Movie Review of Sorts

Once when asked what type of movie I like, I replied, “quirky.”  Sadly, this is not a genre that is easily defined or categorized – which makes it difficult to find.  This weekend, however, I discovered a full 170 enchanting minutes of it.  I know this may seem long, but after watching two hours of the movie, I felt distinct relief that there was another 48 minutes still to come.

It is difficult to recommend quirky movies with the confidence that others will enjoy them as much as I do.  In this case, I am prepared to go out on a limb and say this movie will be both entertaining and fun.  The themes transcend culture and give life to those attempted in Dead Poets Society, but with a richness and optimism which I found lacking in this earlier film. 

This is a movie that I keep thinking about and has application for my personal life.  (A topic more suited for a conversation over coffee than a discourse for this blog.)  I can see the irony of proposing to watch a movie about experiencing a life of passion, but next time I plan to offset the couch sitting by joining in on the crazy aerobic antics of the musical numbers.  (Yes, I do plan to watch this movie again, and unless others promise to try some dance moves, by myself!!!)  Whenever a spare three hours comes your way, I recommend watching 3 Idiots!

Art Disrupts Life

Phin and I have been taking drawing lessons for the past several weeks.  It is not going well.  Certain skills required to capture an image into a life-like drawing seem to be missing.  The week before we had to sketch horses - a different blog post for another time.  This lesson was another animal, one of our choice.  After a woeful attempt at a penguin, the instructor, a kind-hearted soul, demoted me to trees.  The scribbles that made up this particular tree were a welcome relief and a bit therapeutic after my artistic disappointments.  Below I present Exhibit A - Generic Tree:

The instructor declared that this tree, more like a shrub, had good shape.  Along with this first piece of encouragement, he said,  "Make sure you pay attention to the lines that should be dark and the lines that are lighter.  You can squint your eyes and see how the dark lines interact in an image."  I squinted and began to re-draw.  When I fully opened my eyes, the shrub had been transformed into a Shrub Monster!!!!!  Vines had become tails, and various leafy bulges had become appendages!  Apparently the Shrub Monster had been hiding in my sketch just waiting for the right moment to pop onto my page.  Although he endeavored to be fierce, the Shrub Monster was not scary.  I had to laugh and share his visit with Phin.  

As trees are not usually humorous, the instructor came to see what was causing our mirth.  When he saw the Shrub Monster, he shook his head in resignation and said, "Realism is not really your strong point, is it?"  It has become quite clear, both to me and the instructor, that this art class is not the place for me.  However, two days later, I saw something on my car that makes me question his take on my reality.  The Shrub Monster, not content to stay in my sketch book, had danced on the hood of my car.  Apparently, his leaves had turned vibrant colors and he just had to frolic.  

The Shrub Monster is now gone no matter how hard I squint my eyes.  His muddy leaf prints are still there to  illustrate the energizing mystique of the Fall Season, and serve as a reminder that being artistic is more than being able to draw realistically.

The Perfect Pet

While on vacation a random dog seemed to adopt us.  He would wait for us each day on the trail to the beach and follow us to the water.  I began to look forward to his wagging tail and floppy tongue greeting.  On the way back to our apartment, Phin would always explain how we had enjoyed the company, but we were not open to pet adoption.  I think the perseverance of this dog was beginning to soften Phin's firm stance, and by the end of the trip it was agreed that our new family may one day include pets.  Phin amended this to state we would only be taking applications from fish.  Upon hearing the news, the dog jumped in the ocean and splashed about.  Sadly, Phin was not convinced gills had been grown and we had to wave goodbye to the dog.  

I approved of the "fish only" policy until I saw this guy.  Now I want to smuggle him into our bathtub (which is still awaiting our first pet) and name him "Nemo"!    

