spring break roadie

The mantra of our six-day road trip south started out as "We can always just drive home if we're miserable." By the second day of the trip it had changed to "Let's quit our jobs and hit the road for good!"

We had a great time on this trip. We spent three nights down at Emerald Isle (southern tip of the Outerbanks) and two nights in Charleston, SC. Here is my road trip top 10 (in no particular order):

1. Whole Shells. Growing up near the Oregon Coast, I always thought finding whole shells along the beach was a myth invented by Hollywood. But they really exist, at least in the Carolinas! It was so much fun to go shell hunting. The shorelines would literally be overflowing with intact, beautiful shells. Sometimes I would pick one up and think, this must have been bought at a store and then dropped by the North Carolina Dept of Tourism! We brought some home to keep...I wish I would have brought enough to fill my entire house with them!

2. Southern Food. We ate hush puppies and grits for the first time. Ed ate a lot of oysters and crabs and such 'cause that is his thing. We found this place in Charleston called the Glass Onion with amazing southern comfort delights. I want to drive all the way back for more cornbread and deviled eggs, please.....and mashed potatoes and collard greens.....yum!

3. Dolphins. I had no idea we would see dolphins on this trip. We first spotted a few in the water on the ferry back from Shakelford Banks. We saw more on the Charleston Waterfront. When we went to Folly Beach (near Charleston) there were three dolphins playing within a few feet of us in the water. Spectacular. We were told they hang out in the area until July when the water gets too warm.
i missed getting a shot of the dolphins, but got a cute one of Noe


4. Historic Charleston. Charleston was so beautiful that I was *almost* convinced that the Civil War really was "a war of northern aggression," as they like to claim. How could this beautiful place have ended up on the wrong side of history? It reminded me a bit of Georgetown, but with palm trees. I couldn't keep my eyes off the beautiful houses and churches. There was a lot of Easter preparation going on at the churches. We walked through the old cemeteries at the Catholic churches and snuck into a beautiful stained-glass sanctuary at a Presbyterian church. I would have loved to attend Easter Services there.

Serena, is this the water fountain where you and Barry got engaged?



5. The Lighthouse.


I was all pumped up about exploring lighthouses on this trip. So when we saw signs for a hiking trail that was supposed to lead to a historic lighthouse, we jumped out of the car and hiked. This is as far as we got. I decided against the mile swim.


6. Wild Horses at Shakelford Banks.

Look behind Asher and you will see the "wild" horses

One day, we took a ferry out to a small island that was home to dozens of wild horses, left by the Spaniards back in the day. I was expecting groups of them to randomly run past us as we walked the island, 'cause they're wild, right? But we actually had to hunt for them by following the horse poop. We finally found a group quietly eating grass. Ever since television and the Internet came along, I guess wild horses aren't as active as they used to be!

7. Mini Golfing. Dude. The South does their mini golfing right. At Emerald Isle, we took our very own train to the first hole. There were cascading waterfalls and no clowns or cheap windmills. The boys got into it (although Noe preferred to kick his ball into the hole if we didn't watch him). I had a great time because I was with my cute little threesome.....I could skip the golfing. And golfing also deserves a mention because it cost us $36 for 18 holes. Yes, you read that correctly. For that much, I was expecting a high-five from Tiger Woods for my holes-in-one.

8. Car Talk. Ed and I had so many great talks on this trip. Mostly when we were held hostage along long stretches of highway. Since most of our conversations take place on Facebook chat or are prefaced with the phrase...."You have exactly three minutes to talk before I have to go to X" these days, to have long stretches of conversation was pretty fabulous. We learned that we are both in our thirties now and have two children, among other things...

9. Piggly Wiggly. This is a real grocery store! I always thought it was a place that people invented to make fun of Southern folk. An' I seen it with my very own eyes!

10. Technology. Finally, a special shout out to the iPads and other new-fangled technology contraptions that helped make the long drive a pleasant experience for all.

