Stories to tell . . . later

Had a fantastic weekend, and I've got lots of photos and stories to share (spoiler: there are beaches and sequins and pecan cheesecake, among other things).  But it's late and I'm tired -- and, since I spent the weekend (mostly) playing instead of working (as much as I should have), I'm going to need to get an early start in the morning.  So, more to come. 

In the meantime, here are a couple of photos that I took last weekend as I was leaving Boise.  I love how our farewells involve hugs and kisses and family photo shoots.
 

 

Design class: Floor plan

Today lesson in interior design class:  floor plans and elevations. 

We practiced basic drafting techniques with a simple living room floor plan and an elevation of the wall with the fireplace. 
 

 

Then we had studio time to work on the first draft floorplan for our projects.  In my case, this entailed my taking the blueprints that Amanda sent me for her condo and redrawing them with pencil and paper using a 1/4 scale.  Fortunately, the drafting skills I learned back in high school came right back and I was able to finish the draft within the studio session.

 

Oh, and lest anyone think I'm proposing that Amanda double the size of the master bath, I had to expand it for purposes of the assignment. 

In which I do not die of cancer (or, My beautiful toes!)

A few months ago I noticed a small dark dot on my left big toe.  It was right before the trip to Vietnam and I didn't think anything more of it, other than to wonder whether the Vietnamese would judge me for wearing sandals with an ugly toe.

Before:  ominous dark spot

But last week, when I was at my parents' place in Reno, my podiatrist father saw the dot and instantly expressed concern.  Essentially, dots like this could be melanoma.  "And if it is," he said, "you'll lose the toe.  If not more."  Woah.  It's one thing to wear sandals with an ugly toe; it's another thing altogether to wear sandals with no toe at all.  This was getting serious.

So, with my future summer footwear options at stake, I visited a podiatrist in Boise who had been recommended by a friend of Dad's.  He looked at the toe and agreed that it was worth taking a closer look -- and by "closer look" he meant "punching through the nail to see if the discoloration continued into the flesh below and, if so, sending a sample of that flesh to the lab for a biopsy."  Fun!

The good news is that we didn't end up doing any punching or biopsying.  The pre-punching shaving of the nail revealed that the discoloration was only in the nail, and that the flesh below was perfectly healthy.  No need to do anything more.  So now I have a hole in my nail, instead of a dot, and my future prospects for summer sandal-wearing look bright.  Whew!

After:  all clear!

So, for those of you who are counting, this brings my tally of potential-cancer-scares-with-happy-endings to a grand total of two. 

The first instance, you may recall, was back in college when I was performing in Westminster College's production of Spinning Into Butter (and yes, those are photos of me!).  I had been cast as the play's only character who was a person of color, and the director had asked me to get a dark tan and curl my hair -- you, know, so I'd look more ethnic (which, btw, wasn't awkward at all for a play critiquing the way white people expect minorities to look and act the way whites think minorities should look and act).  One day I woke up and saw a dark spot the size of a dime in the middle of my forehead and was instantly convinced that I'd caught cancer from all the tanning.  In a panic, I started the most effective cancer treatment method I could think of:  I grabbed some of that apricot pit exfoliating face wash and started scrubbing as hard as I could.  It hurt like hell and brought me to my senses.  The dark spot was not cancer, it was just a curling-iron burn I'd gotten the night before while curling my hair for dress rehearsal.  Relieved, I put the exfoliator down and stuck a note on the bottle to remind myself not to exfoliate for cancer again until the burn had healed. 

Mudslides and peach cobbler

On Friday morning Mark and I drove up north to go hiking around Blue Lake and have lunch in McCall, Idaho.  He didn't have class or work, and the weather was perfect; I was looking forward to a fun day in Nature with my brother. 

Only we didn't get there.  Roughly half-way between Boise and McCall, we encountered an unfortunate "road closed" sign.
 

The reason?  Mud.  EVERYWHERE.  Apparently the torrential rains that had so persecuted me on my ride up the mountain the day before had triggered a mudslide a few miles up the canyon, shutting down both lanes of traffic.



