Bridger skis powder for the first time, and his father cries tears of joy

B has been enrolled in a ten week ski school this year, and had a five week ski program run by his regular school.  He started this year as essentially a non-skier, but in less than six weeks and about 10 days skiing, he has progressed to being able to ski anywhere on the mountain. 

We went up on Saturday with the idea that I would drop him off at lessons and then ski with my friend Jeff.  Well, I missed a memo.  No lesson for B on Pres Day Weekend.  Six to twelve inches of snow, and I'm stuck with a six year old.

It was probably the best ski day I've ever had.  This video was filmed early in the day, and he was about 10x better three hours later.  I drug him all over the mountain, and he tore it up.  He's hooked on skiing in general, and powder in particular.  

Oh boy, this is a tough one.....

I lost a buddy today.  After 11 years of shedding, howling, raging around the backyard, tunneling in the snow, sprinting across the beach, and just generally being a fantastic companion, our dear Casey left us today.  I can't get this goddamn text to left align, so deal with it.  This is a tough day, but I am eternally grateful for the time she spent with me.  I was lucky enough to get to spend her last moments with her, and she will always be remembered for what she was: a smart, sweet, dignified old dog that could say "hello" with her bark.  And her ears were as soft as velvet. 

I'm beginning to see the things I need to talk about.

It's been months since I've felt the mojo to put something up here- the Frenches have been busy, with all the moving, starting new jobs, and uprooting spouses from their comfort zone.  So cut me some slack.  I was hoping to have some sweet office gossip to talk about, but so far, no.  So here is what I have so far:

We are the puffy coat family.  We all roll out in our down puffy jackets, and we look like huge dorks.  The only salve is the fact that everyone I know owns a Patagonia down sweater right now as well. 

Now on to some other significant fashion discoveries.  We know a couple in town that are in their mid-40s, and quite affluent.  They dress like they are extras on a new remake of Oliver Twist.  Picture this on a middle-aged man:

She dresses in a similar fashion.  Here is my point- at some point in life, you have to make a decision about your appearance; you can either go for "slob" or "well-dressed confident adult."  I manage to mix the two.  But not my boy J**, whom we shall refer to as "Oliver."  He made a conscious decision to stand out in the crowd, by looking like he lives in 19th Century Liverpool.  He undoubtedly reached a crossroads, and had a hard choice to make- Oliver Twist, or another option:

Chris Angel.  All I'm saying is it is a slippery slope when choosing between several degrees of ass-clownery.

And one other thing- I saw this the other day outside my office:

 An adult drives this car.  I'm guessing they also have ten or twelve cats and a room full of Beany Babies.


Mr. K 

Sorry I've been gone so long....

So, we moved in August.  Mrs. French is hating it, the little ones are happy or don't know the difference. I love it, but miss a few things about PDX, and hate seeing the wife sad- no one here knows yet how special she is.  It will get better.  Or it won't.  I will most likely post more often than once every 100 days, but I make no guarantees.  Frankly, I'm out of funny stories.

Mr F

It may be happening....

I got offered a really, really good job in Bend.  Despite wishing for this for five years, it's harder than I thought it would be to make the decision to leave PDX.  Wish us luck either way- we could use it.

Mr. F

Chicken Killer.

This is Casey, our 12 year old Husky/Mutt.  She is an old, sweet, partially toothless dog we have had for over 10 years.  Other than a serious vendetta against any and all squirrels, she has never hurt a soul.  She does enjoy an occasional role in dead fish or a slide through fresh manure.  Aside from that, the picture above is pretty much an action photo. 

Well, last Friday the old girl outdid herself.  She slipped out of the backyard through an open gate and proceeded to amble over to a neighbor's house two blocks away.  A batshit crazy neighbor.  With a poorly defended chicken coop.  The result wasn't pretty (I know because Ms. Batshit showed Mrs. French pics of Casey's handiwork. Two dead chickens, a three day trip to the County Pound, several hundred dollars in fines, and a sign in our window that looks like this:

That's right- our county considers dogs that kill chickens to be every bit as dangerous as dogs that bite kids.  It's more a case of the law not catching up to the idea of urban chicken coops than any conspiracy, but at least we don't have to worry about solicitors now.

We initially felt awful about the whole thing; we assumed the chicken owner would have young kids, and we were worried we wouldn't get Casey back.  It turns out Huskies LOVE to kill chickens, according to the folks at Animal Control (who found the whole episode a bit silly).  Yesterday Batshit pulled up and began berating my bride about our deadly beast (I was gone at the time.  Getting  a massage.  My wife thinks this is pretty precious).  She is middle-aged.  And her kids are grown.  And she is openly trying to shake us down for her pain and suffering.  I seem to have lost a bit of my empathy.

It is really nice to have my old fat dog back.  And I am sorry about the chickens.  But I don't like the Chicken Lady.

Mr F

One of Portland's more interesting commuters

Last week we were cutting through a neighborhood to avoid rush hour traffic on the main arteries.  We saw this guy:

I managed a pretty sweet pic out the window of the car.  So, a unicycling juggler.  Probably standard issue for any circus, but there was not one in town.  Nor was he just practicing- we saw him well ahead of us, and he was making good time.  Plus, the backpack leads me to believe he was commuting, either to or from work.  If anyone I worked with ever showed up with a unicycle and juggling pin-thingys the rest of his co-workers should promptly stomp a puddle in him.  For reals.

I was brainstorming for a less efficient or more complicated method of transport:

1.  Ice skating on concrete while shuffling cards

2. Hopping on one foot while braiding your hair

3. Crawling on your knees while eating soup with chopsticks

Hell, I don't know.  This was just plain weird.

Mr. F