Mom, Dad, Brant and Jackie arrived late Thursday night. Seth and April would come the next day, sans cuties (said cuties would remain with April's parents in Sherwood). Friday, I worked, Mom and Dad organized a plan of attack and started sorting, Brant and Jackie and Tucker (The Puggle) went to Union Creek, and Grandpa pointed at stuff and answered questions (I imagine). That evening, they came down to Ashland to see my new place, toured the salon, and we went to dinner at Pasta Piatti. (No free refills on lemonade, should you need to know. I should have picked up on: "Let me get you a new glass.")

After a nice swim in the hotel pool that evening we were charged and ready for a long weekend of packing and hauling.

Saturday morning, the truck was picked up at Penske in Grants Pass (fine folks, they are), Mom, Dad, and Grandpa Doug went to a party at Eagle Point and saw some old friends. Jackie and April sorted and packed more crystal, china dishes and glassware than you would care to know; and Seth, Brant and I started moving my furniture out to the truck (and Tucker played on his rope staked to the middle of the front lawn.)

Brant, Seth and I ran into a bit of a snag getting my purple love seat and chair out of the hallway. It seems that I have quite the short memory when it comes to remembering snags of this sort. (We had the same problem getting them in, I now vaguely recall.) We had to remove the feet, but the problem was, upon close inspection, to unscrew them, we needed some kind of alien square screwdriver thing. Luckily for us, all of Grandpa's tools we strewn across various parts of the driveway and lawn in order for them to be sorted. Unluckily for us, none of those tools was the tool we required. Finally, Brant found exactly the tool for the job in one of the trailers, which is now in a zip lock bag along with the screws and to be possessed by me from now on. We successfully removed 7 out of 8 feet. (Which is a B+, but definitely not an A.) The last was stripped and I refused to let Seth take an axe to it. We shoved it through the hallway door jam (no damage that sandpaper and paint can't fix) and brought it in with ease into my own front door in Ashland (later that day).

My studio is now one part cute, two parts awesome.

On Sunday, the day of departure, the Dadoo made a final decision that one more half-hour of work was needed: spice cupboards, fridge, freezer, the back closet in the hall, and Grandpa's bedroom all needed a final tackle. Jackie and I tackled the freezer and underneath bags and bags of frozen who-knows-what was a zip lock bag containing a clipped stack of promissory notes (lots of people borrowed money from my grandparents and never paid them back) and two envelopes of cash. Gotta love those Depression-era folk and their money-saving values.

Finally, they departed for the long trip back. Seth went on to Sherwood to pick up the aforementioned cuties, the rest went on to Avamere to get Grandpa's place looking homey (and I'm told Jackie and April did a super job decorating and putting up pictures). They had dinner together and April, Brant and Jackie went on to Lacey to unload the stuff they received from Grandpa, and then finally Brant and Jackie made it back to Seattle and finished unloading the truck at half-past midnight.

What a day. While they traveled and unloaded, I made two trips to Goodwill and loaded up my car with stuff to take to my place. I spent my first night on Sunday and on Monday unpacked and worked and enjoyed watching a deer and two fawns all afternoon and evening.

Phase 1 is a wrap. Now on to the next phase: "In Which Amber is Surrounded by Deer in a Small Town."

He was taking some pictures and went above the gorge to the unfenced area to get more pictures. He waded in (OMG!!!), lost his balance and went in. Apparently lots of people saw him go in but no one saw him come out. At the bottom of the Gorge, there's great big pool that forms before the rapids continue. The water kicked him out along a ledge of that pool. People saw the body along the ledge "and then the body started moving." He had only scratches and bruises to show for wildest and craziest ride down the Rogue no one would ever want to take.

Read the full story in the Mail Tribune.

Crazy!!!

I was just about to leave my new office for the night—I was closing the blinds—and what did a see, but a deer grazing in the backyard of Abbinito.

The Fun Squad (Seth, April, Adalie, Kylia, & Zoie) arrived a little bit before 8pm; Seth's friend Joel and his wife Katie arrived around 9:30pm on Friday; and Mom, Dad and Grandpa Doug arrived the next morning on Saturday. Despite my crafty representation of the precise location of the campsite (on a paper plate pinned to the campground bulletin board) where the Himes would be "living outside" (as Kylia put it) for the weekend , neither Dad nor Seth upon seeing the paper plate with the site number on it and with their last name written boldly on it with black inked capital letters knew how to comprehend what this new site number meant and proceeded directly to our traditional loop. Only after not seeing me at any of the sites in the loop that our past and present family had occupied for the last 50 years did they proceed to try and locate this mysterious new campsite, which was probably a mere 100 yards from the bulletin board where the paper plate directive was located.

