Mesa!!

Dad and Bev

Gary & Dad!

Dad's Golf Cart

Joel Prepared us Dinner...

... and it was delicious!!

Veal Scallopini

Goat Cheese with Truffles, organic dried cherries and toasted candied walnut salad.

Dana Taylor

We will miss our friend.

A New Year's Eve Aniversary

Our 2nd Anniversary at The Ocean Lodge in Cannon Beach

Happy New Year! And Happy Anniversary to US!

Today is our 2nd Anniversary!
Happy New Year!
2008!!

Happy Holidays!

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New year!
from
Gary & Karen

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO JONA!!!!

Pike Place Market - A Winter Wonderland!!

Snow on the Alki

Serious Scrabble

Happy Thanksgiving!

Over the river and through the woods
To Grandmother's house we go.
The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
Through white and drifted snow.

Over the river and through the woods,
Oh, how the wind does blow.
It stings the toes and bites the nose
As over the ground we go.

Over the river and through the woods
To have a full day of play.
Oh, hear the bells ringing ting-a-ling-ling,
For it is Thanksgiving Day.

Over the river and through the woods,
Trot fast my dapple gray;
Spring o'er the ground just like a hound,
For this is Thanksgiving Day.

Over the river and through the woods
And straight through the barnyard gate.
It seems that we go so dreadfully slow;
It is so hard to wait.

Over the river and through the woods,
Now Grandma's cap I spy.
Hurrah for fun; the pudding's done;
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie.

Photos from the Trip

Here are some photos from our European Trip!

Whiskers 1987 - 2007

We lost a dear member of our family this morning.

In the world of cats, you don't often think of cats as touching a lot of people's lives, but she did.

Jona bought Whiskers from "Country Lovin' Pets" in Astoria. She was his faithful companion for 20 years.

When she was a year old Whiskers had 4 kittens.

Kirby Hemeon-Bechtolt, Max Bechtolt, Friskey Servino and Sylvester Lindstrom all had preceded her.

Whiskers was a member of our family and it is so sad that she's gone.






Love you Whiskers....

Happy Halloween!

Full Moon over West Bay

Midnight on Thursday

Doze Summertime Blues; Wait, it's October!

Now, anyone that knows me well, knows that I'm not one to complain. Why, just the other day Karen commented, "Gary, you seem to be so optimistic and bubbly, with the war and inflation, and the World coming down around us and you whistling Broadway show tunes, you're almost irritating."

Actually, while we go into our fifth month of road construction on our street, a project that originally was to be done on August 7, I've been whistling tunes from Porgy and Bess:

"Well, it ain't necessarily so
Well, it ain't necessarily so
Dey says dey be done soon
Dey maybe done pave soon
But it ain't necessarily so"

"Summertime" has graduated to "Autumn Leaves," and I'm starting to brush off the dust on the Christmas classics. "I am the Ghost of Construction Past, the Ghost of Neverending Future Construction will haunt you later."

Our street is 1/4 mile long. Having just seen Ken Burns' "The War," we realize that if Patton had moved his troops with similar speed from Sicily to Berlin, he would have reached there around November 15, 4934. And Patton had at least some resistance! In the meantime, our construction crew is leaving similar destruction in their path.

Yes, this was our mail box, which greeted us the other day upon our return from work. And they didn't even leave a note, like "oops", or "while you were out". I walked down the street to a large group of guys in Sears' regulation boots and plaid shirts and six of them sheepishly asked if our mailbox was the one which they "tipped" over and pointed to one guy who didn't have anyone left to point to. I assured the manager that "we noticed" the mailbox and inquired what they were going to do about it. They have assured me that they have their "best men" on it which, as you can imagine, provides me no end of comfort.

So, a group of us from the neighborhood has been mobilizing and we may counter-attack soon, feeling that it might even speed up the contractor's work. Couldn't slow them down much.

Las Vegas; "Oh," and French Canadian Clowns

"O"

Okay, I'll have to admit, I started with a view of Cirque du Soleil that was a tad bit prejudice. I mean, the French and clowns, could it get any worse? And, when Cirque du Soleil first came to Portland I remember thinking, "Hey, it's like the circus, I'll take the kids." This worked until I called for reservations and got the ticket prices, deciding I'd send my kids to a good college instead.

So, imagine my excitement when Karen said "We have tickets to see "O" by Cirque du Soleil in Las Vegas!" I was speechless, which, curiously, I have often found to be the preferred response at moments like this.

