Author: Andy

Brett Dennen at lunch

Jas and I met up with Michelle and her coworker for lunch in Pioneer courthouse square to see Brett Dennen play a set for the Noon Tunes. Brett is one of the few folk singer/songwriters that I’ve been drawn to in a long while and the show today was really a lovely way to spend a long lunch. He’s playing at the Crystal Ballroom Friday if anyone is interested. Michelle and Jas say he puts on a great show. If lunch was any indication, I suspect they are right.

In addition to the music, it was fun to watch work on the buildings downtown, including the packed elevators coming off the old Meier and Frank building, which has part of its facade peeled back during renovation.

Welcome to the neighborhood

Yesterday afternoon my mom called to tell us that we couldn’t really get in to the neighborhood because the swat SERT team was there.

huh?

Well, after an alleged car theft, alleged liquor store holdup, and alleged high speed chase, three teens abandoned an allegedly stolen car and allegedly hid in the bushes in our neighborhood. My mom discovred SERT officers in her back yard and decided she ought to check the news for details instead of going out to ask them what was going on. Outside the front of the house? An armored vehichle with a man sitting in a turret.

Whoop Whoop!

After the alleged 3 were caught, we were allowed back in to the neighborhood, though our street was roped off until around 8pm. The officers stationed outside our house joked with us, and my mom even got pictures of Ella with the two cops by their place as a momento.

Despite the 3rd event in as many weeks, we’re constantly told the neighborhood isn’t really this bad. We know it isn’t, and it’s been rather funny.

Getting tagged

Are Hood?

Michelle was surprised to find the garage door tagged last week. I was surprised too, since I’d just put out the garbage and hadn’t noticed it myself. The tag was rather unimaginative, and my guess is that it’s the work of some bored teenagers. Just a hunch.

We had to repaint the garage – which could have used it, but wasn’t on the short list of things to do. Before painting, the neighborhood association’s newsletter editors stopped by to chat and to take a picture, and they recognized the tag and weren’t worried.

All in all, I found the experience quite funny. You see, the person who tagged the garage made a typo. Instead of spraying “Our hood,” they sprayed “Are hood.” Its such a beautiful irony that I have to make fun of it on the internet.

Seattle to Portland

Joe, John, Ben, my dad and I all rode in the Seattle to Portland bike ride this weekend. It was the first for all of us, and we all made it. The ride was a lot of fun, and followed a really enjoyable and scenic route along many backroads and on a few major highways as well.

There was a rather horrible hit and run accident on Sunday hich has drawn a lot of attention, and it has been interesting to read comments in many of the local papers along the route. Opinions of the ride, the riders, and cyclists, cars, and “the law” vary wildly.

The Longview Daily News has some rather hostile remarks predominantly from the area’s inhabitants, but also a fair share of nasty remarks from cyclists. I can understand the annoyance that these people must feel having to deal with the delays, litter, and arrogance of many riders, but most seem to have a very loose grasp of the law regarding bicycle travel, and a surprising amount of pain considering the rather limited duration of the nuisance.

Changing the route might not be a bad idea, but lowering the cap on the number of riders would be a great good will effort on the part of the club. The number of riders was absurd, even from the participant’s standpoint.

Camera phone shots

Ella Yelling

I don’t think I’ve posted any photos on this site since using Flickr, so I’ve posted a bunch that I’ve taken with my K750i’s camera. It’s a decent camera for a phone, and while I would have scoffed at the idea a while back, it has been nice to have the camera with me.

Most of the shots are of Ella, of course. Like this one when she could finally touch the underside of the table with her head at Concordia Ale House. Yes… important milestone…

Fourth Ride

My dad, Joe and I did our last big ride before STP today. It was only 55 miles, but we figured we ought to enjoy some of our day off. We rode out to Boring on the Springwater Corridor then back to Marine Drive via 282nd. It was a great ride with a few great moments.

