My middle brother and I are eating like spoiled toddlers while we are at my father’s. We are both greedily eating dad’s cookies, ice cream and chocolates and then stocking him back up again.

I’m glad neither my brother nor I have a thirst for alcohol.

Ice cream sandwiches though…

The weather is pleasant. There has been plenty of rain of late. The valley is very green. 

Sunday, a guest preacher spoke at church. Afterwards my husband and I introduced ourselves. The preacher became slightly confused or uncomfortable when he discovered we were gay. I’m fine with that. If I can make adults uncomfortable by just being normal, then so be it. 

In the afternoon we attended a large family gathering with many of my relatives. It was great to see everyone. My husband ask if I was more happy in the Ottawa Valley. I had to think about it. Later I responded, not that I was happier here, but that I was more at peace. I get the feeling that our world could blow up, perhaps literally, that the disaster would pass the Valley and we could rebuild here. 

Travel day for us. We are heading up to the Ottawa Valley to spend the week with my family.

Weekend Notes

Saturday – Long walk along the beach at Alki. Dinner with WS and LIH at Evan and Allen’s. Saturday evening the U.S. bombed Iraq neclear sites. I went to bed, refusing to mentally engage in a new war just before bedtime. My husband stayed up to take in the live news stream. 

Sunday – Walk around the Chinese Garden. Run along Alki. Hung out with Evan and Allen in the afternoon. Huff and baby H2 dropped by. Baby H2 is doing well. I think Huff enjoyed hanging out with Adults. 

Reflecting over the weekend... sometimes I become very aware of how different my husband’s tastes are from mine.

On Saturday, as we finished our walk, he turned to me—eyes lit up—and said, “Should we start a walking group? Or a bicycling group?”

I felt a grimace rise and had to calm my face so he wouldn’t see it.

For me, part of the joy of a long walk is not coordinating with others. I don’t want to join or plan a walking group. I want quiet, movement, and no scheduling texts.

Of course, the desire probably passed from him moments later. He was likely just thinking out loud. Meanwhile, I’ve been ruminating on it for two days.

On Sunday, while friends were visiting, my husband pointed to a blank section of wall and said it felt like it needed some art. He and our guests launched into a conversation about what kind of art it should be.

Again, I had to suppress a grimace. There’s enough stuff in my life. I have no desire for a little more art.

And yet—a little more art really would put a smile on his face.

Art is never a straightforward purchase for him. He’d want to know the artist. There would be a story. The piece would come with meaning. All of that would cheer him.

Am I becoming austere? Do I need a little more vision for my life? Do I need to speak up more about what I want?

In my relationships, I tend to keep the peace. My husband has good judgment and great taste. So I’m usually happy to go along with what he wants. But maybe there’s a middle ground—something between going along and speaking up—that’s worth exploring.

My career on the other hand... more thoughts on that in a future post... 

One of my employees wrote a blog post for work that ended up being popular. I'm proud of him. 

I don't often write about work yet it occupies most of my time and energy. 

I'm a Director at a tech company. Right now my job isn't that challenging, but I do it well. I'm given much space to do what I want. My org's top-line metrics (return on investment, employee engagement, customer satisfaction) are very healthy especially relative to the rest of the company. As such, the executive's attentions are elsewhere. 

And the absence of challenge, boredom, is the thing that I worry about. I'm very well compensated, so I'm inclined to stay put. The next big step, the next big challenge, is to become a VP.  And I don't want that job, at least not at this company.

As I get older, the hair above my ears is thinning out. The hair on my ears, nose, and pretty much the rest of my body is thickening. This is a thing for men of a certain age.

I was at my barber on Thursday and asked him to trim my ears. He offered to wax my ears and nose. Impulsively, I agreed.

For the first time in years my ears and nose are smooth. My husband approves. Now I'm contemplating-- do I not trim enough? Should I use the trimmer on my ears and nose more often? Should I just let the barber take care of it? A little of both?

Later, I brought it up with Clem. He told me about Turkish Singeing. Apparently, he and Bates will ask for it when they’re at a barber in that part of the world.

And yes—it stung when my barber ripped the wax off.

I stopped by Huff's place and visited baby H2. Things are going well. H2 slept the entire time I was there. 

And, C2 is moving back to Seattle. He has bought a townhouse on Capitol Hill.

Last night Huff delivered baby H2 into this world. Mother and baby are recovering well. 

My husband was in the delivery room. It was a very emotional experience for him. 

Huff's baby is on the way. My husband has headed off to be with her. Huff asked him to be the one who cuts the cord.

Tommy writes...

Wonderful Photograph..... you must have a "green thumb"

Thank you and perhaps.  I enjoy the technical challenge of raising plants (The farmer in me?) I have little interest in creating a beautiful garden. This can frustrate my husband, though he does a good job on his own.

This year sunflowers caught my eye so I decided to give them a go. 

Sunday morning, we took my mother-in-law to a local park for a picnic. It’s a bit of a production—she needs oxygen and a scooter—but we pulled it off. We ate lunch, watched the ferries, and said hello to the park’s troll.

Sunday evening, we went to a neighborhood BBQ hosted by someone in AA. Over the past year, my husband has connected with other locals in the program and built a solid group of friends here.

About a month ago, I planted sunflowers. They're starting to bloom.

We've now lived in this house for a full year and have settled into its rhythms.

Our old house was tucked into the woods and had industrial-strength HVAC. Set the thermostat, and every room hit that number. Easy.

This house is different. It faces south and west, and the air conditioning is... adequate. As a result, we have to pay more attention—adjusting windows and blinds throughout the day as the sun moves.

I’m back in Seattle today. My husband is still in Chicago until Tuesday. Seattle is just starting its shift from regular gloom to summer glow, so I was greeted with one of those rare and glorious sunny days.

And now, a note for posterity: The Crow.

I haven’t been writing about the crow, but I’ve been living with it.

A little over a month ago, I got the urge to tame a crow. Yes, I know. Odd impulse. I think I’d read something about how intelligent crows are—that they can learn to recognize people, and even bring you shiny things if you feed them.

One afternoon, I spotted a crow sitting near our balcony. I put out half a dozen dog kibbles. After I stepped away, it flew over and gobbled them up. Encouraged, over the next few days, I repeated this routine. Each time I saw a crow (I like to think it was the same one), I’d set out a few kibbles and walk away. 

After about a week, it started to recognize me. If I was walking around the neighborhood, it would follow me home, clearly anticipating its treat.

So far, so good.

Then it started sitting, waiting for me, on the power line above where my husband parks his vehicle.

My husband was unimpressed with the amount of crow shit on his windshield. Then another crow joined in. More noise. More shit. 

I’ve stopped feeding the crow. I now chase it away when I see it near the house. The dream of bonding with urban wildlife has been replaced by a more practical ambition: keeping my husband's SUV clean.