YOUR FEAR IS WAY SMARTER THAN YOU.

Look, understand. I get it. It’s now Tuesday morning. And I am back from vacation already…I didn’t really blog much along the way. Maybe it’s because the internet connections in the various places we stayed were stingy at best. Maybe it’s because I now lack the vigor to be blogging until three a.m. after a full day of grinding my thighs through the sights of the Pacific Northwest…by the way, do you know what I forgot to pack for the trip?

Yeah. Totally…live and burn I guess. Live and…burn….But back to excuses, then again if I’m being honest with myself, maybe it’s that I couldn’t formulate anything worthwhile to say in a timely manner. Either way, here we are…

Home.

We spent today acclimating back to the temperature of our own familiar fishbowl. It was nice to sleep in our own bed again (Once you get used to the hardness of a Chinese manufactured mattress the hotel mattresses can feel like their own special circle of hell in Dante’s Inferno.) It was nice to reclaim our pooch Frankie from Doggie Boarding…Breakthrough! Frankie can now socialize with other canine meatheads without losing his shit and causing a riot, so the staff tells me. They even proudly showed me pictures of him frolicking around a bone-shaped kiddie pool with a horde of other dogs. I got a little choked up. Frankie’s come a long way…a hell of a long way.

So we are home. However, I’m feeling that hallmarked sensation that only is felt when a vacation was good. Sentiment: The delicate sensibility that not only a long journey was had, but that it went too damn fast as well…

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After we sadly said goodbye-for-now to Seattle, Charlie succeeded in coaxing us to make a journey to Snoqualmie Falls. Doesn’t sound familiar to you? Well, then, I guess you can’t really count yourself as a Twin Peaks superfan, can you? Charlie can. Footnote: Over the three weeks Charlie spent at summer school in Stanford she engorged herself on Season One of Twin Peaks, and for her it was love at first bite. So it’s an understatement to write that Charlie Dodge was all squeee about seeing the Falls from the opening credit sequence, and then the hotel that was in the show, and finally the famous coffee shop where Agent Cooper indulged himself with oh, so many cups of coffee and plates of cherry pie.  Did I buy Charlie a slice of cherry pie? You bet your Log Lady I did.

After that we swooped further north, right up to the border…quite literally down the street from the Canadian border…where we treated ourselves to a tasty variety of oysters plucked from the ocean mere moments before our arrival. Ever had oysters grilled right in their shell, steamed in their own brine? It was oh, so delicious. Chase even had some, and she’s allergic, but she felt it was worth the itchy mouth. There was even oyster stew, which brought me back to New Year’s Eves with my Gram…the only day of the year we’d have oyster stew…but that was canned oyster stew, Gram hated to cook, and this was FRAESH!!!

I’m gonna just point out here how awesome all of our kids are when it comes to food. Charlie, Chase, Cayden, Piper, and Tyler are ALL good eaters. Maybe that comes from growing up on Chinese food…maybe it’s because Tiffany and Joyce don’t put up with kiddie culinary request B.S…but we have never been tethered to corn dogs and shit fried nuggets because they refuse to eat anything else. I mean, sure, they are humans, after all, so they have individual preferences (Some definitely more individually than others…I’m looking at you, Chase!)…but when a grilled oyster gets placed in front of them, they will try it. I just wanted to brag about what a wonderful feeling that is for a parent, and I wish that type of ease upon every parent out there worth a damn.

So we filled our bellies with shellfish and made a run for the border. In Vancouver, we stayed in an area called Metrotown. At first it was hard getting used to the Canadian language, but I’d been practicing for a couple of months and served as translator for the group, as well as have made an acquaintance or two who have escaped from behind the Maple Curtain. For example, when you are thirsty in Canada you have to say, “Excuse me, can I have a glass of water?” Pffft whaaaat? It’s so weird…it just sounds like crazy gibberish!!! And did you know that in Canada they drive on the right side of the road? Aaand they also have this crazy stuff called “The Metric System.” Thus, in Canada you don’t go to buy shoes at a “Foot Locker”…but rather a “0.3048 Locker.”  All this international weirdness had us as uneasy as a Mounty riding a narcoleptic horse, but we persevered despite the vast communication and garish cultural differences in Vancouver– a city whose origins, apparently, have absolutely nothing to do with vans of any sort, be they vehicles or shoes! So what’s with the name?! I guess we’ll never know.

But we didn’t stay long! Really only a day. One, action packed day, in fact. After a night’s rest we attacked all of the touristy hot spots like the bandits we are.  Suspension Bridge, Lonsdale Quay, Stanley Park. So, yeah, we crossed that Lynn Canyon Suspension Bridge. It was free. Like our spirits. Needless to say, it held, and we survived. But I swear to God if I saw Indiana Jones walk onto that bridge from the opposite direction with torn shirt and a machete and Short Round trailing behind I would have broken out into a full panic.

And apparently there is some dangerous place just a hike away where people can’t resist jumping off of for fun…so much so that the Canadian Authorities have posted warnings that I only read with George Costanza’s Mom’s voice in my head.

Then afterward, we boogied on over to have a lunch at a shop called Meat & Bread…guess what they serve? Attitude, that’s what!

Eric: Could you please cut the sandwiches in two pieces please?

Mustachio’d Hipster Sandwich Master: No. (Pulls out a shitty dinner knife, places it on the counter next to the sandwiches – remember there’s ten of us.) But you can take this and cut them yourself, over there.

Eric remarked later that after such sneering regard his first instinct was to leap across the counter and beat the snide motherfucker into a pulp with his own fucking bread…but then he saw how delicious the sandwiches looked and instantly decided to let it slide. See? That’s how they get you. By the way, the sandwiches were ridiculously good. I’m talking Porchetta heaven. They win! Our stomachs win! Our integrity loses! But at least our stomachs win.

Oh, Vancouver! You saucy wench of a town. We, of course, hit Stanley Park as well, took some pictures next to some totem poles…and then were pretty damn wore-out. That evening George, Eric, and I drank Scotch (Well, George and I did, Eric drank a Bud Light) and smoked Vancouver-bought Cubans (Well, George and I did, Eric stuck to Marlboros.) as the sun stubbornly set. It was a nice way to end the day. With liquor, spiced smoke, conversation, and the hopes and dreams of our jaunt back down to Portland, Oregon the next day.