Roxi

A tribute to Roxi: a gorgeous opinionated 9 year old female German Shepherd, a Greenhill rescue. She was regal and dignified in her last hour, despite struggling for breath and being unable to rise from the kitchen floor. The owner had called to see if I could come put her down; she wouldn't last the night. I gave Roxi some pain relief and sedation under her skin, and talked to her owner while the medications worked. Slowly, Roxi relaxed and leaned back against mom, occasionally opening her eyes and finding her owner for reassurance. Once she seemed to be napping, I raised a vein with a tourniquet and injected the fatal blue solution. Roxi held on longer than she needed to, or should have, and her mom and I both whispered to her that it was okay for her to move on.

I believe that loyal working dogs like shepherds often resist the euthanasia due to their owner's anguish. Even after they pass on physically, sometimes their presence is still so palpable that I am sure they are watching and waiting to ensure their owner will be okay. It feels protective, not frightening or sad. I try to get the owner to talk about all the bad things the dogs did as pups, to get them to laugh through the tears. When the dog finally leaves, their absence is striking.

And so we laughed about Roxi, her stubborn and very vocal nature, her sensitive stomach, and about how she overcame her abused and fearful past to live a wonderful and secure life with her new owner. We marveled that she and her 11 year old canine sister just last week were racing around the yard and wrestling: two old ladies refusing to act their age. We laughed, and Roxi moved on.

She will be missed.

33 weeks. Toes still visible.

Everyone seems to be fascinated with how fat I am getting. Well, 30 lbs worth. I know that will please many of you (Johanna and Patrick). I now have to use the exam table or a large dog to pull myself up off the floor at work; my staff was joking yesterday that I'll soon be calling from the exam room, "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" If there's no nearby hand hold, I have to get into a squat, center myself (balanced between my ass and my belly) and exhale while I stand. Yes, the clients usually have a look of restrained horror during this process.

Here's the evidence (33 weeks pregnant):


And for fun, a comparison at 13 weeks pregnant, with just a little belly:


Off to work this morning. I seem to be playing Dr. Death this week, diagnosing everything I examine with cancer. Please send me warm fuzzy wishes...I am hoping for only puppy and kitten visits today!

Love to everyone,
Liz

What its like to faint in the dentist's chair...

I settled into the comfortable padded chair and made small talk with the dental hygienist. She tilted the chair back and sat behind me, picking at my teeth with one of her torture instruments. I was surprised; I actually felt pretty good, although I was expecting nausea due to my uber-sensitive pregnancy-inspired gag reflex. I took a deep breath, listened to the Jack Johnson on the radio, and gazed at the Bible quote on the wall.

(Sidenote: my dentist is a bible-thumper. All around the office, there are strategically placed biblical references and psalms, detailing the many versions of hell waiting for those of us who don't repent. It drives me crazy. Why do I go back? Well, there are just as many pictures of dogs. The dentist's own lab, Sadie, wanders at her leisure around the office, spreading dog hair on everything holy and sterile. It is hard for me to balance my dislike of the inappropriate attempts at religious brainwashing with my powerful approval of the irreverent presence of a dog in a medical office. So far I appear to be more swayed by the dog. I can ignore the Bibles liberally strewn about where the magazines should go.)

So, I'm reading the bible quote and I all of a sudden realize it's rather hot in the exam room. The window shade is up, so the sun is shining on me, and I'm thinking, "My GOD! I need some air! Someone get a fan!" Then Jack Johnson's voice starts to become slightly staticky and far away sounding. I wonder if the music is on the radio, or if the office just has a crummy stereo system. Then I begin to sweat.

Being a vet with a weak constitution, I am no stranger to the sensation of fainting. I once awoke flat-out on the floor of the surgery suite to a cartoonish under-side view of 2 veterinarians and 3 veterinary assistant grinning at me from above. Routinely I have to convince my brain that consciousness is actually an asset while performing a surgical procedure. I have learned to arrest the fainting process in mid-slump, and I'm pretty good at it, if I do say so myself.

