not yet

It is a quiet day in Yamhill, clouds hanging low in the morning sky, heaving with unspilled rain. The weather Nazis in Portland promise sun -- no, they promise warmth -- and are liars. It remains cold and May is tomorrow. Mayday. Our anniversary. 13. The number that dare not speak its name.

Yesterday we clammed at Longbeach, Washington. It is a damned long beach. 26 miles. An okay beach, but I know Seaside. I know, for example, that year to year there is a small shifting tidal creek that burrows a trench in the sand and makes for deeper water. At Longbeach, it caught me off-guard. I almost fell off the edge and into the surf. It wouldn't be the first time, but like I said, it isn't warm out. I'd heard tell of the huge razor clams from the Ilwaco and Longbeach area. To me, they seem pretty much like Oregon clams. I mean, they are clams. There just isn't that much variation. I was not impressed but I don't think the clams cared. Traffic was hideous. I guess Washington is conservative about how often they open the beaches for this sort of thing, and everyone from Oregon was up there, cramming their vehicles across that long bridge from Astoria to Washington, and the first stop across the border -- to pee, to get a day-license, was slammed. And only a single outhouse. Seriously. I stood in line: men, women and children ahead of me, and waited my turn. This is no longer easy for me.

Work is work. With my business office manager (BOM) off on maternity leave, I am responsible for portions of the work better left to the mathematically-inclined. I spent Friday afternoon trouble-shooting my first bank deposit with a machine that wouldn't recognize my computer. It doesn't make for interesting blogging, but bless the folks at our Home Office who have this stuff down. It isn't that I've never done payroll or deposits or paid bills -- just the supporting technology has changed a lot since I've done it all. I can add.

The dogs are outside and too quiet. Kurt is napping. All is well.