Rooftop

This weekend Ella, Madeline, Michelle and I took our first camping trip as a family. We were actually camping with a group of college friends celebrating 10 years of friendship and stuff. The camp site was at Horseshoe Cove Campground, on Baker Lake up in Northern Washington. It was quite the haul, as I’m sure our friend Joe can attest. He rode with us from Portland to the campground and back wedged between two car seats. He did a great job of keeping the girls entertained, and seemed in good spirits about the whole thing. I later figured out the ratio of travel to camping at something like 15.5:36. We’ll have to work on those numbers, especially with the ‘lil ones.

In many ways, this camping trip was a test for the future of camping for our family. We all made some sacrifices, especially when bed time came and it became clear that neither Ella nor Madeline were going to sleep in their designated areas. All 4 of us ended up sleeping on a double air mattress that leaked. My butt and hips were touching the ground at almost all times during the night, but my mass helped keep the rest of the family reasonably inflated. We also tested the early stages of a camping kitchen, and things went quite well. I learned yet another way that my mother showed her love too; by her doing camping dishes. Without a good place for them, camping dishes are wretched, especially without a dog (he stayed home… no room in the car). I may boycott bacon on camping trips from now on despite how good it was on Saturday morning with some home laid eggs and coffee.

Our friend Clem and his daughter Talia also came on the trip so Ella had a playmate the entire time. She seems to have had a blast, which is a relief. Not only that, despite a 2 am outburst, the girls were quiet during then night and I think our friends largely forgive being woken up so early by kids. We were rather worried about the whole kid thing since we’ve been doing camping trips for a decade now that were..rowdy. Turns out that’s normal, and the two camp sites near us fit the same profile, and they were even louder than us.

I bought a fishing license in hopes that we could enjoy some trout for dinner on Saturday night. I had no luck though until after dinner, though the 4″ trout wouldn’t have been much of a meal. So I put it back. Ella actually watched me catch the fish and release it, and she wasn’t scared or upset. She even got to reel in a few casts, which I think she rather enjoyed.

So besides the great comfort of old friends and the joy of seeing them all again, I think I’m just tickled that the trip went so well. It will embolden me to camp again, and soon. Here’s some photos.

I was chatting with Lindsay the other day talking about our gardens and she asked me to post pictures. Here they are.

The strawberries are still mysteriously vanishing before I can eat them, and I’m doubting birds as the culprit. So far, the peas haven’t made it very far. From the vine to our mouths. They’re crisp, sweet, and delicious. The chard on the otherhand has made it in to meals, and will be doing so again very soon. Beans are on their way as well.

As of Wednesday morning, all my plumbing is permitted, inspected and approved. The legitimacy coursing through my veins is a powerful drug. I may just start permitting everything. Wait, I need a permit to have a rainbarrel? Maybe I won’t.

My inspection was approved

I’m a last.fm junkie. Two weeks ago while listening to Trans Am radio or something similar, a Shellac song came on and I clicked on the “loved” button. I also noticed that there was a small “on tour” flag next to their name. Curiosity caused me to click on the link and I was pleased to find that they were in Portland for 2 nights only 2 weeks from that day. And tickets were only $12. Suck on that, Ticketmaster.

I started listening to Shellac in high school when the band leader for a band I was in gave me a tape of stuff he was inspired by. Shellac has released a few albums in the decade since, but I kind of expected I’d never see them; they’re famously picky about where they tour and have no need to make more money. So I jumped on the opportunity.

The show was at Berbati’s, which isn’t my favorite, but it’s been really good to me the last couple years. I’ve seen several really great shows there, and frankly, the sound and venue beats the bigger venues any day. At Berbati’s, the furthest you can be from an artist is roughly the same as the closest you can be to an artist at an arena or concert hall. And now that there’s no smoking, you come home only smelling like sweat and whatever drink someone spilled on you.

Suffice to say, the band was fantastic. I went alone because the only person I know that listens to Shellac was some distance away. It was actually quite nice except when I came to some realization about the band, and instrument, or something, there was no one to share it with. Not that anyone would have cared.

Regardless, it was a terrific and unexpected show. I’m actually surprised so few people know about the band since it’s such a cornerstone of post-rock, post-punk movement. I don’t exactly know how to describe it other than economical driving rock. There’s none of the drama or overzealousness of metal, none of the insipidness of punk, and none of the sad-sack business in most indie rock. I guess there’s last.fm if you’re curious.

