Thursday, April 30, 2009


I started my day by dropping off hand sanitizer in the kids' classrooms. But, hang on, I'll get to that in about 542 words.

By nature, I'm not a worrier.

I come from a long line of non-worriers. We don't fret, flap or kvetch. Ask my friends. They'll tell you they've never seen my mom worry about me in all the years they've known me. She may have been strict at times, but she never worried about me once I was actually doing something potentially worrisome -- over-nighting at camp for a week as a first grader, driving tour buses in Alaska across the Yukon, traveling solo in Europe, flat broke with two kids and waiting for Mick to get into dental school -- you get the picture.

Likewise, I don't worry much about my kids. But, like my mom, I do know how to play it safe: my kids can bike, heely, skateboard, and ski - but they have to wear their helmets. They can climb any tree they want - but they have to keep good heads on their shoulders. They have to be able to figure out how to go high but come back down on their own, and how to recognizes branches that'll hold, and those that'll fold. (Dane just got a good lesson in that one (mentioned in Ode) - but, see? I didn't worry. And I'm only barely worried that I should.)

But this Swine Flu business has my snout in a wad. With international travel being so prevalent, group activities so big (the potentially cancelled Bloomsday race in Spokane comes to mind), and first grade classrooms such petri dishes, I'm feeling like we're all a little vulnerable.

Last night I told my kids there's a bad flu going around to different countries, states, and cities (never mentioned the words pandemic, or life-threatening, for that matter). Told them to make sure they didn't exchange sneezes or coughs with other kids and that they washed their hands when they thought to.

I didn't realize I was so touchy about it, but when Dane faked a pout this morning and said, "You mean I can't play with my friends?" I got a little werewolfish on him. You'd think the moon had gone full when I barked, "Of course you can play with your friends!" Grrrr...

It took me a second to check myself - isn't it amazing how fierce love can be when you realize you're scared?

"Ugh, I'm sorry," I conceded, retracting my claws. "Of course I want you to play with your friends. I just want you to be safe, maybe just consider germs a little more than usual."

See, I can say these things to my kids. They don't obsess about germs or danger. They just kind of file stuff like this away and pull it out when they think to. That's why Dane took a second kicked ball to the jaw as goalie last practice and took himself out for a few minutes. Doctor said Dane's trouble opening his mouth without pain to his ears, and the sore muscles in his neck, meant his jaw was slightly sprained, but he'd be able to eat hard foods again in a couple days.

"You gonna keep playing soccer?" the doctor asked.

"Of course," Dane said, eyeing her like she was a little bit off.

"Goalie?" she pressed.

"Well, yeah...!" That's as close as he gets to a "duh."

That night, Mick advised him not to take any more shots to the face (ha ha) and showed him how to hold his hands a little higher and closer when anticipating a shot.

"Okay," Dane said. "Got it."

So... I took two containers of hand sanitizer to school for the kids' classes today. Whoa. I was not prepared for the teachers' responses.

One, my favorite teacher there, said it was against school policy to use hand sanitizers in the classroom because studies were inconclusive about the way chemicals affect the body. I said I had a problem with this, considering a flu pandemic was imminent. Hello? Level 5 out of a 6 level warning system and we can't have a little hand sanitizer in the classroom??? Teacher agreed. Her solution: put it in Aubrey's cubby and she can use it on her own hands all day. Okay, that sort of works for me -- although it doesn't address the germs all the other kids are mucking around in...

The other teacher didn't really know why it would be needed -- she hasn't really been following the news, but when I told her a few details (four new cities in Washington suspect it, various places in California, I could go on...) she said she was happy to let the class use the big bottle of sanitizer, and put it in an accessible place. Bless her heart, she didn't fuss about school policy, and she said she'd heard maybe it hadn't been diagnosed in Oregon because we might not have the resources or maybe people weren't coming in to be checked. Then she joked about wearing little pig snout noses to school tomorrow. "Wouldn't that be funny?" she asked. I smiled, a little caught off-guard, thinking, "Um, not really...?"

