Many Ugly Owls Mocking Me

My daughter loves owls. Not the kind you find in the barns, or that infamous spotted owl, but the species that probably haunts the memory of anyone who grew up in the seventies. You know the kind I’m talking about, kitschy owls made of ceramic, plastic and wood. They were usually found hanging around macramé plant hangers or staring back at you from the front of grandma’s fridge. That’s where I found these.

My grandmother’s collection of owls was destined for the trash until I decided to revamp them into a fun gift for my seventies loving girl.
Adding lines from songs, I gave them each a tune to sing like... “Who Let the Dogs Out”, Who Are You? Who who, who, Who”, and my personal favorite… “Who Ya Gonna Call? GhostBusters!” Then I shipped them ( seven and counting) off to Florida.

The other day I was wandering the second hand store when I realized I was being mocked by feathered knick knacks. Suddenly they were everywhere.

Within a matter of ten minutes I saw more owls than I care to count. There were cookie Jar owls,

Note holder owls, salt and pepper owls...

Just plain no explaining why anyone would ever own them UGLY owls.

Stop it I say, enough I cry. The next thing you will tell me is that orange velvet rockers are coming back in style. Now that’s just crazy!

Ya Wild Kingdom

Join us now for a rare look inside the mysterious world of the always exotic and sometimes dangerous YaYa. Mama Mama looks on as the sister Yaya’s take part in a mysterious game. Notice the smaller but more aggressive Ya as she pummels her helpless sister.

Sensing the upper hand the aggressor gives a growl of victory.

With a sudden rush of adrenaline the underdog composes herself and rallies.

Giving her own much louder cry, she catches her sister off guard.

The game complete, the sisters grow tired, the embracing begins.

I’ve Traveled That Way Before

A few days back I decided a ride to Port Townsend sounded like a fun way to spend a Saturday. Despite the Hood Canal Bridge being closed which meant a much longer trip, and although we had driven this way many times before, I was optimistic. “It will be fun taking the slow route through Belfair, Union, Hoodsport, Liliwaup, Brinnon and such. I told myself relax, slow down and see what the road will bring.
We stopped for lunch at the Chimacum Café, burger for him French dip for moi.

Here’s one of my favorite PT places to eat just because of their sign.

I had to take pictures of the boats while hubby patiently waited.

I’ve just started trying to take photos from the Harley while moving. It’s a bit challenging holding on to gloves camera and case. While capturing the cows I caught both of us repeated in mirror, how fun!

How many times have we driven by the Center Cemetery, never stopping?

The graves were framed in concrete. I wonder if these use to be foundations of buildings.
One even had what looked like a step where a door may have stood.
Some of the graves were hidden, caressed by tree and fern.

The saddest testament to a soul lost to time. Who was this precious one?

On the way home we stopped to take a picture of one my favorite sign on 101 North.

If you ever ride the slow road to Port Angeles, Sequim or Port Townsend, watch for this great “Haunt”. What fun loving person decided to use Neon for such a utilitarian sign?

First Jobs

My first job was waitress at Marv’s Café in my home town.
Check out the personal jukeboxes. I wonder how many quarters I blew dancing to “Rose Colored Glasses” while I mopped the floors. There was a wonderful neon sign on the ceiling of a crescent moon and stars and an ice cream center for making old-fashioned shakes and sundaes. I bought my first guitar with my saved tips and was asked out by my Ol-man in the corner booth.
Today my youngest was hired at the local Dairy Queen. He’ll be serving fries, making shakes and saving his $ for something fun I'm sure. Congrats son! May your first job memories be great ones.

Welcome back!

The events of the past couple of months seemed to put the brakes on this caravan gal as life took a detour down bumpy roads. When my daughter set out on new adventures of her own, and my boys and I approached the end of the Home Schooling path, I took time on the wayside to remember, rejoice, and cry just a little.
I also mark the passing of my sweet Grandma Elana. The trip home to lay her next to grandpa was also a milestone of memory and tears.
So to get myself back up and running I will start with a bit of whimsy.

Favorite Haunts
A “haunt” is a place I like because it has a lingering spirit of Americana. It speaks of the past in a way that evokes a memory of childhood or a feeling of wonder. It could be a diner, an old house or even an abandoned signpost. But what ever it is it says “pull over, pause, take my picture, before I disappear from the landscape forever.”

Automotive Haunt...
Mobile Gas Station on Pacific Highway South, Lynnwood WA.
No petrol sold here, just memories of the dinging bell and a free window wash.

Take Cake

Tradition is a curious thing. Why do we go out of our way to re-enact events from our past superimposing them upon the present? We make the same cookies every December or return like swallows to a favorite location. We find comfort and build memory with traditions and we love to capture it on film for posterity.
A couple of weeks ago I spent some time picking out an Anniversary cake for Shelby and Josh.This got me thinking about a messy tradition based upon my first birthday cake. Here I am enjoying my first birthday by destroying my baby size cake.








I decided when Shelby came along that I would continue the tradition.




Again when Darren turned One he was given permission to smear to his hearts desire. I was much more practical by then and opted for the hi-chair method.
Finally when Morgan reached the appointed age he too was granted his own heart shaped pastry. The cake pans are stored away now. They wait for the day when possibly one of my three will find joy in the act of cleaning frosting from their own children’s hair. Here’s to traditions! Big or small, they are great signs along the road.

Linen Memory

There is something magical about an old “linen” postcard. They are tiny windows on a past that exists only in our mind's eye. I suppose some would call them kitsch because their simple drawings and un-realistic colors are more than a little sentimental. But I choose to honor the creators of these bits of whimsy. I appreciate their commitment to the idea that the reality of a subject sometimes is not as important as the feeling or mood left after the viewing. They take me back to the blue perfume blowing off my first moonlit lake, the icy chill of red and green light on grandma’s aluminum Christmas tree, the sweet pink melody in a bag of cotton candy.

I found this Linen PC from 1943 a few days ago and brought it home to live with the photo I took of this lighthouse on the Washington Coast.

I can’t seem to find the matching photo in the jumble of my life, so I have enclose another. This is the Point Pinos Light near Monterey California on Thanksgiving Day 2006. Followed by the vintage linen I purchased off e-Bay. Which do you prefer?