Nighttime Terror

Three thirty-three in the morning is not a good time to be awake.  Especially if that awake person suffers from an over-active imagination – and is spending the night alone.  The twelves are cautious, the ones are worrisome, the twos are frightening, but the threes are downright terrifying.  The trick is to keep the imagination in check until the grouchy fours are reached.  The fours signalize a good chance that morning, if not exactly arrived, is on the way to chase nighttime under the bed.  There nighttime will hide until once again it finds someone unfortunately awake on its watch.  The clock changed - 3:37.

Zoey heard the siren approaching.  Faintly at first but getting loudly insistent– something bad was happening – a probable heart-attack.  Some night that could be her.  Her heart was racing and seemed to beat erratically.  Oh no, the siren must be for her.  Well, at least the ambulance was responding quickly – in fact, on second thought, perhaps a little too quickly.  She tried to calm herself down.  “Zoey, you are not having a heart-attack, and that siren is not for you.”  Her breathing became a bit more normal.  She checked the clock – 3:42. 

She tried to laugh off her scare - to think that ambulance was for her when she hadn’t even dialed 911. Panic was back in a flash!!!  How could you dial 911 when you were having a heart-attack?  Tomorrow – if it ever got here – she would buy one of those emergency beepers usually reserved for the elderly.  Having a plan calmed her down and she was able to turn her concentration fully on making it through the threes:  3:45, 3:46, 3:47.

Headlights broke through the blinds like an intruder and interrupted Zoey’s intent stare at the clock.  Her annoyance was cut short.  Displayed in full view on the wall was the silhouette of a man hunched outside her bedroom window.  Zoey froze as the man’s shadow ran quickly across the walls of her bedroom while the car drove slowly past.  The car and its headlights were gone taking away the shadow, but Zoey knew the man was still out there.

Holding her breath, Zoey slid to the floor hiding between the small space between the bed and wall.  She waited for what seemed like forever.  Hearing nothing she cautiously glanced at the clock, 4:01.  She had made it!!!  There was no way she was getting murdered during the dead of night now.  With morning on her side, she felt courageous enough to look out the window and monitor the progress of the potential prowler.  She eased up one corner of the blinds, but saw nothing.  The alley was deserted.  She sat up and looked directly out her window.  There was no man, no intruder, no prowler, just a smirking rhododendron bush with one branch leaning casually on the windowsill.  Zoey had officially made it through the night, and now it was time to get some sleep.   

Eulogy for Sigrid

Siggy was a beloved fish

With a life full of adventure.

His love for attention gave us in the pod

Moments which we all will remember.

Although advanced in years,

He attacked like a Beta, strong and sprightly.

His fierce fins and puffed out gills

Were not to be taken lightly!

His life was an example for all of us

Of what eating your vegetables will do.

With much delight he ate his peas

And lengthened the life of his queue.

Siggy was a good pod fish,

But it is time to say, “Good-bye”.

We wish him well in that Swimming Hole

Rumored to be in the sky.

Miss Pepper Potts

I know – another garden story, but my garden this year has been filled with excitement, drama and even hints of comedy.  With these elements, an opera was in the making.  It started with Miss Pepper Potts as a small green pepper, holding the most promise of all the gardening plants.  The aria for her was never completed, but once Phin realized we could name our produce after characters from Iron Man, his interest in the growing process perked up considerably – only to die when I mentioned my opera plans.

Well, after months of waiting, (in which time the whole opera could have been composed, casted and rehearsed) Pepper Potts is now ready to be severed from the vine.  I should mention that the purple tomatoes have long ago surpassed her early promise in size and abundance.  However, having a fully ripe miniature pepper makes me one happy gardener.  She may be too cute to eat!

Soon, I have promised myself to get back to the almost true stories that have nothing to do with fruits/vegetables (even the tiny ones).

Update:

We had to break into our emergency rations and use soup from the can.  Luckily, Miss Pepper Potts was willing to provide sparkle and garnish.  Usually when we are reduced to using emergency rations, we add excitement by pretending to have been stranded (the places vary from Antarctica to life rafts in the Pacific).  By using Miss Pepper Potts we were able to maintain some semblance of elegant dining as we slurped our soup.