So, this is a long, roundabout way to come to my point: I feel a little vulnerable, in this unsuspecting pocket of America. I feel like we're being given some warnings, but everybody just feels really safe - even though a kindergarten girl returned from Mexico on Sunday and her family hadn't even heard of the ordeal when they were down there. They heard about it Tuesday after they'd just been hanging out in Ashland for a few days.

I hate to say it, but I'm worried. I'd love to simply handle all this by holing up in a cabin in the woods, with a spare room full of canned food, and homeschooling my kids for the next couple of months. Maybe even the next couple of years, since a recent news report suggested the threat might go away in the heat of the summer, and come back with a vengeance next fall.

Don't even get me started on my lectures to Mick about using hand sanitizer in his dealings with the public in his clinic. And you'd better believe I'm pushing the face mask...

Some additional info to consider if you've read this far:
Hand sanitizer hoax
Hand sanitizers need 60% alcohol to be effective

Wednesday, April 29, 2009


That poor little boy in Texas. Two years old, from Mexico. I feel awful for his grieving parents, for his grieving and frightened community. What a tragedy.

With Swine Flu possibly sweeping the globe, his fate - and the fates of everyone else potentially infected - is in the forefronts of our minds. The spread of Swine Flu not only brings up the vulnerability we have as human beings who can catch disease from each other, it also brings up a glitch in our current health care system.

A couple springs ago I wrote an essay that aired on the radio, about a life-threatening experience we had with Aubrey in the hospital. With her health and welfare hanging in the balance, and no money in the bank to afford medical bills, we were able to get free emergency and hospital care, thanks to our government.

That experience taught me that I believe all children - and really, all people - deserve access to health care, without the fear that they'll be sent into financial ruin.

That experience helped me personally understand these significant glitches in our current system:

*Studies show that when people wait to see if they can get by without paying a doctor, waiting and hoping the health condition will blow over, they actually end up spending more of their money - or the public's - by using the Emergency Room when the condition worsens. All people need to be able to see a doctor without fearing financial ruin.

*50% of all employed Americans don't have sick days. That means a lot of people are going to work while they're sick, and spreading infections. All people need "sick days" so this sad and ridiculous practice can end.

I just found out that insurance companies are backing a conservative push to avoid nationalized health care. I think this is a huge mistake. I'm not picking on conservatives here, I'm actually furious that insurance companies are pulling the strings -- I'm asking that conservatives look at how our current health care system still leaves poor people poor and without access to a basic human right to seek and obtain health care for the ailing; it also leaves the middle class in a bind, paying out of pocket or going into debt beyond their means.

I know for a fact that most dental student families while we were at UoP utilized California's health care benefits for their children and for pregnant mothers -- where would they have been without this?

Our government is seeking solutions to a crazy problem in America, and to let insurance companies set the tone seems ridiculous to me. We need to take care of each other. We need to care. We need to make sure everyone gets a fair shake - at least in the area of health care, a basic human need.

And, if that's not self-focused enough, people should at least look at it in terms of self-interest: do we really want co-workers coming to work with a fever, or food-handlers serving meals with a cold, or cashiers handing out change if they're at work because they can't take a sick day?

The current national health care dilemma hasn't been adequately resolved. Why don't we give this administration a chance to put the brightest minds, the most experienced people on it? Why kowtow to insurance companies? Why not try a solution that gives everyone access to the health care they deserve - regardless of economic or other status?

Saturday, April 25, 2009


Apparently, it's nice to use a little baking powder when you're out digging with the cousins on Spring Break - in case you're wondering what the white stuff is.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Of Cherry Blossoms, Horse Pastures and Fish Eggs

I grew up in what I realize now was an unusual housing situation. Not because I lived with my mom after my dad left -- lots of kids experienced that, especially in the 70s -- but because I lived in one of six four-plexes built off a dirt road on a ranch in Tacoma, Washington.