Rip City Rhapsody

One of the hardest things about living on the East Coast the last 10 years has been being away from extended family. I know this has been particularly difficult for Jen, who still had all four grandparents when we moved to New York in 2002. Inevitably, health problems would creep up and it wouldn't be so easy to get back to say goodbye or pay our respects.

On the other hand, you cherish those times you got to see them that much more. And every once in a while, you get a memory that you will never forget.

I would put my last significant visit with Jen's paternal grandfather (Razz as everyone called him) in both of those categories.

We went to Portland last April for spring break, and by then we were well aware of Grandpa Razz's declining health. His wife had died a year earlier after a long struggle, and he had slowly gotten weaker in the ensuing months. By this point, he was living with Jen's aunt and being taken care of.

Even though I knew him for a fraction of the time Jen knew him, I still have many wonderful memories. He had been extremely generous to my parents when I got married. Even though there was an obvious language barrier, Razz was determined to show my parents a good time and have them not pay for any of it. That was him in a nutshell: His kindness transcended cultures.

But any conversation about Razz can't occur without mention of the Portland Trail Blazers. He had been a season ticket holder pretty much from the start of the franchise, when they played in the old Memorial Coliseum. He was on hand for Game 6 of the 1977 Finals, he lived through the Rip City years, he even hung in there during the Jail Blazers Era after they moved to the Rose Garden. He probably had his heart broken during Game 7 of the 2000 conference finals.

(I say "probably" because I NEVER brought it up. I knew better, especially as a Lakers fan. I remember during a particularly feisty Lakers-Blazers regular season game years ago, Jen called over to his house and he answered the phone by saying "KILL THE REFS!")

I always enjoyed looking at his old Blazers stuff and hearing about his hilarious brushes with old Blazers players (the Billy Ray Bates story is a classic).

So knowing all this, I noticed our vacation was going to coincide with the start of the NBA playoffs and lo and behold, Portland was in it. They were a long-shot to go all the way, but at least they would have a first-round series. So I figured what better way to spend time with Grandpa Razz than to go over and watch the games with him?



By this point, things were looking up for the Blazers.

The Blazers played Dallas that series, and they lost the first two games to the Mavericks, both of which I watched with him. I skipped Game 3, which they won, and was back at his side for Game 4, which was on a Saturday afternoon, the day before Easter. It was a gorgeous spring day in Portland, the kind where you feel you could reach out and touch Mt. Hood because it looked so pristine.

And by the third quarter, the Blazers were down by 23 points. I was starting to think I was the jinx.

They had shaved the deficit to 18 points by the start of the fourth quarter but they still looked terrible. Then, Brandon Roy happened. If you're any kind of NBA fan, you remember the game:



I couldn't believe what we were watching. Grandpa Razz was as excited as he could be, chuckling at the Blazers' good fortune. By the last two minutes, the rest of the family that was around ran in to see the finish and we were making quite a scene. And when Jason Terry's desperation three-pointer fell short, it was pandemonium. I turned to Grandpa and told him: "We got a series!" He laughed, happily.

It was all I could say before running off to the restroom and breaking down and crying.

I know it's just a game and I'm not even a Blazers fan, but that wasn't why I got so emotional. It was because I realized right then that this was probably the last time I'd ever see him (we were flying back to D.C. two days later). The fact it happened during an insane Blazers playoff game made it a happy memory. But it was certainly bittersweet.

Eventually, I composed myself and said goodbye, gave him a big hug and told him I loved him. The look on his face will resonate with me forever. He was clearly touched, even got a little choked up and then he said, "I love you, too."

Grandpa Razz passed away Friday night, nearly 12 months after that last happy afternoon together. Jen broke the news to me this morning. I'm sure she and her family will do his memory far greater justice than I ever can (see the video tribute below, for example).

But as we begin to grieve, I wanted to remember that beautiful spring day back in Portland.

Cherry Blossom Festival: Then and Now

When we moved to the DC area in early spring of 2006, one of our first outings was the Cherry Blossom Festival at the Tidal Basin. The picture above says a lot about our life then..... no one is looking at the camera, no one knows exactly what is going on, lots of forced grins by Mom and Dad.

