July 20, 1969

Our family had been camping at the American River in the California Sierra Mountains and we were driving back home to Berkeley.  The car radio was playing far louder than Dad ever allowed us to play it, and our normally loud and rambunctious family was stone-silent, listening intently as Walter Cronkite (who came so close to living this anniversary with us!) announced every detail of the impending lunar moon walk.

We were in the middle of nowhere, driving along a deserted California highway and I was hyper-focused on the radio, trying my best to imagine what I was hearing.  Neil Armstrong was just about to walk on the moon!  I could barely imagine it – but I had no choice, as radio was all we had.

Suddenly Dad exited the highway, drove a few miles along a frontage road, and parked in front of what looked like a (dive) bar!  Yeah, a drinking bar!

“We need to SEE this!” he exclaimed.  “Everyone out!”

We all piled out of the car and followed Dad and Mom into the bar – which was completely empty, except for a lone bartender… watching TV!  Dad explained that he wanted his kids to have the opportunity to see history in the making and asked if we could have a seat in the bar and watch the lunar moon walk there.

The bartender made my three brothers and I fancy-looking soda drinks with stick-speared cherries laying diagonally across the frosty glasses and I felt oh, so grown up!

As great as the moon walk was, I remember thinking that the real, more personal history in my young 12-year-old life was the fact that I’d just been in a BAR for the first time!

Where were you?

Just received via e-mail from a beloved (?!) co-worker:

Reaping what I sew

Last week, when Marco came to visit Seattle, he brought us a beautiful bedspread from India.

As you know, we use German bedding consisting of individual duvets, so one big bedspread won’t work on our bed.  Still, I absolutely love this fabric and was determined to turn it into duvet covers for our bed.

So I got to work.

First stop: Target, to buy a new sewing machine.

  I’ve had my old machine for about 25 years and it used to frustrate the hell out of me so I knew it was time for a new one.

Next stop: the fabric store to buy coordinated backing fabric.

Once I got home, I set up the new sewing machine and got to work.

Bailey was no help at all!

 

I measured once, measured twice, and measured again.  Then, scared to take scissors to the beautiful fabric, I procrastinated with Kat and went to the fabric store because she decided she wants to learn to sew now too!  :-)

The Mountain was OUT!

When we got home it could no longer be avoided; I HAD to cut!

I’m not gonna divulge whether I made any significant cutting or sewing mistakes.  Just suffice it to say that if Tom and I ever start the German bedding company we keep talking about, I’ll be doing sales and marketing… not sewing!

Eventually it was time to stuff our duvets into the new “sleeve.”  (Hint: it’s easier to do this if the sleeve is inside out!)

Fluffy, eh?

Time for a mojito break – with mint form our yard! (Thanks Tom!)

And finally, the finished products!

What do you think?  This is look #7 (the other six can be seen here) – and I think it’s my favorite!  Thanks so much, Marco and Ayesha!  I hope you don’t mind that I cut up your beautiful gift, but I just had to!

I’m all lumpy-throated

140 characters of defiance

I used to blog short tidbits regularly. Then came Twitter and FB status updates and they monopolized short tidbit posts. So I’m defiant!

To walk in their boots

I inherited Mom’s after ski boots when she died. They’re great Romika boots with a solid tread and they fit me perfectly – once I wiggle my foot into them.

On the night of January 4th around 11:30, Tom asked me if I wanted to take Shasta for a walk with him. It was icy outside and I had just finished working so I was tired. “Sure,” I said, “But only up the hill and back.”

I grabbed Mom’s boots and started to pull them on but decided it was too much work and I threw on my imitation UGGs with the worn-down, barely-still-wavy tread instead.

An hour later Tom snapped a photo of those imitation UGGs – in the emergency room.

A package arrived from Kristin’s sister this morning. At Kristin's memorial, her sister Casey told me that Kristin willed some beautiful pieces of clothing to me and my daughters. She was a classy, elegant dresser and I knew that there’d be some beautiful garments in the box – and there were.

