Sometimes I almost don't want to write about little happenings around this quiet valley I live in, for the simple fact that I'm sure someone out there is saying "Get outta here... either you live in Wonderland, or you are making this stuff up."

It is true that I live in a sort of Wonderland (at least to me..), but I certainly would never have a reason to make anything up. The things that happen around here are simply quite magical, because I choose to see it that way.

For instance - on Sunday, it was another stormy day. The past week's weather has been record breaking. When you live in a place that gets 300+ sunny days a year, having a solid six days of rain AND thunder storms is quite an event.

My friend Beth came up to see me, and to watch the storm since our house is located in a perfect spot to see a panoramic view of the valley. We had been talking for a couple of hours, when I glanced out the window and nearly jumped right off the couch.

There was a rainbow. But not just any rainbow. This thing was gigantic, blazing full of color, and literally stretching as postcard-perfect as I've ever seen... from one mountain, up over the town, and to a mountain on the other side.

I called up to hubby to grab his camera, and we all ran outside to gawk at the spectacle.

The sun was filtering through the clouds as it was descending for sunset. It was causing that golden 'magic light', and beaming it straight past the gloomy grey, to the hills and mountains east of us. Just behind those mountains were more angry clouds, creating a backdrop of gunmetal black. Between the two, was a downpour of rain... which caused a sheer golden curtain to fall against the lit up mountains, and that is where the rainbow was born.

Our neighbor came out with her camera. She had lived here for decades and said she never saw anything quite so amazing. We watched, and watched... minutes went by. You could see a second rainbow, faint above the first. Ten minutes went by, and it was still there. We walked up onto the porch steps and sat there. I braided Beth's hair. We were all just laughing and talking, and soaking in the beauty of this everlasting rainbow.

Finally, twenty minutes after we had noticed it, it began to fade - but only because the sun was setting! The clouds were turning pink, brightening as the rainbow slowly disappeared.

Hubby took two full rolls of film, capturing the moment. I kicked myself for not having my digital camera's batteries charged... so you will have to wait for the film to get developed to see the awesome sight.

Yesterday, as he and I went to get a drink at the store... I smiled and pointed at the local newspaper's front page. A picture of kids reaching up for the rainbow.

If that's not Wonderland... I don't know what is.

For the fourth straight day in a row, the valley has been waltzed by thunderstorms. Not the kind that simply rumble and threaten rain... but the ones that boom so loud the windows rattle, and the cloudbursts pour furiously with each flash of lightning.

Yesterday's storm was no exception.

I crawled up onto the bed with my dog for a nap, and woke to the sound of rumbling. I stared out the windows for countless minutes, watching the lightning dazzle on wet leaves outside my bedroom. The thunder would come, and I would feel my dog's body jolt in his sleep. I loved every lazy, stormy moment.

Another whip-crack of thunder snapped overhead, and the rain came down in a torrent. I jumped off the bed, dog instantly shadowing me, and we ran down to the back porch facing East. One of the benefits of living on a hill is that you can see the entire valley in one glance. I watched lightning touching down on the hills all around, and breathed the scent of rain and ozone.

I also noticed the flashing lights of an ambulance coming up the main road near my house.

My mother came through the living room and walked out onto the porch with me, having arrived back after running some errands. She saw the lights as well, and stopped to see where they were going.

Once the thunder had rolled into silence for a moment, we heard the sirens of the aid car. We watched as it made it's way straight up the main road, getting louder and louder until it turned just below my street and cut across the fairgrounds road.

Right in the direction of my grandmother's house.

Trees obscurred the last few yards of the ambulance's trek, but it seemed like it slowed down right near grandma's driveway. My dad's mom. The last grandparent I have living.

I stood up on the wide railing of the porch, trying to get a better view. I could barely see lights flashing through trees, and then they disappeared. If they went down grandma's driveway, that would make sense. It was a steep dirt road that lead to her house.

"I think we better go see where they went," mom said. I agreed. Seconds later we were running through the rain to my Jeep.

I fumbled with the keys, but finally got them in the ignition. It only took a minute to drive down and cut across the fairgrounds road, just as the ambulance had. I'm not sure about mom, but I held my breath as we pulled up far enough to see her driveway.

The ambulance was parked outside her door.

I gasped. Mom muttered quietly. We turned down the dirt road and parked in the grass, so as not to block the driveway.

