Around the Bend

Uncle George in the shadow of Mt. Bachelor.

Climbing Mt. Tumalo with Martin, Robin and George.

All dressed up to hit the town.

Crossing the Deschutes at the Old Mill District.

The end of a long, hard day in the high desert.

Breakfast Chez Georges.

An order of Muffinhead.

Handling with care.

The Tongue Family.

Exploring the foliage.

Running the Deschutes

Before arriving in Bend, we were fairly certain that Uncle George would want to take our fragile little former preemie whitewater kayaking on the Deschutes River. We were equally sure we were not going to let it happen. "Maybe on a nice calm lake," we told ourselves, "but certainly not on the Deschutes." I remembered running a stretch of that wild and beautiful river with George a few years ago, and feeling quite lucky that, in his phrase, I didn't "join the swimming team."


So how did these reasonably protective parents and their son end up, one fine Saturday morning, with a small squadron of kayaks on the west bank of the Deschutes?

Well, George had convinced us that this stretch of the river was as flat and gentle as can be, with only a 1 mph current and scarcely a ripple on the surface. Plus, he demonstrated how easy it was:

We weren't sure whether to believe all of George's claims, but my very credible cousin Martin vouched for the story.


And so we were off! Lisa and I loaded Miles into a double kayak and set off on our first family paddling adventure.

Our resident Bend friends Christen and Christian and their son Chance joined the excursion as well.

Miles cooperated admirably, staying out of the sun and keeping on-board gyrations to an absolute minimum.

George proved an excellent and (in this case) accurate guide. We paddled upstream for an hour and then returned to our base, never encountering a stretch of river that was not as smooth as glass. Contrary to his normal practice on the ski slopes, George even stopped occasionally to wait for us to catch up.


Only after we had safely returned to shore did Miles touch the refreshing waters of the river.


"Kayaking on the Deschutes?" he says. "Been there, done that."

Miles Away

Miles has successfully completed his first road trip, a daunting 800-mile round trip to Bend, Oregon.


We began the journey with a measure of trepidation. Although Miles reliably falls asleep in his car seat, we had never taken him for a drive more than an hour long. We'd been advised to double the amount of time necessary for any car journey with an infant due to frequent meltdowns and feeding stops.


Our fears proved unfounded as Miles slept soundly all the way from Seattle until our lunch stop in Toppenish on the other side of the Cascades. Then he fell asleep again until we crossed the Columbia River and began our climb up to the Central Oregon plateau.

Miles didn't start to make any fuss at all until the homestretch between Madras and Bend. We took the opportunity to take a time out and check out the Crooked River Gorge.

Finally, a mere 7.5 hours after leaving Seattle, we pulled into Bend, where my cousin Martin and his wife Robin kindly (and bravely) hosted us, and where Miles finally met his Great Uncle George.


At 82, George maintains an active lifestyle that puts nearly all of us to shame. In summer, this means lots of kayaking, a subject he used to teach professionally.

After hello, George's first words to Miles were, "Did you bring your paddle?" It turns out, he had.

Stay tuned for our next episode, when Miles gets his kayaking baptism in the Deschutes River.

A Farewell to Grandma

We bade a fond farewell to my grandmother Judy Borseth on July 12. My stepfather Dave presided over the memorial service at Acacia Cemetery in Shoreline.


Judy's three surviving children (Jay, Judy Anne and Jeri) and many other relatives attended.


The service was followed by a reception at the Sons of Norway Hall in Stanwood, Washington, where Judy was born ninety-five years ago. She spoke only Norwegian at home until she went to school, and her speech retained a Scandinavian lilt long after she switched to the more or less exclusive use of English and swapped her birth name "Hjordis" for the more euphonious "Judy".


Uncle Jay read a moving poem he composed for the occasion.


We shared many reminiscences of Grandma--many humorous, many touching, many both--from her youth growing up during the Roaring 20s and the Depression, to her devoted career as a wife, mother and somewhat maniacal cleaner, to her golden years as a surprisingly intrepid traveler and enthusiastic Scrabble maven.

And all of us who ever enjoyed an afternoon receiving a Scrabble education at the hands of Grandma and her lexicon of extremely obscure words appreciated this high-scoring final tribute:

Judy Borseth, 1912-2007

I'm very sorry to report that my grandmother, Judy Borseth, died yesterday at the age of 95. We've known for some time that the end was near, though we'd been surprised by her resilience in bouncing back from illness so many times in the past that it's hard to believe she won't, in fact, outlive us all.

Our attentive readers will remember Judy from her first meeting with Miles back in May. I'm really happy that they got to spend some time together. Many people remarked on the family resemblance.


We hear so much about the power of positive thinking these days, it's time to recognize the power of good old Nordic stoicism. For most of the past decade, when asked how she was doing, Grandma would simply reply, "Well, I'm still alive... " -- always letting it be understood that her feelings about that fact were rather equivocal. Still, her understated humor and good nature never deserted her, and she retained enough hints of the sparkle we all remembered from her younger days for us to wish that she yet had many more to spend with us.

A little over five years ago, I made a short movie about Judy and her 90th birthday party, which hopefully gives a little glimpse of that sparkle and the effect it had on her family. Thanks to the wonders of YouTube, you can see it here, in three convenient segments:

Part 1:



Part 2:



Part 3:



Uncle Jay has also set up a memorial blog with guest book.

Tonight we assembled some family members for dinner and later played a round of Scrabble in Judy's honor. It was her favorite game, and she never lost her mastery of it. Even when her short-term memory became somewhat challenged, and dates and chronologies a bit of a muddle, she still knew the Scrabble dictionary frontwards and backwards. But she let other players consult the dictionary freely during the game, and her version of the rules forbid any punitive deductions for attempting to play a non-existent word. "It's a learning game," she would declare. It was one of her many pithy maxims that we will always remember--now that her dancing days are truly over.

We'll miss you, Grandma.

-Dean

Miles' First Hike

We chose a gloriously sunny Fourth of July to introduce Miles to the Cascade Mountains. For a kid who had previously never been higher than the sixth floor of Swedish Hospital, Miles handled the trek up Denny Creek near Snoqualmie Pass quite well.


Miles is becoming much more observant of his surroundings. For most of the hike, he was soaking up the stimulae like a proverbial sponge.


We further tested his absorbent properties by dipping him in the river. He didn't seem to mind at all.


We didn't cover as much ground on this hike as we might have in our former days. But the lack of a view from the top of the ridge line was more than compensated for by this little sight right in front of my face:


We can't wait for the next Falvy Family mountain trek.

-Dean

Puppet Theater

We are pleased to present Miles in the world premiere of The Dance of the Muffinhead.