News Trend My Dining Room Table|Actual

"A perfect dinner for me is being with people I really want to be with. It starts and

stops with ... my family." -Catherine Bach

Pop into my dining room on any given day, and you will likely see a few photos at the far end of the table.

These are our people.

Our parents and grandparents, those who came before us and are now gone head of us, those who gave us life.

It's become a fun tradition for me to dig out a few photos of those special people and place them on the table during the months of their birthdays or wedding anniversaries,

It's the next best thing to having them with us in person.

This year, you'll also find a handful of flowers  - the birth flowers for the month.

And always candles. Because I like to burn things.

The large photo is my father-in-law, Charles Leroy Streicher, during his teenage years. Might be his senior picture, if that was a thing during the Depression.

He was born January 4, 1916, son of a dairy farmer in northern Ohio.

At a high school state track meet, he and his teammates ran a four-man relay with a record time that stood for decades at Elyria High School. That accomplishment was a matter of great pride to my soft-spoken father-in-law and I heard the story many times. When the record finally fell, the local paper printed a great story about the old-timers and my mother-in-law clipped the article and proudly shared it with us around their dinner table.

A few years after high school, Chuck was out hunting with one of his buddies from the relay team, Bob Vanek, and accidentally shot him. Bob completely recovered from his wounds but my father-in-law never hunted again.

* * * * *

The small Polaroid captures a family breakfast from my childhood with a rare image of my father at the far left.

He was born January 2, 1926, son of a locomotive engineer who worked in the freight yards at the River Rouge plant in Detroit..

My parents bought my childhood home before I was born, when it was literally nothing more than a one-room fishing shack. Over the years, often with the sweat of their own brows, they turned it into a home.

Though my mother preferred more traditional furniture and fixtures, my dad was a mid-century modern guy all the way. At his insistence, our home featured:

a soaring A-line roof,

a turquoise front door,

gleaming hardwood floors,

clean-lined Danish furniture,

and several on-trend hanging lamps.

In this shot of our dining area -  a table complete with steel hairpin legs and orange Eames chairs - the fixture over the table looked to us kids like a flying saucer on an adjustable cord that could be pulled up or down, if you had the right touch.

As much as my dad let me down in countless other ways, I always enjoyed his sense of style.

I wish I could go back and spend more time with our people. I miss sharing meals with them.

But I am happy for their stories that I carry with me every day of my life.

And I'm happy to put their faces on my dining room table.

News Trend My Sweet Ranger|Actual

2016

Last Friday was January 18.

I remember this date because I was walking my dog, Gracie, in the twilight when a man approached us on the sidewalk.

Gracie heeled politely onto the strip of greenery along the walk, allowing the man plenty of space to pass, but he stopped to say hello to my red-headed girl.

After praising and petting her, the stranger asked me, "But didn't you used to have a different dog?"

Yes.

What a discerning eye my new friend must have, to distinguish one lanky and energetic red dog from the next.

And what a long memory.

"Yes, that was Ranger. We lost him almost two years ago."

It wasn't until I got home and sat on my porch swing, watching Gracie inhale her dinner, that I realized the date.

January 18

Ranger died on January 19, 2017.

So this day was exactly two years since the last full day of his amazing life.

And I'm so glad I met a stranger on the street who reminded me that I am not the only one who still remembers and misses my sweet Ranger.

 2006

News Trend Glory Day|Actual

My fourth-born burst into the house at noon after an early morning shift at work, and that was my first sign that something special was about to happen.

Most days she droops in, ready to eat a quick bite and crawl back into bed.

But today she was hyped.

"Hey, there's some really cool clouds down by the water. Wanna go to the beach and check them out?"

We live just up the cliff from Puget Sound, so maritime clouds are our daily business. But my daughter has a keen eye for interesting and unusual scientific phenomenon so if she wanted to go, I was down.

"Birds!! Shoot 'em, Mom!"

A half hour later, we were marching Gracie around on the rocks of a low tide. A wispy layer of fog lay on the water, obscuring our vision from the optical effect my daughter was hoping to find.

After our brave hunting girl got plenty of time to stalk the seagulls and pigeons, and wade into the cold water, my daughter offered a Plan B.

