Bark Park

Finally, finally the weather in Seattle is pleasant enough for a trip to Shasta’s favorite place on earth, “Bark Park” – known to humans as the Marymoor Park Off-Leash area for dogs.

Shasta could barely contain herself in the car, and as we approached “Doggy Disneyland,” she was beside herself with joy and anticipation!

As we parked, Shasta just about jumped out the moon roof. “Out! Let me out! I need to ruuuun and plaaaay!”

First stop: loading up on plastic bags. Incredibly enough, even with hundreds of dogs doing their thing, I’ve never seen any dog poop at Bark Park.

Of course, all Shasta cares about is her ball. As you know, with Shasta, it’s all about the ball. Nothing matters as much her ball.

Except more balls…

Shasta, Peter and Kat had a fabulous time…

Shasta’s a total water dog!

But she’s by no means the only water dog…

The best treat of the day, though, was ours. Peter introduced us to his friend Shannon, who is a veterinary tech with aspirations of being a vet. She absolutely loves animals. Within three minutes of Peter introducing us to her, this transpired:

A fluffy white dog came out of nowhere and just sat next to Shannon. Just peacefully sat right next to her. Walked up to her and just sat down as if she’d known Shannon forever!

And then! Then this little white fluffy dog climbed right onto Shannon’s lap and proceeded to calmly watch the world go by with Shannon’s arms wrapped around her!

And that was our introduction to Shannon. Needless to say, I agree with the fluffy white dog -- she’s wonderful!

Addendum: Here are some of Kat's photos:

As Kat said, "Doesn't this guy look like he could have come straight out of Where the Wild Things Are"?

BULL!

I’ve been wondering what I could write about other than my insane hours and the cacophony of conversations that reverberate in my head for about 16 hours a day as e-mails are torpedoed my way at lightning speed and IMs clamor at me incessantly from Communicator (internal Microsoft conversations), MSN Messenger (business conversations), and G-chat and AIM (personal conversations).

I know I’ve promised not to get back into this pace, but really, what choice do I have? The work needs to be done and done quickly, I’m grateful to have a job, and Tom’s been given a lay-off notice, so it’s not a good time to complain about being overworked, is it?

So I won’t bitch about that.

But oh, do I ever have something to bitch about!

This morning when I opened my Visa account online, I noticed a charge for $21.00 for ATV magazine. ATV Magazine? That’s for people who go four-wheeling in the desert, right?

(Soooo me! Not.)

I asked around the family if anyone had ordered this magazine and Tom reminded me that he’d joked a few times that I must have a pent-up passion for ATVs since he’d seen my name on that magazine label. (I stupidly assumed that I’d been given a free subscription when I ordered Time magazine.)

I then called the phone number on my statement and I was greeted by an automated line (at a company called Magazine Customer Service, a division, I later found out, of Synapse Group Inc.) which immediately gave me the option to cancel a subscription. ‘Good enough start,"’ I thought, and pressed “2” as prompted.

The syrupy woman’s voice then asked if I was SURE I want to cancel my subscription. 1 for “yes,” 2 for “no.” I pressed “1,” at which point I was asked to consider an offer for another year of ATV magazine for just $1 after I cancel. (HUH?) All I’d have to do is call BACK and cancel that year… or I’d be charged another $21. Does this sound like an offer you can’t refuse? Press “1” for “yes",” “2” for “no.”

(Oh god, now we’re into double negatives! Um… “2”!)

At this point, for a second time I was offered an “even more amazing deal” if only I don’t cancel. Please don’t cancel! I refused that offer as well – which was no easy feat, as I believe we were into triple negatives by that time. After declining all offers, I was given a slew of options, from 1 to 9, from changing my address to exploring magazine titles.

Oh a whim (yeah, right!), I pressed “0,” hoping to be connected to a real live person. And keep in mind that “0” wasn’t given as one of my options!

Lo and behold and miracle of miracles, I was connected to a real person! I told “Steven” that I had already canceled ATV magazine by way of the company’s automated service, but I wanted to find out more. How did I come to be charged for this magazine which I’m obviously not interested in? How, where, and when was this apparent sales made? Steven proceeded to tell me that my purchase of both the ATV and the Windows Gamer Magazine subscriptions were made on February 10, 2008 by way of an automated call that, it seems, I placed!