So, we met friends Jim and Carol at the Bellagio (about 30 minutes late, after driving on the famed Las Vegas "'parking' Strip"), had a marvelous steak dinner and then went to the show.

It started with clowns squirting people with water. At this point, you consider leaving. I mean, after all, even if they are from Montreal, these are the heirs of people who think Jerry Lewis is the ultimate comedian. These are the people who think hairy arm pits are sexy and it's okay to eat slugs.

And then, "funny clown" moment, they take someone from the audience. You begin to suspect that he might be a plant when he climbs a ladder about 70 or 80 feet to the ceiling. Had they chosen me for that particular act, there would have been a colorful monologue added to the performance.

The plot (SPOILER ALERT): I think it's something about a guy with a baseball cap being guided by a tall skinny skeleton-like guy through a maze of people who spend their time acrobatting and diving into the water, but never actually breathing, while a nymph-like girl (or possibly an attractive boy) appears and disappears periodically. There are some French-type Dragoons who might be Coachmen, or gay waiters, who swoop in and around, while a cast member from Showboat reads a newspaper while being burned alive. In the meantime, a Polynesian fire eater dances around with a couple of clown refugees from Hurricane Katrina. Throughout it all, three girls from China, or the Philippines, or Omaha, Nebraska, twist their bodies into shapes that boggle the mind (to the constant refrain of "stop staring, Gary" from what I think was somewhere off stage).

But I'll admit it, in spite of the French heritage, in spite of the clowns, in spite of the dearth of plot and the total absence of dialogue, I LOVED THE SHOW.

I felt guilty any number of times, when I wasn't applauding, I was just sitting there amazed, wondering, "What did I just see?" "Did I just see what I thought I saw?" "How the hell do they do that?" "What the hell are they doing?" Oh, and "Can you please move that Clown?"

Apart from the plot line (see above), this show is indescribable!

I'd see it again and again (well, if I could afford it), just to see what I missed and then to see the stuff I saw but didn't believe!!!

Perfect weather in Vegas:


Vegas Palm Trees & Sunshine!


The "Strip" (in the distance) from our balcony.


The JW Marriott Pool


Dessert at Wynn Las Vegas with good friends, Jim & Carol




"O" My God!! Cirque du Soleil's "O" at the Bellagio



Celebrity Sighting at the Bellagio


Love those Arnold Palmers!

Playing a "friendly" game of Canasta, in which Carol and Gary, through skill, grim determination, dueling table talk and divine providence (who is the patron saint of amateur card players, anyway?), emerged victorious, in a humble sort of way.

Canasta in the Cabana! Gary & Carol won!

Clowns and DJs, Is It Just Me? Oh, and Trapped by John Denver

I am missing the "clown" gene.

I don't like them, so far as I know, I never have. I don't know if my Mom dressed me up in a clown suit as a baby, or if I was terrorized by a clown, but I don't trust them, I don't think they're funny and they actually make me uncomfortable. I used to think I was the only person who didn't like clowns, but none of my kids like them either. Perhaps because I'd say things like "stay away from that clown, you don't know where he's been".

In movies or TV shows, when the clown is the bad guy, presumably because it is "ironic" that something so friendly could go bad, I sit back thinking, "I knew that guy was a bad'un".

I hate them in parades, when you're trapped on the curb and they come up menacingly. During the "clown portion" of circuses I think it's a good time to go to bathroom or get a snack. I couldn't imagine inviting one to a birthday party unless I was trying to drive my children from the house.

And it's not just the "fake" sad ones, I don't like the happy ones, the doctor clowns with the big feet, the big baby clown in diapers, the bunch of clowns in the little car. I don't like their trying to make me happy when I'm just being uncomfortable. Oh, and little kids who squeal with delight irritate me, it only encourages the clowns.

I don't like them trying to make me happy and the fact is, while they may not be quite as scary as "Howdy Doody Dolls" (which I have been terrified of, even before "Chucky"), they bother me, like coming across some congressman loitering in a bathroom.

So, why am I ranting about clowns? Because, right now, across the water from our house, someone is having an overly loud party with a DJ, which, in my book, is a modern-day clown with a record player. The music is loud, but that doesn't bother me, crank it up, drown out the clown. However, the DJ is talking and talking and talking, loudly over a microphone. I'm sure he has a big smile and, while I cannot see him, I can clearly hear him (from several hundred yards away) constantly cajoling everyone to "be Happy!!!" "Is every one having fun?" "rah" "I can't hear anyone!! Is everyone having FUN!!!????" "rah" "I STILL CAN'T HEAR YOU!!!!! IS EVERYONE HAVING FUN!!!!!???'