The first was when a cottontail rabbit t-boned Joe’s front wheel. Just before SE Foster, a cottontail rabbit darted across the path less than a foot in front of us. I braked enough not to hit him, so he collided at full speed with the side of Joe’s wheel, bounced off and somersaulted, righted, and continued into the woods. It was hilarious, after the fact, but had the potential to be much messier and wreckier.

By the time we got back, it was a bit warm, and I was out of water. I’d left home without keys, wallet, or phone, so I got home to a locked house. After a brisk hose-bath, I sat on the porch and, well, just sort of sat waiting for Michelle to get home. I was trying to figure out how to call her without needlessly being in public in bike shorts when I came up with a MacGyver of an idea. I opened the telephone network interface (the customer opening) and patched a phone from the basement in using a spare outlet for parts. I won’t say how I knew what goes where, but thanks to the precursor to the internet, I know red = ring, green = tip. By looking at a splice in the basement, I learned the blue with white = red, and white with blue = green. Fun!

Signed, sealed….

We signed away our house today and signed in to our new home. It was very satisfying to finally have reached this milestone, and cool to see the signatures of the folks we’re buying from above our names, knowing the couple buying from us will show up below ours.

I didn’t want to jinx it, but I’m tremendously pleased to have sold our place on our own. Michelle, of course, did 90% of the “brain” work, and I helped with the braun. All told, this process has been smooth, but dependent heavily on luck and grace. The couple buying our place were in the neighborhood for breakfast and were passing by on their way to another house when they noticed our open house sign. The open house went great and stirred up a lot of interest, and resulted in us finding a buyer. The buyers have been wonderful; we just got back from dinner with them. One of the saddest parts of moving is that this couple won’t be our new neighbors. However, the decision to move has been hard, and leaving a home that I love and a neighborhood that I relish in is made bearable knowing that these wonderful people are moving in.

Crap, now we have to move.

Starchy

My grandmother Viola Freed passed away yesterday. For my entire life, she (and my grandpa) has been in better shape than anyone else’s grandparents that I knew. Throughout my childhood we routinely hiked with my grandparents, even in Estes Park, high above reasonable oxygen levels found in the rest of the country. Even in recent years, the two were more active than I expected. So ironically, when her health failed, it was first Alzheimer’s, then cancer, and finally a broken hip that caught up with her.

Grandma Duck, not Grandma Freed. We referred to her after the mallards that came from across the street in Hartwell Park. She was always composed, always appropriate, and probably the original source of my sarcasm. In fact, I’m certain she’s the source of many of my idiosyncrasies, and for that I am thankful.

My grandpa always called her starchy, and it wasn’t until about 2 years ago that I found out why. Early in their marriage, my grandmother had ironed my grandfather’s shirts and sprayed them with so much starch that my grandpa was able to stand the shirts up in a line and salute them. (he was in “the war”)

We had an impromptu wake last night with the remaining nuclear family and commemorated our matriarch’s physical departure. Ella never got to know her great-grandma duck, but for a few weeks, she was able to cross paths and even elicit a smile.

Second Law of Urbanomics

We had to replace the sewer line as part of selling the house. We tried to just credit the buyer, but their lender wouldn’t give up the money until the repair was done. Crud. Luckily, we found a place that was able to fit us in before the closing and that stood up to the rigors of Angie’s List, though for a bit more.

They were able to get in and replace the line quickly, and with surprising stealth. It was a bit shocking to come home one day with two huge holes in the yard and a trackhoe sitting in front of the house. The next night, the sewer line was in, the holes were filled, and the sidewalks paved, but the public sidewalk looked like hell. There was no roped-off area, just a still moist, well trampled and ridden on sidewalk with strangers names written in it. Second law of urbanomics – leave wet cement, welcome civic art.

Second Law Of Urbanomics

It turns out they were using a new mixer and it wasn’t going well. So they came back today and re-poured. Looks good, and without any marks, I had to leave something. I crouched and left my name in the very corner, where grass would soon cover again. I’ve got a fixation with sidewalks, and it was my cement, so I scratched away. Can’t fight the laws of urbanomics.