I can't deny it....life is much easier and ordered six years later....

with two happy boys.

It was a magical morning. The blooms were at their peak, the weather was gorgeous, and we were there early enough in the morning to practically have the place to ourselves. We took our time through the Jefferson and FDR Memorials, enjoying the view from all angles (including the angles involving hanging from trees).

10 Years Later...

Full disclosure: I wrote this right after the Oscars last month when it was fresh on my mind. But the Oscars I refer to here happened in late March that year, so it still felt timely. Enjoy!

The Oscars telecast is usually prime time for the celebrity obsessed. Between the pomp and circumstance, what the actors are wearing and the red carpet, it's a pop culture overload.

For our household, the Oscars brings back memories of an important moment in our lives that happened 10 years ago. And it had nothing to do with movies. And it was a moment in which I was very under-dressed for any red carpet.

I was in New York City during the 2002 Oscars, getting ready for a copy editing tryout at The New York Times. My time at The Oregonian was running out and I needed to figure out what to do next. I was also a newlywed, having married Jen the previous August. Meanwhile, Jen was in the stretch run of her MBA program at the University of Oregon, commuting twice a week down to Eugene from Portland for classes.

It was a stressful, uncertain time.

And this copy editing tryout was not exactly going to be easy. They say that the New York Times copy desk has a lower acceptance rate than Harvard, and with good reason. Copy editors are a newspaper's quality control and The New York Times prides itself on being the best in all aspects of its operation.

The fact I had even earned a trip to New York was actually a promising sign. And Neil Amdur, the sports editor, was an advocate of mine from my days when I worked as a summer intern there during college. But the fact was, I still had to show I was good enough when it came time for the actual tryout.

So as I was watching the Oscars with an old college friend, watching Halle Berry and Denzel Washington win awards, watching Woody Allen's heartfelt plea to the Academy to keep filming in New York (remember, we were only six months removed from 9/11), this was weighing on my mind.

I knew it was a fork in the road moment in our lives, certainly in my career. If I got this job, we'd be embarking on an adventure all the way across the country and I'd be taking an important step professionally. If I didn't, we'd be closer to family and Jen had a job lined up after graduation, but my career would be stalled (I didn't have a Plan B).

As I was telling a colleague last week, what makes the Times' tryout so difficult isn't so much the editing of stories, but the critique session the next day. You sit in a small office with a no-nonsense editor who hectors you for even the smallest thing. You are on the defensive from the get-go, and I've met many fine editors who came away from that experience very drained. One particular memory that still stands out for me: This editor getting on this compact exercise machine as she deliberately read this very long sentence that I did not make shorter. Her point was that it was too long a sentence for someone who was somewhat distracted to try to read.

(As embarrassing as that felt in the moment, it was a lesson I still refer to today. I've substituted "person on exercise machine" for "person reading on mobile device on the subway" whenever I need to make that point.)

Of course, I survived the tryout and two weeks later I got the call.

In the years since, me and Jen have gone through a lot of adventures on the East Coast, as she eloquently pointed out in her recent post. And in spite of some obstacles in our lives, particularly with Noe, there are really no regrets to speak of. I was looking back at my journal from that time in our lives and I found this passage from the day after I received the job offer from The Times:

"I think of how we are now, young and on the cusp of the rest of our lives. We've got our whole life ahead of us, not yet burdened by the weight of what's ahead and full of hope. It's a nice feeling, and it's also so fleeting."

Sounds about right, especially the part about it being fleeting. Time certainly flies, but when you have a life partner like Jen, the nice feelings don't necessarily end.

Ding, Ding!!!

That is the sound of our 10 year East Coast alarm going off.

This spring marks Year 10 of East Coast living (four years in NYC followed by six in the DC area). Our original five-year plan quickly turned into a ten-year plan, and the extra time here has been well spent. Ed and I have both enjoyed great working opportunities, we have found wonderful therapies and services for Noe, and it has been fun to live in places where life moves fast and things happen.