The inspector failed me, but he gave me a number of useful suggestions. One was that I include the the original re-plumb on the permit so everything is legit. This of course complicates the project and nearly doubles the cost, but I like to play by the rules so I’m going for it. Now the challenge is finding the time to do so around other engagements and work. The car’s ABS system went out so we had to drive it way out to the mechanic and way out to pick it up two nights in a row, then there the whole thing about shutting water off when people are using it. So tonight I’m going to try and do a quick blitz on the mainline fixes followed by the loudest updates that the inspector recommended on the in-building system. Hopefully that’ll leave the quiet fixes (with the exception of cussing) for after the girls are asleep. I really want to get that hole closed up.

I agonized over how to make a pun in the title that used pipe, tube, or hole, and eventually gave up. Not because I couldn’t think of any, but rather better taste prevailed.

Anyway, this weekend I replaced the main water line from the city’s meter to my shutoff inside the basement. It was a keystone project that effectively held up 4 other major things we’d like to complete, so once I pass inspection (assuming I do), a cascade of new projects will shower on to our summer weekends.

Unlike some friends I know, I don’t have access to excavating equipment. I dug the trench from the house to the fence, and my parents somehow got roped in to digging from the sidewalk to the meter. All told, the digging and tunneling under the sidewalk took 5 hours. The plumbing then took about 30 minutes. I love pex.

Well, except the part where I was 1 ring short and had to drive all the way out to Parkrose Hardware to buy another. 30 minutes of driving for a 25 cent part. Oh well. Got back, spent another five minutes plumbing, then had a home brew (that plumbing still worked) before turning on the water. Everything worked great. No leaks, more pressure, and a big hole in the ground.

Now I’m waiting for the inspection. This is the first time I’ve gotten permits for anything (shhh) and I’m amazed at how easy the process was. The city of Portland has an online form for smaller permits (plumbing, mechanical, electrical) and I was able to submit and pay for a permit, as well as receive a PDF of the completed permit in under 15 minutes. Damn! I’m a little nervous the inspector is going to want me to change the configuration of the pipe as it connects to the service, so Ella and I might go to the hardware store this morning before the inspector shows to buy the parts, or we might just stay here and telecommute. Plus, I’m nervous about all the middle school kids walking by my trench. I’ve got it covered, but after watching all the New Seasons customers walk over the trench, I have a pretty low estimation of people’s courtesy and intelligence. Someone drove over the plywood I had set out to mark the work site. I watched like 10 people (most of them adults) walk over the covered hole, oblivious to the giant piles of dirt on either side. Jackass entitled liberals…

My Grandpa Stuehrenberg passed over the weekend. He was a fantastic grandpa and brought so much joy to my childhood. As things go, his death wasn’t simple or quick, so it’s with a portion of relief that I mourn him. The rest of my family has flown back to Nebraska for the funeral, and while I don’t regret the decision, it would have been amazing to see the turnout. Not only did he have an immense family (my mom had 7 siblings), but as an athlete, soldier, milk man, insurance salesman, and county commissioner, he kind of knew everyone. He was so outgoing and interested that a 5 minute trip to the store rarely wrapped up in 20. All throughout my childhood, we’d be driving around town, or even dozens of miles away from town on some empty farm road and he’d run in to someone he knew. And he didn’t just know of them, he knew things about them, like they crops they grew, how many kids they had, what their plight was and he seemed to empathize with most of them.

Grandpa Barn (we nicknamed our grandparents after memorable objects – can you pronounce Stuehrenberg?) was a child at heart, I think, and that’s what made him an excellent grapndpa. I have so many fond memories, but I left him with one on Friday. My uncle Bill was kind enough to hold the phone to his ear for me, and who knows how many other of his children, his great grandchildren, and possibly even some of his great-great grandchildren. I recalled a failed hunting trip he took me on one fall day where we took the brown ford out to a wooded section of land outside town on a farm of someone he was friends with. We were hunting quail and spent some time traipsing through the scrub until Jesse (his english setter) flushed out some quail. He would let me shoot first, and if (when) I missed, he’d quickly shoot the bird, and Jesse would retrieve. We ended up with two birds, but he knew I wanted to shoot some more, so we set up discarded bottles and cans and he let me have my fun shooting garbage. We had intended on building a fire to make some hotdogs, but given the time and wind, decided to instead eat the cold hotdogs on the drive back. They tasted fantastic, which I’m sure had more to do with the experience than the actual dogs.

