The beach at Manzanita looking North

Just kidding! Wouldn’t put you through that and I doubt anyone’s interested in a blow-by-blow of our week away.

But I did want to add a link to a small set on Flickr and give you a few short takes on our time on the Oregon coast.

Note: If you view the Flickr pics as a slideshow, click the [i] to see descriptions. Can you tell I write user manuals for a living?

And please pardon the lazy bullets. It’s been a brain-frazzly week.

• McMenamin’s Kennedy School Hotel (Portland) – So unbelievably cool! I added a few of pictures of our room and the hallways to the Flickr set but please also check out their web site. Beer and pizza in their movie theater and the kids are allowed? Woo-hoo! And about that lovely reflection pool? Tau started backtreading as soon as he got near it: “All done … no-no! … Waaaaah!” No amount of coaxing would stop him crying so we had to leave. Of course, once he spotted kids swimming in the pool through the window across the hallway from our room, it was all, “Pool … pool … Mama! POOL!” And pulling our sleeves to go back.
• Mish Mash — The house we rented a couple blocks away from Manzanita Beach with Dave’s brother Stu, his wife Kristi, nephew Kai, and Dave’s Mom and Dad. Mish Mash had everything we needed including beautiful views, a big garden for the kids to run (well, actually, more like ride … on Nanny’s back) and a great comfy kitchen and fireplace. Thanks to Stu and Kristi for organizing and bringing all the kid gear we couldn’t fit in our luggage: booster seat, Pack ‘n Play, rain gear, gumboots, kites, and lots and lots of fleece!

Mish Mash, Manzanita, OR 

• Time and space — This is what I love about a vacation with no agendas. Most days we had a late breakfast, went for a walk to the beach or into the village for a coffee, ate lunch, napped, cooked dinner, sat by the fire and then crashed around 9:30. And most afternoons, I went up to “nap” with Tau. In truth, I lay on our bed watching the waves crashing on the beach or reading a book. Yes, I read a book, with printed words and a cover and everything! A travel memoir by Elizabeth Gilbert called Eat, Pray, Love. Highly recommended.
• Cuzzling rivalry — Lets just say that the boys were not too keen on sharing. Not one bit. Which lead to a fair bit of squabbling and, “I don’t want him to” from Kai and “No, NOOOO! MINE!” from Tau. But of course the minute they were out of each other’s sight …. “Kai? Kai? Dad-dee … Kai?” and ”Uncle Dave, where Baby Tau?”
• Hanging out — Dave and Stu took off winetasting in the Willamette Valley all of Tuesday, just the two of them, which was great because they don’t often get that kind of time together. Which is a shame because they are close. That day, Kristi and I took the boys to the beach. It was the one truly warm, sunny day we had and Tau and Kai had a ridiculously happy time in the “river” at the top of the beach. Tau stood in the freezing cold water for 45 minutes and threw rocks. Ecstatic.
• Celebrating – Kai’s third birthday back on June 1 and Tau’s upcoming second this October. Grandad hung balloons, Kristi made a cake and the boys blew candles … and vied for who got ownership of the orange and the pink and the green balloon.
• Did I mention all the time and space? – Time for early morning yoga at the community center in nearby Nehalem. Slow, stretchy asanas and gentle light filtering in through the tall windows. And on the Wednesday, a delicious hour-long sea-salt scrub and massage with green tea and mint. Double AH!
• And finally, lovely walks on the beach — because what’s a week spent on the Oregon coast without long walks on the beach, all bundled up cosy?

Snug as a bug! 

Now go and look at all those pics!

To my precious Granny Sylvia!

Gran and Sue,
Johannesburg, circa 1969

(Posted by Dave)

When we started planning our trip to Oregon some months back, Stu and I spent a considerable amount of time researching places we would like to visit in Portland, the Willamette valley and at the coast. (Sue and Kristi, in unison: “No kidding!”)

Arriving in Portland in mid-morning, Sue, Tau and I headed off to Trader Joe’s for groceries and Hollywood Espresso for lunch.

This seemed as good a jumping off place as any to our overnight stay in Portland. Hollywood Espresso serves up Portland Roasting coffee, wine by the glass and terrific Panini sandwiches served up by efficient and friendly staff. Not a bad start to our week away.

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Dear Muffin Lady,

I should have warned you up front: I am not a morning person. People I work with know not to ask questions until I’ve had coffee, breakfast and cleared my email.

And while I understand you would like me to buy breakfast from you more often, making know-it-all small talk doesn’t help. And breaking down for me just how and why I speak as I do will not make your chocolate-chip muffins any dearer to me than they already are, thank you.

So, now that I can get a word in edgewise let me tell you how it is:

• No, I am not from England. Not from any part of it. Never have been. To you it may sound that way at first. But no, I am positively not. From Britain. At all.

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This week at Crazy Hip Blog Mamas, the theme is Something I made that I was really proud of.

So. This goes waaaay back to my college days in Canada, when I submitted this and a second story to a la-di-da literary fiction contest. Ahem. Talking With His Hands won and the other story placed fourth, out of hundreds. Trust me — no one was more surprised than yours truly. And though I preferred the other story, I was still thrilled this one had won. A big prize. Me.

Dave and I went over to Vancouver to rub shoulders and drink beer with the very erudite Creative Writing types who ran the magazine. Had to do a reading, which normally doesn’t bother me, but it was a bit daunting in front of the small group of very smart, talented people who had driven in to UBC that night in the rain — gulp! — to hear me read my little story. 

Haven’t thought about Talking With His Hands in a while. It sits in a virtual drawer with a bunch of other stories in varying stages of being written and rewritten. Somehow moving to a new country and having a baby kinda got in the way.