When we first arrived in NYC, the streets were still reeling from the shock of 9.11 and every street corner had its personal armed National Guardsperson. We survived the Great NYC Summer Blackout of 2003, took our second child home from the hospital by subway, ran into Mayor Bloomberg at our neighborhood park, witnessed an assault outside our apartment door. I feel like we had an authentic NYC experience.

In DC, we purchased our first home, laid low through the Great Recession, saw first-hand the Obama Inauguration and the celebration on the streets after Osama bin Laden's capture and death.

It is time to come home. I want to see big green trees and volcanic peaks again. I want "going out" to constitute putting on shorts, grabbing a bike, and finding a good food cart. I want to see my nieces and nephews grow up, and to just be a part of my own family again. I want to throw away my makeup! I want my boys to know their grandparents apart from occasional visits. I want the rain to sound the rhythm of my days once again. I don't want to miss anymore important events in the lives of my family and good friends.

We don't have any imminent plans to move back, but we're working on it. Ding, ding!!!

Rebirth

mom's backyard, spring 2011

The beginning of spring always makes me feel heavy with loss. It is the anniversary of all bad things that have occurred thus far in my life. This year, it seems many of those close to me are suffering through their own losses. When the sun emerges and flowers begin to bloom, I lose sight that spring is supposed to be a renewal of sorts, a new beginning. My heart hurts, my throat closes up, and I want to hibernate in my bed until summer vacation.

Last March, Noe's speech therapist gave birth to a baby girl. In August, her beautiful baby was lost to SIDS. Over the past few months, I have silently sent hundreds of prayers her way, hoping she and her husband would find peace amidst the unimaginable. And I often wondered why a woman who had dedicated her life to improving the lives of other people's children had to endure losing her own. Wednesday morning, I took Noe to her office, just like I have twice a week since he was three years old. Before we left, she excitedly announced that she was 18 weeks pregnant with a little boy. I could not hold back my tears and soon we were hugging and SHE was comforting ME.

Now how is that for giving comfort to those who mourn? (Matthew 5:4)

It was a timely reminder to me that rebirth is the natural consequence of loss. Noe's entrance into the world, more than any other act, helped me heal from the wounds left from my father’s tragic death. Noe, and the gaggle of grandchildren who followed him, have changed the focus of our entire family from death and grief to life and joy. Every birth marks a milestone for our family, a new positive focus. Maybe this makes me crazy...or Mormon (or many these days would argue both), but I truly believe that my dad knew and loved each of his grandkids before they were sent to us. I also believe that he advised each of his grandchildren exhaustively on how to best aggravate their parents, sending us scavenging into the dark recesses of kitchen cupboards for chocolate before noon most days.

Rebirth isn't always so literal nor is it always a single event. Ed's rebirth from enduring a family pattern of alcoholism is to wake up each day and to be a stellar father, husband, and provider. My sister had the courage to end a bad marriage and go back to school. Her personal rebirth is her art and the new life she has created with her wonderful and kind second husband.

My own daily renewal takes place in the early hours of each morning, pumping out 9ish minute mediocre miles along the wooded trails of Reston. I won't be winning any race medals, but I will have won my daily dose of sanity and hope for the day. Hope that the new day will bring new language and skills for Noe. Hope that my own personal demons will remain silent. Hope that my family will end the day together and safe. Because my life thus far has taught me to take none of these things for granted.

over cheerios on a Saturday morning

Asher: Hey, Mom...
Me: Yes?
Asher: Do you remember that thing?
Me: What thing?
Asher: You know...that thing...it's like a website but you don't have to type any words...you just press a button. Sometimes there is a blue screen but you can keep pressing the button and there are all these shows you can watch.
Me: [Pause] You mean television?
Asher: Oh yeah....TELEVISION! I miss the television! Can we have it again?

Lest you think we are raising a couple of media-starved weirdos, they watch plenty of neuron-killing junk, but on our laptop or iPad or iTouch. Overpriced cable tv is officially dead at Casa Guzman.