Christmas spirit, in a nutshell.

While trying to come up with project ideas that can keep 7 year-old hands busy for an hour, be somewhat educational, and cost virtually nothing to make, I find myself reminiscing about the things I made as a kid. A wooden clothes pin doll topped with an acorn hat, beads strung on safety pins and traded in friendship (which, by the way, are still fun to make but its so not cool to trade them, let alone wear them on your sneakers).

Maybe its the teaching, maybe its the move 1700 miles from home, or the things I find discarded at thrift stores, but I've found myself reminiscing even more about those little handmade treasures this holiday season. Bells fashioned from cups and pipe cleaners, decorated with foil stars; popsicle sticks-turned stars, carefully wrapped in yarn; one-of-a-kind snowflakes cut from coffee filters. It's these sweet, simple ornaments, made from toss-ables and scraps, that truly represent what the holidays are all about.

For Dave's parents, its a very special house crafted from a milk carton that is hung on the tree each and every year.



For me? It's a plastic baby Jesus, sleeping on a bed of golden tinsel, tucked inside half of a walnut shell. I'm pretty sure its a Catholic and Sunday School standard. I love its simplicity, its tiny scale. And I love the contrast of the small baby, asleep in a humble half-shell, surrounded by Vegas-worthy tinsel.

Whether you celebrate the baby that's nestled inside, the little hands that made it, or the memories that come with it, we hope you find your Christmas this season too.

Rainy season is upon us.
Having lived the past 30+ years with snowy winters, we certainly don't mind the rain or the 55º temperature that comes with it. It does, however, make for some pretty soggy weekend adventures. Which in turn puts a damper on our blogging activities.

Between the errands, wet dog walks, and finally understanding the benefit of fog lights, we are continuing to carve our own little nook in the Pacific Northwest - and we'll be back real soon to tell you all about it.


(Ewe. On the way to Eugene.)

Self-portrait taken in Central Park. Obviously.

We were in NYC about a week ago. While a usual day-trip for us tends to end with anywhere from 300 - 800 photos, our 5 days in the big city left us with a paltry 100 or so. I credit it to being in a place where your entire focus is trying to get where you want to go without getting trampled.

So, we are left with some nice shots of the Brooklyn Bridge at night and the one shown above - the only photo of the two of us taken on the trip. Not to be confused with the self-portrait shown below, taken early this summer on the coast. Obviously.

Meet Fin.

This little bundle of amazingness was born to our dear friends, Becky and Francisco, in late September. I was lucky enough to spend some time with the new family last week.

Babies are relatively new for us. With each new arrival I still get that, "How can we be old enough to be parents?!" feeling. Just like I have a hard time accepting that our friends can be, and are, doctors, dentists, teachers, etc. Maybe its because of the history, of knowing them when they couldn't be doctors or teachers. Or maybe it's the realization that, at 30, I do not possess the worldliness and wisdom I thought all doctors, teachers, well, adults, had.

And I have a hunch that the feeling will never really go away - just merely replaced with more milestones.

While meeting Fin proved to be another lesson in time passing, it was also quick to remind me of time present. Yes, we are 30-years-old-enough to be parents. But we are also 30-years-young-enough to break a collarbone while skateboarding on a half-pipe.

Here's to Fin, his beautiful new parents, a speedy mend (Francisco), and lessons learned while in Milwaukee, WI.

Cheers

to us... and to five happy years!

(Photo taken by Mrs. Ewald Sr. at Cannon Beach. September 2007)

Fall visits our alley.

Their plumage might not be as flashy, but we think the evergreens are pretty spectacular too.

Random Question #2: The Ascot.

They call them random questions for a reason, I suppose.

One night, while checking the spelling of a word, we started actually seeing the illustrations speckled throughout our paperback dictionary. Where before they had fallen into the visual noise, small drawings of castanets, bongos, peanut plants and the diamondback rattlesnake seemed to leap from the pages. We were happy to have stumbled on to our favorite of all the dictionary illustrations - The Ascot - for a variety of reasons.