But this is what's given me chills all day:

The first thing I saw when I opened the box was a brand new pair of (real) UGGs.

With tread.

Casey and Kristin had bought them for the winter that Kristin barely lived through and she never had a chance to wear them. Although they're a size bigger than Kristin normally wears, they fit me (both feet!) absolutely perfectly.

I wish I believed in all the “speaking from beyond the grave stuff,” because if I did I’d say that Mom and Kristin, who loved each other (and me) dearly, are both being characteristically protective of me.

I kind of like that; it makes me feel warm – and, yes, gives me chills – all over.

Der Struwwelpeter made personal

I grew up a first generation American of German parents.  This meant that the bedtime stories read to me were decidedly German.

And I’m not talking about Grimm’s fairy tales.

If you think Grimm’s fairy tales are violent and disturbing, you’ll be shocked at the bedtime stories my brothers and I listened to – and, oddly enough, loved!

This is Der Stuwwelpeter (or, as I pronounced it, “Shtroo-bel-payter”). 

According to Wikipedia, “Der Struwwelpeter (1845) is a popular German children's book by Heinrich Hoffmann. It’s comprised of ten illustrated and rhymed stories about children. Each has a clear moral that demonstrates the disastrous consequences of misbehavior in an exaggerated way.”

I found this book at the Bavarian Meat Market at Pike Place Market.  I was shocked to see it there and enthusiastically explained to the store keeper that I’d grown up hearing the oh-so-violent stories in it.  That launched me into a rhyme that my parents recited to us while bouncing us on their knee:

“Hoppe, hoppe Reiter,
Wenn er fällt, dann schreit er.
Fällt er in den Graben,
fressen ihn die Raben.
Fällt er in den Sumpf -
macht der Reiter PLUMPS!”

…which means something like:

“Chop-chop rider,
when he falls, he is screaming.
When he falls into the ditch
the ravens eat him.
When he falls into the swamp,
the rider makes plop.”

Incredibly, the storekeeper joined in and we sang together!  I’ve never known anyone who knows that rhyme except my brothers, cousins and me!  As we recited it together I got a huge lump in my throat!  (Then we ordered semmel rolls and gelbwurst, gobbled them up, and left!)

But I digress.

Der Stuwwelpeter had a story for each of my three brothers and me.  Aren’t we lucky!

My oldest brother’s story is Die Geschichte von Hans Guck-in-die-Luft  or The Story of Johnny Head-in-Air.  Poor Johnny drowns because he’s a day-dreamer.

Lesson to Michael?  Do not daydream!  Hilarious, considering that Michael became a film producer, among the daydreamiest of professions!

Stephan’s story was Die Geschichte vom Suppen-Kaspar (The Story of Kaspar who did not have any Soup). Kaspar, a healthy, strong boy, declares that he will no longer eat his soup.  Over the next five days he wastes away and dies. 

Stephan is still as skinny as a rail!

And then there’s Christopher’s story.  Oh, my poor baby brother, Christopher!  He sucked his thumb.  His story – poor child – was Die Geschichte vom Daumenlutscher  or The Story of Little Suck-a-Thumb in which a tailor cuts of the thumbs of a little boy who shares my brother’s habit.

Curiously, Chris is about as normal as they come.  Phew!

My story?  Well, my story was really the only story that featured a girl (because not only were the stories violent, they were apparently chauvinistic), Die gar traurige Geschichte mit dem Feuerzeug or The Dreadful Story of Pauline and the Matches.  In this delightful (cough) story, a girl burns to death because she played with matches.

 

So the message for me is… um – that it’s a good thing that I’m not smokin’ hot?  That I can’t die because my kitties would miss me?  Hell, I have no idea, but my memories are definitely filled with both fear and curiosity.

In our next Violent German Stories post, we’ll explore Max und Moritz… or why bread with lots of fiber isn’t always a great thing.

