Heading North

After two years of staycations, we finally hit the road yesterday.  We headed up North into new territory.  A road trip adventure for two!

And My Pirate enjoyed the cold ocean and the gritty sand between his toes at Ocean Shores, Washington.

I savored the ocean breeze in my hair as we drove along the winding roads.

Never mind that there was green slime washing up around us and that we almost stepped in horse manure and got hit by a Moped, right along the beach.  Or that we were surrounded in a dense moist bank of fog.  That’s simply part of the adventure.

Today we’re heading North up around the Washington State Peninsula, a road trip I’ve dreamt about for a long time.

Shut The Front Door: Part Duh!

My Pirate knocked down the front door today.

We made a cut, attached a new rubber threshold to the bottom, rehung it and the door wouldn’t close.  Our eyes locked and we both cursed in unison.  Then we popped the pins and tried it again.  Meanwhile, Barnaby was calling out, “Hey guys, you forgot me in the backyard,” with drool cascading out of his jowls as he kept licking the sliding glass door until it was white and foamy. The Assistant was smiling like a lunatic at all of the commotion.  I love that about her. 

We recut the door; hit a nail and the saw zagged.  Again, we cursed in unison.  We took a quick iced tea break and resumed our work.  We rehung the door only to notice that the doorknob thingy was installed wrong.  My Pirate worked on the doorknob while I quickly vacuumed up Barnaby’s compost debris that he keeps sneaking in the house. 

With a sigh, My Pirate closed and opened the front door while I applauded.  I shut the front door, let the dogs in, and gave them an ice cube for all their trouble.  I’m so happy to have a front door that works.  Now, I won’t have to bring my guests in through the garage door anymore.  The third time was the charm.

Oh Barnaby!

Who me?  I'm being good...

except for snacking on your shrubberies.

Turning Forty

I am turning forty years old tomorrow but I feel like I’m turning forty years young.  Never before in my life have I felt such freedom to simply be myself.  I’m no longer thinking about what I’ve always wanted to do, I’m doing it.  And despite this bittersweet year, I feel happier than ever before.

It suddenly occurred to me a couple of years ago that this is my life and I’m going to live it my way.  I used to feel torn when people told me that I wasn’t ‘real’ or ‘normal’.  I’m so over that.  This is my journey and I’m going to pursue what matters to me.

Everything that I knew at twenty, I don’t know at forty.  I feel like a beginner again and it feels great.  Not having to know things is so much fun in the garden and kitchen.  It allows for greater creativity and less stress.

I’m mellowing as I age.  Middle age pleasures are affordable and easy to find.  I’m not interested in trendy restaurants and hot clubs.  I seek quality time and connection with the people and dogs that I care about.  And that’s as easy as popping open a bottle of wine and sitting on the patio with My Pirate or taking my dogs for a walk.

I’m grateful that my journey has brought me here.  I love my life. I’m walking across the threshold of forty with a smile on my face as I enter a new story.  Lets see what’s next…

Trying to Find My Inner Ina

As much as I love to cook and play in my garden, I just don’t enjoy entertaining people in my home.  I do it but it isn’t fun for me. At all.  And I want to enjoy it.  I want to find my inner Ina Garten and Martha Stewart.  But they, like my sense of direction, might be missing.

This isn’t all in my head.  Just ask My Pirate.  The last time that My Pirate’s parents came over for lunch.  My Pirate’s Dad (let’s call him Mr. Pirate) asked for a cup of coffee, so I made him a French Press of coffee.  And I couldn’t get the press to push down, so as I was talking to Mr. Pirate, I shoved down as hard as I could.  And coffee and grounds sprayed all over my cabinets.  I died laughing and turned to look at Mr. Pirate and he was coolly eyeing me like I was a complete lunatic.  Which only made me laugh harder.

Then, as I was rolling out the grilled pizza dough, The Assistant started choking outside on a rotten rawhide bone that she must have just unearthed.  Everyone looked at me, so I raced outside, slammed my hand between her shoulder blades while telling her that she’d be all right.  Then I reached into her mouth, yanked out the slimy rawhide, and she gagged and puked on me.  Disaster averted. 

I raced back inside, washed my hands thoroughly, finished making the pizzas and slid them on the grill and served the fresh asparagus soup.  Mr. Pirate tasted a spoonful of soup and pushed it aside.  And while I was taking his ‘disgusting’ soup back inside (more for me), the grill ran out of propane. So we silently ate our soft pizza while I fought back tears.  I didn’t even bother offering them the apple crostata that I made for them. 

Now, whenever they are in town, we go out to eat.  It works. 

So, this month, I gathered my courage and invited my friends over a few at a time to practice my hostess skills.  And I invited them over just in time for the front door to be completely stuck in place, The Assistant to act like Cujo, and for Barnaby’s fun new ‘pants-ing’ phase. Sigh.  No one is ever going to mistake me for the hostess with the most-est.  More like the Master of Disaster, but I did enjoy seeing my friends, no one got bit, and I even kept my pants on.  I’m so grateful for little miracles.

Do you have any similar stories or perhaps some advice?  Please share.