Later, Mr. Stove Stoveykins

Obituary:

The Romoser's ancient General Electric stove passed away loudly the other night after Mikey picked up a hammer and inhumanely euthanized it. A sad demise as it had provided a reliable hot seat for copper pots and tea kettles for many decades.

"Stovey" had been a gracious, ubiquitous appliance in the kitchen. But six months ago, after its timer knob fell off, it decided to become a home-cooked version of the "Operation" game, providing frustration and sport to anyone who dared cook on its surfaces. Eventually, the unadorned screw that once housed the "knob" stripped and became uncooperative, frustrating all who tried to turn the damn timer off. A pair of needle nose pliers were employed as the stove slipped further and further into obsolescence. (I'm drinking wine now, so forgive misspellings and overt embellishments.)

And so, bathed in the dwindling sunlight of a fine spring afternoon, "Stovey" slipped into a suspended state, dangling wires and all. Here is her last portrait, nay I say, only portrait ever taken, after Mikey forcibly removed the clock from its metal casing.

Life is Lively

I just found this "Life is Lively" post in my drafts folder with no copy other than the headline. Indeed, life must have been pretty lively when I started this post.

Hello Mr. President

Friday night.
The president was in town today, kind of a big deal.
I missed going outside to watch everyone watch for him while I watched for him. Instead, I stayed inside, ate cheese and apples, wrote my work stuff, and enjoyed listening to the voice in my head say, "Good, now you can play hookie on Monday."
After all, Monday is President's Day.
Or Presidents' Day.
Or simply, Presidents Day.
Editor's choice.
:)

Katie

I miss her.
Hope she's meeting and making new friends.
Hope she doesn't fall out of the top bunk.
Want her to eat well.
I miss her.
Hope she's staying healthy and going for a run.
Hope she doesn't let things overwhelm her.
Want her to be overwhelmed by the experience of learning.
I miss her.
Hope she does go to the health center to find out if she can get prescriptions and care if she's sick.
Hope she does ask to get her bike back so she can tool around on campus.
Want her to call me anytime and come home often.

I miss her.

Roam if you want to...

The Roam Riders successfully rode in the Bike MS event this weekend through Skagit Valley. It was a gorgeous ride with great people who worked exceedingly hard to raise money to find a cure for MS. One team in particular, "Lyne's Legs," had a novel way of promoting their group: They all stuck Barbie doll legs into their helmets, easily identifying who they were as they rode by. But it wasn't until the second day's lunch when the impact of why they were riding hit us. We saw a beautiful slim woman pass us on an electric wheelchair and head toward the team as they were yelling "Lyne! Lyne! Lyne!" These guys literally served as her legs for the ride.

So recap: The fundraising for the entire event is just $200K short of hitting goal. If you want to help us get there, consider sharing a few coins. It only takes a little bit from a bunch of folks and goals like these can be attained. Thanks to everyone who already supported the Roam Riders! (We did surpass our rookie goal, but hey, I think we can still raise more so donate!

Saturday in Seattle

Saw a dad and what looked to be his son, sprinting in full Hasidic attire. This must be running religion week. (See below post.) Katie was in the car with me and said, "I bet they wish they could drive today."

Candle karma

Mexican religious candles

I'm on this run the other day, which feels great as a departure from riding my bike nearly every day. Background: We no longer have two cars.

So, I'm on this run, right? As I round out my last hill two blocks from home, I see a sign. "Free." Next to the sign are four Mexican candles (which I really love, they're so bright, fun and religiously campy) and some assorted uninteresting wood pieces. I pick up two candles and continue walking up the hill. Looking down at my recent grab (these will be great on the backyard table) I notice the images are less than fun. Jesus on the cross, and there's blood. And Jesus with a thorny crown, and he does not look happy about it. So I think, maybe I'll turn around and put them back, but I'm immediately seized with guilt. Guilt. I grabbed the candles, it's not cool to put Jesus back, let alone put him back on the ground next to a Free sign (although he probably would have liked the symbolism behind that gesture). So all these thoughts are going on in my head. By now I'm at the back door. Then it hits me. I can soak the paper off these candles! But I'll leave the prayers on because the prayers are important. Jesus and God won't mind if I take off the image, but everyone knows removing the prayers would not be cool.

As I fill the soup pot with water and immerse the candles, I'm racked with new guilt. The prayers and images are one label. There is no way I'm peeling off Jesus without taking the prayers, too. This is not good, a voice says to me. Two candles, two penances, get ready, the voice says. But what if this is the devil telling me superstition exists? It's very human to fall for something like superstition, which falsely asserts we can control our fate if we sacrifice a chicken, or go really big with the white Voodoo chalk. Besides, who wants to see the crucifix or a crown of thorns over some lamb chops in the backyard? How would appetizers benefit from that? I continue to soak the candles.

The very next day two weird things happen to me:

Yes, that's a fly, straight out of "The Ring"

A garage door mechanic calls out of the blue and says he's only a block away for our 10am appt. I don't have an appt. with a garage door mechanic today, it's supposed to be next Tuesday I tell him. The day after Labor Day. Flint-born, people know you don't work on Labor Day, I made a point of getting someone out here the very next day. So. why's he here now, I wonder. (Look at the candles.) Some confusion he says, you have the coupon for the free service call, right? Yes. But I want him to know it's a really old door. We've already been told most people won't work doors as old as ours, made around the time the house was built. No problem it's just a look he says. Of course. Aha! But, by the time he gets here, the door is not fixable. He pulls this bait and switch on me to buy a new garage door, which we're not interested in doing. No matter, I have the free service call. He says, nope, only if I had performed a service. I say, but you did, you told me you couldn't fix it. We go around and around for a while and my son, who is painting the house trim interrupts us. What? I ask. He looks sheepish, like someone from Jesus' flock.

Mom, I've pulled of this big piece of wooden trim from the roof line. Mom. It's broken, I don't think I can fix it.

And there you go. Two hits, two candles, karma strikes. But I'm not superstitious.