Indeed, the site I had found was tucked away in the first loop of the campground—a loop that looks neither promising nor desireable because the sites all appear to be out in the open and not on the creek at all. But the site I found was tucked away and right on the creek, very spacious, private, and beautiful. It turned out to be a fine place to fish as well. Seth finally did come around and find it and upon a cursory inspection, heartily approved my choice.

On Saturday, when Mom and Dad were to arrive, all of us piled into Seth and April's station wagon and went to drop of Seth, April, Joel, Katie and their dog Ridley, their inflatable kayaks and fishing gear on a quiet meandering section of the Upper Rogue where they would spend the day floating and fishing (and getting bit quite comprehensively by mosquitoes). After saying our goodbyes (some of them quite tearful!), I drove my nieces and I back to Union Creek where Dad had been driving around, he still disbelieving that our traditional loop was not occupied by, well, Himeses, and confused in his doubt that the site number I indicated on the paper plate actually existed; until, I came around in the familiar red Taurus, and he pulled in right behind me (without my noticing). I got out of the driver's seat and turned around to find my parents and grandpa parked directly behind me and were now quite ready to believe that I had found a great new site for our present and future camping traditions.

Yes, everyone agreed that this new site was wonderful and good and how could we have overlooked it? It was so spacious and private and on such a pretty part of the creek. But in all the decades that our family has camped at this campground—even my mom has camped here since she was a little girl— none of us, not my grandparents, parents, nor any of us children had ever bothered even looking at another loop than 39-52 and here in loop 1-7 was an even more perfect place to be. We were indeed completely surprised and glad of it, too.

We helped the girls catch several fish on the creek right close to our campsite and even took them along the Rogue a little bit too. They learned to cross logs and fish and get dirty and play with leaves and pinecones and sticks—things that you just can't find at any store.

It was a fine weekend. The only slight disappointment was the copious amount of smoke at Crater Lake. But other than that, the air at Union Creek was quite clear and refreshing, the trees towering and magnificent, the creek clear and cool, and the fish caught and released.

On a personal note, on Friday afternoon after my tent was up, I took many walks but also took my chair down by the creek where the water falls a little over rock and log and read the afternoon away. I felt happy, centered, and content. Such a feeling I certainly needed for another big change is coming my way. As of an hour or so ago, change looks to come much more quickly than I thought. Instead of couple of months, I may, in fact, only remain here in Southern Oregon for a couple more weeks. Where exactly I should go or could go is the question weighing on me. When—well, "when" seems to be out of my hands. I think When will happen when When wants to and I needn't be that anxious where When is concerned. I am now quite convinced of that.

All this commotion for praying this.

C'mon, Jesus.

Update: Well, there's a studio next door to the salon renting for $450/month. I could live and work there and pop over to the salon for appointments. I have never been so confused. (Since last week anyway.)

Update: I'm taking it.

Or could it be stress? Indeed, that is my guess. The last few weeks have been more tumultuous and mind-altering than I care to admit.

Oh yeah, I'm moving back to Portland. No idea when. Grandpa's moving to Avamere at Bethany whenever a suitable room becomes available and I'll stick around here until my obligations have been fulfilled. This could take months.

Yeah, it might be stress.

Thursday ended with the assembly of one of those walker-on-wheels-with-a-seat and a deeply encouraged grandpa walking up and down the hallway.

Friday began again at an early hour—this time 3:00. Grandpa was complaining of excruciating pain in left thigh. Ice pack and acetaminophen was fetched and thus commenced my Independence Day.

Friday continued with a few more "Zs" and a reluctant roll-out-of-bed at quarter-til-nine. Grandpa, still in pain, me, fetching my massage table to set up in the living room. He insisted on the wheelchair, I, the walker. He walked to the table and I propped him up with several pillows and a face cradle turned neck rest. His jammied legs extended, I took his feet and gently wobbled them back and forth to see how restricted his hips were. The right leg wobbled well; the left barely budged.

