Island Wilderness Camping

Recently, we went on a camping trip. On the Island of Whidbey, just North and West of Seattle. Half a mile from a beach that looks out on the Puget Sound and behind that, the great Pacific Ocean. Accompanying us on this sleeping-in-the-out-of-doors expedition were two other couples, whose celebrity mash-up names would be Zamie and Aargan (pronounced air-gun). Here are shameless plugs of their websites: Zack, Jamie, Aaron, and I don't know if Meagan has a website. Anne's is on the sidebar.

We camped, specifically at South Whidbey State Park. It was fun though there was little in the way of hiking, unlike the massive forests of the Olympic Peninsula, still my favorite place to camp. We set up camp, each couple with our own four-person tent, and set to making food before the sun fell too far down over the horizon. Then we drank around the fire. The weather was nice, though a little cool at night, and the beach was beautiful, full of various beached life-forms ready to have their pictures taken. We, the boys, threw rocks at inanimate objects until we were tired and wanted beer. We, the boys, played with the clay that made up the cliff abutting the beach, and formed it into unidentifiable nothings until our hands were covered in clay and we were wearing stupid smiles. We, all, took pictures of the oddities of the beach (including ourselves) as the tide was at its lowest. Then we walked back up the hill to our camp, in order to sate our desires for food, booze and the mesmerizing behavior of flames. We slept in between eating and playing and drinking, such an insignificant detail though.

I felt like life should be like that more than it is. Void of bank statements and the forty-hour-a-week deal. Just throwing rocks at things and making food. Simple and wonderful. But, I must say, the shower was amazing when I got home, as well the warm bed and the laying about in front of a movie. The camping was fun, for awhile. And it didn't rain. I have sloppily explained the whole thing but the following pictures will help.

The Tent!

More After The Jump

Milkman Revised

Gone are the days when a man would come by and put six reusable bottles white to the brim with milk onto your porch or into your milk door (a smallish cabinet outside your domicile with an inner door for retrieval) exchanging out those bottles you downed last week and very politely rinsed out for him. Yet, there are still beverages which a person might want to have delivered to their home. Something less viscous, less in need of refrigeration. So we traded the nectar of the bovine teat for that of the vintner and the brewer. Two days ago I received my first delivery of beer and wine, and despite the conjecture of many, it wasn't brought by winged cherubs, but by a simple man with a simple idea: Bring the people joy, bottled and various. My milk door is long ago sealed up (yes, we do have an old milk door, circa 1940's) so after buzzing this new age milkman in, we had to settle for human contact, a box of beer and wine for a Spongebob Squarepants check written out, simply, to "Milkman."
If you live in Seattle, I would suggest giving him some business. No delivery charge, no price hike, just a five dollar monthly fee. Some relics of the past can be revived.

Here is the site:
http://milkmanseattle.com/

You never have to leave home again!

Upper Endoscopy

I remember nothing. Apparently, according to the pamphlet I was given days before, they inserted a small camera down my throat for investigation of my insides. Six hours later and I am still foggy. Mix this sedative with two cups of coffee and you are left with pages of abstract poesy and prose and the desire to visit the Ethiopian grocery to pick up Niter Kebbeh (that is, spiced butter) and Shiro flour. Which I did.
Still having not eaten, I am at once entirely unmotivated and ferociously hungry. My head swims a bit too.
Off to make Shiro Wot!

Def.: Shiro Wot - An Ethiopian stew consisting of garlic, onions, spiced butter, chickpea flour (shiro), berbere (ethiopian spice mix) and water.