Home Sweet Home...

Check out the changes!!

Before...

After!

Before...

After...

Unsolved Mysteries

Can someone tell me how my cat can pick one type of food out of his food bowl, leaving the entirety of the other kind of food behind?

I'm beginning to think opposable thumbs are over-rated.

Wedded Bliss!

Two weekends ago, we headed to Black Butte, Oregon for Alissa and Brian's wedding. Alissa is a friend of mine from Schwabe, and a paralegal in my practice group. The weather was amazing, as was the site, the ceremony, the food and pretty much everything else! Here are some photos, in no particular order...

Run for the Love of Dove

Here are some pictures from a recent fundraiser for DoveLewis - Run for the Love of Dove - a 2 mile walk around Portland. DoveLewis is only the GREATEST organization EVER. If they knew how much I loved them, I'm certain they'd seek a restraining order. Or at least, put up a really, really tall fence.

Learn more! http://www.dovelewis.org/

Jil and Mike's dog, Roxie, aka Snookie...


Doing what dogs do best (couldn't resist, of course)...

Hound butts (yes, the butt theme ends here)...

Lucy Girl...

The Three.... Musketeers? Stooges? I don't know. I'm out of good ideas. Love how Lucy digs the other dogs, no? She's all "get away." They're all "No!"

Ursula with Lunita. Lunita's Native American name is Big Heart with Wounded Knee (she has luxating patellas). Ursula's Native American name is Crazy Lady with Adjustable Doggy Sling.

Awwww, sleepy Bernese Mountain Dog...

Er, two-headed Bernese Mountain Dog?

"Try to look natural"

Yo quiero a day without rain.

Three Years and Counting...

Yesterday was our third anniversary. THREE YEARS! Poor Beto. That's 1068 days he has woken up wondering, "WHAT HAVE I DONE?" That's 1,537,920 seconds that have tick-tocked by for this poor, poor man.

I am amazed at how fast time has flown, and so sad that it has been so long since we have seen so many of our friends and family. I miss that most of all - having all of you from the east coast and all over the country here with us. If I could have chained you to Portland on July 10, 2004, I would have, trust me.

In any event, and before I get all teary-eyed on ya', I posted some of our favorite wedding pics below for a stroll down memory lane. But before I get to that, I thought I'd give anyone who's interested (what are there, one, two of you out there?), the run down on our fantastic anniversary. We spent our first anniversary at a swank spa in Arizona, and our second anniversary in Aruba, back at the Bucuti where we had our honeymoon. This year, we thought we'd up the ante - go ALL OUT! Beto spent the day of our anniversary in Seattle with his boss, earning a speeding ticket in excess of $180 while I spent the day in The Dalles, Oregon, taking depositions in a conference room with broken air conditioning and outside temperatures at about 105 degrees. We then had dinner with the president of Beto's company and called it a night. Apparently, year three is the threshold for "old married couple."

If that's not excitement, my friends, I don't know what is. Anyway, on to the pictures... (in no particular order).

Time to Check the Pee-Mail!

Lucy Dantas here. (I know, I'm a major dork. Just humor me.) Below is a photographic tour of my favorite spots to hit on my daily walk through Milwaukie.

Milwaukie High School mural ...

... in front of Mayor Bernard's garage! Mom says the Mayor's a superhero, but I have yet to see him in a cape and tights. And I watch, believe me, I watch. Just ask the postman.




"Much to learn, I still have." Is this dude giving me bunny ears? I paid for a scalp massage. Damn those Jedi Mind Tricks.




...Milwaukie Lumber... Mcarthy-ism is apparently alive and well... How about "Lucy Dantas, here's your sign!"




...the parental units' favorite breakfast place. Uncle George not only keeps them nourished, but entertained...




I think they have books about dogs in there...




...the new mixed-use development in town, called "North Main Village." My idea of mixed use? One-stop-shopping for dinner, potty, a treat and a nap.

...Pietro's Pizza, a virtual utopia of fatty cheesy neon goodness...

