Baby Sonja

Peeps, 

A while back my Auntie Sarah zipped into town via the train and brought along these pictures of a baby moi, circa 1982-ish. 

Which would make me about the age that Ben is now. 

Think we're related?

[Evidently I thought the gravel outside my grandpa's house was seriously fascinating. ]

I look at these pictures, particularly at the shape of my jaw (and those fat baby cheeks), and think: dang gina, I guess The Bambino really is my offspring.

Take a peek for yourself. 

Like there was any doubt. Let me think back to those wee morning hours, sans epidural, in which I birthed that child. Right. He's mine. I'm not likely to forget that experience any time soon.

And there definitely was no switching of babies at the hospital, of that I am sure. 

And then she included this gem of me playing clarinet with my grandfather. Pretty sure my t-shirt could double as a dress. Glad I wasn't going through the phase where I wore glasses that were the size of (and thickness) of dinner plates. In case I ever get too big for my britches, please direct me back to this picture, peeps. 

xxoo, 

Sonja

The Fork Goes On The Left

My Dears, 

If you know me than you are well aware of the fact that I am incapable of setting a correctly placed table. I promise you, I didn’t grow up in a barn. 

Setting a perfect table just isn’t high on my priority list. 

But now…I have a solution. 

Check out that placemat on the right:

Nifty, yes?

Download the free template from The Pretty Blog. 

Whoa. Who Are Those Youngins?

Holy Moly Peeps! Look how young we look! And check out the color of my hair. Yeech.

This was an end-of-year BBQ for the crew team back in 2003. It seems like another lifetime ago.

photo: N. Tjoa

Vintage

I was going through photo albums the other day and came across this gem:

That's me, in the Howell Street House, circa 1986. And evidently we're out of raspberry syrup.

Vintage Parents

I almost forgot the most important one: Easter, from [quite] a few years ago. My sweet parents, coloring easter eggs at Nonie's home in CT. Look how intent my dad is. And how dark his hair is.

Vintage Family

Sorry that things have been a bit quite here on the blogging front; it's been a slow few weeks. I was over at my mom's house yesterday rummaging around and came across some old family photos.

We have so few from my dad's childhood years that I couldn't resist sharing.

First, a few of my Grandmother Nonie, who recently passed away. My Dad's mother. I know the one on the left is definitely her, the jawline and rather stubborn glint in her eye are definitive proof. What do you think about the one on the right though? Same person? The photo of her as a very young girl so clearly shouts "Nonie" but I'm having trouble reconciling this teenage Nonie (on right) with the adult version. I'll have to consult with the parental units on that one...

The house where my dad grew up: Windy Fields. What a sweet drawing. I wonder if I could work some photoshop magic and turn a photo of our home into a sketch.

And my dad, as a wee little tyke. Look at those chubby cheeks. I didn't know that he was a blond baby, too.

This photo was taken during my dad's tenure at St. Marks.  On the Charles River, that's him in bow. This configuration is a bit usual, notice that it's starboard rigged. For all those rowers out there, take a look at the coxswain, see how he has his arms way out on the sides? It looks like he's grasping cables that run out from rudder. This must pre-date the wooden knobs-on-the-side method.  Nowadays, the coxswain would be laying down in front, not shouting from the rear. As stroke, I was always rather fond of moving the loud little guy/girl to the front; it was always a bit uncomfortable to be face to face with someone while you were huffing and puffing away at the oar...Interesting how much technology has changed over the last 30-odd years.

 And here we have a few from my mother's side: That's my Grandmother. Wowsa. Does anybody else have a hard time reconciling the sweet grandmother that they know and love with...this young, frisky lady? Nice hairdo, Grams.

And perhaps one of my very favorite pictures of my mama and Uncle Bill. Check out my mom's expression (and Bill's too, for that matter). Poor little bunny.

 

Priceless.

Vintage...Owl Hunting

Well, not hunting. Owl Feeding is perhaps more appropriate. The summer of my junior year of college I worked for the Bureau of Land Management. One of my all time favorite jobs. I spent the summer hiking through the woods and rolling around in poison oak. It was a blast. The Salem District of the BLM is home to a threatened population of spotted owls. Interestingly enough, the biggest threat to the owls, besides logging, was the aggressive behavior of the closely related barred owl, a species that is better at adapting to fragmented ecosystems.
Our goal was simple: Identify individual owls. Most of the spotted owls in our area were tagged. The trick was to find a pair and determine which individuals were together (mated). Problem was, you couldn't see the bands unless the owls were about five feet away. Difficult if they're sitting 30 feet up a tree. At night.
Solution: Mouse On A Stick.