So, I thought while reclined in the dentists' chair, "How odd that I am about to faint when I am nearly upside down with my legs elevated and head below heart...Isn't that the treatment for fainting?" I told the hygienist that I needed to sit up, that I was feeling light-headed. She raised me into a sitting position and turned to fill a cup with water. I watched her do this through a very long tunnel; she appeared back-lit and blurry, almost as though I was watching her through a kaleidoscope. Despite breathing deeply and consciously, the light at the end of the tunnel darkened, and I went blind. I heard the hygienist saying my name, and somehow managed to eek out a response that satisfied her that I wasn't dead yet. She told me to sit and get my bearings.

It took me about 20 minutes, 4 dixie cups of water, and 3 paper towels to sop sweat from my neck before I felt at all capable of standing. The baby (note the transition from fetus to baby; only a baby can kick this much!) was rolling around in my belly like a Mexican jumping bean, which only made the vertigo worse. I was amazed. Not only had my trusty anti-fainting techniques failed, but my head now felt like someone was whacking it repeatedly with a hammer. What the heck?

Of course, my solution to any sort of medical quandry is to go Googling. It pisses me off when my clients do it for their animals, but yet it is the first thing I do prior to calling my doctor. So, Dr. Google told me that dental chairs are known fainting triggers for pregnant women, because the weight of the uterus basically collapses the vena cava, which is the garden hose vein that returns blood from the lower extremities to the heart. So, basically the cardiovascular system starts flashing a red error message, and the brain shuts down to prevent total physiologic malfunction. The unfortunate thing is that, despite sitting up slightly, I was still probably reclined enough that my poor vena cava was acting like a hose with a kink, letting enough blood through for consciousness but barely.

Next time it happens, I'll know to get the heck off my back. And then I'll call in the dog for moral support, since the hygienist and God weren't particularly helpful.

First childbirth class

We watched several childbirth videos in class tonight. The women were surprisingly tolerant of their husbands, one of whom was saying "Good girl!" to his wife the whole time. Also, the babies were pretty ugly. In the midst of learning how to breathe through contractions, Peter and I decided two things about how we plan to cope with the intensity of birth and the immediate period afterwards.

First off, he is going to utilize an "assess-a-hand" prior to touching me while I am in labor. This will prevent him from experiencing direct and debilitating bodily harm.



Second, if our baby should come out looking like this:

I am to repeat the following mantra, "Fake it and feed it...fake it and feed it," thereby allowing time to pass during which hopefully the fetus will morph into a gurgling adorable baby. You can tell I am worried about the attachment process. Currently my relationship with the fetus consists of asking her, in my most maternal way, to please remove her heel from the right lobe of my liver. So, until the maternal urges kick in (what hormone does that? Can I get injections?) you all know the words I'll be repeating.

By the way, I'm sure all the existing moms reading this blog are protesting that I will love her immediately and fantastically, no matter what she looks like. I'll have to take your word on that one.

Snowstorm!

No, not that kind. Our snowstorm involves an eighty-pound 11 year old labrador mix, who has a little too much undercoat for her own (or anyone else's) good. We are choking on dog hair. Despite our diligent brushing and vacuuming efforts, we still look like abominable snow people. Here is a visual for you. She looks so innocent, but during the day, she purposefully sleeps on Pete's pillow.



Brina, the abominable snowdog, has also decided that, in her older years, she should not be required to pee on wet ground. Hence, she refuses to go outside if it is so much as drizzling. Her record for not pooping has been set over the last week: approximately 3 days of holding her bowel for the sole purpose of not getting her valuable doggy feet wet. (Nevermind that this is the dog who rolls in cat shit.) In this picture, she is looking composed sitting in our kitchen surveying her land but refusing to set foot on it.



We are doing well, starting to accumulate stuff for baby. I am starting to huff going up stairs and walking around town. It's amazing how much SPACE this kid takes up. The gurus on babycenter.com tell us she weighs as much as a chinese cabbage: about 2.25 lbs. Head to toe, she's almost 14 inches long. Lately at 3 am, she's taken to trouncing on my bladder. I can see how this would be fun - a sort of fetal practical joke. I wake up, bolt out of bed and barely make it to the bathroom. I picture the little one silently laughing her ass off.

Here's Pete practicing with Oscar. Don't be fooled: Oscar is already plotting his revenge as I write.



And here's the 7 month belly shot (3rd trimester - woohoo!). I have that look on my face most of the time.



