of death and hamsters

I asked after our geriatric rodent, as one might, innocently. Snickers seemed slower to me these days, and he had surpassed his life expectancy some time ago.

Still, I didn't expect to be hushed when Greg came into our room with a funny look on his face.

I didn't know that Snickers was dying last night until I had spoke too soon and then he was gone.

All morning, I waited for Lexi to remember how he was panting last night, for her to discover him for herself. But as she creeps towards her teens, she's prone to sleeping later and later and by the time she got up, I was actively keeping her from him.

I knew she'd be crushed - she'd understand - but she'd be crushed and I didn't want to dump her off for Orchestra camp, teary and miserable.

Then, she was invited to spend the day with one of my best friends, to grocery shop and cook dinner with her friend Quinn, and I kept the news to myself.

She will swim tonight and then I will tell her and we'll bury his little body in the hole Greg dug last night, knowing he'd be away when the time came to say goodbye to our girl's sweet little friend.

here's to independence

And bat ears.

Courtney has commandeered my blog because clearly I have been neglecting my computer. She says: Light 'em up and play it safe and enjoy this weekend.

(And also: When can she expect all the bells and whistles to stop? Because at 14 pounds, she's not really grasping all this patriotic fervor. She's bitty and unsure of the backyard now that our neighborhood sounds like a war zone. *sigh*)

where you come for your creep

Summer began beautifully.

An anniversary.

Vacation Church School for my kids.

A dandy cold.

If only I was so cute. No, when I catch some silly summer cold, I take to my bed. I take to my bed while my kids whine and complain about my utter lameness. I take to my bed while my kids whine and complain about my utter lameness while I read to the colony of zits that took up residence on my cheek like it's 1989 and I'm contemplating colleges.


At least I've had some creepy companions until I rose from my tissues.
Part bodice ripper - at least according to the reviews I read, after listening to A Reliable Wife in short order - part Gothic tale set in the never ending white Wisconsin winter, I loved this story from beginning to end. Ralph Pruitt places an ad for a reliable wife and opens up his world to the enchanting Katherine Land, reawakening past demons and holding my attention with spellbinding prose.


Remember when I raved about Gillian Flynn's debut novel, Sharp Objects? (Just smile and nod for the nice lady if you're new around here.) She came out swinging with her second novel, Dark Places, and proved you can too impress your readers after your first book is a huge success. Most reviews I've read are quick to point out that the protagonist is dark and unlikeable, but I'm tired of the Oprah book club approved, cookie-cutter Plucky Pollyannas. Show me someone steeped in tragedy and give me the truth: They damaged and altered, and I don't mind it a bit.

And that leaves me with Knockemstiff, a collection of overlapping short stories based on the resilient and troubled residents of Small Town America. After each perfectly crafted piece, I would pause and read the back flap again and sigh. Pollock grew up in Knockemstiff, quitting high school to work in a meat packing factory and later spent 30 years working in the town's paper mill. The stories are bleak, and full of longing and desperation. Beautiful. I can only hope he has many more tales to spill.

fifteen years

Fifteen years ago tonight, I sat on a patio - my belly full of good food, and most likely wine - in southern Oregon, under twinkling lights that gave way to stars, my last day as Lisa Wheeler.

We had friends there, sitting at that long table, me in a little sand-colored skirt in an age before blogs and digital cameras, no evidence of that long ago warm summer evening, except for what I hope to remember long after youth leaves me.

I'm okay with that.

I knew he was the one for me, even as a naive bride. I knew he was the one for me, even before I had any idea how right we were for each other.

I'm just thankful I had the sense to say 'I do'.

Sometimes I get it right.

Happy anniversary, Gregor. I love you.

soggy day at the zoo

Ah, spring in the pacific Northwest. One never knows how to plan, especially for an outdoor concert, but you can rest assured that it will pour like it's November if your kids played with your enormous umbrella the day before and forgot to put it back in its proper place, the trunk of the car.


No matter. These elegant, massive sea creatures didn't seem to mind.

Not even grumpy bears could keep us away from the zoo.

Despite the obligatory eye-rolling shot, we were in good spirits -wet, as in I could still wring my jeans out when I got home around 10:30 wet - but happy.

And the rain turned to spittle just as the B-52s took the stage and we danced danced danced with the throngs in Portland that won't let a lot a little precipitation deluge spoil the first day of summer vacation.

underground like a wild potato

It may be raining, but we Miltons are hearty. We'll be shamelessly singing along; there could be dancing.

Summer vacation is off to a great start...

the eye

I hate it when I'm rattled.

My brain has been shaken, not stirred, and all goodly thoughts have fallen out my ears, leaving me humming little dittys like 'Shoo Fly', meaningfully.

I long for a calm inside myself; the ability to let things slide, and to remain steady as kids - mine, the neighbors', random kids at the park - scream and race and hassle and beg and whine and run.

Perhaps it would be better if I didn't join them in the shenanigans and played the adult, the parent, the reasonable one.

So I packed up the kids, plus one, and we went to the park for a impromptu 5th grade party - because 4 days of celebrating at school wasn't enough - and I spread out my cheerful polka dotted blanket and read.

I read while Zack whined about being left out.

I read while Lexi rolled her eyes at me, the only parent that showed up for this supposedly supervised shindig. (I knew there was something fishy about this plan.)

I read while the ice cream truck sent children into convulsions.

I read, and I nodded and I kept my voice clear and low and detached.

I soaked up the sun, and laid my weary head down on a picnic table. The hours passed.

We packed up the car and I breathed a sigh of relief: Goodbye to the school year, and welcome waffles for dinner because it is hard to be crabby when eating gooey syrup and fluff.