One Dessert - Two Forks

My raspberry crop had a short season, mostly due to lack of experience.  My previous gardening adventures included taking care of the cactus, Mr. Scaggles.  He was thriving and began whispering ideas into my head of how I may have the elusive green thumb.  I was contemplating a companion plant for him when tragedy struck.  It was never clear if he jumped or was pushed out of the eighth story window, but the resulting splat on the sidewalk was final.  It was many years before I had the heart to welcome another plant.  The raspberry bush seemed equally inexperienced in gardening.  She sat in the greenhouse with an air of mystique which intrigued me enough to take her home.

Every morning I loved going out to see Miss Tery – a fitting name as she was labeled the "unknown berry" in the nursery.  One day she greeted me with the makings of a green fruit which looked remarkable like an unripe raspberry.  The berry ripened and I held off picking it for many days just so I could see Miss Tery waving this small red flag in our backyard.

The cravings for a raspberry dessert finally compelled me to pick the crop from Miss Tery.  She supplied enough for only one dessert which I graciously shared with Phin.  There was no recipe;  I just call it Raspberry Surprize and it was tasty!!!!

Sadly, after this initial crop, the thermometer blew its top and with the heat exhaustion Miss Tery was no longer up to producing berries.  I can’t say that I blame her, although next year I’m hoping if I’m more generous with the water we will have enough berries (as in plural) for two desserts.

Morning Melodies

It is not a secret that I like my eyes to be soundly shut until double digits can be seen on the left side of the colon.  This desire is often in conflict with my aspirations to be responsible, and so today began as most do in my world - with bizarre melodies.

Musical mornings have been part of my awakening as far back as I can remember (musical being defined in the broadest sense of the word).  My dad, quite the perky turkey in the early hours, would come into my room with a loud “cock-a-doodle-doo”.  His imitation of an operatic rooster became famous and delighted party guests whenever I had sleep-overs.

Motivation for the day was often found in his cheer of “You gotta get up, You gotta get up, You gotta get up in the morning”.  Of course this did not always work, and he would then borrow material from Uncle Remus.  Not expecting a reply, he would ask, “Is there one dead girl in here?”  “Ah,” he would mutter, “She must be dead.”  He then boisterously declared, “Dead people stick their foot up in the air and yell YAAAAAHOOOOOO!”  This yelp sent shivers down my spine and acted as an electrifying alarm clock.

In my teen years, the song of “Oh, my darling, Oh my darling” was sweetly sung off-key with made up words and followed by a morning chat.  I liked these one-sided conversations; it allowed me time to find nice endings to dreams and transition to reality.  The transition became slightly more depressing when my dad happened to watch Oklahoma, and revised his song repertoire. 

You would think that “Oh what a beautiful morning” would make a great addition to our morning routine.  Unfortunately this sprightly tune was not the one that peaked my dad’s interest.  Instead, the next few months he delighted in waking me to a moaning ballad, “Poor Jud is dead, Poor Jud is dead,” followed by a gleefully gloomy morning chat.

Although conventional alarm clocks have long ago replaced my father’s melodic attempts, today my transition to reality was definitely inspired by his methods.  A circle of clouds shaped like alligators surrounded my head and absconded with the lyrics of two well-known songs.  They replaced them with the following and sang them alternatingly:

"Waking up is never easy, I know but I have to go..." ABBA

"Morning is broken, like a first mourning..." CAT STEVENS

It took a shower, two cups of coffee, and emptying the dishwasher before I could get these songs out of my head and start the day with enthusiasm.

"You're Gonna Make it After All"

I have had a delightful day after a disappointing week.  Crafting the day away while watching Mary Tyler Moore shows is good therapy.  I think it is hearing that theme song every 25 minutes…   one can’t help but be cheered up!!!

MTM Theme Song

(The titles for the earlier show are way more fun, but the sound quality was not as good)

P.S. The box of SNACK SIZE ice-cream bars may have had a hand in the enjoyment of today- I am not to be trusted to spend a day in the house by myself with such tasty treats in the freezer!!