And seeing the gleam in the ascotted man's eye made us question - How does a dictionary choose the definitions that should include illustrations? The number of instruments illustrated suggests that there's a method; though the variety throughout the book made us think it was completely random. Perhaps certain words require more than other words to give them meaning.
Could/would you illustrate a verb?

These are the questions that, in their own small way, keep us up at night.

Week One

I recently started teaching for an after-school program at a local elementary school. One of the classes I teach is "Dance Team" for 2nd & 3rd graders.

Last week was the first week of the program, and although I wasn't sure what to expect, I figured as long as I kept them moving everything would be okay. After all, I have over 15 years of dance lessons to fall back on. (It's only been, what, a mere 10 years since I last stepped foot in a dance studio... save for some line dancing at a dorm "mixer" and a well-intentioned Community Ed Tap class.)

Dance Team: Week One.

As I was changing CDs, one of my dancers stood next to me and asked, "Is the next song going to be good or bad?"

I replied, "It depends on what you like."

She paused for a minute, trying to think of a way to rephrase her question because CLEARLY I did not understand what she had asked.

She then said, "Is the next song going to be good or like the last song?"

She's turning up the charm...

because she's met her match:


(Miss Sofia - age one.)

There's a showdown at our house - and the cuteness is going to fly.
They might be in different weight classes, but they are both pros.

Game on!

A man, a dog, and a shipwreck.

Just your average Sunday.

(Fort Stevens State Park at low tide.)

Random Question #1

On our drive home from the coast this evening, we decided it might be time to create a random question page of a journal or something. Between the two of us we'll come up with random things we'd love to know about the world.

I think it is our hope to find answers to these questions through you, our loyal blog readers.

With that, question #1:
(asked while eating a quick dinner out) - Do you think that Pearl Jam has actually made any new fans? It seems that everybody who ever liked them whatsoever was sort of grandfathered in. But they're still releasing albums - are there any NEW fans out there?

Jump!

For those of you who think the life of an Ewald is all work and no party, to you we say, "Ha!". The proof is in the jump.

Some people jog, some stroll hand-in-hand, others build castles or splash in the surf. The Ewalds? We jump.

There's no better way to party than a good ol' jump on the beach... except maybe capturing a good ol' jump on the beach on film.





(Taken in Manzanita, OR and Long Beach, WA.)

Try it for yourself. We dare you not to have fun.

(Just don't be discouraged if your jumps do not have the same athletic showmanship as our jumps. Sure, we make it look easy, but there's a lot to consider: height, form, facial expression...)

Work hard. Party hard. Jump high.

Be still my heart.

For those of you who do not check our Flickr accounts on a regular basis (see links on the right), I encourage you to take a peek at my beautiful husband's recent addition. Consider it a little gift from us to you, to start your weekend off right.

Its hard to pick a favorite, but there is just something about armpit hair that gets me every time...

(Third strip from the left is my winner.)

I am a lucky, lucky lady.

I'm a pepper!

A fruit of our labor.

This little jalapeno is one of the plants we have growing on our sunny balcony. It will soon be sacrificed to the guacamole gods.

We are growing just a few of the edible variety: jalapeno, rosemary, and sweet basil. (Thanks in part to past experiences of negligent gardening, such as a tomato plant that grew just one tomato, which upon never being picked, became sundried.)

The rest of our fruits are of the floral kind - not edible, but still quite visually tasty.

Thinking of MPLS

Hello all,

Somebody at work asked me if I had heard about the bridge collapse in Minneapolis today. At the time, I hadn't; however, it quickly caused a sense of panic in us both. Because our cell phones (our only phones) are based in Minnesota, they are jammed as I'm sure many of yours are, with people trying to get in touch with loved ones.

We've heard from many people, but are hoping to hear from more that all is ok. As fluke of a tragedy as this is, there is a real worry that someone close will happen to have been driving on the bridge at that particular moment. . .

