they are just the first of many flowers that will pop up here and there across my yard for months to come.

They are not the end.

They are just the beginning.

They are the harbingers of spring, these purple crocuses of mine, and even though I'm now quite an experienced gardener, they still fill me with optimism.

News Trend Sunny Sanctuary|Actual

Seattle winters can be murder on houseplants.

Literally.

The combination of extreme low light coupled with tons of humidity - have you heard that it rains fairly often in Seattle? Mhmm - sets most green growing things up for a double whammy. The diminished sunshine sends the poor babies into hibernation, but the humid air keeps pumping water into their soil that simply cannot be put to good use.

And plants die.

It's a very sad scene.

Now I've suffered through this culling of the herd for many years now, and I've learned two tried-and-true tricks that have proven to save herbaceous lives:

1. Water only when the soil is bone dry.

2. Saturate the poor struggling babies in sunshine.

I'm very thankful that the back side of my house faces south and we get some really fantastic light, even through the heavy gloom of  so-called "marine layers" that blanket our skies all winter long.

And from its perch on the second floor, my bedroom catches more rays than any other room in the house.

So it has become a healing place for plants who are in trouble.

^ Air plants and succulents do not like winter at all. I've mourned the passing of so many of these little sun-loving darlings that I take no chances at all. From Halloween till Easter, my precious babies get prime real estate in front of my bedroom window, and I examine them every morning to be sure they have just enough but never too much water.

Nothing is too good for these tender beings. They reward my hard work with their adorableness.

^ This enthusiastic trailing plant needs a ton of sunshine and shockingly dry soil to keep its leaves from dying off in droves. Over the years, it's lived in various places around the house but the vines are now happy only when swooped across my bedroom window. I've done nothing particularly intentional to prop the vines; I pretty much just tuck them up over the curtain rod and they are content. New leaves unfurl daily.

How can I not love this one. She asks for so little and gives so much. .

^ Ten years ago, this wooden bowl from the thrift store served as home to four or five pathetically drooping and desperate succulents. After moving the poor collection of ne'er-do-wells from one place to another, I settled them here on a bamboo swing. And ever since...Well, the results speak for themselves. Pale green petals on long, elaborate stems, jade plants that curve and arch toward the ceiling, and burro's tail for days.

This class of happy campers survive on neglect and sunshine, and I couldn't be more proud.

A couple years ago, I took on this peperomia as a rescue from my fourth-born. Though her bedroom also gets amazing sun, she had housed it on the lower shelf of a bookcase and lost patience with its failure to thrive. After experimenting with several locations around my room, I discovered that my husband's nightstand is her favorite spot, and she has rewarded me (him?) with lots of new thick, glossy, and deeply colored leaves.

She wasn't a lazy plant. Just misunderstood. I'm glad she's feeling better.

^ Snake plants are known for their much-appreciated ability to prosper and grow even in shadowy corners. This specimen settled into our north-facing bedroom last year, and seemed to be doing fine. But this past weekend, when I plopped him into the bathtub for his monthly watering, I learned differently. At first glance, he looked healthy enough; I found a handful of new blades sprouting up among the oldsters. But to my dismay, I also noticed that a half dozen of the taller leaves had dried out, leaving brown paper-thin sections that ran down from the tips, sometimes just a few inches but in some horrifying cases, all the way to their base.

I quickly realized that this was a full-blown plant emergency.

Hayley, you know exactly how I feel.

^ So now my snake plant has been relocated here by my side of the bed where I can keep a close eye on the darling. He made need just a scooch more water than the one-monthly regime I had him on before, but I have full faith in the healing powers of my sunny sanctuary to restore him - and all my other winter-weakened plants - to full health.

News Trend Checking In From Coronavirus Central|Actual

In other news, spring is arriving right on schedule.

Greetings from U.S. Cororavirus Central.

My home state of Washington has catapulted itself onto the world stage this week with eleven deaths so far from the scourge of COVID-19 (as of March 6 at 11 a.M.). Nine of those connect to a nursing home in Kirkland, a Seattle suburb about twenty miles away from me. A tenth victim died in downtown Seattle; the eleventh here in my very own Snohomish County.

Put those numbers up against the entire country, where there's been only one other death, total.

So yeah. At the moment, Seattle is pretty much Ground Zero

We've all seen the shots of empty aisles in local stores where antibacterial hand gel and toilet paper are supposed to be - last weekend, people definitely went a little crazy on the stockpiling.

I heard Whole Foods ran out of rice and lentils.

Such a Seattle dilema.

But I'm happy to report that here in my little corner of the world, life rolls on more or less as usual.

Crowds at the gym, the library, the grocery store are more or less the same.

Some of my students were exposed not to coronavirus but to hand, foot, and mouth disease last weekend, so just to be on the safe side, I cancelled our regular classes and recorded instructional videos for my students instead. You can check them out on my Youtube channel if you're interested in multiplying with scientific notation or factoring trinomials.

Worship rolls on at my church, both on Sunday mornings and our Thursday evening Lenten services. Coronavirus has caused the regular coffee hours and soup suppers to be cancelled; eating together increaases risks of transmission, so that's a prudent move.

My husband reports that life is a bit quieter in his neighborhood at work since Amazon sent their employees off to work at home. But it's business as usual at his office, and while there may be a few more empty seats than usual on his commute, the buses are still running on normal schedules.

Gas stations are busy.

Target's still hopping.

Traffic still sucks.

Undoubtedly, life is continuing apace, with few visible upsets or cancellations.

Still, I'm left with the impression that we Seattlites are all paying attention, doing what we reasonably can to keep calm and carry on.

Which is just what we should be doing, here in coronavirus central.

Update: Later this same day, I stopped by the medical clinic for a routine appointment. Meeting me at the door was a staff person wearing a mask who asked me if I had come to be treated for a cough or a fever. "Nope, I'm good," I returned. She smiled and turned her question on the man who had walked in behind me. Forty-five minutes later, as I was walking out the door, she was still firing away.

Then I ran over to IKEA where the always-busy store was spilling over with plenty of customers, though it's hard to compare to what might have been happening on a non-pandemic day. As I sat in the pick-up area waiting for my wardrobe shelves to be pulled, I munched a frozen yogurt cone. After the last bite, I felt a tiny bit of the cone tickling my throat. I cleared it, once or twice, trying to project a non-coughing sound. More of a harrumph than a hack-hack. Didn't solve my persoalan but I dared not actually cough as that event now sets off a collective shudder through any group of people in public, and sends at least a few of them for the exits. I suffered in silence until my shelves were presented and loaded into my car. Then I climbed into the driver's seat, locked the door, and coughed to my heart's content.

* * * * *

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