Holding Down the Fort

It was Monday and Phin had to work late, making it a perfect time for one of my projects.

It really started on Friday, when Phin was determined to buy and build a gazebo-like tent for our back patio.  Of course his project did not end on Friday, but took until the wee hours of the weekend.  We managed to have the inaugural meal in our “Idaho Room,” as this screened gazebo is now called, around 11:30pm Sunday night.  It was tasty, the air was warm, and the bugs were kept at bay.  We enjoyed our summer salad, with thoughts of baking being nowhere near the surface of my conscious.

Monday’s beautiful blue sky projected an innocence of any future (or past) sinister weather.  Nearing dinner, I decided to rummage in the pantry to see what I could find.  There was not much in the way of food, but there did seem to be plenty of useless ingredients.  Marked and unmarked baking supplies have been moving with me from kitchen to kitchen, giving the illusion of a well-stocked pantry.  Disappointed, I stepped out to be greeted by an unusual darkness.  I looked outside and saw a row of ominous black clouds bullying their way, gobbling up blue sky, and headed my direction.  The poor fragile gazebo was giving way to fear and shaking in its spindly legs.

I called Phin to have him stop for a rebar support system and urged him to hurry home.  I then went on a search for heavy items that could be used to keep the gazebo more or less in place.  Weights from Phin’s bench came in handy for one of the corners, but it was soon apparent that this was not enough.  That is when I remembered my earlier foray into the kitchen; I finally found a great way to use those mysterious white powders. 

With flour, sugar, and powdered sugar, makeshift sandbags were created.  Some of the flour had a best used date from 2009.  No wonder my bread (ok, the one loaf I attempted) turned out a little dense; I had mistakenly blamed the yeast.  “Well, if flour gets heavier as it ages, that can only be good for my sandbags”, I thought.  The bag of powdered sugar was not really worth its weight, but the brown sugar was as good as gold.  In no time at all, I had my sandbags assembled.

By this time the gazebo was trying to shimmy off the patio.  I placed the sandbags and went back inside to watch the forces of nature battle it out: Gravity vs. Wind.  It was an exciting hour, Wind was using intimidation tricks with pelting raindrops, but Gravity was holding its own.  Wind picked it up a notch to the roaring approval of thunder, and I knew I had to give Gravity a hand.  Although fully convinced of Benjamin Franklin’s experimental results, I reluctantly grabbed two metal rods in a lightning storm.

And so there Phin found me, 20 minutes later, practically flying an iron kite, wearing rubber crocs for safety.  We were mostly intact, with only one or two bolts missing.  Later that night I learned the wind had been 40mph with 60mph gusts.  The sandbags have been retired from active service, but here’s hoping that one day soon they turn into cookies.

The above is a "re-enactment photo" as there was no time to get an actual action shot.  You can see the rebar support system in place, and a calm netting.

Aptly Named

From the amount of damage that one little Triscuit did to my tooth, I now know why they are called crackers.  As for why Polly is always wanting one, I can only surmise that they must be kinder to beaks.  It may be time to put fluoride back into my toothpaste.

Country Living

Country living has increased my hermit tendencies to unprecedented heights. Yesterday when someone rang my doorbell, panic led me to belly crawl my way from my office chair to the bathroom, where I hid out for 15 minutes hoping the unknown ringer would leave. This afternoon, I was planning my dinner menu when I realized the tortilla stash had never been replenished (yes, I have finally mastered the cheese quesadilla). My options were to get in my car, open the garage door and go to the store… Or, open my pantry closet and see if I had ingredients that would combine sufficiently into a tortilla. Can you believe that I chose the cooking option????

I found a recipe where I had at least 3 of the 5 ingredients, and since I’m pretty sure that white substance in the unmarked container is flour, I probably actually have 4 out of the 5! I was missing lard, but seriously, who are the people that keep lard in their pantries? Right at the top, the recipe stated, “Do not substitute vegetable oil or shortening for the lard.” Since I was taking a big enough risk with what I really hope is flour, I decided to listen to recipe instructions (although I secretly thought either oil or shortening would have been a good idea). The real reason I listened to the advice was that I had neither one of the banned substitutes, so butter it was.