If you're out there, let us know. Our thoughts are with everybody back there as we're glued to the TV. Hope everybody is ok...

Fluttering Pancakes

One of our favorite finds has been a sushi restaurant in the little downtown of our very own 'burb. Its nothing fancy - small, sometimes a little stuffy, and located across the street from juvi hall. What it may lack in grandeur, it makes up for in charm. It is located in the basement of an old library, and when we are lucky, we get to sit in the back room, whose walls are lined with rows and rows of sake bottles. And the sushi? Phenominal.

We have made a pact that each time we go, we need to try at least one new menu item. In addition to our beloved rolls of spicy tuna and artful avacado, we ordered a Japanese Pancake during our last visit. Not a pancake of your bisquick and syrup variety, but rather one made of scallions, yams, shredded dried shrimp, eggs, and flour. What arrived at our table, on a pale blue plate, was a small, flat cake that was pink in color. On top of the cake were delicate, paper-thin onion shavings, gently fluttering, as if encouraged to dance by a subtle breeze. Magically, the onions continued to flutter throughout our whole meal.

While watching our choreographed cake, I realized I was witnessing something special. For the same $6 elsewhere, we could've gotten 'tater skins or melted cheese sandwiched between two tortillas with a ladle of salsa up top. Or the chef could've tossed a handful of chopped scallions on top, which really wouldn't have changed the flavor. Instead, the time and effort was taken to make our little $6 cake dance.

Other fluttering pancake moments we are celebrating:


Happy birthday to my brother, John. He turns four years older than me, just as he does every year on this day. For a little over one month, I was one year closer to catching up.

And happy birth day to baby Eli, born on July 23 to our dear friends, Dave and Amy.

We hope you find fluttering pancake moments around you too.

A New PerSPECtive!

Blogs are made to be neglected. That's what grandma always used to say at least. She's always been wise ahead of her time. Sorry for the silence...

So this was meant to be the catch up blog entry wherein I discuss the 4th of July and how, like the Baby Jesus leaving Christmas in favor of loot, the meaning behind the holiday has really lost its luster. Forget independence, I, alongside all of our McDonald-eating neighbors apparently, just want to drink Coors Light and blow some stuff up (by stuff, I mean Freedom Fountain, Screaming Tigers, and TNT: Super Bullet: MAXIMUM POWDER ALLOWED BY LAW). The more burn marks left in the otherwise lovely park, the better. Trash cans? Flip them! Garbage was made to be littered. Celebrate freedom by freely destroying the stuff around you.

But then I got to thinking, "You know - that's what every day is like for me - I should think of a better blog entry."

Which is when it hit me: The new glasses!

It has been quite some time since I heard anybody snicker "Can you hear me now?" as I walked by (the joke, apparently, is that I look like the Verizon guy's brother or something like that. I don't know). Many more years have passed since I was called "Weeeezzzzerrrrr!!!" (all the band members apparently). In an effort to revive some form of public mockery, I decided to take the leap and purchase some new specs. They're not too far of a jump from the last ones, but enough for detail-noticers to take note. I'm hoping Portland pulls through with cries of JARVIS, but I'm not holding my breath.

All of which leads me, quite conveniently, to my doctor's visit today.

Last week, I had a momentary bit of shortness-of-breath. Had I been extreme archery kayaking (as is typical for my Fridays), I wouldn't have thought twice; however, sitting at my desk in the basement of North, I found it slightly strange. So like most folks, I googled it to find out what the hell was going on inside my body.

You'll find it surprising that the internet told me I was likely having a heart attack and that I should call 911 immediately.

I suspected that was a bit of an over-reaction in my situation and opted to just keep tabs on what was going on. Of course, once you're looking for it, there's tons of things wrong with your body. Do my toes always feel like that? Can I even feel my toes? Is my right cheek drooping? You get the point - it is a slippery slope to complete self-anguish. That is, after all, what the internet is for.