Not much you can do against a mudslide.  The only alternate route to McCall would have been to backtrack to Boise and then swing out, far to the west (practically to Oregon) and then drop down into McCall from the north.  It would have turned a half-day excursion into a full-day adventure.  We had plans with the others later in the day, though, so we turned around and headed home. 

As a consolation prize, though, we stopped along the river and took a few pictures.  Mark assured me that this part of the canyon wasn't as spectacular as what we would have seen farther up, but I guess some nature is better than nothing!

 

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful.  We ran some errands and basically just hung out at the house.  I was tired and took a nap.  Then got on a conference call for work.

 

But in the evening things got fun again.  Heather and Jordan called a babysitter to watch their kids; Mark and Erin came by.  We all headed out for a "grown-ups only" dinner at The Stuffed Olive, a local favorite.  The food was hearty and delicious, and our waitress was cool.  It was a great time with the siblings and in-laws!

 

Chicken parmigiana with penne and marinara sauce

Fresh peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream

 

Our waitress got a little creative with the photo process...
(it was hilarous)

Shae turns five

Thanks to a felicitous coincidence in the timing of my vacation, I was in Boise for Shae's fifth birthday party.  We were both delighted that I could be part of the special occasion.
 

Legos featured prominently among the gifts

An outdoor Lego pool that Barbie would have loved.
I hadn't realized the company had made such strides in marketing to little girls. 
Way to move beyond spaceships and castles, Legos!

Look at that face!
The object of such excitement:  an iPad-like device called a
LeapPad, which has cute educational games geared for
five-year-old girls.

The princess candles sparkled. They were a little scary, at first.

They also took a few puffs to blow out.

Shae's cake of choice was a vanilla and chocolate "Oreo" ice cream cake.
Naturally, I covered mine in chocolate syrup.

 

Legos, ice cream cake, princess candles.  The only thing missing?  A gun.  Oh, wait, no!  We had one of those, too:



Jordan's newest toy



Because apparently it's totally normal to show off your new handgun at your daughter's birthday party.  But then, in a world where the wedding party goes shooting before the ceremony, I guess this should not come as a surprise. 

What was really awkward is that, right as Jordan was showing me the gun, the doorbell rang.  Instead of answering the door with a fire-arm in hand, he handed the weapon to me and left me to stand my ground in the kitchen -- which I did by putting the gun in my pocket and pretending like it wasn't there. 

The Ride: Bogus Basin

Boise claims to be a cycling town.  in the interest of getting in shape for the big ride at the end of the month, I decided to put it to the test. 

Last week I hunted around for a bike shop that would rent me a good road bike.  Idaho Mountain Touring was the only shop that responded to my inquiries, so I decided to go with them.  (This despite their illogical pricing:  Their original price quote was $50 for a day, $65 for overnight, with multi-day rates available on request.  I asked for a multi-day rate and was told that it would be $85 for each of the first two days, with $35 for each additional day.  I told them I'd stick with the overnight rate.)
 

I rented a car for this very purpose. Fortunately Heather had a compatible bike rack.

I asked the guys in the shop for some route recommendations.  One guy chuckled wickedly, "You like hills?"  I told him that I lived in the flatlands at sea-level, so of course I like hills.

 

Which is how I wound up riding to the Bogus Basin ski resort this morning.  Sixteen miles of nearly uninterrupted climbing, with almost 4,000 vertical feet between the starting point and the summit.  Seemed like an exciting little challenge when I kitted up this morning; an hour later, when I'd been riding uphill for ten straight miles in the cold, pouring rain and wind, it seemed like the worst idea in the history of creation. 

 

The valley floor is a little over 2,000 feet;
the summit is a little over 6,000 feet. This sign meant I was almost there!

By the time I got to the ski resort at the top of the mountain, I was wet and shivering and my butt wanted to die.  The resort was as cold and uninviting as what I always imagined Wuthering Heights would be like.  Only without Laurence Olivier to heat things up.

 

 

Since it seemed a shame to start the descent without taking in the allegedly beautiful views, I risked flat tires by cruising around the gravel parking lots and tracks of the ski resort.  I found one promising view and took a picture of myself.  When I looked at the photo, I was startled to see a rainbow.  At the very moment I took the photo, the sun had burst through the clouds, creating that hopeful band of color.