That said, I thought this was a good opportunity to dust it off, and for those of you who don’t know me personally, to show you this little part of me that’s still lying neatly folded at the bottom of the drawer, cherished and not forgotten. Enjoy.

Talking with His Hands 

            When Cyrus wrote that he was soon to be married and would not be returning home to Keimoes, his father did not reply for two months.  When the letter finally came, Petrus Leshoa asked his son only this:  “What must I now do with this house I have built for you?”

            Cyrus had not thought about the house the four years he’d been in the States.  He did not consider it his.  That his father built it for him now made some sense; Petrus was a man who spoke with his hands.  Realizing this made it more difficult.  Cyrus could not tell his father that he finally understood, could not explain that the gesture made little difference.  He could not bring Chlaris home.

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Just back from a week on the Oregon coast.

You know you’re in Portland when …
Dashing from awning to awning in a downpour, you see a sign in a store window advertising their Birkenstock repair service.

You know you’re in the tiny beach community of Manzanita when …
Locals rolling up their mats at the end of yoga class chide their neighbor Bill for burning without a permit and bringing out the whole darn fire department.

You know you’re in transit in San Francisco when …
The heavily accented software engineer sitting across from you at the departure gate is discussing the philosophy of search algorithms and it sounds like poetry.

And you know you’ve landed back in San Diego late at night when …
You see girls pritzing along with their purse dogs, wearing halter tops designed to show off tattoos on the smalls of their backs.

We had a grand time at the beach with the family. Very relaxing. Stories and pictures to follow!

When you marry a man, you’re not thinking this far ahead.

And when you birth a screaming, slippery boy you can’t imagine a time when he will sit this still, this intent on his favorite cartoon character, while his father clips his nails.

I am so fortunate.

Happy Father’s Day!

For all you tech heads this side of the pond, something a little different.

Erik Hersman at White African has been blogging at TEDGlobal , a worldwide technology and design conference currently in Arusha, Tanzania. Take a look at his recent posts for an enthusiastic and interesting look at the proceedings. That and a way cool picture of Bono with Ghanaian economist and scholar George Ayittey.

I usually read White African for Erik’s great tech tips as well as news on how digital solutions are changing daily life in various African countries. I find it interesting how Africans use and adopt technology in very different ways to Europeans or North Americans. Obvious, I know, but the specifics are very interesting.

Erik is also involved with AfriGadget, an organization that highlights mostly low-tech solutions to everyday needs. Check their site for innovations that are a world away from your local Best Buy!

… you’ll see the large L (for Loser) in the middle of my forehead.

I’m always looking for ways to fill in my cultural blind spots. Stuff we’ve missed out on, not growning up here. Especially from TROA (The Rest of America) — not the altered reality that is California. Because (cringe) I’ve never been east of Palm Springs.

So I’d heard good things about Prairie Home Companion, the movie. And some time back I’d read a bit of Garrison Keillor, and though life away from the ocean always seems a bit foreign to me, I kinda liked his down-home sense of humor. It sort of reminded me of Stuart McLean’s CBC Vinyl Cafe series, which I liked.

Other reasons I added it to our Netflix rental queue:

• I’m a home-drive NPR listener, so even though I’ve never heard Prairie Home Companion the show, I figured the fact that I appreciate public radio probably boded well for a film written by one of their longtime team.
• Also figured it would be a sort of Cliffs Notes version of the real thing. Serious culture in a palatable form, like buying multigrain toaster waffles because they’re a good way to get fiber in your diet without having to eat tablespoons of bran husks.
• And then the cast was promising: Woody Harrelson, Kevin Kline, Meryl Streep, Lily Tomlin and Robin Williams, among others.

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Adding to the list of words and phrases Tau has learned at 20 months. And I thought I’d attempt to show pronunciation because honestly, like most toddlers, you have to be around him for a while before you get what he’s saying.

In no particular order this time:

Choo-choo (train), tray (train), Pa-pa-pat (Postman Pat), MAN (man, always very emphatically), pees? (please), hap-pees (help, please), ala-hoo! (I love you!), wyes (lions) , DAT! (that! It’s all about DAT this week), truh (truck), bihe (bike), keez (keys), hair, bib, pah (pants), lellow (yellow), buh (bus), wah-wah (round and round, as in the wheels on the bus), boh (boat - as you can tell, we’re not big on end consonants yet), frah (frog), wahwah (flower, not to be confused with wah-wah, meaning “round and round”), POT-t (potty), bah (bath), wah (walk), rah-rah (run-run, as in “Run, run, as fast as you can; you can’t catch me I’m the gingerbread man”), pah (park), ree (read), phoh (phone), Kai-k (his cousin Kai), jacket, blangh (blanket), maaaaah (sheep noise), sssss (snake noise), chikgn (chicken), cah (cat), S (the letter) and also A and D, wah (wheels), alaha (elephant), bubbuh (bubbles), babah (balloon) and the easiest word in the world: pee!

Also, his teachers and classmates: Tatie (Katie), Ereh (Erin), Nah (Nat), Rarah (Miranda), Dyeda (Diana), Dillah (Dillon), Au-doo (August) and Mehmeh (Megan). He has a teacher and a classmate called Megan, both of whom are nicknamed Mehmeh. But he’s pretty taken with little Mehmeh and he will not say “Megan” even though we know he can. So he teases us:

“Tau, say Me-gan.”

Eyes crinkle. “Mehmeh!” Followed by a cheesy grin.

“No, not Mehmeh. ME-GAN.”

“Mehmeh!”

“Not Mehmeh. ME-GAN.”

“MEH. MEH!” Dissolves into laughter.

Huge joke, messing with your parents.