In Search of Light

It was an unpromising start to the day. I was in a bit of a depressed state (my mind on family in New Mexico) and not much up for exploring, but my husband talked me into it, so off we went. I waited in the car while he started the gas pump then went into the store for coffee. The pump clicked off and while I really wanted to just let him do the whole job, guilt won out and I got out to disconnect us.

Then I did something totally out of character. I decided to top off the gas tank which I have not done since it became impossible to stop the pump at something nice and even like $15.00. Unbeknownst to me, the nozzle had popped out a little and there I was pumping gas all over when my husband came out. We both dabbed at the ground with paper towels for awhile, then beat a hasty retreat.

We didn't get very far before the fumes from our hands (despite a liberal dose of Purell) overcame us and we pulled over on a little country road to wipe our hands in the wet vegetation. Which in my case turned out to be some sort of sticker bush.

Eventually the day improved. Could it be because our first stop was a winery? We enjoyed ourselves at the tasting room and giftshop of Westport Winery and left six bottles heavier than when we arrived.

We continued west to the little ocean side city of Westport where our first stop was the Maritime museum where the star of the show was the first order Fresnel lens from the Destruction Island lighthouse. This lens is set up and lit and rotating inside a building. It is truly a magnificent work of art and engineering.

We then went and climbed up the Grays Harbor Lighthouse. It also has a much smaller third order Fresnel lens, although that is not the light source used today. What's surprising is how far inland this lighthouse is. Our guide said it was due to a jetty that was built that changed the coastline. It is hard to believe that this lighthouse is actually visible and helpful to ships at sea.

A visit to the ocean would not be complete without a walk on the beach. I had not stepped five feet onto the sand when I saw something round and picked it up. Because the wind was whipping my hair so fiercely and obstructing my vision, I handed the object to my husband to wipe clean. It was a New Mexico quarter.

I think about the odds. The odds that a quarter, no longer silver colored, would be found in the miles of sand. The odds that I would find one. And most of all, the odds that it would be from New Mexico. I popped it into my pocket, this little reminder from God that even if I can't be with my family, I carry them in my heart and can find them wherever I go.

How to Chop Wood With All Your Body Parts Intact

This weekend I set out to split round logs into some other shape-preferably one that will not cause them to roll out onto the carpet on some not-too-distant winter evening. I have made the attempt once in the past and came to the conclusion that our ax was just not sharp enough, because it seemed to land with a thunk on the log, and either bounced off or became slightly embedded.

This time I was determined to show the ax (which had been sharpened, so that was no longer an excuse) and the logs who was boss.

Now I had heard that you need to read the log, look for its fault line or the sweet spot or some other such nonsense. Oh, I'm convinced the logs have them, just not convinced I could hit them. In fact, there were some swings where I missed the log entirely, having to jump out of the way of the ax as it came dangerously close to burying itself in my shin. But little by little, I turned big logs into littler logs, and I did it without injury.

My swing, which started out looking like I was trying to hammer a nail, improved, and while it never approached that of a thirty year old lumberjack, the ax did make it above my shoulder and that seemed to make all the difference. Momentum and gravity and a tiny bit of aim, resulted in a satisfying heap of split logs, that along with the lots and lots of kindling I created at first will last us at least till Halloween.

Does Anyone Ever Win a Contest?

One week into this and I will give a quick update. I decided not to blog about the category of assisting someone as I feared it would look a little like patting myself on my back, so I will continue to strive for this and keep track of it, but that will be kept private. Unless I change my mind later. After all, I made all the little rules and I can break them.

As far as the other categories, refer to the lists on the right. As these get longer I might have to adjust the layout of the page, but for right now, I'll try to keep an updated log.

Today I found a funky one-of-kind thrift store where I stood out like a sore thumb, (no facial piercings or tri-colored hair) but the other patrons were nice enough not to comment on my short comings. I was able to find a cool, slightly tattered jacket that will be the foundation for my husband's Halloween costume.