The thunder clapped overhead. Lightning lit the sky. We were soaking wet when we went through the creaking screen door to find the living room door wide open, and paramedics kneeling in front of grandma.

I glanced up at the walls. There was the faded portrait of my aunt as homecoming queen, circa 1955.

I blinked, and a paramedic came into my vision. He asked me who I was and I told him. He said it appeared that she had suffered a stroke. He asked me how old she was. I said I thought she was 84. He nodded and turned to his partner, who made notes on a clipboard.

Fred, the elderly neighbor from down the street who has taken a shining to my grandmother ever since the passing of her husband many years ago, was the one who found her. He said she was supposed to call him by noon, and hadn't. It was about 2:30 in the afternoon. He walked in and found her on the floor.

She looked at me from where she sat, and smiled. I smiled back. But the paramedics kept asking her questions, and she blinked at them like a wounded dove.

They wheeled her out of her old house, to load her on the stretcher outside. I watched as they hoisted her up and covered her with white blankets. She looked up into the sky, through the rain. Thunder clapped. Lightning lit her eyes.

I could see her wondering if she would ever come home again.

I shouldn't confess what I just indulged in for lunch today... but I'm going to anyway. The taste of it is imprinted within my senses, and I'm still humming from the sheer guilty pleasure from the experience.

My friend Amy (who was my traveling companion in England. Yes, Amy and Aimee - running wild in the UK) was in town today. We decided to venture to the touristy village nearby and try out their new French bistro called Pav's. I had been there once before, and had eaten a perfectly toasted panini, but today we were in the mood for crepes.

We detoured through an antique store, teasing ourselves with the thought of the culinary treats waiting for us. We could barely make it to 11:00 before we caved and headed up the street toward the eatery.

It is a very small place, with seating for no more than about twenty people. The walls are a rich marigold color, with a gold guilded mirror taking up the entire back wall. Sconces and French advertising posters make up the rest of the vaulted ceiling nook. Amy, who recently visited Italy, was in a swoon over how quaint and authentic everything looked.

We scooted into a table for two near the window, and dove into our menus. It wasn't long before we decided to split a meal and a desert. A Black Forest Ham crepe with swiss cheese and a spicy dijon sauce for the entree. A feta cheese salad with red, green and yellow bell peppers on the side, drizzled with dark vinagrette. For desert - a Chocolate Gelato Crepe with whipped cream, almonds and a liquor berry sauce. A straight shot of espresso in demitasse cups to go with our sweets.

The crepes were enormous! Everything was so fresh and delicious, all we could do was stare at eachother shaking our heads. Every bite melted over my tongue. The dijon was spiced just right, and the ham was exquisite with the lightness of the crepe.

Amy reminisced about staying in Positano Italy while our spoons swam through the melting gelato and berry sauce. The little slivers of almonds were crunched in glee and washed down with velvet espresso. She mused about the cooking school where she stayed as a guest, and we both agreed that if we were TRULY decadent we would finish our meal off with a glass of wine.

All of this, and the clock hadn't even struck high noon yet!

We passed on the wine though, and simply let the joys of the food take us into a sleepy simmer. She had a 2 hour drive ahead of her, and I teased her with the fact that I was going to top off my ultra indulgent morning with a supremely self serving nap. But whether we are careening down the road or snuggling into a pillow, there are going to be matching Cheshire smiles on both of our faces!!

On May 18th, 1980 - my mother and I were in our front yard. It was Sunday morning, and she was getting an early start on the yard work that day. Being 9 years old at the time, I was getting an early start on playing with my dog Chinook.

I was standing on the little slope near the Snowball tree that mom had carefully sculpted throughout the years. Chinook was rooting through the orchard grass nearby, and mom was turning on the sprinklers for the day. We were laughing about something silly, out there under the sea blue sky.

It was then that I heard *and* felt an odd sound. My first thought was that the local highschool had fired off it's cannon (usually saved for the winning touchdown at the homecoming game) for some reason. It thumped the ground beneath my feet.

"What was that?" I asked mom.

She was standing nearby with a garden hose in her hand. She was looking at me, shaking her head a little. "I'm not sure...."

We went on with our morning rituals for awhile, until I happened to glance up into the sky. Instead of the pristine blue, there was a veil of greyish lavender spreading across the horizon. It was unlike any cloud I had ever seen.