...Wind Horse Cafe. Seriously good ho cho. That's "hot chocolate" for you non-hipster types...

...City Hall. Mom says she gets in fights here sometimes. Then she asked me to stop talking about it. And she controls the treats, so I do what she says. Well, most of the time.

Hanging with my homeys, Alien and the Predator. CuteOverload.com calls it "interspecies snorgling." What can I say - I have an open mind, and their sophisticated palates do not include a hankerin' for the canines.

... ahh, Foxy's... discount cigarettes and all online Lotto, WAHOOO! What more could a dog want? Or a respectable citizen/consumer, for that matter? Astronauts can see the orange neon signs from outerspace, but I have a feeling that even the martians are afraid of this joint.

... Uncle Randall and Uncle Greg's house. It's near our house, but sits on the water. Someday, we'll live here. They don't know that... yet. They also don't know that they're honorary uncles... yet. In time, in time...

That's it for the walk. Next time, we'll check in on the (former - hallelujah) pawn shop shaped like a ship, the waterfront and Mr. Parecki's swanky establishments. Until then... it's time to torment the cat.

Brazil: The End

The Brazil posts are finally finished, so now on to something new! If you're interested in reading the Brazil posts, be sure to start from the bottom and work your way up. Yes, poor planning on my part.

Almost Finished!

It's June now, almost three months from our fateful date in Dallas... and I am STILL working on getting the full story told. The good news is that apart from bug bites, some cultural issues, contracting a cold on the flight home (not super-tuberculosis) and requiring three months to pull myself out of the funk that remained after our much-deserved vacation jumped the tracks, we managed to survive.

Some parting pictures...

Here's my he-man of a husband, hoisting heavy bags into the Augusto Severin International Airport in Natal. No one knows who Augusto Severin is, but I'm guessing our buddy had bank.

And, recognizing a glimpse of hope for an uneventful trip home like no one else can, I found this little morsel in the menu from the burger joint where we grabbed a bite to eat before the flight. Why go home when they serve Oregon there? (read the English translation of the ingredients)

Peeps!

It's true, we were there over Easter weekend, but the "Peeps" I reference in the title here are not of the pastel-colored marshmallow variety whose heads you bite off, and whose bodies you leave stuck in a row as an impromptu art installation at your office.

Not that I would ever do that.

The "Peeps" I reference here are the wonderful friends and family who did their absolute utmost to rescue our vacation, and to try to summon forth the sunny, relaxed disposition from the grumpy, uptight American.

Unfortunately, I did not get any decent family pictures this time, but here's a shot from Beto's last trip of him and his mom that I love...

And here's one of the entire fam from 2002:

Now, back to this trip. The picture below is of Beto, Junior (Helder's partner), Helder (one of Beto's best friends), and Helder's brother. The two shots below that are of Natal from Helder's balcony.

This is Uncle Neto, a family friend, Aunt Lamina, Beto, cousin Valma, and Valma's husband. (Neto LOVES Americans, and I love Neto.)

This is Beto, Joca's wife and Joca. Joca stayed with Beto for two months back in 2000. We tried to hook him up with our globe-trotter friend, Claire, but that went over like a lead balloon. Joca's now an oncologist and his wife is amazingly sweet and caring and a phenomenal cook. We'll call her the "anti-Catherine." She really does make me look bad, she's THAT good of a person.



Whoa! There we are...

This is Beto's brother-in-law, Marcello. Ridiculously nice guy. I can't believe I didn't get a decent picture of Beto's sister, Bianca.

Paulo, again. No, that's not a weakening hairline. That's a computer glitch, and please don't bring it up again.

Beto's brother Leo, and the older woman he was trying to charm... He's doing his best to look natural here...

The Master of Averting Disaster...

And the famous Brazilian barbecue, from day until night. Mmmmmm, meat.

Panic in Pipa!

Ahhh, Pipa. Pipa is another beach that we visited, but you won't see many pictures of it, and here's why...