Otherwise in my world, all is well. Work is pretty mellow, although I am constantly fending off the staff, all of whom are mothers and love to try to pat the belly. :) Lifting dogs to the exam table is getting a little harder. I've requested stools in the exam room, and I make liberal use of them. Clients are starting to notice my belly, and are generally mortified if their dog jumps on me, which I think is cute. I have only gotten support and enthusiasm from the community up in the McKenzie valley. It is certainly a nice place to work.

Hope everyone else is doing well and enjoying fall. I am thrilled, along with the rest of Eugene, at the outcome of the election. I feel as though our baby is going to be born into a world with a little more hope.

Much love!
Liz

Am I ranting?

I decided that I don't get to be all high-and-mightly about the perceived paranoia of pregnant women without doing a little research. So, I'm going to tell you what I've found and the conclusions that I've made...

Pete and I went to eat at a Japanese restaurant while in Portland last weekend. A married-couple, also pregnant, friend of his declined to join us for dinner because of the sushi angle. Next time he talked to them, they exclaimed, "Did Liz really eat sushi?" For the record, no, not really. We ordered normally and then I picked out most of the raw stuff. Turns out I probably could've eaten the raw salmon and tuna (in small amounts so as not to accumulate mercury), but should've left the raw scallop alone. The ironic thing is that I accidentally ate the raw scallop because I thought it was cooked. Oops.

Ok here's a clip from the NYTimes:
"If you take raw and partly cooked shellfish out of the equation, the risk of falling ill from eating seafood is 1 in 2 million servings, the government calculated some years back; by comparison, the risk from eating chicken is 1 in 25,000. (Over all, 76 million cases of food poisoning are reported a year.)

The main risk of illness from non-mollusks isn't from eating them raw. Rather, as the Institute of Medicine reports, the problem is "cross-contamination of cooked by raw product," which is "usually associated with time/temperature abuse." In other words, no matter what you order in a restaurant, if it's not kept at a proper temperature and protected from contamination, you're at risk."

OK. So my "research" also shows that there is a small risk of getting a nematode (worm) from sushi, but there are two things to say about these worms: 1. They don't cross the placenta so no risk to baby and 2. They are very very very rare in sushi grade fish. Most people get them from eating raw fish that they have caught themselves. So, despite the gross factor of puking up a nematode, it seems like the risk of sushi has been pretty over-blown in pregnancy.

Not as much for listeria. Listeria monocytogenes is a type of bacteria that I learned about long ago in the large animal portion of my veterinary education. It causes livestock to "list" to the side (neurologic signs - good way to remember, eh?) and spontaneously abort. Apparently, it does the same things to humans, is 20x more likely to affect pregnant women than nonpregnant people, and it carries a mortality rate (not just morbidity, but mortality!) of 20%. This crafty bacterium survives and replicates happily at normal refridgeration temperatures, and it is only killed by thorough cooking. The CDC reports 2500 cases a year, which distills down to about 6 cases a day.

The foods implicated: deli meats and hot dogs labeled "ready to eat," undercooked chicken and meat, raw vegetables, soft cheeses, and, yes, sushi (although mostly smoked raw seafood). However, when I searched for actual outbreaks of the disease, it seems most cases came from processed foods (bacteria collects on meat slicers) or unpasteurized dairy products. The "soft cheeses" that women have been warned about for years (brie, feta, goat etc) only present a higher-than-normal risk if they are unpasterized, according to the current FDA position. Cheeses sold in the US grocery stores are all pasteurized. Bring on the feta.

Another contested food is honey. It can contain botulism spores, so apparently is unsafe to feed to children under 1 year of age. However, the GI system of adults, including pregnant women, is acidic enough to kill the spores. I am a huge honey fan. I've literally used it as a wound dressing in animals to great effect; honey contains unbelievable antibacterial, antifungal and antiviral properties. Beyond the "Don't-eat-anything" propaganda pregnancy websites online, I wasn't able to find a single case of food-bourne illness in pregnant women secondary to honey ingestion. Bring on the honey.

My conclusion after 1 hour of critical web-based, CDC, FDA and medline research on food-bourne illness in pregnant women? Everything in moderation. I don't think I'll start eating un-grilled "ready to eat" hotdogs anytime soon, and I'll probably lay off on the deli meat (it always did strike me as a little gross to eat turkey that looks nothing like turkey), but beyond that, I'm sticking to my guns.