Too bad DJ's aren't in season.

I don't understand parties or functions that have to hire someone from the outside so that we'll have fun. I mean, aren't we grownups? Can't we just sit around and have a good time? Do we really need someone to try and get us out on the dance floor and dance the Hokey Pokey? The only time that sounds remotely appealing is when you've had too much to drink and, even then, you'll probably wake up and go "Oh my God! Did I do that last night!!"

We'll see if he shuts up soon, I may have to get my Daisy rifle and head out in the canoe . . .

While we're on the clown/DJ thing, we were recently in Newport (separate post). Karen was attending a conference of the County Clerks Association ("OCCA"). I joined her for a couple of evenings at the Newport Hallmark, which was actually a pretty nice hotel. The weather was gorgeous, we actually caught the lunar eclipse at 3 a.m. (which was incredible), had a killer Kobe Burger at the Rogue Ale Brewery and generally enjoyed ourselves.

One of the evenings, we went to a dinner - awards meeting for the association. Karen was receiving a number of accreditations (basically, she can now register you, take your vote, apply for passports, record your life and property and, in some jurisdictions, has even married people - well, too each other, she is already taken).

Okay, here we are, right on the beautiful Oregon coast on an incredible sunny day and, where is the banquet? In the basement. I was already approaching this event with some trepidation, "OCC official motto - 'we're funnier than the Oregon DMV". So, we sat back in the counter, I was busy being "Mister Karen Barnum". The meal passed and the entertainment section started.

I WAS AMAZED. If you have the chance to catch a traveling performance of the County Clerks of Linn and Jackson County, GO!! They did a great send-up of the Blues Brothers as county clerks!!

Had the evening ended there, seriously, I would have called it a good time and worth the trip.

Of course, it didn't end there.

We were sitting, blithely unaware that we were shortly going to be trapped for the rest of the evening. The association had apparently found an outside entertainer to entertain us. He wasn't a clown or a DJ, but he could have been. He had the microphone. This guy was a singer with a guitar and some kind of electronic music thing that performed as his back up (I'm thinking it's because no real person could work with this guy for an extended period).

Anyway, he played, and played and played. He tried to show us that he knew music from all eras, "Anyone want to hear something from the 60's?" "How about those 50's?" "Anyone interested in the Roman Empire?" "How about the Dark Ages?"

He did a number of impressions as well, and they all sounded amazingly like this guy trying to do an impression of someone we were trying to recognize, "was that Johnny Cash or Dick Van Patten?" But his real specialty was doing John Denver, he even looked like a seedy version of John Denver who never quite got out of the bar. Of course, John Denver is dead, so we thought it was a little odd that he was still having a Rocky Mountain High and hopping up and down on Granny's Feather Bed, but this guy just marched on.

Even that would have been fine except, when one poor schmuck tried to leave the crowded banquet room to go to the bathroom, this Singing Yokel yelled out that he was leaving, got his name, and made fun of him when he returned. Of course, the rest of us just sat there, legs crossed, stopped drinking liquids and hoping we wouldn't wet our pants before this guy was through.

Eventually, our bladders won over our fear of being publicly embarassed by John Denver, so we made a run for it.

We made it to our room, went out on the deck with a glass of wine and gazed at the ocean.

I still hate clowns.

Newport, Oregon

We're in Newport, Oregon. I'm attending the Oregon Association of County Clerk's Conference. The weather is perfect! The eclipse of the nearly full moon last night was so amazing, and although it was perfectly visible, it was at 3 AM and I didn't think to take a photo. -Karen




The Rogue Brewery

We're Back!!!

If it is almost 6 a.m. in Portland, then I must have really slept in if I was in Paris, but we're not there, so what time is it really? Wait, it's a work day! Damn! It's 6 a.m. And I guess champagne for breakfast is right out as well.

The flight was smooth, though there were two problems, well actually, three. The first two were that we should have checked our legs at Heathrow. British Airways (or "the BA" as I like to think of them), which a number of years ago had a great coach class seating where you actually had room for things like, well, your legs, have opted for "maximizing capacity". They have brought "new improved" - super coach "Plus" seating (we've heard the same joke from US airlines, but at least you're not flying for nine hours) which has the same leg room that all coach used to have only it cost more. For those people who opt for regular coach well, "what you do with your legs is your problem, not ours".