Pipa is an insanely cool, beautiful beach attached to a really quaint town. It has that Amalfi Coast feel on a low level - not that I've ever been to the Amalfi Coast, but, well, whatever. When we went to Pipa in 2002, it was isolated, peaceful and not very heavily populated. This time, however, we decided to go on the Friday before Easter weekend... aka, a holiday.

Let me tell you, nothing says "celebrate the resurrection" like scantily-clad twenty-somethings scurrying about en masse.

This place made spring break at Ft. Lauderdale look like a midieval nun convention, replete with iron-clad chastity belts.

And let me tell you something else - nothing bellows "AMERICAN!" like a gringa with a bob and funky glasses in a black J-Crew tankini. I might as well have been wearing Old Glory as footie-pajamas, with my face painted in red, white and blue. I have never felt more conspicuous in my life, which ... ultimately led to the 6th out of 9 emotional breakdowns I had on this trip, standing in shin-deep water in shorts and a t-shirt, begging to please, please go home. Poor Beto. I owe him big for that one. And yes, I know he's a saint to put up with me, so shut up about it.

The other cool thing about Pipa is that you can drive on the beaches to get there, and then you take a "ferry" to get across a river. Now I put "ferry" in quotes because really, the thing is a flat, ticking time bomb. Picture 12 cars packed on a flat raft built for six, that's covered in gasoline with the operators smoking cigarettes. Now picture that that flat raft has a roof on it, and the life preservers - the only shot in hell you have of survival in the unlikely event of an explosion- are tucked into the roof, far above your reach. I suppose the theory is that if the ferry blows, you'll get the lift you need to grab a certified personal flotation device.

The good news is that this time, I managed to maintain my footing. See, when we went in 2002, I wiped out on the gasoline slicked floor not only when we were traveling to Pipa, but also traveling home. Nothing short of grace and elegance here, my friends.

So, here's a picture of Beto's nephew, Victor, rocking the grin. He is so cute. Takes after his uncle.

And here's a shot of the HMS DeathTrap, sans autos (you thought I was exaggerating, didn't you?):

Here are some shots of the adorable town. My tears had dried by this point, so I could actually see through the camera's view finder.

Another shot, with the added bonus of the backsides of Beto's brother Leo and Beto's best friend Paulo. No, that is not a bald spot on Paulo - that is a computer glitch, and please don't ever mention it again.

And Now for an Obsessive-Compulsive Minute...

Let me just state for the record that it is driving me nuts that I can't get the text of these blog entries to format with the same line spacing.

It is not inattention to detail that allows me the luxury of sloppily formatted posts, but rather a need to avoid the impulse to hurl my computer out of our second story office window.

...moving on...

"Beaches!," Bitches...

(Did I really put that in the title? Let's see if I get caught.)

Yes, it's true. I have not continued with this little project in more than a month. Truth is, most days I don't even know what month it is. So, with that said, I'm just going to throw down some more pictures from our Brazil trip with some captions. I am sorry to report, however, that I failed to take pictures of the mystery bug bites that bruised and oozed (yes, too graphic, I'm sure)... after our ridiculous travel debacle, the rest of the trip went relatively smoothly. The only thing I'd warn you about in advance, if you travel to Brazil, is that the "okay" sign you make with your hand definitely DOES NOT mean "okay." And in ANY EVENT, do NOT make the "okay" sign to your mother-in-law, or to the nice lady who is fixing you food.

Just trust me.

On to the beach pictures!

The next three are from the beach in the city of Natal. Great beach - pretty heavily populated, lots of annoying but very nice vendors, and great food and drink service...