I went off the raw milk, "pasteurization is bad" bandwagon in veterinary school when we learned all about Q fever, salmonella, campylobacter, and listeriosis. I still subscribe to the belief that many of these food-bourne illnesses have more to do with the attempt to produce vast amounts of the product in a tiny little cramped environment (modern dairies). I wonder about the actual risk of unpasteurized products that originate from small-farm, well managed dairies where the cows do not stand on mountains of their own fecal material. I wonder if reducing "fomites" (automatic milkers, skinners, slicers, etc) would reduce risk similarly to pasteurization. Is pasteurization the lazy-man's solution to food bourne illness? Why are products from family farms and farmer's markets so rarely implicated in outbreaks? Or are illnesses associated with these foods just underreported? I also sometimes wonder if we are doing our immune systems a disfavor by sterilizing everything with which we come into contact.

Our child will not be sterilized. With a large furry dog, two cats and less than adequate house keeping skills, it will be a miracle if she doesn't get a hairball in her first month of life. So, I figure, a few germs here and there will increase maternal antibodies...right?

Belly shot

Here you go, all you belly-lookers. 6 months pregnant. Pete thinks I'm sucking it in in this picture but I'm not.

Here's one of me and Brina taking a little hike in the Mt. Pisgah arboretum.

Last weekend, we went to Pete's dad's birthday party in Healdsburg, California. We tasted a little wine (gasp! only a little, I swear) and relaxed at this beautiful winery on a sunny fall day. I gave away all my zofran. It was a defining moment.

After the birthday party, Pete and I headed up Hwy 101 through Ukiah, where we got to see my old friend Sarah and her beautiful and witty 2 year old daughter Eva. We drove through the redwoods, and Peter hugged the requisite tree. Here's us in front of a redwood, sort of a happy Blair Witch Project picture.

And Paul and his ox, taken for the Schrey family.


To backtrack to a weekend in October, I'm going to include a few pics of our "girls" weekend to Yachats on the coast. The women I work with rented a beach house, and we all drove up for a few days of crabbing and beer-drinking. I, of course, was the only sober one, but I enjoyed reading all the Louis L'Amour books in the library. Here's one of the girls crabbing:

And another at the house likely drunk and playing quarters:

And the incredible view on the most beautiful fall day:


Well, that's all folks. Despite the words of wisdom from many women suggesting I'd feel energetic and fabulous by the 2nd trimester, the truth is I still feel drained and nauseous most of the time. I've developed an automatic defensive response when people gasp that I'm eating soft cheese or sushi or having a quarter glass of wine: (Do you know the actual likelihood of me getting listeria? There have been like 2 cases in recent history, and one was from SALAD. Do you know the most common threat to feti? Car accidents! Should I stop riding in a car? And so on and so forth. I could continue for some time. I get quite riled about it.) My response to her kicking me in the intestines is not a loving hand on my stomach but a sharp poke back and often a verbal, "knock it off!" which startles Pete a little.

I am a terrible pregnant lady, terrible. But when this kid makes her grand appearance in late January, I will welcome her with a sigh of relief, tears of joy and open arms. We are getting so excited to meet her. I can tell she's going to be ornery, just like me; When I tell her to stop kicking me, she only kicks harder. That's my girl!

Alright already

Here's our best ultrasound picture.

And one of me and my favorite furry kiddo

Heading to the beach with the girls from work this afternoon. All is well.

It's a girl!

Hey everyone -
We just got back from our 21 week ultrasound. All bodily structures measure on target. 5 fingers, 5 toes, two of everything there should be two of. Only one head, which is good. :) And she's a she!
Pictures soon.
Love, Liz

Another baby video

We have our "official" ultrasound tomorrow, but my curiousity got the best of me and I looked again with our machine up at work (just a quick peek). I think it's a girl. We'll see if I'm proven right or wrong. On this video, you can see the face on the left (bright line down the head is the forehead, bridge of nose, mouth and chin...) and the chest and beating heart to the right (if you look closely). :) ... Liz

Another Eugenian Experience

I cried again today, and I swear its not the pregnancy hormones. Well, it might be. A little bit. We went downtown to buy veggies at the market and go to the Eugene festival. The parade was just finishing, and we arrived in time to watch the Peace train go by. It might be the horror of thinking about the future possibility of a McCain/Palin presidency, or the current lingering war, but that Peace Train really got to me. Our mother-daughter eight-some from Portsmouth often picketed with Beyond War in market square. Eugene reminds me of my childhood. And apparently those childhood memories are good enough to make me tear up a little.