I also hammered out three contest entries. This category has me a little worried, as some of them will require quite a bit of time. I anticipate entering some writing contests and some recipe contests, but for today one had me take a fairly lengthy survey and the other two just my name and address. I've always wondered if anyone really wins these things. Maybe with 50 entries I'll find out.

Oysterfest 2009

Today we went to Mason County Fairgrounds for the annual Oysterfest. It is a short distance from my house set next to a little airport. We arrived just as a group of paragliders were coming in for a landing against a bright blue October sky and a mountainous backdrop. It was lovely.

Prior to the oyster tasting, we visited the winetasting tent where we sampled some of our area's fine wines, and left with a bottle of Horizon's Edge Wishful Thinking Port, a delicious chocolatey libation that will be lucky if it makes it to Thanksgiving, and a bottle that we won't even try to save for Thanksgiving from Olympic Cellars Winery called Go Girl Red-because it just felt like a good idea to have a wine cheering for me. And then it was on to the main event.

Now I have to admit upfront that I have had encounters with oysters exactly two times before. Once when I was a teenager in Biloxi, Mississippi, and I was given a raw oyster on the half shell. Being the kind of girl who alway chewed her food, unless it was something like, oh, say ice cream, I proceeded to chew that slithery bit of shellfish until it had morphed into something roughly the size and consistency of a rubber dog bone. One intended for a very large dog. Then I compounded my mistake by attempting to swallow it anyway, where it got lodged halfway down my throat. I don't remember clearly which direction the bugger ended up, but I know there was more than a little panic involved.

The other time involved a recipe for oyster stew that I thought sounded good. (I must have been reading something Christmasy and Olde Englishy at the time) Anyway, suffice it to say, even the neighborhood stray cat wouldn't touch it.

Which brings us to today, where I discovered that grilled oysters on the half shell in garlic butter was a treat. A hint of the sea and so tender, I wish I had ordered more. I also decided to give the raw guys another try. I was not so naive this time; I knew to just tip, let it slide and swallow. But my throat had been imprinted with its earlier encounter and seized up. A second try established for good that this was a no-go. Ah, well, there's always next year.

Forty nine is not usually seen as a milestone birthday. It doesn't end in a zero, and it doesn't bestow upon one any new rights or responsibilities. Yet, for me, this one is a milestone of sorts. You see, I've decided to embark upon a challenge for the next twelve months, in anticipation of the big five-o. It is nothing huge, something that anyone can do.

First off, let me explain why I'm doing this. I asked myself, what did I fear most about aging? And the answer was, drum roll please, having my life become narrower. You know how it is, you get so comfortable in your routines, that you don't even realize that you go to the same restaurants, spend your evenings in the same chair, watching the same television shows. The very sameness that is comforting also terrifies me. Because I know it will only intensify as the years go by. So this little challenge is my way to broaden my life as I journey toward my fifties.

So here it is. I've come up with six categories that I will work on in the next year.
1. Read 50 books, at least half classic literature, at least one the New Testament
2. Learn 50 new things, big or small-time consuming or not
3. Go to 50 places I've never been, a bookstore, a park-it doesn't matter
4. Eat 50 new things, a recipe or a food I've never before sampled
5. Enter 50 contests of any sort
6. Provide some type of kindness, or assistance, or service to others 50 times

This is not a typical life list with big expensive things like visit all the continents, climb Mt Everest or jump from an airplane, but I look forward to it just the same.

For those of you wondering about the title. A few years ago, actually quite a few years ago, my father told me I should start working out and training for the senior games, and I laughed and said, "Dad! I'm only forty something." And he said, "that's just a short pirouette to fifty," and he was right. Time passes so quickly.

I hope you stick around, check back from time to time and see how I'm doing on my self-imposed challenge. I don't know what the next year holds, but I'll let you know. As for right now, it's time to begin My Short Pirouette To Fifty.