The next set of pictures are taken from a day trip we took with Beto's brother, Leo, to a beach whose name I forget... very remote and very nice. The rock barrier created a great little lagoon to swim in. Shark free, thankfully -

That brings me to the subject of sharks. Everyone in Natal tells me there are no sharks. However, just a three hour drive south, Recife holds the world title for highest rate of shark fatalities. Great white and bull sharks, I think. My supervisor at work will confirm this, as he directed me to the Discovery Channel documentary on the very same subject. He's also the guy who, while we were stuck in Dallas, sent me the newspaper article about how horrendous and ineffective Brazil's air traffic control is, and the guy who, upon my return, sent me the article about the Brazilian bug bites that lead to the irreversible degeneration of the nervous system 30 years later. (Todd, if you're reading this, you are the BEST SUPERVISOR EVER. And Gwen, if you're reading this, your husband is the BEST SUPERVISOR EVER.)

I might also add that Beto had a new perspective on my seemingly unfounded paranoia, when we finally watched JAWS all the way through a few weekends ago.

Back to the subject at hand. What I'm thinking is .... sharks in Recife... sharks in Natal. Neither you, nor any band of Brazilians will ever convince me otherwise. And let's face it - if ever someone were going to be the "first" shark attack in Natal, it would be me.

Where was I? Right - day trip with Leo. That's him ...

And, me at the same beach, sporting the unholy five-head. With a skull like that, who needs a helmet? Anyway, I tried to avoid being photographed at all costs, but I know one of you will ask, so here it is.

And of course, the obligatory Speedo shot for those of you obsessed with the same. You know who you are. More importantly, I know who you are. And no, Beto does not wear a speedo.

These are some cool shots of an area where the river meets the ocean. Again - can't remember the name. Something like "Piranha" although they say there are none (yeah right - just like there are no sharks... ever see the movie "Piranhas"? Right up there with the movie "Frogs" - albeit with a slightly higher propensity to inspire nightmares). Anyway, the name of the area? Pirangi? Can't remember. I know. I'm horrible. If Beto ever returns from his work trips, I'll ask.

We took those two pictures above from private - but apparently abandoned - property. The shot below is of the brothers on that same property. Can you hear the "Cops" theme in the background? "Bad Boys Bad Boys, whatcha gonna do..." This expression promptly changed when we somehow activated an alarm.

And finally, this is Cotovelo beach, which is near the family beach house. Much quieter, more family-oriented (read: fewer string bikinis consisting of dental floss and palm leaves and overstuffed men in speedos). My J-Crew tankini and I loved this beach.

Small and Would-Be Humans

This is a photographic tour of the small and would-be humans of our trip. The kingpin, Victor (pronounced "veto"- at least, I think), is Beto's 10 year nephew who adopted the Nintendo DS we brought him as an extra appendage. Super smart kid, destined to rule the world in no time, provided we can tear him away from Super Mario Brothers.

Victor's occasional side-kick and protector of all things ground-level, is Tag, the pug. Friend to all except the Kitty Mafia, Tag is one seriously cute, loud, snorting, snoring dog. Seriously, how could you ever say no to this face?

What is the Kitty Mafia, you ask? It's a conglomerate of kitty familes from around the beachhouse, with representatives from each variety... Here's a pic of one of the thugs, preparing to cap Tag in pursuit of some red meat...

And here's a top secret meeting among two warring families, to divide up the front decks.

The little furballs below are friends and family - the first is Beto's aunt's 3 month old puppy, Nicky, named after a racecar driver... appropriately so. The second is Toy, dog of Beto's friend Helder.

BRASIL!

Finally, more than 48 hours after our scheduled arrival, we touched ground in Natal. Never have I been so happy to greet 90 degree temperatures and 90% humidity. Notwithstanding that our clothes melted on the spot, we were beyond pleased to finally arrive, see the fam, grab a shower and take a nap. Here's the family beach house in Cotovelo, just a few miles south of Natal.

Some views from the front deck:

Beto took the opportunity to catch up on some business, and scratch Tag the Pug, and I eventually hung out in my favorite spot - the hammock.

And, some lovely flowers in the front yard:

Who Shot JFK and Other Dallas-Related Misadventures

In our effort to make the best of a rapidly deteriorating vacation, we decided to spend the Saturday of our unplanned layover, roaming around Dallas. First we hit the big mall, where the only bright spot to potentially lost baggage was the potential opportunity to buy a new vacation wardrobe. Afraid of mall hair, but not of mall food, we grabbed a bite of barbecue and bad mac and cheese at Dickey's. Award winning action photo:

Shortly after this shot, a kid dumped a slice of half-eaten pizza down my back, which he apparently mistook for a trash can.

