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Adventure…Everyday

I’ve been thinking about adventure, lately.  Like, how in the soul and mind of a person there exists a deep need to discover new things and experience life at its basest levels, down in the dirt.  A lot of people, at least.  Then, I think that, as I type this in my office, in a comfy chair, on a computer…I hope I am not losing touch with real adventure.

With the onslaught of the internet and the information-at-your-fingertips age, there is less of a need to get out and see things, do things, since all I need to do if I want to know about a thing—say killdeer and their nesting habits—is to spin up the ol’ interwebs and ask Siri or Google or Alexa.  I don’t even have to leave the house.  Which is sad, in a way.

Forty years ago, if you wanted to know something about something, at the very least you probably had to leave your house and head to a library (that’s a building with tons of books) where you had better know how to use the Dewey Decimal system (that’s a cataloguing system for books), and you’d better have some time to spend because it was going to take a while.  Or, you could talk to someone who knows about the thing.  As a last resort, you could put on your boots-made-for-walkin’ and hike into the woods or downtown or whathaveyou.

One hundred and forty years ago, you might have a library nearby if you lived a town near some Carnegies.  Most likely, you found out stuff for yourself.  So, most every day was an adventure on some scale.  Maybe the average Thursday didn’t involve building a house out of materials you dragged out of the woods yourself, or shooting a bear to protect your livestock, or shooting outlaws, or taking the train out West to stake your claim (I’ve been reading a lot of Louis L’Amour stories recently…in case you were wondering).  Or, maybe it did.  I wasn’t there.

Anyway, I’ve been feeling kind of convicted lately about how little adventure is in my own life, and how I need to do more to bring some adventure into my kids’ lives.  Sure, it can’t/won’t be too similar to the Great Adventure of the American Old West, or going on a Safari somewhere on the African continent, but it can be something like finding a killdeer nest in the backyard.  Or, learning to skip rocks into a lake.  Or, even something as cliché as flying a kite.  I guess it’s really about the attitude, right?  Cultivating an adventurous heart.  Teaching my kids to be curious about life outside Netflix and these four walls.

Of course, one has to avoid the trappings of social media, and kill the feels of “Is this good enough for Instagram?” and “I only got 4 likes on Facebook” and “everyone on Twitter hates me now.”  In fact, who cares.  I need to live my life for ones I love, not to entertain the internet.

It was my son’s last day of kindergarten today, so we took him out to breakfast.  He wanted to wander the docks by the river, but I needed to get back to work, so we had to raincheck that.  At least he wanted to check it out…a good sign.  Maybe I’ll try to drag him on a bike ride later this evening.

Guess I’d better start planning some small and big adventures for this summer.  I want my kids to remember that we tried to do cool things, made the effort to see life from a different lens than a TV or smartphone screen—you know, like the lenses on our eyeballs.

Don’t worry; I’ll post photos.

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I don’t know…something about being a weird, awkward kid.

Blog Eat Blog

I was a weird kid.  (I was going to write “I think I was a weird kid,” but I’ll just own it.  That is one of those things that if you have to ask, the answer is always yes.)

Anyway, as I was saying, I was weird.  During recess, I would run around pretending to be an alien.  In class, I would do weird things to get attention…which usually resulted in some sort of attention from the principal (i.e. “What is wrong with you?”).  I’m still not quite sure what was wrong with me.  Way too creative for the box into which they were trying to cram me, maybe?  Well, generally speaking, my weirdness didn’t seem to help me much, other than to be occasionally humiliated in front of my entire class; by “occasionally,” I mean “all the time.”

Once in Mrs. Kirby’s third-grade class (that’s Grade Three for any Canucks…

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The Memories..., Uncategorized

I don’t know…something about being a weird, awkward kid.

I was a weird kid.  (I was going to write “I think I was a weird kid,” but I’ll just own it.  That is one of those things that if you have to ask, the answer is always yes.)

Anyway, as I was saying, I was weird.  During recess, I would run around pretending to be an alien.  In class, I would do weird things to get attention…which usually resulted in some sort of attention from the principal (i.e. “What is wrong with you?”).  I’m still not quite sure what was wrong with me.  Way too creative for the box into which they were trying to cram me, maybe?  Well, generally speaking, my weirdness didn’t seem to help me much, other than to be occasionally humiliated in front of my entire class; by “occasionally,” I mean “all the time.”

Once in Mrs. Kirby’s third-grade class (that’s Grade Three for any Canucks reading this), I had a rather embarrassing and weird episode(s) involving the preparation for, and execution of, an in-class Christmas play.  I thought I’d be receiving some assistance in designing the reindeer costume I was expected to don (gaily, I suppose), but they only helped the blind kid.  The nerve.  So, the reindeer I tried to throw together in 15 minutes looked as if it had been run over by Santa’s sleigh…repeatedly.  To top it all off, when it came time for me to deliver my (single) line, I yelled something incoherent (i.e. Hurrrkkkkkaalllaaaaaaaabeeeeeee), and bolted for the door.  Uh…I don’t know.  That still makes me blush, to this day.  I will fill in the other details in a future post.

In fourth-grade (Canadians: that’s Grade—oh forget it) one wintry day, our teacher Mr. Bowns asked us if we knew what “coping” was.  I raised my hand enthusiastically and told everyone about a gray powder that was, apparently, highly addictive and a really bad idea.  The slack jaws and the stares should have clued me into the fact that the teacher had not asked about “cocaine” after all.  Chalk up another point for my shame.  Later, my friend Jason was kind enough to inform me that cocaine was white, not gray, and only made me feel like a more complete idiot.  Oh, the hot tears etching arroyos into my reddened cheeks…  Probably more on that in a later post, too.

The point is: Just between you and me…I think I have always felt awkward in many social situations involving crowds or classrooms or meetings or jobs or other people, or alone with my thoughts.  Did all my adolescent weirdness cause me to tend toward being an introvert, or vice versa?  Again…I don’t know.  Maybe telling the world will be some cathartic exercise, resulting in my hard candy shell breaking off for all humanity to see the real me.

Huh.  On second thought, that seems weird.

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Shots, The Memories..., Uncategorized

Flotsam and Fotos (April, 2011)

In celebration of making it to year 4 of our marriage, the enchanting Mrs. Anthonderek and I spent a few days on the Long Beach peninsula, as is our custom.  One day, we visited tiny Waikiki Beach in Cape Disappointment State Park.  I found some random items stuffed into/onto the rocks, and the iPhone was handy.

pallet

Pallet

sea't

Sea't

not going anywhere

Tired

shoe

Only a shoe--no foot--I checked

tetherball?

Tetherball?

No, I didn’t only take pictures of junk washed ashore.  As proof, I submit more random photos from our little holiday.

Lagoon

On the hike up to a lighthouse

south end of Long Beach

South end of Long Beach

walked from the rock

Footprints followed me

waikiki beach

Waikiki Beach (HDR)

Old dock in Astoria, OR

sunset

Sunset on Long Beach, Wa (HDR)

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Flannel is just alright with me.

Growing up in Alaska, some of my earliest fashion (if you can call it that when you’re 6 years old) memories are of flannel shirts.  The Western-style button-ups with the snaps were a particular favorite, being as I wasn’t as prone to ruin the garment when I tore it from my body forcefully, à la The Incredible Hulk.  Of course, that practice was rather frowned upon by my mother–she preferred the normal Bruce Banner over the Hulk-y version.

Now living in the Seattle area, I still love a good, soft, flannel shirt, properly styled, with good jeans or khakis.  It’s Autumn out there, after all.  Why not be warm and well-dressed?

That is all.  Be good to each other out there.

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