The market is now overflowing with melons, chilis, cukes and tomatoes. The chili vendor roasts his produce on the corner of the market, so the air is thick with the smoke. We then headed back to the festival, where I ate an entire funnel cake. We listened to the Conjugal Visitors, a great bluegrassy type band, and watched people dance.


I'm sure you are all waiting for the belly pics but you're going to have to wait a little longer. The good news is that TODAY is the first day in 4 months that I've felt very near to 100%. 'Bout time.

16 weeks!

The last three days have been >100 degrees, and I've been working for the last three days. I am back to caring about my cases, worrying about them at night, doing surgery, and feeling like a human again. I have gained 12 lbs, YIPES. I think its because I have to eat to keep the sickness at bay. But, that is disappearing now. I still don't feel the amazing second trimester energy, but I do feel better, and that's enough to make me appreciate what's going on in my body.

Still, I think the doctors find me a bit strange. I went to the doctor on Friday morning, and the doppler showed that the baby has a heart rate of 145 bpm. When we heard the heart rate, the doctor (a different doctor...she doesn't know me.) grinned at me expectantly. My version of enthusiasm must be different that the majority of women. Because my smile didn't satisfy her...I had to laugh and ask questions before she removed the probe from my belly.

It's going to be especially interesting when people start noticing I am pregnant. I should probably wear a warning sign: DANGER! Do Not Touch The Abdomen.

Once I look pregnant and not just fat, I will post pictures. :)
Liz

Arachniphobia

I was relaxing after a 4 hour day of work up in Leaburg, and Pete was getting ready for bed. I heard a blood-curdling scream from the bedroom. Literally, blood curdling, and it went on for about 10 minutes. I figured my husband had discovered a spider. Since he knows he is not allowed to kill them, he ends up sort of incapacitated when he finds one. So, I trudged into the bedroom and looked on the wall. Pete was at the far end of the room, pointing and screaming. As soon as I saw the beast, I started screaming too.

This is what we saw (not the actual spider, but the same species and size):



This is what Peter looked like:



Apparently the spider was a "Giant House Spider," very common in the northwest and often growing to a 3"-4" diameter (ours was about the width of a paper dollar). Apparently they are good, because they eat the dangerous Hobo spider, which is also common in this area and is related to the brown recluse.

Given my respect for the fact that spiders eat other bugs that I don't like, I transported this spider outside to the front of our house. It is possible, given its size, that it will eat a neighbor's child. I read (don't tell Pete) that because these are "house" spiders, you are supposed to transport them far away. If you don't, they immediately return to your house. Oops. Where's the cat?

I'm alive...sort of.

Let's talk about ginger and crackers. When I first started feeling sick, it was just a little queasiness in the morning. Pete's mom told me to eat Saltines, and it helped immensely with the mild nausea. Then I got worse. As would anyone with more than a few days of wretching violently all day, I looked on the internet for any possible relief. I tried all of the following at least 18,000 times: ginger tea, ginger chews, ginger snaps, mint tea, peppermint candy, saltines, dry toast before getting up, lemon, flat soda/cola, homeopathic remedies (nux vomica), naturopathic remedies (nausea ease), acupuncture, acupressure (seabands), unisom and B6, and finally the prescription meds (reglan, zofran). The only thing that allowed me to eat was the zofran.

So, here's a tip for all of you sympathetic souls out there: when a woman tells you she's got morning sickness and has been feeling rotten for 7 weeks, don't ask her if she's tried ginger or eating crackers! :)

That said, I am starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I am going up to work for a few hours on Thursday, and hoping that I'll survive the smells. I hear the second semester is all sunshine and roses. Can't wait!

Everything grows in Eugene

Those of you who know us well the last couple of years know we have often deflected baby questions with much authority. Since we have moved to Eugene we have come to know one very important law of nature in these parts: EVERYTHING GROWS HERE. Blueberries, weeds, hops, chickens, anti-government sentiment, blackberries, pinot noir, and now... Liz's belly. Yes, folks, the dynamic duo championing for the childless lifestyle of DINKS everywhere are now expecting their first child.