Furthermore, the units were filled with single moms raising their kids in this loosely dependent little community -- because the landlords were rancher-jewelers with tremendously good hearts and wanted these moms and kids to be able to afford to live.

Most of the kids were boys. For five years (maybe more?) my best friends were these boys. I had best little girlfriends at school with whom I coordinated dress-wearing and Leia buns so we could play Star Wars on the playground, but at home I was all about ripped jeans, ratty tennies, a hooded sweatshirt, and pitch in my hair.

My afternoons and weekends were spent climbing the fir trees that lined Pipeline Road, tree sap gumming my braids and my fingers, as the boys and I raced to the tops, higher than the power lines. I'd go in at dark, smelling of bark and needles and dirt. I'd also smell of dust and hay and machinery oil.

The landlords had a barn. They kept a few horses that roamed the hillsides fenced strategically around the backs of our four-plexes, and we were free to roam the fields since the horses never seemed to mind us, chomping lazily uphill from us, silent as sedated patrons in a cocktail lounge.

We'd run through the fields, breathless and dusty, tripping on mounds and holes in the uneven earth, rolling in the weeds -- dandelions, daisies, thistles -- alternately tumbling out of our falls like expert gymnasts, or flying and landing flat as pancakes, stunned by the hardness of the ground and the sense of our internal organs flattening into mush in the shells that were our bodies.

Once, at one of my younger points in the fields, I ran through a patch of the most lovely green and furry looking bushes I'd ever seen. It was a hot summer day and I was sure they'd cool me, refresh me, like cherry blossoms on thick branches in the spring, like deep puddles I could ride my bike through in the fall. In fact, I convinced my visiting cousins to run through with me, and, yes, of course you already know this: they were nettles. They were biting, stinging, piercing nettles that lit every inch of our bare skin on fire, which was a lot, since we were in shorts and t-shirts. We ran down the hillside ablaze, only to find no real cure at home, except maybe a skin-washing. I had to just sit around and feel it, along with my cousins' piercing scowls.

That's what Earth Day is to me. It's that reminder that we should be outdoors, getting into mischief with our friends. Feeling the sun, the sap, even the nettles on our skin. Viewing the world from treetops, hilltops and barns.

I've barely mentioned the barn.

Our landlords used to let us roam freely among the oily, dusty machinery and crates, stored for decades in their big red barn. We could hide, climb, creak around on the ground floor or in the loft, cobwebs stretching sticky across our foreheads, stamping horses snorting warm breath up our way when we'd lower straw into their troughs.

Earth Day is all those senses and more. It's community and discovery and time and curiosity and dreaming and play. It's what I hope my kids have when I open the storage shed and let them grab rakes and shovels and trowels, and set them to digging along the side of the house -- between the grape vines and our neighbors' flowering pear tree. I want them to dig in their half-inch increments, discovering clay-rich soil, perfect for carving out army trenches, moon craters, and a route to China. I love hearing them out there at 7 a.m. on a Saturday, their first thought not having gone to cartoons and TV (because we don't have that) but to what in the world were they going to discover that day. Their voices are husky, rushed, companionable: "You dig there and I'll dig here! Let's see if we can make our tunnels meet!" And the scraping, scratching, toiling begins.

It's why I want my son to come limping in after he's discovered a certain kind of branch is too weak after he's fallen from up high in the cherry blossoms, onto the wood fence and into the neighbor's yard. Of course I don't want injury. And I don't want unnecessary risk. But I do want exploration and discovery, and a kinetic understanding of nature. The more you figure out, the more you've been in it, the more you feel at home in it.

Which leads, of course, to taking care of it. It means understanding we should walk or bike to school and all other nearby destinations, not polluting the air with exhaust, not digging up mountainsides for coal, or drilling coastal reefs never before touched by human hands. It means turning off lights and machines when not using them -- and using them less by being outdoors -- so we can dam fewer rivers, allowing ancient (yes, ancient) species of salmon to make their ancient treks from ocean to river source as their ancestors have done before them.