Very long story short, I made a doctor's appointment.

After the initial blood pressure check, the nurse, as she walked out of the room, pointed to a robe and quickly said - "Take all your clothes off for the doctor. He'll be in shortly." It could be that I'm just not so much a hospital person. It could also be that smocks these days must be created for the lowest common denominator, both large and small extremes.

There's just a certain humiliation that comes along with being 31 years old, completely naked, and trying to decide if you should fashion a disposable cloth-like robe-ish thing frontward (tie in front) or backwards (tie in back like a middle-school art smock). Add to this the potential pressure of a doctor walking in on you at any given moment and we're talking real fun times.

For what its worth, I opted for tying in front. Not sure if I was right, but it worked in a way.

The doctor arrives to discuss this alleged shortness-of-breath. It was fairly early on that I recognized his language kept revolving around "healthy young man like yourself" and "quite fit" (on a daily hour-by-hour basis, I convince myself I'm neither, so his complements didn't go unnoticed). This was all well and good.

It was when he leaned me back on the table, was prodding various points on my chest and said "I'm sorry, but I just have to ask - where did you get your glasses?"

D: "Oh, LensCrafters..."

Doc: "They are so ni...OH BURBERRY! EXCUSE ME!!!" (it was this line that my once authoritative doctor struck me as an older, fatter Buster from Arrested Development).

D: "LOL. OMG..."

Doc: "Can I try them on?"

(Keep in mind, I'm currently wearing an Ewald-fashioned robe-like disposable thing and a napkin on my bits)
D: "Umm...sure?"

So he tried on my glasses—That's the important thing.

I won't even tell you about when he thought he was comforting me by looking me dead in my fashionably-outfitted eyes and saying "A healthy man your age, we typically don't do the test." Accompanying the test was his rubber-gloved, pointed index finger moving at least two feet straight toward the ceiling, twisting 180 degrees along the way. Up to this point, I honestly hadn't even considered the test; however, the two foot motion seemed to have much more to do with a pastry chef stuffing his fabulous cannolis than with my shortness-of-breath. On its own, I'm fine with the test, but after the glasses...

And now the cannolis.

I'm really not sure what that means or how I feel about it in retrospect (I'm toying with "healthy violation", but haven't settled on anything yet). He did, after inspecting himself in my specs, say that they looked better on me. Which brings me here to the point of this long-overdue post: I have new glasses that look better on me than my aged, fat Arrested Development Buster doctor.

Call me crazy, but in this post-9/11, they-hate-our-freedom world, that's something that I'm going to hold onto. Almost cause for blowin'-shit-up-celebration.

Miss Independent

Patsy uses her holiday to snooze on the couch, catching a much-needed break from her hectic schedule. We hope you enjoy a much-needed break from your hectic schedules too.

Look ma, we got friends!

Our first visitors! Becky and Francisco (and baby Fin in utero), our friends since the UWEC, visited us at the front and tail end of their West coast vacation. Kind of like a BOGO but without the Payless blisters.

We ventured to Horsetail Falls in the Columbia River Gorge, sampled (devoured) sweets from Saint Cupcake in Portland, walked along Cannon Beach and Hug Point, and tried a couple different takes on Oregon's beloved Macaroni & Cheese. Plus some local beer for good measure.

We were treated to some Kiko-isms, such as adding "f*ckin'" or "god damn", to emphasize just how good something really is - microbrews, chili-burgers, and natural wonders alike. Becky let me touch her tummy in exchange for smoked salmon with cream cheese and a little Brad Pitt (Ocean's 13).

Familiar faces and a little piece of home. It was so f*ckin' good to see them.

Greetings from big cheese wedge.

This weekend we had a dilemma – finish organizing the garage or head to the coast? We did have new Oregon State Park Passes to break in…

We headed to Tillamook, OR (known for their delightful assortment of cheese that can be found at your local dairy case) with plans to check out the beaches and parks in the surrounding areas. One of those beaches was Oceanside. Within a few minutes we had both claimed it as “our favorite Oregon beach. So far.” Who can argue with picturesque seaweed, large haystack rocks protruding from the ocean, a large population of puffins, and a small tunnel carved through a cliff that leads to a secluded piece of beach heaven?