This is close to Pete's reaction at the time


At the end of a wonderful weekend of mountain biking in Bend Memorial Day weekend Liz started feeling ill. A couple of days and a couple hundred dollars worth of pregnancy tests later, the truth stared us in the face. We can do this, right? My once little and always confused cousin Bryan recently welcomed his son Graham into his arms. My great long time friend Conor has done it twice. My good friend Jake has started what's sure to be a Turkey Bowl MVP roster as well. The point is, all these people around me, once my goof-off comrades have managed to produce and raise the smallest, most helpless, and very fragile beings I can imagine. So maybe it's not that hard. Time will tell. I will revisit this idea for many months and years to come.

So for the last 2 months, Liz has stoicly weathered constant waves of nausea and fatigue. "Morning sickness" was most certainly coined by a guy who only saw his wife in the morning before he left for the day. She is starting to feel better, somewhat, in the 13th week. All initial tests and ultrasounds point to a healthy and normally developing hurricane of hormones, currently the size of a lime and weighing about 1 oz.

Some of you may have questions so I'll try to answer what I might expect someone to ask:
1) no, it wasn't exactly planned. But neither was Pete's proposal to Liz and that worked out GREAT!
2) freaked out for about 12 hours but I am unbelievably stoked about it now. I can't wait to hold the little thing in my arms and teach it all about Carney Lansford, tree hugging, cliff notes for Moby Dick, and how to effectively hang your food in a tree while backpacking (no dad, not that way)
3) we don't know yet but will find out at the next ultrasound at 21 weeks. No surprises for us on this one
4) It/he/she will NOT play video games
5) we welcome all and any advice
6) no names picked out yet. Long way to go before that
7) yes, you can come babysit any time you want. This excludes anyone from the Massey clan who will try to brain wash it into being a Giants fan
8) maybe a nurse midwife but not a homebirth
9) yes, Pete has been an awesome husband; fetching all the random pieces of food and drink that Liz can stomach for that window of time. I learned quickly that I cannot cook fish in the 97403 area code for the forseeable future
10) yes, Liz will undoubtably be using some of the same behavior modification techniques she uses on dogs and husbands to keep the little tike in line

Here is a short and confusing video Liz took the other day. Being a vet with mad skills allows you to ultrasound yourself. That explains the East Lane Veterinary title on the screen and the "K9 ABDOMEN LARGE" setting.

To Bill and Jackie: I guess the reasons that a dog is better than a child have reversed.

I will remove my foot from my mouth and go fetch my preggers bride another cup of mint tea.
more soon
Cheers, Pete, Liz, Brina, Phin, Oscar, and the "perfect parasite"

Oregon Country Fair

Eugene seems to be a place full of unique experiences. The Oregon Country Fair, held every July for the last 39 years, is definitely one of those. I had heard about this weekend event from many locals, some of whom would be working there. I decided to get some tickets expecting a throng of pitchouli oil smothered earth muffins dancing around a dusty mosquito filled field, kind of like the Dead show parking lot extravaganzas we used to attend.

I was right, kind of. Liz was not feeling up to attending so I went with my new transplanted friends, Jay and Adrienne as well as my old friend Kim Hove (Mason) and her husband, Aaron. Kim and Aaron had been a handful of times before, which afforded Aaron the opportunity to tell us EVERYTHING we were going to experience before we got there. As you drive up to this huge hay field surrounded by oak and maple trees, volunteers in purple shirts are waving and giving cheerful Hellos! to you; welcoming you to the festivities.

We get inside and are immediately greeted by a band of jump roping pirates on stilts (you can't make this shit up). Naturally the crowds were swelling because who doesn't like a pirate.....on stilts..... jumping rope. The fun continues as we made our way around all the booths and vendors selling hacky sacks, windchimes, fairy wings, etc, etc, etc. And the food was outstanding. Every type of world cuisine is represented. Aaron was a fan of salmon on a stick, which is a more labor intensive version of shrimp on a stick.

The entire fairgrounds don't exist the rest of the year except for the trees and some posts. In the span of two weeks the fair organizers set up tree houses, clear the field, bring in huge pieces of art, and make an entire village that is reminiscent of Tolkien's Shire. We hadn't been there for more than 20 minutes and we started to here whistles, drums, and trumpets coming down the wooded path. A parade of minstrels and dancers made their way musically like a New Orleans style jazz band.

