I Just Like To Smile; Smiling’s My Favorite.

Behold, my Thanksgiving recap post (with pictures!), which is only being posted one week (to the day!) after Thanksgiving, which means, yes, I’m patting myself on the back. And wishing I had absconded from Spokane with more leftovers.

6:30am(ish) on Thanksgiving morning, heading from Portland to Spokane with Hans:

Her car was bewitched, I think, because we managed to make it from Point A to Point B with two stops in less than six hours. (That’s a new record, and a bit nuts, actually, though I promise we weren’t really speeding. I’m telling you, her car is a magic carpet living inside a Ford Focus shell.) The drive was also one of the best ever, mostly because I can’t imagine a better person to be stuck in a car with for a long drive than Hans. She even laughed when Iggy repeatedly made eyes at her and snarfed on her arm.

Gingersnaps for my first ever sweet potato pie crust:

More sweet potato pie prep (Have I mentioned how much I hate cooking but love! baking?):

The verdict: the pie was definitely tasty, but I really shouldn’t have put it on the bottom of the oven to bake, as the crust was a little burnt in places. (Thanks! again to Ali for the recipe.)

The oven was doing some serious multitasking on Thursday:

My parents live on a lovely little lake:

The resort area where they live was incredibly quiet, so peaceful, and so so cold.

When we arrived my mom had her famous homemade stew on the stove (I could eat it for weeks, seriously), and while I was wholly expecting to have a fantastic weekend, I wasn’t prepared for the (generous/unexpected/crazy) gift waiting for me in my parent’s garage.

Exhibit, My New Car (that is my parents’ old car and also: awesome):

(The car pictured above is not my exact car, but it’s a Ford Focus in that exact color, so close enough. My version had a rad red bow attached to the antenna. “Thankful” doesn’t even really begin to cover it.)

This is what happens when I’m trying to take a picture while Iggy is attempting to pull me in the opposite direction:

It’s a tradition of sorts in our family to decorate the tree the day after Thanksgiving. My mom and I managed to get the tree up and fully glammed in less than an hour, mostly because this year we decided we didn’t need lights on every single solitary branch, amen.

On Saturday afternoon I (very reluctantly) came in from the lake to spend a night with my grandparents, wherein Iggy somehow received even more attention than he does when we’re with my parents. (“Very reluctantly” because the lake is just so perfect and so peaceful, not because I don’t love my grandparents endless amounts.)

Aside: Iggy literally looked out the back window at my mom and yelped and yelped as we were driving away, that’s how much he loves her. He also succeeded in making my mom cry. I may or may not have been laughing, only because it’s endlessly amusing to me that I ended up with a dog sappier than I am.

Home, and promptly so exhausted; can someone please bring Iggy a San Pellegrino?

I hope you all had a great! Thanksgiving holiday (or non-holiday for all you foreigners* out there).

*I am unable to write, think or say “foreigner” without getting Juke Box Hero stuck in my head.

[Post title from one of my favorite holiday movies of all-time, Elf.]

Back Diving

I posted a picture of him for a silly Instagram-related game and found him waiting for me in my dreams, something which occurs so rarely it still explodes solidly-constructed dams inside me each time I see his face, mustached and smiling at mine just the way he always did, just the way I always remember him. As usual he didn’t say much, not anything I could hear or remember, but he was there and I knew it, and when I → Read more...

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[Alternately titled: Story, The Second: The Girl Who Moved To Washington State]

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Story, The First: The Pug Who Moved To California

Stories I said I had. Tangential stories and life-changing ones.

Until today I haven’t known where, exactly, to begin. And so quiet this space has mostly been because some beginnings are tricky. Sometimes it’s quite impossible to denote where something ended and something else entirely began.

I’m not going to be able to tell you everything, but then the best stories never really do, do they?

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