"Maybe if we took a ferry ride, we'd get a better perspective."

At high tide, this heap of rocks is deep underwater; at low tide, it's a throne for seagulls.

"A ferry ride? Yes, please!"

So off we headed to the ferry dock, just a few hundred feet away, Gracie on her long lead running circles around us to chase after the birds on the ground, my daughter beating a path to the walk-on ticket window.

Grey water merges seamlessly with purple fog.

Lucky for us, we stepped onto the deck of a waiting ferry, and the boat immediately left the dock. We rushed to the side of the lower car deck and looked out to find...

Fog.

Fog, fog, and more fog.

F O G

Fog, in fact, for dayz.

"Ok, this has been fun. But isn't it time for a treat?"

"It's a little chilly out here for a girl with a wet coat."

Gracie was not horribly impressed. Drooling delicately, probably from drinking too much salt water, she sat patiently as we watched hopefully for glimpses of the sky from our seats behind the wind screen.

But to no avail.

Kingston Landing

After our fifteen minute crossing, we landed on the other side and saw that the fog was showing signs of lifting. "Maybe we will have better luck on the trip back," my daughter said hopefully.

I was still not sure what we were looking for.

But as it turned out, she was right.

On our first crossing of Puget Sound, the fog had been too thick for the fog bow to appear.

But on the way back, conditions were perfect.

What we saw as we stood on the outdoor passenger deck with the sun at our backs looked like a white rainbow, arching across the water just beyond the ferry.

"It's a fog bow," my daughter explained. "Like a rainbow only the colors are much weaker because the water droplets of the fog are much smaller than the drops of rain that create a normal rainbow.

Very cool.

We could see the entire half-circle within a good stone's throw of our deck. We could even make out what must have been a reflection of the fog bow on the water which gave the impression that we could see the white arch reaching down beneath the grey waves.

Very, very cool.

When viewed in real life, each person can only see their own glory.

This one belongs to my daughter.

"Now," my daughter told me, "look at your shadow. What do you see?"

Looking out at my shadow projected high and tall across the water that still lay mostly hidden in the dissipating fog, I noticed a white circle glowing around my head.

A halo.

And as I stared at myself in the flickering mists, I noticed something more.

When the density of the fog was just right, the white circle around my head burst into colors from red on the outside edge to blue inside.

A rainbow halo.

This effect is called a glory and it is, in a word, amazing.

Gracie, at this point, was not impressed. Still very patient, but not impressed.

Deep in our own thoughts, my daughter and I stood and stared at our glories until the loudspeaker announced our arrival back home. Our feet touched the ground as we walked with Gracie back downstairs to the car deck.

But our heads were still in those beautiful clouds.

 Homeward bound on the Kittitas , looking back at the marvelous mists.

* * * * *

All photos courtesy of my science-loving fourth-born daughter..

News Trend Walking On Rialto Beach|Actual

"I look my best when I'm totally free, on holiday, walking on the beach." -Rosamund Pike

When my third-born was home from Asia last July, we had just one week to squeeze in as much summer fun as possible.

A quick trip to the Pacific coast for one night of camping was a must-do.

And so with plenty of optimism and no campground reservations, all four daughters, Gracie, and I set off for our favorite beach in the world, Kalaloch.

But despite our best efforts, the trip did not work out as planned. The campground was full. So on the advice of the ranger, we headed fifty miles north to Rialto Beach.

Gracie playing in the waves at Rialto Beach

^ See how we suffered?

Just kidding. Rialto Beach is every bit the rugged and picturesque slice of heaven that Kalaloch is with two regrettable differences:

^ 1. Rather than walking two minutes down a cute little kisi-kisi to Kalaloch Beach, Rialto requires a quick car ride. Granted, it's only a mile or so from the campground. But for me, cars and camping don't mix.

^  2. Kalaloch Beach is sandy, and Rialto is covered with stones. Sometimes they are adorably tiny and jet black, other times they are large, grey, and tumbly. In either case, rocks are less comfortable for walking than sand, and that bums me out.

^ However, I will take a semi-distant and rocky Northwest beach over none at all, so immediately upon claiming our campsite and setting up our gear, we headed down to the beach.