It was amazing how kid-friendly the whole event was. There were little tikes in radio flyer wagons with sunshades being pulled through the meandering paths. There were magicians, face painters, acrobats, puppeteers, jugglers, fire breathing dragons, tiger men, comedians, ballet dancers, fiddlers, fuddlers, puddlers, and muddlers. I embraced my inner child, as I do everyday, and bought some juggling balls intent on learning because I realized that it doesn't count as juggling if its just two. My very patient wife knows how and taught me; all the while being entertained by the lack of hand eye coordination and extreme left handedness.

This guy was named Captain Elvis and he was a real time video game. He would give kids a Nintendo controller and as they pressed the buttons he would jump, jive, duck, and make laser sound effects as if the kid was controlling him. He was fueled by a very full tip jar called the Rocket Ship Fuel tank. Genius!

And I haven't even mentioned the boobs. I will leave this one to Adrienne on her blog about all the painted boobs. Check out http://www.oregongoldbergs.com/ for some refreshing Midwestern insight into the cultural mystery that is the West Coast. All boobs are painted, which, apparently makes it OK to stare. In "normal" culture if a guy gets caught staring at a woman's breasts, his wife either rolls her eyes or slaps him on the arm. Here at the Fair, its encouraged. Clothing is optional but naked is done in a rather tasteful way. The fat old naked guy painted lime green even had the decency to position his fanny pack slung low in front to cover his package. The fanny pack is also necessary because where else do you put your sunscreen, touch up lime green body paint, cash, and car keys. An entertainer and a problem solver.

Music,music, everywhere. There were at least 10 different tree shaded stages playing everything from folk, bluegrass, reggae, classical, acapella, spoken word rants, open mic, and vaudeville. What's vaudeville?, some of you may ask. Good question without a clear answer but something about makeup, sword swallowing, and olde english lyrical ranting. The Mother Hips were playing the next day for those of you from the Bay Area. Kim was enthrawled by the drum circle that was set up around a bunch of hay bales. Gypsies and princesses spun around possessed.

All in all it was a great time. I guess the hot tip is to volunteer to help and then you get to camp overnight and party with the tiger man, painted boobs, and stilted pirates after us, the day tourists are ushered out at 7pm. Anybody reading this is welcome to join us next year. Adrienne is going to make coconut people faces and sell them a booth, Jay is going to open a boob painting booth, and I am going to juggle with the parade.

Peace and individual expression are alive and well in some parts of the country.

Lilacs

The weather has finally changed in a single day from winter to summer. It has been over 80 degrees, sunny, breezy and beautiful for the last week. I never thought I would have the good fortune to live next to a literal lilac wall, but it turns out that the ugly scraggly hedge between our house and our neighbor's house is made of about 20 lilac trees. Eugene apparently has a continually rotating flower population as the season progresses. Kevin and Susan's 3 year old son Robbie can recite all the flowers if asked: "Crocus, tulips, irises, lilacs, rhododendrons..." and so on. He also gifted to me the Biggest Spinach Leaf in the World (his words), so apparently all things happen without moderation in this town. The picture below shows 1/10th of the wall, dwarfing my car. And of course the two felids are Finn and Oscar.

Peter and I, on the eve of our second year anniversary, decided to rent a kayak yesterday. I was on call, and had to stick around the vicinity in case of emergency, so we headed up to the McKenzie river and Leaburg lake. Oregon River Sports provided us with a tandem Liquid Logik kayak, two paddles, two life vests and a dry bag. They warned us not to paddle the McKenzie due to high water and lots of floating debris. I drive next to the McKenzie every day as I go to work, and it looks like a peaceful meandering river from the road. Therefore, I blew off the warnings. Leaburg lake is an area of still-water (theoretically) just upstream of a dam. It is usually filled with weird float boats (non-motorized rowboats from which people fish for trout etc) and children and dogs. Yesterday, it was still filled with all of the above, except the boats had motors and everyone else was staying on dry land. That should have been our first clue.