Oh really?

Windows Gamer Magazine?! No way – not even a free trial version! There has never been a copy of that magazine in this house!

Yes, Steven insisted. I placed a call to this Magazine Customer Service company and requested subscriptions to ATV and Windows Gamer magazines and then, according to Steven, I gave an automated attendant my Visa number! That’s right – it seems that I stated my credit card number and associated information to a robot on a phone.

BULL!

I asked to talk to Steven’s manager who was a very nice woman who insisted that yes, I (or someone in my household) CALLED the magazine subscription company and ordered three magazines. She even gave me the credit card number I apparently used – which was a closed account.

So wait… how did my new account come to be charged, I asked. She insisted that when the old account was closed, the charge automatically goes to the new account.

“My bank authorized that?” I asked incredulously. Apparently so.

No way!

I spoke to the manager a while longer, but she could give me no additional information. I would be given a refund for both magazines and I would never be contacted by them again, so what more could she do for me, she wanted to know.

Nothing, I guess. And we hung up.

But aaarrrggghhhh! How did this happen? How were we charged for magazines we never ordered and how did Magazine Customer Service (a division of Synapse Group Inc., don't forget) get TWO of my Visa numbers?

I feel violated still, and I’m really not sure what to do about it at this point. Any suggestions?

Hole-y mole-y!

I have often advocated regular visits to the dermatologist for “mole checks” on this blog.  Until my brother-in-law, who has melanoma, urged me to be checked for suspicious moles, I’d never seen a dermatologist.  But his situation (Interferon treatments for an entire year, hoping for a 10% chance of a more positive outcome) jolted me out of my procrastination and I finally found a dermatologist and went in for a “mole inspection.” 

At that first appointment, Dr. Voss found four suspicious moles.  She removed and biopsied them and called me back to take deeper tissue from two of them that showed irregular cells.  I have quite the scar on my chest, which affects the necklines I choose to wear these days, but I do NOT have cancer.

A few months later, I returned for a follow-up check and lo and behold, another suspicious mole was removed.  My latest follow-up appointment was scheduled for January 5th – the day after my accident – so obviously that was cancelled.  Now, normally I’d probably space and not re-schedule (after all, it’s just a check-up…), but in this case I knew better and I rescheduled for when I knew I’d be mobile enough to get to the office.

Good thing, too.  Because yesterday FOUR more moles were removed, and today my forearm looks like this:

That wound is nothing – and yet, fear of that silly superficial scratch is what had prevented me – a redhead, no less – from being checked in the first place!  How stupid is that?!

So this is your call to action.  Pick up the phone and make an appointment with a dermatologist for a mole check NOW.  Do not wait.  Don’t wait till you read just five more blogs.  Don’t wait till after dinner.  Don’t wait till you’re near a phone.  Don't wait till you feel like it. 

Just do it.  NOW.  Right this minute!

And if you’re in the Seattle area, I can recommend Julie Voss at Northwest Face in Kirkland.  You’ll even have this view from the parking lot (bring a sandwich and have a picnic!):

If marketing e-mails could talk

This is entertaining for anyone, but if you’re in my current line of business, you will absolutely LOVE it!  (Sparky, this means you!)

Family Portrait

For empty nesters, we get to see our kids fairly often, since Elisabeth, Aleks, and Kat live nearby in Seattle and Peter comes home from Pullman every few weeks.  But still, it’s somewhat rare that everyone’s together in one place at one time.  So our traditional Easter dinner at Spaghetti Factory – including Elisabeth’s boyfriend CJ, who we consider part of the family -- was extra special and an absolute blast.

Yes, there’s was just a touch of “Moooom, enough with the picture taking!” when I asked the waitress to snap a photo, but they know me well enough to know that when we’re all together I usually want at least one photo taken, so they relented. 

Left to right, that’s CJ, Kat, me, Tom, Aleks, Peter, Elisabeth.