The BA does have a sense of humor, though. They give you a nice little packet that includes a cute mask to keep out the light, headphones to hear the entertainment system, a toothbrush so as not to offend your seatmates in the 7th or 8th hour of the flight, and socks. The socks are great, except, unless you are a Neanderthal with arms extending to your ankles, you need to BEND OVER to reach your feet. And, since they have moved the seat in front of you up to your knees (you do get an incredibly good view of the screen in the seat in front of you, particularly if that person leans back, I didn't even need my glasses), you cannot bend over, I tried it. From the perspective of the BA, if you come with a head, neck, torso and legs, you simply have too many parts for standard coach, which the BA jokingly refers to as "World Traveler", which is pretty close, they just left out the words "Stiff and Weary".


They do have an excellent entertainment system with a vast array of movies all for free. Of course, on the way to London, they had very similar system which had a fair amount of entertainment and movies which you could have for an extra charge. I wonder which plane was part of the newer fleet?

Still, they fed us (for free, not little boxes of odd combinations of wheat thins, beef jerkey, jalapeno cheese whiz and jelly beans that they try and sell you in the US) - of course, it is "airplane food", so don't get your hopes to high, and plied us with drink (which worked very well on the way to London, but we had a three-hour drive waiting us in the US, so we had a "don't drink after Iceland" rule - now, where the hell was Iceland?).

The other problem was air, pesky thing, that. They had a hard time keeping the airconditioning system working. I don't know about you, but I have a hard time when they have a hard time with ANYTHING not working on a plane. Anyway, we felt like it was a true historical Atlantic crossing, a large group of tired, distraught people sitting for what seemed like days in an incredibly small hot holding area. I think I heard singing and champagne bottles popping up in first class.

Eventually, we made it to Seattle, sat around the aircraft for what seemed like days while people unfolded themselves, pulled out their overhead sea chests, cuddled their little children while unfolding baby carriages, doddered around like village idiots looking for a way out of an open field . . . Is it just me, or have people simply lost their minds now-a-days about how to exit a vehicle? I mean, there you are, there is a door, it should be a simple process.

So, then we rushed (just kidding, we were still behind large groups of people, some who would periodically stop in their tracks in the corridors to drool) to the US border guards. The three guards who were checking the hundreds of people were very friendly. I'd love to have had a chance to spend more time with them, but the hour or so we had seemed pretty sufficient.

Made it through that process and started walking to the "baggage claim". I have thought it would be nice if they gave us mile posts for places like that in airports, like, "baggage claim, 3 miles", then again, it might be too depressing. We made it to baggage claim in time (from the point where the plane landed to the point where we finally made it to the baggage claim) for the handlers to unload all the bags, sort through them, repack and send them on a separate trip somewhere. Of course, when we made it to the baggage "carousel" (at least it sounds like the bags are having fun) there was that typical "baggage claim" scene, hundreds of people standing around the carousel (looking vaguely like extras from "Dawn of the Dead") and the same luggage, circling, unclaimed by anyone, around and around, while we wait for the real bags to arrive. Do you ever wonder what is actually in those fake bags that the airlines put out there for show?

I can't complain though, all three of our bags ultimately (and I mean, ULTIMATELY) showed up, happy to see us and relatively unscathed. Of course, I could take the view that, even in the one place where the BA really outshines all other European airlines (lost luggage, International Business Times, 4/7/07), they failed us - and we are grateful.

We packed our luggage on a Free Luggage Cart - amazing! Walked the 20 yards to Customs, nothing to declare and 20 yards later there was another luggage conveyor belt. I naturally assumed it was for people who had not yet had sufficient airline abuse and we're looking to fly somewhere else, but nope, it was for everybody. They stopped us and told us to put the bags back on the belt. Fortunately (or I might be in a holding tank somewhere at the airport), only Karen heard my comment "J---- C______!, is this f____ing stupid or what?"). In the end, I complied, though it was painful, after being away from each other for so long and just being reunited, to have to give our luggage up to another conveyor. Oh, and after the 40 yards, you had to give up your free luggage cart.

We got on a train with a nice sweet quaint older English woman, who also thought the conveyor thing was "f____ing stupid".