I began mixing the ingredients together, but as the directions said to stop when the concoction resembled cornmeal, and not knowing what cornmeal looks like, I stopped when I got tired of mixing. By this time it was a substance able to be rolled with a rolling pin, so I couldn’t have been too far off. I rolled, cooked, flipped, and forgot which ones I flipped, so flipped some more. The result???

They are edible as evidenced by my testing them with honey, maple syrup, cinnamon and sugar, and butter. However, I think they might shoot splinters at anyone attempting to roll up something in them. Soft shells are over-rated right? If anyone runs into that other Kuna resident before he gets home, you might want to warn him that the cracker-like items are actually tortillas. And, although comments on the tornado that swept through our kitchen should be kept to a minimum, cleaning help should not!

Kuna Newsbit

I debated on whether to answer the doorbell – I hadn’t showered and my hair was sticking up in Einstein fashion (a style that is much easier to pull off if you have mind-blowing breakthroughs in understanding the universe). Strangely I decided to open the door and had a nice talk with the mail lady, who much prefers pre-shower than mid-shower customers.

It wasn’t that I was suprized to find that I had adoring fans, but the location of Shoreline as their base was a bit mysterious. I didn’t hear any ticking, so once again against my better judgment (I must have really needed coffee) I sliced open the packaging. I won’t tell you the exact time these events transpired lest you be tempted to judge me for my non-showered state, however, I am glad to say that most of my neighbors were at work and so were spared the eerie groan/howl that escaped from our usually quiet house on Jump Rope Place.



It was indeed the Mexican Wedding Bowl!!!!!!! I distinctly have a fuzzy memory of someone telling me this item was gone forever, shattered beyond recovery. There were a few pieces cracked and missing, but this bowl is fully able to fulfill its primary purpose…

And yes, that means there is an open invitation for my adoring fans. We’ll have a soup dinner served in a "decorative" bowl with ceramic floaties (kind of like the opposite of ice cubes to keep the soup hot). Who could resist a nicely flavored stew specially spiced with the leeching of poisonous paint? Finally, no longer is my cooking to be blamed for inedible dinners… now that is a relief to this newlywed!

Happy New Year!!!!!!!

Phin's observation directed toward me: "I've never seen anything energize you more than procrastinating!"

Seems appropriate for a New Year's Day saying...

Official Story - The Ring Arrives

It became clear in the weeks following our foray into designing jewelry that we were indeed amateurs. Sophie was very patient with us as we revised and tweaked the renderings. It was not easy to find words that would communicate our vision into an art form that was both meaningful and beautiful. After much back and forth, a wax model was created and I was called in to give one final inspection before the casting in metal could commence.

The ring structure was exquisite. We had wanted a three cord strand to represent the marriage equation: Man + Woman intertwined and connected by God = Husband and Wife. (Think chemistry rather than calculus.) Sophie had sorted through tons of tiny rubies to find the reddest ones to embed in the top of the ring. The stones sparkled and greeted me with enthusiasm for their share in this new adventure. I knew their tiny glittering was the perfect choice to remind me to be a good wife, one who would show God’s love to Phin. It seemed serendipitous that the ruby is the birth stone for both Phin and me. (Although I am now convinced that any type of precious or semi-precious stone will represent the month you were born, depending on the chart referenced.)

I was delighted with the little green wax model and did not want to take it off my finger. The store was closing, so with resolute fingers I slid the wax from my hand. Apparently my grip was heavy handed and the wax model snapped into two pieces. Sophie assured me that this would not impede the casting process and once made from metal, the ring would be structurally sound. The metal of choice was palladium, and I am now wondering how much of Phin’s hereto unknown fascination with Iron Man influenced this decision!