(That’s THREE posts today!  I think I just set a personal blog record!)

Crispy French Toast

This, for Easter breakfast (at 2 PM), compliments of Kat:

Ingredients:

• Eggs
• Vanilla extract
• Nutmeg
• Milk
• White bread
• Honey Bunches of Oats or similar cereal (preferably caramel/vanilla flavor), crushed with a rolling pin in a Ziploc bag

Beat eggs with vanilla, nutmeg and milk. Place cereal in flat pie pan.

Dip bread in egg mixture.

Dip egged bread in crushed cereal, coating additionally as necessary.

Place cereal-coated bread in pre-heated 325-degree frying pan.

Admire the beauty; anticipate the flavor.

Voila!

Enjoy Easter breakfast at 2 PM (OK, fine – Easter BRUNCH!).

Then clean up, laze about for a few hours, and head into Seattle for the traditional family Easter dinner at… the Spaghetti Factory!

Why would the Spaghetti Factory be a place for Easter dinner, you ask?

Welllll…. many years ago, when the kids were small, we went to “the cousins” house on Bainbridge Island for Easter brunch. By the time we got off the ferry that evening, we were all hungry again, and drove around downtown looking for a place to grab some quick dinner. We drove past our favorite (but always-crowded) restaurant, Spaghetti Factory and noticed unusually few cars in the lot, so we ventured in. NO wait! We had a marvelous time that Easter and ever since then, going back for a no-wait Easter dinner at the Spaghetti Factory has been tradition! Elisabeth and CJ are meeting us there in a few hours and if everyone will put up with my incessant picture taking, I might post a family photo later today. However, if I’m greeted by a chorus of “Mooooooom! No more pictures! Geeeeze!” …well, then we’re out of luck.

Hidden eggs and hiding cats. (It must be Easter!)

Playing the role of Easter Bunny has always been up to me.  Until, apparently, this year, when I woke up to find these:

(Oh Mystery Ruhpolding Teacup Bequeather, are you still around?!) 

 

(Now wait one minute!  I’m not eating those!)

And next to my bed…

My own Easter basket!  I haven’t been greeted by an Easter basket of my own since I was 10 years old!  Methinks the Tommy Bunny was quietly hopping around last night!  Heart!

Even Boo got into the spirit of hiding and being found:

Happy Easter!

Five years ago today…

…I wrote this:

“At 4 AM, Dad gently woke me up and held my hand as we walked down the hall and as we approached Mom he said, “If you’re very quiet, you can hear how peaceful death is.”

Just before dawn on Easter Sunday, as the half-moon rose over the horizon, Mom drifted peacefully and quietly from this life.

Her breaths were like a tiny, delicate little bird’s: very shallow, very regular, and very soft, with a faint rhythmic “click” to each breath. She looked totally relaxed. But she didn’t look like my mother. Mom had taken leave two days before. That was so obvious to me as we helped “usher” Mom’s body across as she’d asked. Over the period of an hour, she drifted so sweetly and peacefully away, surrounded by her family, and within the glimmer of a Bavarian candle.

After she died, Dad went outside and picked a dogwood flower and placed it on Mom. He commented to me that dogwood flowers only stay light for a short time. He was right: in a matter of minutes, dark spots appeared on the tip of each flower.

Then we all sat with her. No one cried. It was simply too serene and beautiful, too “holy” even, to cry. Michael and Dad even took a few pictures. Mom looked beautiful in her white lace gown, under the white lace sheet, graced by the dogwood flower on Easter morning as the sun rose.

About two hours after Mom died, a Funeral Alternative couple came to get her. A husband/wife team, they gently told us what would happen. State law requires gloves and a plastic sheet and that she be covered and encased. Previously, I’d thought I couldn’t stay for such a thing, but I would have never considered leaving at that point. They handed me the dogwood while they wrapped her and placed her on the gurney. Then they “zipped her in,” forgetting to replace the flower – which I wanted with her. So I found my way to her, unwrapping her, and placed the flower on her chest. Then I gave her a kiss and said, “Schlafy, schlafy (my family’s “sleep tight”) one last time.”

Flowers and wine for Mom.