^ Well. We ate lunch first. For my money, any meal prepared and eaten outside tastes like heaven and these sandwiches were no exception.

* * * * *

We parked our car at the beach and walked north. The beach was mostly level and open, bounded by crashing grey waves on one side and thick evergreen forest on the other. Though the weather was foggy and cool when we set out, the clouds soon vaporized and we shed at least some of our layers. July in the Pacific Northwest is not for sissies

After about thirty minutes of walking, this is what we found.

^ Sea stacks. Huge, glorious, imposing hunks of rock left behind after wind and water eroded the land around them. All around their bases we found tide pools full of anemone and sea stars and bitty little crabs.

^ At the back of the beach, we found a kisi-kisi leading up the steep incline and coming out on a narrow rocky spine where the rocks are still connected to the land.

This route required more precision and care than Gracie typically affords, so we stayed down on the beach while my daughters hiked up.

^ Gracie enjoyed every bird-chasing, water-wading, rock-sniffing, and tide pool-gazing moment of our adventure. It's hard to imagine a happier place for dogs to play.

* * * * *

^ Usually our camping breakfasts consist of a quick grab into the cooler for a yogurt or into our pantry stores for a breakfast bar of some sort.

But since this trip was so short, we decided to squeeze in one more proper cooked meal, a breakfast of pancakes, sausage, and sauteed peaches, covered with a nice dollop of maple syrup. Yum.

With our camp broken and the car packed, we headed back to the beach, this time for a few relaxing hours sitting among the beach logs.

^ Gracie was surprisingly satisfied to lie in one place and watch the humans and dogs wandering past.

^ We humans took photos, played with sticks and rocks, read our books, and snacked.

^ When our time was up, we walked on a cute kisi-kisi through this tiny ridge of sea-worn trees and found our car waiting for us.

Views from the ferry on the Kingston-Edmonds crossing

And then, after winding our way across the Olympic Peninsula, we hopped our ferry for the final leg of our trip and found ourselves back home, thinking once again that nothing is finer than a day spent walking on the beach.

* * * * *

My family and I go to Kalaloch a lot. Here are stories from our trips over the years:

2019

Wide Open Spaces

Whale Bones

Ways To Play

The World Of Packet Dinners

Windows

2018

Walking On Rialto Beach

2017

Gracie Goes To Kalaloch

2015

The Last Day Of My Summer Vacation

2014

With Joy And Wild Abandon

With Hope And Desperate Longing

With Peace And New Beginnings

2012

It's All About The Food

It's All About Playing On The Beach

It's All About The Sunsets

It's All About The Artistic Inspiration

It's All About The Memories

2011

Discovering Tide Pools

Discovering Sunsets

2010

Balanced Rocks

sometime before 2010

Golden Pup

* * * * *

More stories about beach hikes? Here you go:

With Peace And New Beginnings

Heidi And I Go For A Walk

We Both Like Whidbey

The Last Day Of My Summer Vacation

Walking On Rialto Beach

Double Bluff Beach

Hiking At The Beach

News Trend My Young Hero|Actual

To see her relaxing like a princess, you'd never think that she could stealthily hunt down

rabbits and chase them at the speed of light. But she can. And she does.

In the blink of an eye, Gracie took off after the rabbit.

Diving under the railing on the walkway behind the high school, she leaped through the planting strip and raced down to the lawn that lay three or four feet below us, along the edge of the woods.

Alas, it turned out to be not a rabbit at all. Just a leaf.

Oh, but that's alright. The chase is half the fun and my girl gave it her all. Happy and invigorated, Gracie retraced her steps, bounded back up the embankment and slipped skillfully under the railing.

But the shrubs that grow in the planting strip had been cut back, leaving half a dozen two-inch stumps in the garden, and her long leash caught, as it has before, between them. Not a duduk perkara. Rather than climbing down into the muddy mulch, I can usually remain up on the walkway and flick the long leash just so, getting it to pop loose from its trap.

So I was standing and flicking thusly when from the twilight shadows, a young man appeared.

He was dressed in a stylish navy suit with a dark dress shirt buttoned all the way up. No tie. Sensing my predicament, he asked if he could be of service.

"No," I said. "I'm fine. My leash is just caught on a stump down there but I can flick it free."