Further down the map, we pulled off on a wayside along the road to turn the car around. The little wayside ended up having a pretty spectacular view of Oceanside, the bay, and some State Park coast. While at the little wayside, another car pulled up. Having seen too many movies where seclusion in nature turns horribly wrong, coupled with an over-active imagination, I quickly sized-up our new wayside companions. While weighing our fight or flight options, I noticed their car had Minnesota plates. And the young man climbing out of the car was wearing a St. Cloud State t-shirt. Wait a second… We are from Minnesota too!!!

After establishing our midwestern bond, the mother of this mother/son duo (mother is originally from Portland) had her son retrieve a “must have” from their car. She was prepared to introduce us to our new state and had just the thing to do it – a pictorial map on the back of a laminated, souvenir placemat! She excitedly explained that this map represented whole state of Oregon and highlighted scenic landmarks found around the state. Instead of pesky labeled roads and listed cities found on “mainstream” maps, this map focused on landmarks - each represented with a convenient, flash card-like illustration. For example, let’s say you want to visit the lobster (which could single-handedly wipe out Manhattan, given its scale in comparison to the lighthouse), simply drive south of the cow and hang a right at the smiling otter. Minnesota mother pointed out that our travels that day had taken us from the big cheese wedge (Tillamook), past the three brown blobs (Oceanside), down to the slouching pelican (Pacific City). Plot your route AND protect your table from spills – pure genius.

On our way back to the city, we stopped at the Tillamook factory for some much-hyped ice cream (Dave had Oregon strawberry, I had caramel toffee crunch), while we made plans for future trips to jumbo-size pear, happy lumberjack, and other scenic characters this state has in store.

Good questirn.
(Pint-size philosophers are taking it to the sidewalks.)

Photos from Newport

Just a small post to say we're still alive. Patsy went to the beach, chased bubbles and barked at sailboats. It was fun.

Wine. It's everywhere out here... Target, the grocery stores (one has 4 times as much wine as produce.) Not only is it readily available, it's cheap. So we've taken to drinking it almost every night. A glass of wine with dinner is very European, right? Plus, we are assimilating to our new surroundings, so naturally we should be discovering the subtle differences of Oregonian valleys and grapes.

While sipping wine at night out on the veranda (that's European for "porch") might feel continental, we wonder at the rate of a glass every night, will "European" soon be replaced with "wine gut?"

Now, before you make plans of poking our bellies in hopes of a joyful "coo...", let me tell you that we have plans to prevent our potential pooch with, well, our pooch.

While Miss Patsy has had no trouble locating and quickly choking down various discarded chicken bones in the park across the street (4 of them today!), her deteriorating back is no match for the many stairs in our new home. She simply props her front legs on the first step and then turns around to look at us with a, "Well, I'm waiting," in her eyes (Note from Dave - I hear her voice as Rasputia from Norbit). Being the obedient humans that we are, one of us scoops her up and carries her up the flight of stairs. Or both flights if we're lucky. Yep, this is what we fondly call, "Ewald Crosstraining." You know in the World's Strongest Man Competition when they haul 300 pound steel barrels from point a to point b? It's kind of like that, but our barrel is a furry 40 pound beagle/basset with chicken bone breath.

Haulin' pooch and poppin' cork. That's life as an Ewald in Oregon.

Part One: Manpris.

Last week we went to our first show in search of a little piece of home via Chicago's Sea and Cake. The show was held in an old ballroom with an old wood floor that bounced whenever someone walked by and made you wonder if risking your life was worth an encore. While I wished it was Archer Prewitt who was singing, Dave was nodding his head to the beat. It's a subtle nod that most people might not even notice, but I knew it meant he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

At first glance, it felt like the room was filled with people just like us. But after careful observation a few details surfaced, reminding us that we were indeed in a new place:

• "You're doing great!" In addition to actual song requests, listeners yelled genuine words of encouragement.