"Mom... I think something has happened...." I said, just as she looked up in the sky as well. We both dropped what we were doing and rushed into the house to turn on the TV. There had been speculation of a cataclysmic natural disaster about to strike - so in the back of my mind, I was already anticipating what we were going to see.

It was on every channel. The emergency broadcasting system was in effect. Mount St. Helens had erupted.

We had felt and heard the explosion, though we were hundreds of miles away....

Another treasure discovered on my trek to the Pacific Ocean. A book called Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman.

Each chapter is a hypnotic dream in which Time is explained in every imaginable and impossible facet. Interspersed throughout this are occasional breaks where we see Einstein himself, in simple moments of every day life.
There is nothing ordinary about this book, however. It charms. It enthralls. It makes you close the cover, and imagine a world where Time stops. Or stutters. Or spins in circles....
Consider this the Foxfire Book Recommendation of the Month. And if you do read it - please, visit me again and leave your comments here. In fact, I may just set up a new section to this site, in order for discussions about the books I choose to feature. Hands up, who likes the idea? :)

Last night we had a fantastically loud thunder storm sweep through the valley.

I could see it coming when I left work. The sky had grown dark and surly, with black clouds sending veils of silver rain onto the hilltops all around.

By the time I pulled in the driveway at home, the wind was whipping through the dogwood tree, scattering it's white petals across the freshly mowed yard. The cats were peeking out from beneath the porch as I walked up the steps. Their afternoon ritual of spying on the quail in the brush pile out back was thwarted.

I curled up on the overstuffed chair by the windows, and watched as the sky took on an eery glow from within. The kind that makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck, anticipating the first flash of white lightning from the core.

It wasn't long before my anticipationis were rewarded. The sky lit up, and I counted the heartbeats between the lightning and the thunder. Four beats. One enormous thunder clap, bouncing off one mountain after another.

I could smell the rain before it hit. That earthy, pungent fragrance of too-dry dirt finally being quenched. Of orchards and old leaves being washed clean. Of flowers being shaken on their stems. And I saw the curtain of rain coming from the West, hiding everything behind it in a gauzy haze.

It was an immediate downpour. The metal roof hammered with the onslaught, funneling the water to the corners of the house where it cascaded in gushing waterfalls.

I opened the kitchen window to hear it better. The wind blew rain in through the screen. It felt crisp and cool, as clean as any early summer rain could be. I wanted to bottle that smell, capture the feeling, and keep it going all night long.

I closed my eyes and listened to the rain. Sensed the lightning. Waited for the thunder. It had a life of it's own, with a pulse that pattered on the metal roof long into the evening.

I now know why Hendry David Thoreau said "The bluebird carries the sky on his back..."

As I was sitting on an overlook high above the valley, my husband was off in the distance photographing wild lupine against the outline of some trees scorched in a forest fire. It was another postcard blue sky day.

I was looking across at the jagged mountain peaks, wondering if the bears were out and roaming yet, when I thought I saw a portion of the sky move.

As quick as a glance, I spotted a fluttering of blue drop from the canopy above and land on a bare branch nearby. A mountain bluebird!! The kind that is solid sky blue, from breast to wings, with only the faintest little clouds of white showing up near it's legs.

I had never seen one here in Washington before. There are bluejays, of course... but this delicate specimen was certainly nothing like it's sqwaking, raucous cousins. It sat quietly on the branch for several minutes - taking flight for another perch only when my dog decided to romp too close to the tree.

And so I smiled and looked back out across the valley. Such a gift seeing poetry come to life right in front of my eyes. A piece of the sky, delivered on silent wings.

Making a mental list of errands that needed running, I ducked under the blooming dogwood tree and was about to get into my Jeep when I realized I hadn't checked the mailbox yet.

I glanced over my shoulder to the plain green box jutting up off the rock wall by the road. Ehh... why bother. If there is something in there, it will most likely be bills, junk mail, or at the very most... an issue of Rolling Stone.

So I backed out of the driveway and headed down the road without giving it another thought.

When I finally came back home, I hoisted up the grocery sacks to avoid the inevitable dog-sniffing, and jangled my keys into the lock. But low and behold, when I went to deposit my burden on the kitchen table... there was a good sized parcel perched there, sent to me from someone named Yogi Tea.

After pondering who in this world I knew with such a peculiar name, I realized (admittedly a bit slowly...) that it wasn't a person, but a business who had sent me a mystery package.