Dallas has many unique qualities, among them, a going-out-of-business Bible Outlet clearance sale. I'm not sure which is more sad - that there are discount Bibles, or that the store selling them went out of business. Stupid predatory consumers wielding their powers of capitalism.

Moving on from retail therapy, we located the Grassy Knoll on our $9/day bargain GPS, and went to visit the location of JFK's assassination. This is the Book Depository. The window out of which the shot(s?) were fired is six floors up, still open...

The road of the motorcade, and an "X" which marks the spot of the first bullet.

Don't know which is THE grassy knoll...

And again, capitalism at its finest...



After touring the museum and visiting the sites, we rounded the corner to find a unique, yet entertaining pairing of signs. Dick's Last Resort meets Hooters. I couldn't have said it more eloquently myself.

And after roaming the City, we consulted our GPS for points of interest, which suggested, interestingly enough, the Cockroach Hall of Fame (four down). What is it with the bugs?

To Brazil: Down with American Airlines

As a matter of background, most of you know that Beto is a globe trotter. Not the basketball playing variety with guest appearances on 1980s episodes of Scooby Doo, but the real-deal-businessman-Hong Kong-visiting type.

I, on the other hand, am pretty much a homebody, and given my choice, I'd easily choose the All-American road trip over the exotic vacation in faraway lands. I stress about airplane death spirals, airborne viruses and unavailable overhead bin space. I also don't suffer inefficiency or crowds very well.

We've been shooting for one vacation a year, and this year's trip was to his hometown of Natal, to visit friends and family. At least, that was the goal...or should I say GOL... until we entrusted our fate to American Airlines.

Fifteen minutes before our flight to Sao Paulo, the flight was cancelled. Not because of maintenance or weather... but because - for the first time in Beto's memory - Brazil's air traffic controllers went on strike, shutting down all air traffic.

That's right. I, my friends, am cursed.

I quickly called an agent and rebooked at the earliest opportunity - two days away. Two days in Dallas, Texas. Contrary to untruths perpetuated by the popular nightime soap opera, Dallas is NOT an exciting place.

So, for 30 minutes, we waited in line for our voucher to Dallas' finest roach motel while the desk agents were laughing amongst themselves and taking their sweet, sweet time. Then we were required to get our baggage.

I exaggerate not. The first bag from our flight - the flight that never left the ground and from the plane that was parked 200 yards from baggage claim - did not arrive for 2 hours. Our bags were not among the lucky. And notwithstanding that 20 other people were without luggage, baggage claim insisted that all bags were delivered. Baggage claim told us to take it up with ticketing, upstairs. Ticketing told us to take it up with baggage claim, downstairs. One person said the bags were at D16. Another person said the bags were at the other end of the terminal at D30. Up and down, across the terminal, attempting reasoned and rational conversation which evolved into emotional appeals and finally, profanity, I easily clocked 5 miles until... 4 hours after our flight was cancelled, Beto's bag finally appeared. But not my bag. Of course not. But you knew that would happen, didn't you? Let's revisit Beto's joy, shall we...

Back to the ticket agent who offered the sage advice to visit every baggage carousel in the airport. Riiiiiight. Her supervisor put a locate on my bag and an hour later (at 1 a.m.) - five hours total from when our flight was cancelled - still no bag.

Having had enough, I resigned myself to the inescapable conclusion that my luggage was lost. The next logical step? A claim for lost luggage. But as evidenced to this point, American Airlines does not operate on the standard form of logic that allows most humans to thrive on planet Earth. AA wouldn't let me make a claim because... wait for it... we were not at our final destination. You're kidding me, right? No one was at their final destination ... the entire flipping country shut down! For all we knew, Dallas WAS our final destination. See my reaction below...Juvenile? Yes. Cathartic? Also yes.

