wildflowers

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Earlier this spring (which is, of course, really more like late winter in Portland), I noticed when I was coming in and out of work every day that our horticulture team was giving a lot of attention to the large island of dirt that stands beside a side road that runs in front of the admin buildings and in front of an entrance to the main lot for the zoo.

Then, one week I noticed several piles of a very dark substance appeared on the island that was later spread around. Typically, I would have assumed that it was a very rich soil, except that it definitely had a certain “smell” to it. This led me to one conclusion: that it was actually the infamous “Zoo Doo,” which is a compost made up of animal manure, among other things. I have not asked anyone about this to confirm my suspicions, but I’m pretty sure that I am right. (Flash to my husband reading this and saying to himself: Yeah, that’s what you always claim.)

I didn’t give it much more thought until one day, there was suddenly this beautiful field of wildflowers on the island. It’s so pretty and I so enjoy admiring them as I walk up from our parking area into our building each morning. It’s a nice way to start the day. Here are some photos I attempted of the flowers today:

tales of a summer tuesday

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I think for the first time this summer we are having several consecutive days of temperatures in the high 70s/low 80s. It’s so nice. Though, Portland being by far the coolest climate I’ve ever lived in, it’s funny how quickly your body adapts. Before you know it, 60 seems like 70, 70 like 80, etc. Case in point: Yesterday a friend and I went outside to eat our lunch on a bench and I would have almost bet my life that it was at least 85. Instead, we later found out it was in the low 70s. Which means that I definitely have a future in broadcast meteorology, if I want one.

Anyway, when I left work this afternoon it was glorious outside, as it has been recently. Instead of my usual way out, I departed in the opposite direction because I was headed down to the NW 23rd Street area for first-ever (in Portland) weekday haircut. (More on that in a minute.) The opposite direction winds you through some back roads around Hoyt Arboretum and through some lovely neighborhoods. For the uninitiated, the Arboretum, part of which is basically across the street from the zoo’s parking lot, encompasses – among other things – 21 trails covering 12 miles within 187 acres. All inside the City of Portland.

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when good kitties turn bad

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I know that anyone reading this who knows our beloved cat, Zach, is already questioning how I could refer to this cat as “good” but I swear, he is. I mean, he does have that little problem of hissing at people, but he’s just very finicky. And, he only likes very certain people. Like, people named Jeff, Melinda, Elena and Ian. With the last name Burpo. And even then, yes, he can sometimes be a little finicky with us. Like, when he’s coming down from a half of a pill a night of his Prozac to a quarter of a pill a night. (Which we recently decided to do in an attempt to bring him out of his zombie-like state, as convenient as it was to have him spending 24/7 under the bed upstairs.)

The key is that when you are as close to Zach as we are, you learn to recognize when he’s in “one of those” moods. And, you just back off. He’s happy. We’re happy. No one gets hurt. So, why is it that I forgot this simple rule of the Burpo household last night? Was it the extra-large plate of delicious Southern food at Screen Door, followed by the banana whipped cream pie? Or, was it the mint julep and wine? Or, was it the exhaustion that overcame me after we concluded watching True Grit at home after dinner? It’s hard to say which affected me most, but for whatever reason, I forgot the rules of Life with Zach.

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flashback friday

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It’s amazing how being just seven months in to being back at work full time, and I’m already starting to forget what it was like to be mostly at home and not working for two and a half years. (Or something like that. I purposely lost count.)

But, today’s flashback offers a good reminder of the type of activities I engaged in on a daily basis – like cleaning the house. Okay, so maybe I didn’t quite engage in cleaning the house on a regular basis, but here is the proof that I was actually forced to do it for a while. Don’t everyone get out their violins at once.

Life without Maria

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

tulle skirts and painted toenails

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Jeff and I decided with both Ian and Elena that we did not want to find out their sex before they were born. While there were different reasons we chose this path for ourselves, one of my personal reasons was that I didn’t care to have all the questions, comments and stereotypes that would come along with it:

Oh, you’re having a girl! How exciting…you’ll have one of each! And now you get to buy all those cute clothes! (or insert female stereotype of your choice here) 

or, conversely

Oh, a boy! How exciting…boys have so much energy! (or insert male stereotype of your choice here)

That said, I admit that before Ian was born – I wondered sometimes that if it was a boy (which I highly suspected from the beginning, by the way), would I relate to him as well as I would a girl given that, well, I am indeed a “girl” myself? But this was also part of the reason why I didn’t want to know. Because I didn’t need that extra time to second guess how I’d be as the mother of a boy. And sure enough, when Ian was born at Virginia Hospital Center the afternoon of January 10, 2006, he wasn’t a boy. He wasn’t a girl. He was my firstborn child and he was the most wonderful thing I had ever seen.

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