When I think of those salmon, I think of my children, who started as little fish babies in my womb. I want them to take the treks I've taken, and our ancestors before us have taken: the romps in the fields, the swims in clean rivers, the falls from tall trees. I want them to come into shelter at night, smelling of earth and air and bark, layered in grime and sweat and cherry blossoms, and live like they care about everything that exists on this planet.

Two weeks ago it was sleep-falling down the stairwell; this week it's tripping up the deck and face-planting into the picnic bench. Come on, Aubs, we love your dainty little schnoz. Let's keep our focus here...


Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Now, if that's not tantalizing, I don't know what is...

Earth Day First

So, let me give a mini-blip about Earth Day so it's sure to cross your radar: Think Green Tomorrow!

Our family's contribution is to leave the cars in the driveway all day (we try to do this a few times a week anyway, but tomorrow we'll really be intentional) and walk, bike, or ride mass transit!

Along with that, our day will be especially exciting because we're biking to our friends', the Zooks, for dinner -- where we'll meet Robert Laporte of EcoNest and discuss the Cob-building project the kids will do with him at a ScienceWorks demonstration on Saturday.

Those are just a couple things we're doing. Needless to say, there are lots of ways to be green and I'd love to hear 'em. Drop me a one-liner in the comment box and let me know how you will be green for Earth Day!

Next Up, A Month of Morbid Mondays
Okay, so now that I've gone green for a few minutes, let me go grody. If you can believe it, I can't stop thinking about Halloween and this little curriculum I'm dying to pitch to ScienceWorks. Here's what it would look like (it still needs tweaks, but I'm just getting started):

presents A Month of Morbid Mondays

When: October, Mondays, 6 - 7:30 p.m.
Where: ScienceWorks Hands-on Museum
What: A Month of Morbid Mondays

  • Learn how make-up artists create disgusting visual effects
  • Practice making convincing scars and scabs on yourself and others

  • Learn about famous literary concoctions, from Macbeth's Double Double Toil and Trouble to Harry Potter's Love Potion
  • Dream up your own list of nasty ingredients and pen their secret spell
  • Make revolting recipes from the Creepy Cuisine cookbook -- food that looks disgusting but tastes divine

  • Learn the legends and myths surrounding why the ancient Egyptians embalmed the dead
  • Learn how ancient Egyptians embalmed the dead - and make your own m-m-m-mummy

Obviously, I have more to develop -- like:

*What kind of mummy will they make? Will it be some kind of doll wrapped in gauze? Will they wrap each other in toilet paper and recycle the material later? Will they write little skits based on legends they've heard?

*What kinds of materials will we need? rubber cement and make-up for the scars? face paint? corn syrup and red food coloring for blood? hard-boiled eggs, green olives and red food-coloring for a plate full of bloodshot eyeballs? (yes!)

But this is where it all starts, folks. Feel free to help me tweak it if you have any ideas or experience here. Oh, and I envision a class full of up to a dozen 6-10 year-olds, each alongside their "adult."


Monday, April 20, 2009

Ode to Frog, Bird and Sun
A Struggling Writer-Mom's Journal Entry

April 20, 2009

Ok. Again. I seem to really be resisting writing. What's going on? Is my life too simple right now? I don't buy that. Look at the simple lives Thoreau and Emerson made for themselves. And Emily Dickinson. Too simple isn't a cause. I think that perhaps I'm shying away from sitting and thinking. Shying away from observations, from writing about that noisy little frog in the algae-ridden puddle of a pond outside my bedroom. That little frog with the large gravelly voice. I shy away from writing down such observations and the way they make me happy with the sun warming my knees while I write with my notebook across my lap. There we go. That's what I haven't been writing *croak croak* and it's what I've been dying to write.