I compressed and slowly ran my fist down the side of his left leg to try and release that tract of fascia. I felt around the hip joint and noticed a build up of tissue around the joint that struck me as unusual. Indeed, the right hip had no such build-up. After softening that and then doing compression on his hamstrings, I gave him a little foot massage and then applied the heat pack to the side and back of his thigh. By the end of the morning, he was feeling much better.

By afternoon, spirits were decidedly lifted (maybe due to the yummy tacos?) and I bounded off to the mall to buy a suit (it only took me 15 minutes to find the perfect one—which I think has to be some kind of record) and then over to Drew and Kelly's for a pool party at their new house. Had a blast in the pool for a few hours and then went back home to make Grandpa a sandwich for dinner. Went back to Drew's and we tried to scout out where the fireworks would be in relation to his deck (and awesome view of the valley). Their house is on the back side of Manor Hill and as far as we could tell, the fireworks would be going off in Miles Field right on the other side of the hill. We noticed neighbors walking up the hill and so we followed, but only to be turned away by security (attempting to enter Manor Hill without a walker?). No, there is construction on the hill and the lawyers decided to ruin the fun and not allow the public to trespass on the Manor's property like they have in year's past. But it turned out ok, because at 9:40 that night, a huge bang and explosion of fireworks erupted from the Hill. We scampered off the deck and down to the end of their driveway and enjoyed 20 or so minutes of what shall be known as the Great Manor Hill Volcano Fireworks Display. (Because the hill was between us and the fireworks display, the fireworks looked like they were coming out of the hill, like a volcano.)

Last night (Friday), I got to sleep through the whole night and this beautiful Saturday morning woke up early to cycle laundry, pack, empty and load the dishwasher, make breakfast, shower and get to the salon in time for my first appointment. I've got one more appointment in an hour or so and then it's back to 3355 to get us ready to embark to Portland for a short weekend with (most) of the family.

As of this morning, Seth is in California with a friend—both on business—and April and the girls were headed south from Lacey to Portland. April's car broke down in Kelso (fuel pump?) and the Dadoo left to get them and hopefully get the car towed to the McKenzie Ford dealership. Brant and Jackie are already there (I think) and hanging out with the V's.

So hopefully we'll all converge and have some quality time together before we disperse again on Monday.

Hope your holiday weekend is going well.

Enter Summer.

Ah, Southern Oregon Summers. A delightful thing. I really do love the weather down here. I actually have a tan of sorts. (For you folks up north, a "tan" is the darkening of your skin that occurs when your skin is exposed to the rays of the "sun".)

At 3355, we water the lawn via an irrigation pump. This pump hadn't been fired up since last summer and the first time that Grandpa ventured into the garage to bring out the hoses for the pump—about 3 weeks ago—the weed eater attacked his arm and tore 85% of his paper-thin skin off the extensor side of his forearm. Luckily, he didn't require a skin graft.

Forearm on the mend, Grandpa went to work on the pump again this past weekend. First he lifted something and heard a "pop" in his low back. Then, a while later, he sat down hard on the ground and I think his hip and low back muscles protectively spasmed as a result. The next morning he sat on the edge of his bed waiting for me to get up and asked me to bring in the walker. The morning after that, he asked for the wheelchair.

3355 is a small house with narrow hallways and tight corners. So he can't get everywhere in the house in the wheelchair. So now I'm fetching toothbrushes and razors and filling basins and making ice packs and and emptying things I did not want to be emptying.

Today, a work day, was not a day to produce any work. Instead it was a day of fetching and emptying and wheeling and driving and doctor's appointment-ing. (And blogging.)

I struggle with this new role—a role that I do not wish to adopt and I struggle with the implications of Grandpa's slow-down and wonder how to ride this transitional wave with as much grace and compassion as I can without forfeiting my own life in the process. I have spent a year building two businesses and am ready to continue on this path. But will this bump in the road derail me? And what will it mean for Grandpa as well?

Hub of all-terrain
Life wheel, disposition
for truth, love, right.

Wind carries line to
Water. Great catch emerges.
Sun heats soul's longing.

Husband, Dadoo, Grand—
Tells truth, loyalty follows
—Father, Captain, My Captain

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Thus endeth the birthday haiku for The Dadoo