"Let me help you," he offered.

"No, no," I objected, "It's fine." Acknowledging that my technique was not working, I added, "I can climb down there and work it free."

"I insist," he politely insisted.

Before I could reply, gracefully, he bent down and laid his phone on the sidewalk.

And then, lithe and limber as a cat. He laid one hand on the railing and in a single, fluid motion, leaped effortlessly over the top.

In his dress shoes, he stepped confidently through the wet mulch, and walked around to where Gracie's lease was wedged. Reaching down into the soggy, mildewing leaves, he quickly worked the rope free and courteously handed it up to me.

"Thank you," I murmured, slightly under his spell.

He retraced his steps to the railing and just as effortlessly and elegantly as before, performed another perfect two-footed leap over the guardrail.

"No problem at all," he smiled as he delicately brushed off his fingertips before picking up his phone.

"Have a good evening."

And with that, my young hero walked off into the gathering darkness.

News Trend I'll Probably Be Asleep While You Are Reading This|Actual

Tonight I worked on my Valentines.

I am a delayed sleep phase sleeper.

I used to call myself a night owl but that label can be quite misleading.

Because calling myself a night owl suggests I have a choice in the matter. It implies that my sleeping habits are simply preferences and if I choose to stay up late and sleep late, then that's my choice and really, shame on me for not getting a jump on the day.

I've come to accept that the hours that my body craves sleep are non-negotiable and I can no more change them than I can change the number of fingers on each hand or the shape of my nose.

Believe me. I have spent a lifetime trying.

Now science is proving that our sleeping behaviors are not preferences at all.

Here's a four-minute video with the latest research findings:

This research data is great, but it's nothing that we delayed sleep phasers don't already know.

We know what it's like to set an alarm to wake up in the morning with the rest of the world, and literally feel drugged and unable to stand up and function. Trust me, this is not a fun way to live.

But here is the joy of being a delayed sleep phase sleeper. While the rest of the world is heading off to bed, we are just hitting our stride.

And while all the night owls and so-called "normal sleepers" are lying asnooze in bed, our world comes alive.

For me, I wrap up my daily duties around ten, when my early bird husband goes to sleep.

Then I am free to

write

create

deep clean

talk to my daughter in Asia

read

catch up on email and messages

contemplate

and prepare for the new day ahead.

I also have to eat another meal, because dinner at 7 p.M. Isn't enough to get me through nine more hours. Which works out fine because my first meal of the day is around noon. Even if I force myself to get up early, my body is not ready to eat.

So when I get into bed tonight around 3:30 or 4 a.M., I will close my eyes with the sweet satisfaction that although the rest of the world will soon be up and busy while I am fast asleep, I already accomplished my morning's work before I went to bed.

Have a great Monday morning, world. I'll see you later on.

News Trend Patiently Waiting|Actual

"Home is where somebody notices when you are no longer there." -Aleksander Hemon

Sirius has always been partial to sleeping on my eldest daughter's bed.

Don't worry, little guy - she'll be back soon.

Look, this empty nest business is no joke.

My journey as a mom with offspring living at home has had a long, long run. And even though two daughters flew away in the last six months, there's still one here and another set to fly back soon. So I'm not pretending that I'm a true empty nester.

But even so, I have learned that life in an empty nest is hard.

Hard to set just three plates on the table.

Hard to keep track of only one daughter's comings and goings.

And hard, so hard to walk past bedrooms with empty beds at night.

Before I fall into a complete pity party, though, I often remind myself that at least I understand what's happening.

Our poor pets must be so confused.

Well. Let's be honest. Gracie loves everyone in the family with all her heart. But as long as she can keep me on her radar, she isn't too concerned about where the others have gotten off to.

It's the cats that I am thinking of. When we adopted three abandoned baby brothers in 2010, they quickly bonded with our daughters and fell in love. They have all been inseparable, these kids and kittens, and most especially at night. For all these years, the cats have curled up each night on one cozy bed after another, happy to share their sleeping hours with their favorite warm and cuddly people.

So what are they to do now when their human sisters inexplicably disappear for weeks or months at a time?

Well. They simply curl up on the empty beds and patiently wait for their girls to come home.