I've never caught a frog. I don't think I've ever even spied one in the woods. I've let a friend hand over one of those clammy, sticky creatures to globe up in my palms, but I've never had the joy of discovering one myself.

This little fella sounds awfully close. Like if I took about eight steps he'd be under my toes or hopping up them. But I tried looking five minutes ago and he was silent as a clam and hidden from view.

Maybe I saw tree frogs in the wild once. On my own. In Costa Rica on my honeymoon. They were bright red. And bright blue? I don't recall.

Now I hear these marvelous birds. There's a little scraping noise this one makes as it moves from branch to branch. Yesterday the kids and I saw a blue jay holding a giant yellow worm-like bit of food in its mouth. It flew low from one shrub to the next, but gave up on it. We were laughing because we kind of think it's a pair of candy bunny teeth (like squishy upper dentures) that the Easter bunny left in our back yard last week. We found one gnawed-on candy wrapper, sitting on a railroad tie step. Maybe the critter that opened it didn't actually eat it. The bird ended up ditching the candy in the ivy, too.

We watched a blue jay earlier in the week seeking twigs for a nest in the red blossom tree. I don't know the tree's real name -- that's the best I can do for now. Besides, the point is: this marvelous little creature was testing the weight and strength, we supposed, of various twigs and straws and grasses. We watched him/her hop and test, finally choosing a three inch long pale twig and zip up to the tree where we're so happy s/he's making a nest.

At least it's sunny around here. To think that six days ago it was 30 degrees and snowing, followed by hail pellets the size of beebees, is just nearly unbelievable. I don't like Spring snow. I like heat and sunshine and warm breezes. Thank goodness I believe we've turned a corner with 70 degrees all weekend and promise of 80s and higher the rest of the week.

Maybe my inspiration for writing is aligned with the sun. Now that I can see and feel it more, perhaps my words will hit the page like the sun's rays hit my skin.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009


Today I'm bound and determined to figure out how to get Zumba classes taught at our YMCA. The Medford Y holds them, but so far Ashland hasn't even heard of them.

What is Zumba? Here's what I know: it's a killer, fun, calorie-burning dance workout that my friends in Washington and Tennessee LOVE. L-O-V-E -- the way I love to eat whole jars of frosting. Huge, huh? And wouldn't I love to have a great substitute for THAT passion? (For the record, I haven't bowed to the canned frosting gods since October.)

THAT'S what I want.

So, here's my approach for the day:

1- Call the Ashland Y director to find out if it's even on her radar. (Done. Left message.)
2- See if the Medford teacher could swing a couple classes a week in Ashland.
3- See if I need to get myself into a Zumba Instruction class. I just found the instruction class website, and they're taught all over the nation - but the May classes for Issaquah, WA, and Tigard, OR, are already SOLD OUT! There's a Bend, OR, class June 6, and it's not full yet... We'll see what I have to do.

The only sticky point about that third option (teaching) is that I'm out of shape and I've never actually done a Zumba class! Ha! Oh, and it costs $220 - but I think I could recoup the damages there if I went through with it.

So, I'll keep thinking through this as I head out for my first Pilates class at the Y, my first Pilates class in about a year. Youch...

Monday, April 13, 2009


A big hearty thank-you goes out to the eight voters who weighed in on my poll. Yes, all eight of you -- you know who you are...

Essentially, the big issue was whether to have each kid play two sports this spring.

What we came up with:

Both kids are playing pony league baseball - coach pitch, everybody bats, no one keeps score, everybody wins - ON THE SAME TEAM. Easy-peasy so far. Practice two nights a week, a game on Saturdays. In the next week, one of those practices will become a game and eventually the second practice will get dropped. This goes on until June 4.

The clencher: the coach knows the kids will miss games in parts or as wholes - and is a-ok fine with it. After all, Ashland Little League prides itself on being flexible, in the interest of kids simply getting out and playing sports.