One week later, Phin called to let me know that my ring was ready and needed to be picked up by me. It felt strange to be the first to see it and take it home. The ring was perfect – so unassuming but delicate and beautiful. The frustration of having it in my possession but not being able to wear it was demonstrating my patience. For the first time, I felt an urgency and huge desire to be engaged. Perhaps some may wonder if at night when the shades were closed and doors locked, I took the ring from its small cushioned case and practiced wearing it. Well, that I will never tell, but I had another question that I wanted to answer, and it was with eager anticipation that I awaited for Phin’s arrival that upcoming weekend!

Official Story – The Non-Engagement

My heart had completely changed in the months of the dating contract. I had gone from praying that Phin and I would not end up together to feeling fully confident that it would be the best thing in my life if we did. Even knowing this, the thought of facing that yes or no moment was still frightening. Phin promised me that he would not ask until I was ready.

It began to get easier to talk about future plans and dream together about our future life. Every once in a while I could even talk about how I envisioned a wedding, but often these discussions would end with Phin reassuring me that there was no hurry.

One Saturday over a late breakfast, Phin casually asked, “Would you want to design a ring together?” Who could pass up an invitation like this? I love designing, and although my jewelry design experience had been limited to safety pin bracelets, a ring sounded like an exciting fun challenge. That afternoon we decided to check out a jewelry boutique that specializes in facilitating the design process. We wanted to get an idea of how complicated it would be to buy a ring designed by us.

The place was intimidating with small work spaces set up, but once I saw the latte machine and comfy couches, I was ready to put on my creative hat. We looked at other designs, and an image of what I wanted formed in my head. Phin was amazing at being able to capture that idea and draw it on paper. Before long we had several sketches of an idea for a ring that was full of personal meaning for us. I was excited to see what the next step of the process would be.

Sophie, a design consultant, was called over to discuss the practicalities. She offered some suggestions and with modifications we soon had a concept that was ready to be modeled. Before she could send it over, however, she needed a deposit on the ring. I was so caught up in the creative excitement that when Phin asked if we were ready, I eagerly assented.

“Congratulations on your engagement,” Sophie said as she took Phin’s credit card.

“Oh, we aren’t engaged!” I declared emphatically, the significance of the last two hours slowly dawning on me. Sophie tried to dismiss the awkward moment with a bright smile as she walked away. I looked at Phin wondering how he was taking my declaration.

He had an understanding smile on his face and leaned over. “You do know this means that we are getting married, right?” he quietly asked with very calm patience. I nodded and it didn’t feel scary at all. From that moment we were officially getting married, although not yet engaged.

Official Story - The Option to Renew!

The care free fun of dating under the rules of the contract lasted approximately one month. Although in the dating world six months can be a long time and seemed appropriate when we began, it became clear that the option to renew signified a much deeper commitment (perhaps even talk of the “M” word). I realized that I only had five months to devise and implement an evaluation (refusing to call it a test) to determine if I wanted to share my life with anyone in general, and specifically with Phin.

About this time Phin had a similar revelation and came up with a very logical approach for his assessment. He made a list of topics that in his mind needed to be discussed and resolved prior to any further commitment on his part. (Apparently my reluctance to answer any question head-on caused some serious unease.) He let me know what these topics were and I was not worried about being compatible in the areas of his concern.

My criterion was much more difficult to ascertain. I felt like I had a solid understanding of Phin’s character, but was unsure of how our personalities would interact in the long-term. His natural reactions in various circumstances needed to be analyzed, and as I did not want observation to alter behavior, I kept quiet on the issues/personality traits that were important to me.

Not surprisingly, the not knowing which events I would find significant proved to have an un-balancing effect on Phin. In light of this, it was perhaps unfortunate that canoeing was the first adventure where I consciously assessed how we functioned as a couple. It did not bode well that by the time we hauled the canoe out from the water, I was convinced that next time we would paddle around in separate kayaks.

Although nowhere close to life in the ordinary, an international trip seemed like a fun way to discover if our differing quirks could find a harmonious rhythm. Being constantly together for three weeks, meeting my family, and dealing with the unexpected in travel gave us plenty of opportunities to enjoy the companionship while grappling with the uniqueness of one another.