 

 

 

The sun came out and dried up all the rain, and the itsy bitsy spider sped back down the mountainside, riding the brakes to avoid sliding into the ditch and stopping frequently to soak up the newly gorgeous views.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here are the stats for the ride.  One stat that doesn't show up here is the average speed for each five-mile segment.  On the ascent I averaged between 8 and 10 miles per hour; on the descent I averaged 28 miles per hour.  The overall average speed of 10.5 miles per hour reflects all the photo-stops I made without pausing the clock.

 

The full stats for the ride are available through the Garmin link in the lower right-hand column.

 

 

Family night at the mini golf

Guess what we did today!
 

 

 

 

Shae (turns 5 tomorrow)

 

Brynn (9 yrs old)

 

Jaron (7 yrs old)

 

Mini-golf Gothic

 

Mark (my brother) and Erin (sister-in-law)

 

Adri (5 months)

 

 

Heather (my sister)

 

 

Jordan (brother-in-law)

 

 

 

Donner Pass strikes again

From the time I arrived in Reno two days ago, the air has been thick with the smoke of California forest fires.  Yosemite burns; Reno chokes.  Even people who haven't just had knee-replacement surgery have been staying indoors, out of the haze. 

But this afternoon the wind shifted and cleared out all the smoke, leaving a lovely, clear afternoon.  Suddenly you could see that Reno is surrounded by mountains that might actually be pretty.  Lady suggested that Dad and I take the opportunity and head up to Donner Pass and nearby Lake Tahoe.

We jumped in the car and had barely made it across the California border when, BAM, we were stuck in a two-lane parking lot. 
 

Donner Pass, eh?  How long before we can start eating people?

For two hours we sat there, stopped or just barely inching forward, with no idea what was going on in front of us.  Later, after we got home, we learned that there had been a bad wreck involving an SUV and an RV trailer. 

Ironically, this same thing happened the last time I was on this stretch of road.  It was a gazillion years ago when I was a little kid; we had all piled into the family station wagon on our way to San Francisco to spend Thanksgiving with the Grandparents (or maybe we were returning), and as we neared Donner Pass we found ourselves in an hours-long traffic jam.  I don't remember for sure how long we sat, but I remember being in the "way back" of the station wagon, drawing signs on pieces of paper that we held up to drivers going the other direction, with dire warnings of 5-hour waits ahead. 

Not surprisingly, Dad and I talked about that very trip and agreed that we needed to get off the road, stat.  We inched our way along and, after a long time, came upon a middle-of-nowhere exit that had an on-ramp going the other direction.  Gleefully we took the exit and hurried home.  Donner Pass and Lake Tahoe would have to wait for another time.

It's too bad to have missed seeing the natural wonders of the area, but the drive turned out to be a wind-fall for conversation.  It was good to talk to Dad about family and life and other surprisingly serious, grown-up things.  Living, as I do, on my own on the other side of the country, I don't often get such opportunities to talk with my parents one-on-one.  We talk on the phone, but it's not the same as talking in person.  As much as I love the glitz and adventure of my other world travels, I'm also deeply grateful for these simple, grounding moments I can spend with my parents, learning from their wisdom and enjoying their friendship. 

Convalescent Lady

When I got to my parents' place yesterday, I was surprised to see how well Lady was doing.  Despite having had her knee bones sawed off and metal bits stuck in just a few days ago, she looked cheerful and well-coiffed.  She had her convalescent station set up on a futon in the family room but was by no means bed-ridden.  With the aid of crutches, she could get up and carefully move about the house (including up and down the stairs!) with significant independence.  Talk about a pioneer woman!
 

Nothing like Saltines, a Cherry Pepsi and a max dose of Percocet, right?

When I commented on how good she looked, the conversation went something like this:

Me:  Wow, Mom, you look great!  I thought you'd be completely laid up and very ill.

Dad:  Ha!, well, you should have seen her a couple days ago!  I mean, she looked like her mother.

Me: [alarmed, trying to be diplomatic]  Um . . .

Lady: [nodding earnestly]  Oh, yes, it was bad. Very bad.

Dad:  UGLY LLAMA FACE!

Lady & Dad:  [laughing hysterically together]

Proving, once again, the power of a well-chosen movie reference.  Gosh I love my parents.