We found our luggage - again - went trodding off in search of the rental car and, "Thank You, Hertz Gold Club", our huge American Car with marvelous air conditiioning, comfortable seats and a walk-in trunk was waiting for us, expectantly. We then headed down the Great American Highway (I-5) with plenty of shoulder room, huge lanes, looking for Starbucks and flying home at 60 - 70 miles an hour (slowing down to 45, officer, at the occassional construction site, i.e., every 1/2 mile or so).

Since it took us almost two hours to get out of the airport, our energy started to flag when we were about 35 miles from home, before which I had Karen recite the entire plots to the three movies she watched on the plane ("keep talking, say anything"). Karen, who had less sleep, said she was feeling fine ("Are you Positive? Maybe we should just go to a motel?"). She was fine, for about ten miles. We pulled over to a mega-mall parking lot, parked the car and went to sleep. I think we could have slept until morning, but we did awake, I was feeling pretty refreshed and we made the last 25 miles (except for the 23 1/2 miles of construction) fairly smoothly.

So, here we are, clicking our heels and holding our Yorkie, Penny, saying "there's no place like home, there's no place like home".

Love from LO,

Gary & Karen

Ode to Heathrow - Terminal 4

"Here we sit all broken hearted . . ."

No wait! That's not the one.

Well, we managed to get to Heathrow in good form, now we're just waiting to see if the airplane will come here as well.

We received a very early "wake-up" call from son, Justin, who doesn't have a world clock (we'll get him one next time).

:)

We then went back to sleep and, fortunately, Karen heard the hotel wake-up call. My ears, which occasionally plug up to the point where I can't hear have been going downhill the past few days (Karen is to the point where she repeats things now even before I say "what"?) and I slept through my mobile phone alarm.

Well, we had arranged for a back-up wake up call (which worked), finished up packing. There was a taxi waiting for us (pre-arranged, it wasn't magic), who whisked us off to Gard de Nord. Well, he whisked us off, got lost, and whisked us around a bit before finding Gard de Nord, which was there, just where they had built it originally. Fortunately, he kept the meter running, so he wasn't out any cash.

At Gard de Nord, we started looking for the famed "Eurostar" to London. You'd of thought they would have HUGE SIGNS showing where this famed "Chunnel" thing was. Well, they had a bunch of little signs, some of which pointed upstairs and an equal amount of which pointed down. We felt like Dorothy asking the Scarecrow for directions.



Eventually, we discovered the answer to this particular mystery. You had to go upstairs, check-in, go through customs and security, and then go downstairs two flights.




The train arrived, and we had some further confusion over their car numbering (6 before 7, except after 17), but eventually settled down. The ride was FAST, very smooth and comfortable. They even included a full hot breakfast - no complaints. Made it through the Chunnel fine (Karen hates tunnels, she didn't know that before Europe, I hate high bridges - I've always known that).

Made it to London - Waterloo Station - and had a marvelous taxi ride to Heathrow. It's expensive, but when you have a ton of luggage, it's a bit muggy, and you're tired after a lot of traveling, it was worth it. The taxi driver was a hoot, his son was getting married down in the Cotswolds (through which we traveled, oh, so long ago) this weekend. He got us here in fine style.

We checked in (well, of course, we were a bit early for British Airways and advised "We can't quite take your baggage right away, why don't you pop around the corner for a spot of tea and come back?"). After check-in, we actually had a very nice lunch here.

More later, have to head to the gate.

Gary & Karen

Good Night, Paris!

Karen on the computer... Gary sleeping!

Tomorrow is a big travel day.

We have a 7AM train from Paris to London via "le tunnel sous la Manche" also known as "The Chunnel". It's a 31.5 mile rail tunnel under the English Channel which connects the UK with France.

I'm up worrying about being under the English Channel and researching everything I can find out about it on Wikipedia, (... it's the longest undersea tunnel in the world and the second-longest rail tunnel in the world. The American Society of Civil Engineers has declared the tunnel to be one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World ) while my worry-free Gary just sleeps away!

After the Eurotrain to London via the Channel Tunnel, we'll make our way to Heathrow and catch our flight back to Seattle. From there we'll drive home to Portland.

Paris, London, Seattle and Portland... all in one day! WOW! :)

I Love Paris!

I have completely fallen in love with this city. Everything is so beautiful, from the buildings and the bridges, to the little cafes and the pastries. Such a lovely, friendly city! I wish we could stay longer. I will be sad to leave tomorrow. -Karen

Le Champ de Mars - Avenue de la Bourdonnais

The Eiffel Tower when we arrived this morning from Rome.

Notre Dame from the Seine boat tour this evening.

Pont Alexandre III