• Several men were spotted sporting "manpris." Not to be confused with the one-cuff-rolled-to-avoid-bike-chain-grease look, but rather the double-cuff-let-my-ankles-cool. While there is a slight chance that fleece may be in Dave's future, the day he dons manpris is the day I come home to find him tie-dying our bed sheets.

• On occasion, various listeners would break out with a small solo display of gymnastic prowess. No rhythmic flags or extensive floor routines. More of a, "I love this band so much I must do a round-off!"

All in all, it was a nice little night in our new city. But we couldn't help but wish that tucked somewhere on the tour bus was a little Pavelich stow-away.


Part Two: Gallagher Hobos vs. Nubian Dairy Goats.

We knew there'd be hobos. I mean, every town has one or two hanging around-some nice, some not so nice. Our fondest dreams could never have anticipated the multiple, joyous, colorful Gallagher Hobos. While we don't have photographic proof (yet), there have been many Gallagher Hobo sightings in our short two weeks here.

The moustache, the loud clothes, the high-on-life smile, and receding hippie hairline-everything adds up to a perfect middle lower class hobo. I wish I could properly express the excitement of our discovery. You'll just have to come out to visit. We'll bring the watermelon.

The other big news: Nubian Dairy Goats.

Though we were quite excited to see a farm of Nubian Dairy Goats a short drive from our lil' townhouse on the prairie, a quick Wikipedia search taught us that the Nubian Dairy goat, for all it's long-named splendor, is the most popular goat in the United States.

Other highlights of the week:

• A young girl telling Saralyn that Patsy's head was "like a globe."

• Realizing that she was sort of right–it is like a velvet globe.

• Hearing, and repeating the song Pop Lock and Drop It over and over and over and over (but just that catchy chorus part).

• Having a romantic dinner at home while watching yet another post on the amazing R. Kelly TV.

• Receiving, watching, and guest starring in the new Found Footage Festival DVD. You should really order one for your whole family.

That's pretty much a full week. We're guessing, and hoping, that life is going to be full of these sorts of promising discoveries from here on out. Of course, we'll be here to blog all about it.

Everybody kept telling me - you NEED sunglasses for the big trip. While I believed them all, it was a bit low on the priority list of things to do (e.g. sell house, pack truck, etc.)

So I waited until we were between houses for a week or so. They can do glasses in an hour these days right?

Long long story short, and very true to the spirit of being an eye doctor's son, I ended up rockin' these Walgreen's Solar Shades for the trip. They got the job done in style if you ask me. Oddly enough, one of the lenses popped out of the solar shades the day after we arrived.

(note from Saralyn: Solar shades. Unshaven face. Fleet Farm trucker's cap in the car... Sorry ladies, he's taken.)

I'm also very happy to announce that one of my favorite stars has started his very own You Tube channel. Since launching, he's posted two diary clips, and I know that there's so many more to come. Please do yourself the favor of visiting R. Kelly TV.

At any rate, there you go. We've yet to see rain here in Portland, so the plan is to get some real sunglasses fairly soon. Aviators. Like Tom Cruise in Top Gun.

Fantastick.

I'd say the usual response to "We are moving to Portland!" was, "Hope you like rain." Given that it was over 60 degrees and sunny for the fourth day in a row, perhaps a more fitting response would have been, "Hope you like ticks."

We knew of the rain, of the inflated gas prices, but what no one warned of us was the ticks. Turns out the Pacific Northwest has quite the population, and the little blood-suckers have thrown us our very own "tick"er tape parade! With tick combs and dog spray in hand, we are now armed and ready. Squeamish, but ready.

Despite our new eight-legged neighbors, we are getting on just fine. The cardboard boxes are slowly disappearing. Each day we seem to branch out of our neighborhood just a bit more. With each branch, there's a slightly different view of the not-so-distant Mt. Hood reminding us that we really have changed scenery more than a bit.