Aubrey will still do a gymnastics class once a week at the Y. Soccer conflicted completely with practices, and that turns out to be okay. She loves gymnastics, and baseball and soccer might've been too busy for her.

Dane plays on the Y's soccer team - same team as last fall. They've changed their name from the Dangerous Jedis, though, to the Oregon Outlaws, in case you're following them. He's delirious with joy. Seriously, the boys are giddy out there on the field, and their skills are leaps and bounds improved over last fall. It's totally exciting.

Soccer practice is two nights a week - one practice overlaps with baseball, no sweat for either coach if he misses - and a soccer game on Saturday. This goes on into late-May.


What last Saturday looked like: Dane soccer game 10am - 11am; both kids played baseball 1pm - 3pm. Full day, but manageable. And if it ever feels unmanageable, we just choose one to miss. No biggie.


Next Up: Watercolor project

When Mick was gone for a long weekend at a dental convention, I found this neat looking watercolor project I wanted to have the kids do. They did it.

Aubrey made a couple sheets of the flowers and added some text:

Dane tried the flowers, but was unhappy with the result, so he broke away and went for a Halloween scene:

He's way into mummies lately (notice the little guy under the tree) and has been researching them in his Mummy Club that he set up at school with some classmates. (Aubrey joined, too.) I walked into the classroom one day to drop something off and found him and four pals reading a Magic School Bus Pyramids book out loud to each other - they didn't even notice me standing behind them because they were absolutely riveted.

Here's the link to Dane and Aubrey's current favorite mummy information site, if you have an interested kid at home: Discovery Kids - MummyMaker.

Last Up: Cooking

The kids concocted this dish (I'll avoid putting an adjective before it, letting you be the judge once you read the recipe!). They kept meticulous notes as they put it together, so you, too, can enjoy this, um, cake, if you ever need a new baking idea:

3 t. salt
Just a little under half c. sugar cane [sugar]
3 dabs of haf n haf milk
3 t butter
1 Lime sqwees jusie out
8 spoons of flour

Bake at 350 for an indeterminate number of minutes.

We all tried a bite. 'Nuff said.

Thursday, April 09, 2009


A rustling sound
Sunday night at 10:30, Mick was asleep and I was using the computer in our bedroom, when I heard a rustling in the hallway. I wasn't sure which kid it was, so I called out something like, "Hey... Dane? Aubs? Who's out there?"

The next thing I hear is Aubrey FALLING DOWN OUR STAIRS.

I leaped out of bed
-- Mick did, too, even in his grogginess -- and bolted down the stairs to find Aubrey standing, crying, disoriented, with a quickly swelling nose.

She wrapped herself around me, nose bleeding, just sobbing. I think she was still half-asleep, too.

Trip to the E.R.
I took her to the Ashland Hospital E.R. where they checked her over for broken bones, a concussion, and possible kidney damage (the chance of that looked really slim, but she had a small abrasion/bruise on her back in that region, so they just covered that base). I have to say, it was unnerving to discuss whether or not to do a CT scan to test for a concussion - with Natasha Richardson on the cover of PEOPLE magazine hanging in the magazine rack right next to us.

Aubs was pretty unsettled that whole time, crying unless she was asleep. But I had to mostly keep her awake until 1 a.m. when we were finally cleared to leave. After that, she slept next to me at home and I had to wake her for a response every hour to make sure she didn't have a concussion.

What exactly happened?
Aubrey tried to remember the event, but mostly she says she remembers just that the hall was poorly lit (yes, we're leaving MUCH more light on now IN the bathroom) and that she thought she was turning into the bathroom doorway - but basically went an extra step and turned down the stairwell (yes, we're getting a gate from a friend tomorrow). She doesn't remember falling, and doesn't really remember me carrying her upstairs to get a good look at her. She DID seem really groggy and sleepy.


