Because the opportunity to create friction sores that bleed through spandex is an opportunity that Dale and I cannot pass up, we signed up for the Seattle-to-Portland bicycle classic this coming July.
If you remember, we participated in 2008 and 2009. In 2010, Dale spent the summer focusing on climbing Mt. Rainier (after the avalanche he attempted it again and was successful...still on my to-do list of blog posts), and I spent the summer not riding a bicycle. How did I spend my summer? I don't know. It's kind of a blur. But I do remember the weekend of the STP, and the two of us were bummed knowing it was going on without us.
So, the next question on everyone's mind is, will we ride it in one day or two? If you ask Dale, he'd tell you we'd do it in one day. But we'd stop half way, climb Mt. Rainier, then finish up the ride. He'd be all, what? WE TOTALLY COULD.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Brittany's Senior Pics
Back a few months ago (so sad is my lack of blogging that now my posts begin with back a few months ago...) Anyway, a few months ago my Cambodia team met up for another reunion, and a couple days before our party I got an email from Brittany. Little refresher: Brittany is Franklin's daughter...Franklin was our team leader and Brittany came along as his assistant. That was like a year ago, I know.
So this email was basically one brief question. Hey Jessica, if you are going to bring your camera to the party, do you think you could take a picture of me so I could use it in the yearbook?
And I was all, um, no. Brittany, dear, let's do this right. So we came up with a plan to meet a few hours beforehand and do a real photo shoot. When I picked her up, I was all DAMN GIRL, YOU CLEAN UP GOOD! We shot at Oregon Health Sciences University, and didn't exactly have weather or daylight on our side, so we worked quickly.
We both fell in love with the same image, and this is the official yearbook picture. She is leaning up against the dental building here, which seems appropriate since she wants to follow in her father's footsteps. This is one of those photos that is equally beautiful in black and white as it is in color.
So this email was basically one brief question. Hey Jessica, if you are going to bring your camera to the party, do you think you could take a picture of me so I could use it in the yearbook?
And I was all, um, no. Brittany, dear, let's do this right. So we came up with a plan to meet a few hours beforehand and do a real photo shoot. When I picked her up, I was all DAMN GIRL, YOU CLEAN UP GOOD! We shot at Oregon Health Sciences University, and didn't exactly have weather or daylight on our side, so we worked quickly.
We both fell in love with the same image, and this is the official yearbook picture. She is leaning up against the dental building here, which seems appropriate since she wants to follow in her father's footsteps. This is one of those photos that is equally beautiful in black and white as it is in color.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Random Story #314
I have no idea what has possessed me to share this story, but it popped into my mind this morning and well, here we are.
I was in Las Vegas with my office for a dental convention. It was 2006, and I was 6 months pregnant with Rowan. It was really hot, as it is there most of the year, and I was laying out by the pool by myself. I don't remember why I was alone...oh wait, yes I do...we only had like 2 hours before we were all to meet to head to the airport, and most of my coworkers wanted to head down the strip to shop and see some of the other casinos. Well, I'd been to Vegas several times before this, and I knew how time and distance seems to escape people there, and I wasn't about to join them and risk missing my flight on my boss' dime. No way. So there I was, sunbathing alone amongst strangers at the MGM pool.
I was at the point in my pregnancy where I definitely looked pregnant, but I wasn't big and waddly and swollen. I thought I looked cute. I had confidence. I rocked a hot pink bikini.
In the sweltering upper 90 degree desert heat, I decided a smoothie was just what the baby needed. I wrapped a sarong under my belly, tied it into a knot at my hip, and made my way to the outdoor bar.
I got a few sideways glances from passersby for being pregnant and bare-bellied, but I didn't think too much of it. I was was standing in line behind a middle-eastern man. He turned around and looked right at me, lowered his eyes to my abdomen, looked me dead in the eye again, then turned back around. This man wasn't Indian, he wasn't Hispanic, He was a Muslim, and probably had ties to Al-Qaeda. Women in his culture don't even show much of their veiled faces or any of their bodies, lest their pregnant bellies. I was an infidel of the worst kind. I'd had sex with my husband, and there I was, brazenly showing the world the result. This man, I was sure, was furiously praying to Allah to strike me down. I wanted to bolt from the line to the safety of my hotel room. Surely the Taliban would soon be on the hunt for me.
The man turned around again. He was smiling and had kindness in his eyes. In perfect English, he said, "You're pregnant. That's great! I deliver babies for a living, I'm an OB-GYN. It's a beautiful thing. Well...good luck to you."
The moral of the story?
Don't stereotype people.
