Back in the USSR
Long time, no talk, eh? I am embarrassed to see the last time I wrote was um, in Bali. Man, that seems like an age ago. A sweet, delicious golden age that has passed -- I wave fondly to it here from my perch in Nero's burning Rome.
That's actually total bullshit. I've been pretty much living the life of Riley for the past twelve days until I returned to a mountain of work on Wednesday. Vacation, baby. Because of DK's art thing, our vacations for the last several years have been very European city centered, governed largely on what shows were on and what he was studying. (and boy howdy, I am not complaining. I'm game, if you know what I mean. Flexible. Willing. Jesus, here is my passport, take me to Paris already). But this year, with his orals approaching in December – insert fervent silent prayer here – we thought a totally art-free outdoorsy trip was the way to go. I'd leave my blackberry at home (lie) and he'd work to make his brain a tabla rasa before the hard core cramming begins.
His brother and wife were expecting the arrival of their newest little girl in late August, so we planned a road trip starting in Vancouver, up to Whistler for a few days, down to Victoria, over to Port Angeles for dinner up on a bluff with friends, down to Seattle and finally to Portland to see the hopefully emergent wee one and the absurdly precocious 4 year old. (And their parents of course. We happen to like them an awful lot too). And? It actually worked out perfectly. We got to see two of my favorite law school pals (one in Vancouver working for the Olympics, the other in Seattle running a non-profit transportation advocacy group. Why am I the only stupid lawyer?). Vancouver is just beautiful, despite the on-going seven-week strike by the garbage collection union, and seemingly full of hale and healthy looking young types scooting around in their fleece jackets. We were only screamed at once by a crazy homeless woman as we crossed a street – and compared to New York crazies, she seemed more earnestly passionate in her wish for us to go fuck ourselves, if less likely to actually act on that desire. And Whistler was just ridiculous. The whole "village" thing always feels a little contrived, of course, ("Hey kids, let's walk down MAIN STREET and into the VILLAGE SQUARE and buy $15 sandwiches"), but you can't touch it for sheer natural awesome.
DK and I went mountain biking and hiking and kayaking and god, even had a six hour fly-fishing lesson by a truly colorful guy who enjoyed, nay delighted, in telling us the most off-color stories about his, ahem, studly ski bum days and his current "little woman" he's going to throw over soon (something about how she hit him with a snowshoe during sex and threw him outside, naked and bleeding. What's not to love?). So we were outdoorsy is what I'm saying. Active-like. Full of bonhomie and clean mountain air.
I was happy to see Seattle. I finally got to break out a little mini-dress and cute sandals and we ate fresh doughnuts and salmon sandwiches and salmon jerky and some delicious apple pastry thing. It was familiar territory with the fooding and the shopping and the wine-swilling with friends. I like that Seattle. I have secret designs to move there, well, someday.
Then Portland for family time. G, my sister in law, went into labor the night we arrived, so we got the whole weekend visiting the little healthy lump (8 lbs. Perfect little rosebud lips. God, they're sweet when they're so new and little; even her cries sound like a small mewling animal. I hear that changes? Please confirm.). We took care of M-banana, the four-year old. She is a whirlwind of smart and sassy and sneaky and charming and bossy and disarming all at once. We adore her. Though, my god, parents of the world, HOW DO YOU DO IT? After the first night, I was dead to the world by 8pm. By day three, DK suggested that instead of a baby, we get ourselves a plant. Or a goldfish. Nonetheless, here is a picture. I bought her Eloise -- 'nuff said. 
How have you been? Work is threatening to kick my ever-loving behind the next couple weeks, but in a way, I missed the old gal. One cannot vacation forever (you can actually, I believe it is called unemployment, or in my friend J's case, living off daddy). But I appreciate that I've come back a little brighter-eyed and bushier-tailed than usual. September, ho!