Some items to check off the to-do list:

• Try to visit, and get lost going to the "closest" Home Depot.

• Pulled two ticks out of the same dog hole.

• Devised multiple ways to make those punk kid neighbors stop playing their stupid game of banging a playground ball against their garage from 3:30 pm until dusk (admittedly, this is mostly Dave. "Damn kids! I'll pop their damn ball after they go to bed...")

• Found, and unpacked, all of Dave's sock collection (who really needs packing peanuts anyway?)

• Discovered that Target sells wine, and bought one of their fine "cube" varieties. ("Cube" is hip Marketing-speak for "Franzia.")

• Found it funny that K Records owner, Calvin Johnson, actually is playing in Portland tonight.

• Created multiple reasons to visit the best organicish grocery store in the world, New Seasons Market (damn - we're out of pencil lead - I think we need to go to New Seasons). We finally found veggie chorizo!

All of this is to say that we're slowly spreading our Midwestern wings a bit. Oh, and checking them for ticks before we go to bed.

How the West was Fun!

Transformations happen so unexpectedly sometimes. It was only yesterday that Patsy was rolling around the front yard not yet anticipating the 4 days of travel ahead of her.

And it was only yesterday that I was the Dave that everybody knew before.

But today I found myself with a new handle (Cobra Man), 3-day stubble (about a 3 am shadow), cheap plastic sunglass things that fit over my RX glasses (yes, like the old people), licking limited edition Dorito dust off my fingers (Smokey Cheddar BBQ), drumming a Zeppelin song on the steering wheel in western Minnesota. I’m not sure how these things work.

Saralyn seems real normal all things considered. She’s been taking full advantage of the 75 MPH speed limit throughout most of North Dakota.

Patsy seems to be exacting some sort of revenge on us today. Just before we left, she weaseled past the baby gate meant to keep her apart from the cat. Once on the other side, she ran directly to the cat’s food, ate the vast majority of it before she was dragged away from the prize. Not content with her regular meal, her bonus cat meal, and her medication peanut butter – she also decided to take down the two bran muffins Saralyn had put in her purse for the trip.

She’s sleepy now.

Because we’re driving in separate cars, I’ve had the luxury of listening to as much bad radio as I want along the way. My favorite moments:

• A radio DJ legitimately excited to announce an Amy Grant song that wasn’t “Baby Baby.”

• The same DJ announcing the Rod Stewart song that I don’t know the name of “Play some of your old Motown records – the kind we listened to blah blah blah blaah blahhh…”

• Listening intently to Paul Harvey to find out what the rest of the story was.

• Listening even more intently to a local Christian call in show where a caller started yelling at the host’s read of a particular Bible passage.

Anyway, that’s day 1. There’s some photos to be posted once we arrive. For now, we’re putting the Q in the Quality Inn – Dickenson North Dakota style. More when we have free wireless again.

A New Leash on Life

There’s a “sold” sign in the front yard. Our house is slowly filling with cardboard boxes. The snow shovels have been given away. And Patsy dons a brand new leash, ready for adventure.

The Ewalds are moving to Oregon!
Portland, Oregon to be exact.

Dave has accepted a Senior Art Director position at North, an ad agency in downtown Portland. Couple that with moody weather, an hour’s drive to the ocean, a passionate music scene, microbrews, and the best lattes we’ve ever had, and we simply couldn’t resist.

Saralyn will continue her current job from afar, and has big plans to make some art, take some classes, and eventually apply for Grad school.

Patsy has plans to resume her position on the couch, learn to “go” outside even if it’s raining, and seek out dead things to roll in on the beach.

While we wish to say good-bye to all of our friends and family in person, the days are flying by and our move date keeps getting closer and closer. Know that we will be in touch soon. And feel free to follow along with our adventure right here. (Who knows what a drive straight across North Dakota has in store?!)