She and I are hard sleepers. My college roommates used to get a kick out of talking to me when I'd randomly wander out into the living room holding two different shoes in my hands and asking where everyone from the party was. I used to wake up COMPLETELY disoriented in that moment, with a a couple of creepy roomies howling at me. Mick likes to raz me, too, when I sleep walk and talk to him, asking him questions that have no basis in reality.

Oh, yeah, the stairs...

At least 12 stairs, hard wood with a not-so-soft secured runner, and a stone tile landing at the bottom. You can actually see now on Aubrey's nose where a line/bruise crosses her bridge -- probably where she actually contacted a stair. Poor girl...

It could've been so much worse.

Saturday, April 04, 2009

I'M POSTING THIS ON BEHALF OF MY SWEETIE-PIE FRIEND SHARI FROM DENTAL SCHOOL (pictured at right with her husband Richard in June of 2007)

She sent this tonight:

As many of you know, my Sister Julie was diagnosed with Breast cancer in 2004. She had a mastectomy, chemo and radiation. We thought she was in the clear, but in June of last year she found a lump deep in her back and had it checked. The cancer had come back. It was Stage 4 cancer and it was found in three places, our worst fear. Now, after nine months of chemo and many procedures she is in remission, although we do not know for how long. I can't express how this feels as a sister and a family. We lost our mom to brain cancer two years ago, March 22.

Since the first time Julie was diagnosed with Breast cancer, she has had the dream of participating in the Cure for Cancer 3 day walk. This is a 60 mile walk over three days. Thousands of women and men come together, each raising $2,300 for the Susan G. Komen for the Cure and the National Philanthropic Trust Breast Cancer Fund. Then they will take their commitment to end breast cancer one step further and walk 60 miles over the course of three days in Scottsdale, Arizona on November 13-15.

We do not know how long Julie has or how long she will feel well enough to participate in this walk, but she has asked me to walk with her. "This is our chance" Julie said to me on the phone. I feel her excitement and would love to participate in this with her. I am writing to you now because each participant must raise $2,300 to be able to walk.

Clearly, this is a lot of money, but together we can join in this fight to cure cancer. Please help us if you can. To learn more about this walk and how it works please go to In order to donate, click on the donate tab and then enter my name, Shari Michaud, as the participant. My group is Breast Jordan Buddies. Any amount is appreciated and I thank you so much for your support.

With great love and appreciation,

Shari Michaud

Let me know what you'd think this meant if you heard Dane and Aubrey making these sounds:


Most interesting guess wins a prize.
Closest to correct wins a prize.

Thursday, April 02, 2009

(and Queen Anne)

Journey with The Classical Consort as they journey to Haydn’s London to commemorate the Haydn-Year (200th anniversary of his death). Explore the impact of England’s musical haunts on the songs, sonatas, and chamber music of Europe’s most genial composer. A colorful 1820 Broadwood pianoforte—the same model owned by Jane Austen—will be the featured guest at this celebration.

The Classical Consort: Karen Elizabeth Urlie, soprano (at right), Tekla Cunningham, violin, Meg Brennand, cello, and Tamara Friedman, English fortepiano

Start Time:
Saturday, April 4, 2009 at 8:00pm
End Time:
Sunday, April 5, 2009 at 3:00pm
Queen Anne Christian Church
1316 3rd Avenue West
Seattle, WA


Wednesday, April 01, 2009

HoMe AlOnE

Mick's headed to Portland tonight for three days at the Oregon Dental Association (ODA) convention. He gets plenty of Extended Learning credits, so that's great. He also gets to hang out and drink lots of Stumptown coffee, so more power to him! In the meantime, the kids and I will stay here: they'll go to school, I'll write, they'll have ball practice, I'll take 'em, we'll bike, we'll walk, we'll read, etc., etc. We'll miss Mick, but somewhere in there we might just do this Spring art project and desperately hope the weather warms up:

I randomly found this blogger and I like her ideas.