I was in Las Vegas with my office for a dental convention. It was 2006, and I was 6 months pregnant with Rowan. It was really hot, as it is there most of the year, and I was laying out by the pool by myself. I don't remember why I was alone...oh wait, yes I do...we only had like 2 hours before we were all to meet to head to the airport, and most of my coworkers wanted to head down the strip to shop and see some of the other casinos. Well, I'd been to Vegas several times before this, and I knew how time and distance seems to escape people there, and I wasn't about to join them and risk missing my flight on my boss' dime. No way. So there I was, sunbathing alone amongst strangers at the MGM pool.
I was at the point in my pregnancy where I definitely looked pregnant, but I wasn't big and waddly and swollen. I thought I looked cute. I had confidence. I rocked a hot pink bikini.
In the sweltering upper 90 degree desert heat, I decided a smoothie was just what the baby needed. I wrapped a sarong under my belly, tied it into a knot at my hip, and made my way to the outdoor bar.
I got a few sideways glances from passersby for being pregnant and bare-bellied, but I didn't think too much of it. I was was standing in line behind a middle-eastern man. He turned around and looked right at me, lowered his eyes to my abdomen, looked me dead in the eye again, then turned back around. This man wasn't Indian, he wasn't Hispanic, He was a Muslim, and probably had ties to Al-Qaeda. Women in his culture don't even show much of their veiled faces or any of their bodies, lest their pregnant bellies. I was an infidel of the worst kind. I'd had sex with my husband, and there I was, brazenly showing the world the result. This man, I was sure, was furiously praying to Allah to strike me down. I wanted to bolt from the line to the safety of my hotel room. Surely the Taliban would soon be on the hunt for me.
The man turned around again. He was smiling and had kindness in his eyes. In perfect English, he said, "You're pregnant. That's great! I deliver babies for a living, I'm an OB-GYN. It's a beautiful thing. Well...good luck to you."
The moral of the story?
Don't stereotype people.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Frosty Outside...Frosty Inside
With lots of concern on my Facebook page, I thought I'd share the full story how our furnace picked a fine time to leave us.
We woke up Jan 1st to 2011 and an awfully chilly house. Dale checked the thermostat, bumped up the heat, and went about making coffee and breakfast.
But the heat never came on.
So, being Mr. Handyman Troubleshooter, he tore into it. The motor, he found, had taken a poop. Great timing, considering we are in the middle of a COLD SNAP!! And there is frost on the ground that has no intentions of going away any time soon. In fact, it may even snow later this week!
Yesterday, we drove all over Olympia from one industrial parts store to another. This, we soon discovered, was a tall order. Finding a store that was A) open on a holiday, and B) carried precisely what we needed...needless to say we returned empty handed to a very cold home.
But don't worry about the Ackleys! Dale ordered said part online and by Wednesday our house should warm with the cozy hum of a working furnace. In the mean time, in addition to wearing down coats to battle the inside temp of 47 degrees, we have a fireplace downstairs. It is extremely inefficient at heating this big, old house, but it's better than nothing.
The real saving grace, though, is Rowan's room. The first few years living in this house, we discovered that that particular bedroom, with three exterior walls, was impossible to heat in the winter. So Dale installed a heater into the wall. Here is the sleeping arrangement:
I find it kind of funny that we all congregate to Rowan's room to seek relief from the cold. In the summertime, our bedroom is the only place in the house that has air conditioning. When the really hot spells hit, we all sleep in there, like weary little refugees.
We woke up Jan 1st to 2011 and an awfully chilly house. Dale checked the thermostat, bumped up the heat, and went about making coffee and breakfast.
But the heat never came on.
So, being Mr. Handyman Troubleshooter, he tore into it. The motor, he found, had taken a poop. Great timing, considering we are in the middle of a COLD SNAP!! And there is frost on the ground that has no intentions of going away any time soon. In fact, it may even snow later this week!
Yesterday, we drove all over Olympia from one industrial parts store to another. This, we soon discovered, was a tall order. Finding a store that was A) open on a holiday, and B) carried precisely what we needed...needless to say we returned empty handed to a very cold home.
But don't worry about the Ackleys! Dale ordered said part online and by Wednesday our house should warm with the cozy hum of a working furnace. In the mean time, in addition to wearing down coats to battle the inside temp of 47 degrees, we have a fireplace downstairs. It is extremely inefficient at heating this big, old house, but it's better than nothing.
The real saving grace, though, is Rowan's room. The first few years living in this house, we discovered that that particular bedroom, with three exterior walls, was impossible to heat in the winter. So Dale installed a heater into the wall. Here is the sleeping arrangement:
I find it kind of funny that we all congregate to Rowan's room to seek relief from the cold. In the summertime, our bedroom is the only place in the house that has air conditioning. When the really hot spells hit, we all sleep in there, like weary little refugees.
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