WAKEY WAKEY TO MICK

To celebrate Mick's 40th birthday we went out with friends from the dental school, the Bowens, for a day on Lake Berryessa. It was a couple weekends after Labor Day and we had the entire, glassy, sunny lake to ourselves. It was crazy perfect.

Rhonda and Dean were enthusiastic boat owners, generous and fun, and their kids, Bronwyn and Kedrick, were fast friends with Dane and Aubrey. We camped overnight and woke up early to make the most of the day.

Mick rode for the first time since dental school started and was absolutely beaming. The Bowens thought he was a professional. (Mick kind of laughed because he's ridden with real professionals, and even some of his pals up north ride with a little more, shall we say, flair. But, don't get me wrong: he was good!)

In addition to his frontside 180s, his butterslides, his board grabs in the air, and surfing right behind the boat, Mick got an added birthday bonus: he got to DRIVE the boat. The expression on his face for this opportunity alone was one of pure joy.

I wakeboarded for about the third time in my life and the kids each waterskied for the first times in their lives! It was so exciting, and they were really proud of themselves.

The following pictures are in random order; it's kind of a pain to re-order them on blogger. Post a comment if you have a question about a particular photo, though, and I'll be happy to answer it.

Quote of the Day - by Aubrey when she saw a police car

If a policeman gave me a ticket, I'd just take it to the fair.

BROWN BAG APPLE PIE

For tomorrow. My pal Camille says it's weird but it works:

6-7 large apples
1/2 cup sugar
2tablespoons flour
1/2 tsp nutmeg or pumpkin pie spice (I do about 1 teaspoon)
2 tablespoons of lemon juice

Core and slice apples
Combine sugar, flour, nutmeg.
Sprinkle over apples then toss and coat.
Spoon into unbaked pie shell (9inch)
Drizzle with lemon juice

Put the topping on.

Topping:

1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup butter

Combine sugar and flour. Cut in butter until it's a crumble.
Sprinkle over apples to cover completely.
Slide into large brown paper bag.
Fold ends together and staple.

Bake @ 450 for 1 hour
Open bag and cool on rack

*Camille says she also puts cranberries in with the apples and chopped walnuts in with the topping.

I'll let you know how it turns out -- or, if you try it, let me know how it turned out.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING... we'll be with our friends the Javadis again for year #3 (final year!) so it will be a thrilling and somewhat sad event.

We decorated for Christmas yesterday. Is that ridiculous, or what?

Now we've got our tree, the little NOEL train, nutcrackers, gingerbread picture frames with baby and family pictures in them, reindeer stuffed in nooks and crannies, advent calendars hung...

It's not even Thanksgiving yet, but I will say, in our defense, that a) we had the time yesterday! and b) we're going to be gone for Christmas. So when the kids are begging for it -- and they're already writing fancy letters to Santa -- I figure it's ok to give in.

We re-arranged the furniture according to Dane's plans. The other morning before school he drew up a floorplan of how the living room should be arranged to accommodate the tree. It looked eerily identical to last year's arrangement, and when my other attempts at arranging the room didn't work out, he was smug and sweet on his success. I've saved the floorplan.

This morning the kids each got up at 6 and rolled a blanket up for a pillow under the tree and laid down under it on their backs listening to Raffi's Christmas album.

This week they're going to write letters to Santa explaining that they won't be in Marin City this Christmas, that they'll be at Mema and Poppa's. They'll remind him of the Puyallup address, but I assured them he's been there before.

Ah... So sweet.
(But you can't eat it.)
Here's Mema's frilly
"birthday cake"
delivered to her office
by 1800flowers.com.

HALLOWEEN DADDIES, OR WHATEVER

There should be pix of THE KIDS on Halloween, and they'll come soon, I promise, but, for now, here's 80s Aerobics Instructor Micki (who wore this on his Pedo rotation that week -- yikes), our furball of a friend, Todd (Josh's dad, the Federal police officer), and Pat the "I'M(A)PEACH BUSH" (our friend and local dentist).

This was Halloween night after the Fire Station BBQ and before the fabulous trick-or-treating down Sausalito's Caledonia Street among the local vendors.

Note: Bear with me as I try to catch up on two months' worth of blogs. And, once again, I don't have consistently good use of iPhoto, so this could unfold very strangely. (Obviously.)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MEMA!
WE'RE GLAD YOU LIKED YOUR "BIRTHDAY CAKE!"
If you get the chance, send a photo so we can post it.
Hope your day was lovely.
xoxoxo,
Aubs, Dane, Mick & Anj

TREE

When you get the perfect perch in a tree, you’re cradled.

You straddle a thick branch while the coarseness of the bark works like Velcro or the sticky backside of a postage stamp.

There, you can lean back against the upstretched limb behind you, or you can lean forward to the branch reaching sideways in front of you. If you’ve got your notebook with you, you can rest it on that side-reaching limb: nature’s desk.

From the vantage point of the tree, you can see the horizon further than you could on the ground.

But if you’re 37, you’re not really that high up.

As a kid in the Pacific Northwest, you used to climb the Douglas firs, tree sap snarling your brown braids and staining your jeans.

But this tree’s different.

It’s not a fir; it’s a gangly pine in northern California on the Pacific Ocean. You’re about six feet off the ground and you haven’t had to get into the needles yet. The thought’s occurred to you to go higher, to let the needles catch in your hair. To grab a pinecone, toss it across the lawn, let the cone sap gum up your fingers.

But you’re different.

It’s been 25 years since you were that serious tree climber along Pipeline Road, higher than the power lines. Recovering from a bone break now doesn’t sound so exciting – it wouldn’t be such fun to see what your friends would write on your cast; it wouldn’t be such fun to see how you’d manage life with two kids, a job, and a third floor apartment.

So you’ve met this tree, this old friend, halfway.

You’ve climbed up her trunk, found one of her low-reaching and welcoming branches and hoped to have another 25 years of her at this level.

You try not to think of brown braids gone gray and coiled atop your head. You try not to think of yourself in the slow rocker your grandkids might drag out to the base of the tree, so you can watch them climbing above you to the tippy top.

Instead, you close your pen cap and shut your notebook, dropping them to the grass with a ting and a thud, and rest your elbows on nature’s desk to simply take in the crash of the waves and the squawks of the fish-greedy gulls.

To watch from above is what the tree offered from the very, very start, after all.