she’s crafty

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I hate picking out store-bought cards. Many of them are so stereotypical: the Father’s Day cards about golfing, fishing or something involving a remote control; the Mother’s Day cards about taking a break from cleaning the house; the anniversary cards that profess undying love for your spouse…except that one, of course. 🙂

We have a Michaels craft store that’s spitting distance from our house (not that I’ve ever tested that, or that I could personally spit that far if I did, but I bet someone out there could). Now come to think of it, I believe I’ve blogged about this before in a previous version of Burpo Banter, but I do think it’s worth talking about again. I don’t go into this store all that often, but when I do, watch out! Michaels’ company tagline is “Where Creativity Happens” and boy, they aren’t kidding! Because let me tell you, if there’s anyone in this world less creative and crafty than I am, I challenge you to find them and bring them to me. Because I bet you can’t. But when I walk into Michaels, it’s like something steps inside me and takes over. I’d say her name is Martha, but honestly, I’m not worthy. More like Martha’s disowned sister.

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ode to Melissa

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My long-time best friend turned 40 years old yesterday. Jeff turned 40 two years ago as of this coming Friday, which was quite okay. But when your best friend, who you remember hanging out with in high school, turns 40 – well, that’s like a whole different story. Of course, not because I am horrified that she turned 40. Au contraire, she looks pretty damn good for 40 years old and a mom of two. It’s really more about the fact that it means that I’m about to turn 40! GULP. I mean, wasn’t it like just yesterday that we were cruising down Baker Road among the peach and cherry orchards in her little VW Bug? (Well, okay that was before she crashed it – which she was sooooo afraid to tell her dad about – and got her even-smaller Ford Festiva that could barely contain her awesome 80s permed hair, but I still remember that cute little car.)

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reconnecting

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I’m writing this post from the beautiful coastal town of Yachats, Oregon. I absolutely love the Oregon coast, and I adore Yachats. It’s a tiny little town that is full of sheer beauty: one of those places that somehow makes you appreciate just being alive.

I’ve been here twice before: the first time when Jeff and I came alone a couple of years ago to celebrate our anniversary and the second time just this past March when we (meaning, all four of us) rented a house here for the weekend to get away for the first weekend that our house was up for sale.

This time, I’m here with my mom. It’s been a very long time since just the two of us have spent any time together and some circumstances told us it was time to reconnect. So, I took a couple of days off work and we met here in Yachats, staying at the Fireside Motel. It’s not the fanciest place I’ve ever stayed by far, but you know what? It’s pretty awesome in its own right. The room is a bit on the retro side, quite large (king bed, thank you very much) and has a fireplace and a balcony with an oceanfront view that is more often found in the kind of place that costs a heck of a lot more than some $100ish a night. No wonder this place gets great reviews on Trip Advisor!

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caution: yawning can be dangerous to your health

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When I woke up this morning, I immediately thought about this same Monday morning one year ago today. Not that I often remember what my Monday mornings are like one year later – but this particular one was memorable. It went something like this:

I got up around 6 a.m. and found my way downstairs for that all-important first cup of coffee. Caffeine in hand, I could already hear Elena (nine months old at the time) stirring in her room – at which point I probably spent the next few minutes pretending I didn’t hear a thing except the hum of Matt’s voice on the television informing me of the latest political scandal, crisis, war report or weather-related tragedy. (Or wait, maybe that was last week? Or last month? So hard to tell the difference.) And hey, I never said I was trying for Mother of the Year.

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