One of the last things I said to him was to thank him for loving me and accepting me, even when I showed up with hair down to my mid-back, or with what many have called a terrorist beard. A haircut and shave were two things he took very seriously, but he never let that get in the way of spending time together. Maybe he understood the importance of the time, or maybe he just knew that every single cousin would make fun of the hippie for him.

In the past week, the following milestones have been reached:

• Ella asked “Are we there” in the car for the first time
• Madeline found her voice – at 5am
• Michelle turned 30
• Ella asked “Are we there” for the 100th time
• Madeline sucked on her thumb, in ernest
• Michelle went to bed without taking out her contacts
• Ella golfed for the first time
• Madeline slept without a blanket
• Michelle woke up and could read the alarm clock without glasses

Michelle and I occasionally forget that we have a toddler and infant. During those moments, we decide to do things like install a patio in the front yard; something we’d planned on for next year. Still, the idea of sitting in the front yard this summer, sipping a beer or gin & tonic while interacting with the neighborhood was a big enough attraction that we forged ahead. Saturday morning after Ella’s tumbling class, she, Michelle and I piled in to my grandpa’s truck and went to pick up stone from Oregon Decorative Rock on Columbia Boulevard. Ultimately we required one of the experts on site to provide a tie-breaking decision. Even though it wasn’t my preferred choice, I couldn’t find any fault in his logic regarding the weight and therefor cost of Michelle’s preferred stone. (900 lbs worth)

Once we had the stone on site, we dug up the rough patio area (below, marked with a hose), then shoveled the sod and a few inches of soil in to the pickup. Somehow the area ended up larger than we’d started with, so the truck was quite full. While I was heading out to Wood Waste Management (awesome), the spare tire on the truck popped off and started draggimg behind the me. I pulled to a stop, crawled under the bed, and discovered that the spare is like 110% the size of the designated spot and my shoveling arms were too tired to lift the spare over the latch. After several attempts with deteriorating results, I used the shovel and rake as opposing levers and was finally able to get the spare on, got my soaked self the rest of the way to the recycler, unloaded the sod and dirt, filled up with sand, and got home.

Less than 30 seconds after starting to shovel the sand, it started raining hard. It was Midwest hard, so I figured it wouldn’t last. I kept shoveling, then it turned to hail, and the wind came up. I bolted for the vestibule and we watched as strange torrent of rain fell on Portland. Storm gusts accompnied the rain, and it moved through the tall firs threatening to snap the giants with its unusual directions. Then, it was over. I changed my shirt and got back to shoveling sand. Michelle and I then placed stones haphazardly only to find we were about 4-5 stones short. It was quittin’ time though, so we grabbed dinner at Laurelwood and slumped in our seats through dinner.

The next morning I ventured out to get those extra stones, and once 10am rolled around, I started scoring pieces with a circular saw and masonry blade, then used a chisel to snap the pieces trying to make the edges look as natural as possible. This went on until around 1pm when we finally finished cutting and then had to finish up leveling, pounding, and sanding. By 2pm we were finished, but cleanup required finding a place for the extra 1/3 ton of sand, most of which ended up on the side of the garage “for future use.”

Being a glorious weekend, it was actually great to be outside. Ella spent much of it riding her trike down the sidewalk and back, and yelling “Hi Eric” or “Hi Erin” to the neighbors across the street. It was delightful, and we ended up with a patio that we can enjoy over the summer while engaging the neighborhood.

Madeline is now past the 3 month mark, and with each day we discover some new facet of her that is different (or the same) as her big sister. One pleasant difference has been the 3 nights in a row of uninterrupted sleep. I know it’s fleeting, but we’ve certainly enjoyed it. Maybe it has to do with the warmer weather, which bodes well for all three of us sharing the room.

Madeline has started smiling, smirking, cooing, and shrieking in the last 2 weeks, and I’d forgotten how infectious those little things are. When she beams at you, you just forget everything. She’s also decided that she likes standing and sitting upright, so she’s less content in the swing. Not that I’m complaining, but it can make for a slight challenge when trying to shovel compost or make dinner.

Again, Ella has been fantastic with her little sister. Always understanding, or at least accommodating when Madeline needs to nurse or be comforted, even when she has to give up her spot. She’s a fine sibling, and we can’t wait for the two of them to play.