Marco Mania!

I’ve been away for almost a week.  I think this is my longest blogging absence in over three years!

Last week was incredibly busy with a few major deadlines and deliverables for some Microsoft clients. I could have probably finished a bit sooner and a bit smoother if only Marco, our amazing Senior Project Manager, technical writer,  and brilliant jack-of-all-trades in our Mumbai, India office had just stayed put and continued to work with me each evening.  But nooooo – he had to go traveling… to Seattle!

I have worked with Marco almost daily (and nightly, due to the time difference) for the past 18 months.  In that time I have come to respect him, revere him, and admire him – for both his technical and professional acumen and for his personal warmth and generosity of spirit.  When he announced that he’d be beginning his vacation in Seattle so he could finally meet our staff, I jumped on the opportunity to host him at our house.

On Friday morning, Marco joined us at the office for a busy and delightful day of working together.  As soon as he fired up his computer, he IM’d me as he’d done a million times before – but this one was different.

I immediately grabbed my camera and snapped a photo of my old friend and my new office mate:

Then Rebekah arrived, squealed with delight upon seeing Marco in person for the first time, and it was a free for all!

Oh wait – it looks like I was the one who’s squealing.  Whatevvvver.

After a full day of very productive work , we partied a bit at the CEO’s house.  Nora, Rebekah’s adorable daughter, gave the evening rave reviews.

In addition to being a technical whiz (check out his blog, Technology at Work (and Play) here), Marco is an avid photographer… so early on Saturday morning he, Kat and I went on a photojournalistic journey to the beautiful Snoqualmie Falls.  Marco shared all kinds of photography advice and secrets with Kat; I just loved watching the two of them together!

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The town of Snoqualmie is where old trains to go to die – but Marco and Kat came alive there and snapped away!  Rather than post photos I took there, I’ll steal some of theirs from theirs. Only the best for you!

Kat’s…

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And Marco’s.

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No fair comparing!  Photography is such a subjective art.  They both have such an eye for this stuff. I’m insanely jealous!

After a yummy salmon barbeque at our house…

…we headed to the beer and wine bar recently opened by an ex-co-worker.  Of course we had to take a group photo:

Yo!  Morgan!  Pay attention!

It was a late night, but we all got up early the next day to show Marco our fair Emerald City.  First stop – Seattle Center, from both sea(ish) level and 500-some feet up.

(Lake Union)

Then we  took the monorail to Westlake Center and (get THIS!) walked to and around Pike Place Market (at least a half mile, all told)! Yes, my ankle was absolutely killing me by the time we got back to the car, but I DID IT! 

Oh, and I snapped a few photos in between winces.

 

Every time I see our harbor, I think “project manager!  Why?  Here’s why!

Of course, we had to bring Marco to the best vantage point to see our fair city and snap a few touristy shots from Kerry Park on Queen Anne.

A few more touristy sights, like our own fuzzy statue of Lenin, straight from the old Soviet Union…

and our own troll…

and our own seaplane…

…and we headed home to the incredible flavor of the Tandori chicken that Marco had put together in the morning and that had marinated all day.  DELISH! 

See those beautiful placemats and napkins?  Marco’s sweet wife picked those out for us!  I LOVE them!  They also brought lots of Indian spices and mixes with them, so we’ll be having delicious Indian food for months to come… but it won’t compare to a meal actually shared with Marco, in person!

At 4 AM, Marco’s shuttle came to take him away from us.  As he drove off, Tom and I both remarked simultaneously that we feel like we’ve been family friends forever and that we already wish he’d come back!  Soon, perhaps – and hopefully next time with his wife (and maybe a kidlet or two?)!

When we got back into the house we found this next to the (perfectly made) bed in the guest room:

No Marco – thank YOU!  You are so kind and loving and generous of spirit and I feel truly blessed to be able to call you my FRIEND as well as my co-worker!  We miss you already!