I deftly sliced open the wrapping tape, and when I folded back the cardboard, the scent of chai and raspberry engulfed me. I pulled out a sheet of fine paper with asian embellishments across the top in crimson. "Congratulations!" it read. "Please enjoy sampling this selection of Yogi Tea."

Well now, how about that?? I dug into the package and pulled out six full size boxes of tea! Rasberry Leaf, Egyptian Licorice Mint, India Spice Chai, African Redbush Peach, and Raspberry Ginger. There was a vague teasing memory of signing up for some free samples of tea... online? In a shop? I couldn't recall. But apparently I won, in a big way! I'd be set in the tea department for some weeks with this little cache!

So, lining the boxes up on the table, I felt quite chuffed at the unexpected perk to my day. Nothing like some fragrant tea arriving out of the blue to make me hum through a smile.

Never underestimate an unopened mailbox.



"Something opens our wings. Something makes boredom and hurt disappear. Someone fills the cup in front of us: we taste only sacredness." -Rumi-

Whenever I am heading down the road en route to the Oregon Coast, I have a deep sense of 'going home'. Strange, really - as I've never lived there... and in fact am quite satisfied with the place I've dug my roots in. But going to the ocean feels like returning to a different sort of place. Something deeper in the recognition I feel when I finally step out of the Jeep and onto the hard packed sand of the Pacific Ocean. That's why I have dubbed this place my 'Touchstone'.

The trek down to the coast was a blur. We were due in Oceanside, near Netarts, around 3:00 p.m. so that I could take pictures of my brother and his bride-to-be before the nuptuals. My poor husband witnessed a wide eyed leadfoot of a wife as I sailed down I-5 South, trying to shave precious minutes off our 7 hour journey. Of course, once I was on the narrow, winding Highway 101 - that proved to be even more frightening!

The usual pleasure I take in seeing familiar sights on the initial drive down was forsaken for pure tunnel vision. I saw nothing but the road ahead of me, and imagined my brother suited up in a tuxedo looking at his watch and wondering when his baby sister was going to arrive, Nikon FM10 in hand. That precise scene came true at about 4:00. With the wedding starting at 5:00 - all we could do was shrug helplessly and decide to take pictures after the ceremony.

With that, we raced the few miles back to the condo that was rented for family so that we could shower and change into our dress clothes. I hardly had time to gape at the gorgeous garden tub centered in the middle of huge windows overlooking an ocean cliff. I had to settle for a quick rinse in the plain shower tucked around the corner - a far cry from relaxing in luxurious sandalwood bubbles and gazing out at the Pacific blue.

At last, we took off for the tiny chapel on the hillside. My brother looked dapper and a bit tense as he was trying to find a CD of acoustic guitar he specifically wrote and played for his bride to walk down the aisle to. Unable to find it, he thrust a camcorder into my hand, showed me where to hit 'play' on the sound system and raced out the door to find the missing music. I was now the official media girl of this little ceremony!

As the clock ticked off the minutes to 5:00 - he finally showed up looking dismayed. He couldn't find the CD. Quick arrangements were made with the pianist to play something else when the bride took center stage... and my brother grabbed his guitar case from a side room. He would still be able to play the other song he wrote for her, accompanied by a singer.

When he snapped open the case, his eyes lit up. There, nestled against the felt beneath the neck of his Gibson Hummingbird - was a shiny silver CD. Cheers all around! Things would go as planned. And then, in a matter of seconds... he slipped the CD into the sound system, queued me up with a nod, and away we went into the ceremony....


To be continued.

In short....

There was little wind, and deep blue skies that had not yet been bleached by summer.

The green throated hummingbirds had claimed the five mile hike through lush forest to Cape Lookout for their own, and one had to watch carefully to avoid stepping on the banana slugs. The whales made cameo appearances at the Cape Meares lighthouse, when the sun was high enough to turn the seawater translucent.

We stuffed our pockets with a king's ransom of agates and sand dollars, feeling like rich thieves as we climbed up over the dunes towards our temporary home.

I sat on hardpacked sand, entranced by the dazzle of gold light on the waves. It wasn't until evening when I realized the sun had left it's mark in blushing pink across the bridge of my nose. Apparently it was set on resurrecting the freckles of my childhood.

And at night, the moon gave just enough light to turn everything into unimaginable variances of midnight blue, broken only by the sparks of starlight trapped in an invisible fisher's net.

"A man tells so many stories, that he becomes the stories. They live on after him, and in that way he becomes immortal." Big Fish