The agent blamed me for the problem.

So, off to the hotel.

Total dump. In the process of undressing in a fit of rage, my passport flew out of my back pocket and into the toilet. That's right. After harassing Beto for the absurdity of keeping his passport in a plastic bag, mine ended up floating in the toilet. After drying the passport with the hair dryer, I exercised remarkable powers of deduction in determining that the hotel sheets were not likely clean, and opened Beto's bag looking for makeshift pajamas sufficient to cover every square inch of skin, only to find that the majority of his clothes looked like this...

American Airlines left his bag in the rain.

We were starving, so after laying out his clothes to dry, we chowed on the only food we had - a box of chocolates we brought as a gift. Thirsty, we quickly found out that the vending machine was broken. Nothing to drink but crappy Dallas tap water. Went to sleep and woke up with bug bites. No lie. Probably the same bugs that ate these holes through the curtains:

The next day, we tried to get on a flight, but couldn't. So, we decided to make the best of it. Eschewing my typical pessimistic M.O., I shouted "lemonade out of lemons." We booked a room at the swanky hotel airport (and actually checked in VERY early! Hooray!), and found out that American Airlines actually, finally, 16 hours after the cancellation, found my luggage. Of course, my clothes were also drenched.

Here's my $7 bargain meal of desperation...

Things were looking up, notwithstanding that we were stuck in Dallas. I hate Texas.

We then attempted to get seat assignments for Sunday's flight. We waited in line, and were the last two to be helped when American Airlines shut down the ticket counter and instructed us to go to the other end of the terminal for assistance. As you might have imagined, we were not pleased and went on to drown our anger in a crappy franchise restaurant that shall go unnamed to preserve any credibility we might have.

Finally, Sunday evening arrived. Boarding was delayed for 40 minutes so they could "clean the plane." After boarding, we sat on the runway for another 40 minutes - thereby spending what was - coincidentally enough - the same exact amount of time we had for our layover in Sao Paulo to catch our flight to Natal. We knew then that we'd miss our connection.

Cursed. Cursed. Cursed.

We arrived in Sao Paulo with 10 minutes to spare when we were pulled out of line. "Hallelujah," I shouted! "They are going to move us to the head of the immigration and customs lines so we can catch our flight." Nope. American Airlines decided for us that we would not make our connection, and also decided to rebook us on a 6 pm flight (it was 9:15 am, for your point of reference), out of another airport in Sao Paulo. Now, I don't know if you know anything about this fine city, but not only is it HUGE, it is also so crime ridden that Beto requires an escort and a bullet proof car to travel. Like bloody hell I was going to hop on an airport shuttle that has "American Tourists to Rob and Murder" written all over it in ink that only the robbers and murderers of American tourists could read.

Recognizing the conundrum, and the fact that that next flight was 9 hours away, Beto asked American to endorse a ticket on a non-affiliated airline - the only other airline in Brazil. Departing from company policy by demonstrating a brief glimpse of human compassion, they agreed. So, with an ounce of hope, we waded through immigration and customs, and made our way to the other airline - GOL - the equivalent of the ValuJet that plummetted into the Everglades several years ago. The flight to Natal was scheduled to leave in 45 minutes, so we were understandably elated to have found it. Only problem - American failed to properly endorse the ticket, and GOL would not take it. With only 45 minutes to spare, there was no time to go back to the American counter for the proper endorsement, so we just bought a whole new damned ticket to get from Sao Paulo to Natal. After $3000 for the original ticket and several hundred dollars in Dallas, what's another $300, right?

As an aside, for those of you traveling to Brazil, you will be happy to note, as evidenced by this sign, that for your safety, the country prohibits weapons, bombs, incendiaries, knives, and... frozen fish... on its flights.

Got to the gate to then find out that the GOL flight was actually delayed for more than an hour, and so we would have had time to get American to endorse the ticket, had we known.

Welcome to our first two days of vacation.