So, we set everything up and launched our little boat rather close to the dam. A "safety" rope marked the area of no-return over the dam, and we were about 20 to 30 feet upstream of this marker. A sign said, "Extreme Water Hazard," and was pasted to the side of the dam. Pete and I jumped in the boat and started paddling upstream. After a few minutes of paddling hard and gaining no ground, we realized the odds were not stacked in our favor. We shifted course to head towards the opposite shore. Only problem was that a tandem kayak requires a great degree of cooperation between paddlers that we apparently were unable or unwilling to achieve. Therefore, we'd get in a good groove, only to have the current swing us sideways. Pete, in the stern, would then start paddling furiously on the downstream side of the boat and in doing so would whack my paddle with his and ruin our momentum. I was paddling on whatever side struck me as appropriate at the time to keep me from visualizing The Dam. I remember saying mid-way across the river, "Peter, I think this is a bad deal." And he agreed.

The above photo shows me looking at an apparently mild running river with trepidation after we had just crossed from the other side.

After a frightening river crossing, we decided to stick to the far bank and paddle upstream. We were feeling pretty good about ourselves when we rounded a left hand bend in the river and the current caught us and literally spun the boat around and pushed us downstream. A fisherman laughed, and we shrugged. We watched tree trunks being swept downstream along the opposite bank and pictured ourselves being sideswiped by one of those floating battering rams. We decided at this point that kayaking Leaburg lake at high water when they've opened the dam to unleash all the snow run-off was a profoundly Bad Idea. Our next challenge was landing the boat.

We hadn't realized initially that the landing beach was actually on the inside of a turn in the river. This meant that the current took all logs, detritum and inexperienced kayakers to the other side of the river or over the falls. Further complicating our situation, trout fishermen lined both banks such that any attempt to hug the shore to prevent certain death over the falls carried you directly into a net of fishing lines. Since the fishermen did not harbor any apparent concern over our situation, we figured the only emotion they'd feel if we broke their lines would be unbridled anger. We floated downstream and splashed furiously back up a couple times in an attempt to calculate the exact likelihood that we would die if we attempted to land at the beach where we had launched. Eventually, I said to Pete, "I am not willing to die today." The embarassment of walking to the car would be minimal in contrast to the potential embarassment of the two of us, wet and chilled, clinging for dear life to the safety line while our kayak, two paddles, two life vests, and a dry bag went plummeting over the falls. Nevermind the fact that we'd owe the kayaking company a thousand bucks. So we clambored out of the kayak, walked to get the car, and drove to a current-less lake. See Happy-Liz-and-Pete below.

Before we left, we witnessed a fisherman in a boat with a motor forget to mount and start the motor prior to getting into the current. He was swept under the safety line, and did end up lodged against the dam with all the other flotsam and jetsam. Someone threw him a rope, and he managed to tie off the boat. On our way down, we pulled over for the firetrucks and swift water rescue groups as they headed up to save him. There but for the grace of God go I.

We had a BBQ last night to celebrate not being dead. Here's a picture of Pete grilling on our back patio:

In other more-professional news, I am enjoying my new position as a Eugene relief vet. I am working another day tomorrow at a place creatively named "The Veterinary Hospital," where they have digital radiology and a beautiful airy hospital. Today I did some spaying and neutering at Greenhill, then midweek I'll be back up at Brians, and Friday I work at Eugene Animal Hospital. Variety is the spice of life, and I've learned that I'm not very good with part time work (I get bored).

In other happy news, my board complaint in Nevada was dismissed without any real investigation. I think they saw the complainant for what she was: someone who took grief, turned it to anger, and directed it at the nearest person (me). I hope she has come to terms with her (unavoidable) loss and has some measure of peace.

Alright. Those of you blog junkies now have another post to read. I'm going to go for a hike on this lovely evening!

Love Liz

Our house

A photo tour of our daily life:

I have been asked to provide pictures of where we live. Our street is a pot-holed, shady lane. You often have to make the choice between hitting a pothole or a pedestrian when driving, so its best to go slow. We live across the street from a Korean church (see picture below. I don't really know what religion), so on Sundays, there's always little kids racing around in the parking lot.

Our across-the-street neighbor has two great danes and a construction company named after them. The house is adorable.

Our house is a 1000 square foot little bungalow on almost 1/2 acre with a huge pine tree in the backyard. We rent it for $950/mo, and our landlady loves dogs and fixes problems immediately. Our neighbors are friendly. We are biking distance to our favorite local supermarket and less than a mile to UofO.

The inside is cute, and we spend 99% of our time in front of the pellet stove. Brina spends her time scrounging leftovers.

And here's some pics of the time we aren't in front of the pellet stove. :)

love you all!