In the end, I found it did not matter if there were more checks in the pro column of my mental compatibility chart. Phin had shown me a heart that was willing to work towards being compatible, which is much more reassuring. Although any thought of a proposal with “death do us part” consequences was still mildly terrifying, I did come back from Europe confident that I wanted to renew the contract indefinitely.

Official Story - The Contract

The next time I saw Phin we were both at a conference north of the border in the wild town of Vancouver. I was working on an essay about roundabout design and agreed to meet Phin for coffee to take advantage of his proof reading and editing skills. It was a night of great conversation in which we mostly avoided the serious talks about us. The late hour and caffeine finally kicked in and contributed to a tongue slip in which I admitted that I secretly thought dating him would be tons of fun.

The next day we took a walk around the city where the sidewalks were shoulder to shoulder with people. It was easy to tell what line of discussion was percolating in Phin’s head, but voicing any questions in the crowds was difficult. For my part, I thought it was clear that the topic was off limits, and to avoid answering the inquiring look coming from Phin, I glanced at the guy walking next to me. To my surprise my gaze locked on that of a giant lizard peering around a fellow pedestrian’s neck. I was just not expecting a lizard to be giving me such a soul searching look, and my shock took the shape of a jump to the side. There was no room for such a jump on the crowded streets, and I landed in Phin’s arms.

It seemed like people on the streets continued walking around us without missing a beat, while Phin and I were suddenly stopped by my surprise tackle. His laughing eyes were much kinder than that of the lizard, and he had to ask, “Will you go out with me?”

“I can’t,” I sadly replied, and he slowly put me down. It was clear that he didn’t understand and I tried to explain, “Dating you would be great, but I’m not ready for another break-up, and I’m not convinced that we would be good together for life.”

“It sounds like what you want is a dating contract that will automatically end in 6 months,” he replied wryly.

“That’s exactly what I want,” I exclaimed excitedly. Then after looking at him, I realized, “Oh, you were only kidding?”

“Well,” he replied slowly, “if you would consider dating me and we have the option to renew after 6 months, I would be willing to discuss a contract.” Just then we happened upon our colleagues and had to say our group goodbyes. Phin gave me a professional handshake and with a straight face promised to keep in touch. A few days later, over a 9 hour phone call, we hashed out the fine print of our contract – We were now officially dating until the end of February with an option to renew.

The Official Story - The Butterflies

For me the dating process has never been much fun. Of course there are moments/days and even weeks of joy, but with a hard squint one can always glimpse the circling shark fin indicating a future heartbreak for someone. At the end of the “Craters of the Moon” weekend, I left Phin with a bit of unease. It really seemed like he was in collusion with Someone to pull off the perfect trip - complete with sunsets, a full moon, adventurous exploration and even waterfalls rivaling Niagara to lure my cynical self into unclear waters.

I had always felt perfectly comfortable being with Phin. In fact, in my opinion, we were a little too comfortable with each other since there was no stomach knotting excitement in our interaction. As we sat on the craggy rock watching the sun disappear behind the purple streaked mountain, I was surprised to discover a fluttery excitement. It was so great to share this beautiful moment with someone who had turned my hazy ideas into an actual adventure, creating an exceptional day. The flutters took the shape of butterflies, and one bold creature had the audacity to ask, “Could this be the guy who would help turn thoughts for an extraordinary life into realistic daily living?”

I quickly smothered this butterfly with explanations of nature contriving a romance. The whole episode would be classified as an isolated dip into dating. However, I was soon to learn that once the butterflies are let loose, it is difficult to cram them back into their cocoon – especially ones this audacious.

We Interrupt this Program...

I have recently been swamped by "to do" lists (one of which contains -update the blog), and I also got ambushed by a cold. When I came to work today this cheerful creature was giving me a motivational cheer! "Ready... OK!"



Don't worry - I plan to get back to the series soon - at this rate there may be a wedding before the full story of "HOW" is truly answered! Don't be surprized if the story is fully revealed at our 25th wedding anniversary party!