Instructions: Take one live mouse. Place on end of stick (see below, it's crawling down the stick). Owl will fly down, grab mouse. You will observe the leg band colors. Owl bites head off of mouse and feeds to owlet. End of game. Or, if you're me, you repeat several times because it is just so darn amazing to watch. Sorry mice.

Who would have thought that a wild owl would have the courage to fly within a few feet of a very dangerous two-legged carnivore: But they do indeed and it is a sight to see. They are so bold that one even flew down and grabbed a wee mouse from my hand. Truly an amazing experience. Made up for all that poison oak.

Vintage Family

Here in our household, pets are part of the family. Just in case you were wondering about the title of this post. We had a string of wonderful black mutts in my childhood but this was the first one that was really mine. I picked her out from the litter of a backyard breeder (yes, I know: awful.), and she was the cutest fuzzball I'd ever seen, half newfoundland, half something else. Her hair was newfy length (and color, obviously) but she had the lean build of something..ah, a bit lighter on it's feet than the traditional newfy.

She wasn't beloved by the rest of the neighborhood or by our older, mature dog. But she was mine and I loved her dearly.

The problem, though, with the very big dogs, is that they don't live very long. Want a lifelong companion? Adopt a parrot. Or a small dog. She died of a brain tumor after only nine years, and as I was in Anchorage for the summer, without a chance to say goodbye.

Vintage (Not Sonja or Family)

These are my three favorite photos from six months spent in Costa Rica in the fall of 2001 with the Organization for Tropical Studies. We visited a native Indian village on the Tican border with Panama, some of the very poorest people in Costa Rica. Life is difficult: they reside on piss poor mountain reservations and depend on the forest for subsistence living.

I don't normally dwell on regrets but I do wish I had sent along copies of these photos to the OTS representative at Las Cruces who would have been able to forward them along to the families. He asked us to do it, and I never did. The process of obtaining copies and sending them via international mail to a remote field station seemed like too much work at the time. How I wish I'd followed through.

Vintage Family

This is 2003. The year Chris and I graduated from college and moved to Anchorage for the summer before embarking on our European backpacking adventure.Alex was in junior high yet still beating Megan and I in races down the driveway. That was also the year that I nearly killed Katie (the dog) on a forced march through Hilltop park. A small grizzly ran through the front yard and I had my first real moose encounter when a mama and her babies hung around the neighborhood for a few weeks. But most of all, when I look through these pictures, I think: Man, we look young!

Vintage Family

And speaking of Bonaire, here are a few pictures from that trip.

I dearly wish that I'd taken the above picture. It is so freakin cool. But sadly, my dad was the talented photographer on this particular photo. Awesome, awesome picture.

I did take this one though and it remains, to this day, one of my favorite pictures of my sweet parents.

And here is the first picture of us diving! That's me in the middle and friends Kelly and Reed (left and right, receptively). It was a great time.

The madre, showing off how awesome Lac Bay is. This is an area of water roughly half a mile across and waist deep, the entire way. You can see where it gets deeper way out (look for the dark blue). An awesome place to windsurf. Plus, there is a nudist colony right next store so that makes things interesting.

Believe it or not, I was once a pretty decent windsurfer. I wasn't going to take on Kevin Pritchard for the world title or anything but I could go darn fast when I wanted to. I just couldn't jibe (turn) to save my life.

Vintage Family

A bit of background: I've been going through some old boxes and discovered a plethora of photographic gems. Fair warning: expect quite a few of these vintage photos; I've got a ton of fresh material. :)

Ten years ago: mom and dad are getting ready for their first open water dive. This wasn't our first diving experience, we'd done an introductory course in Bonaire which had sufficiently piqued our interest in the sport. So when we got back home, we signed up for the full certification class. You can't tell from the pictures, but it was a miserable day. Cold, wet, and choppy water conditions. They'd lumped our class together with another group so we sat in 40 feet of water, teeth chattering, while the instructor went through the drills, person by person. I don't think I've ever been colder.

It had an impact: I've only been on diving adventures on two other occasions in Puget Sound's chilly waters. All of our other dives have been in slightly warms climates that don't require 6 mm wetsuits. But frankly, that's a shame: Puget Sound has some incredible sights and one of my most memorable diving experiences was an encounter with a giant (and I mean GIANT) octopus. Lesson learned: Sonja doesn't do well in cold water. Solution: Buy a dry suit.

Events

My best friend is getting married today.

M and I met in August of 1999, we both signed up for a Willamette University white water rafting adventure; a program designed to introduce students to each other before the start of fall semester. We also were on the same floor of Belknap Dorm. My roommate and I weren't soul mates so I spent most of my freshman year at M's place. We both enjoyed hiking, eating, and talking. She was religious, liked football, and was a very good student. I hated football. And religion.
But we grew on each other: I can now tolerate football and I assisted in her conversion from crazy right wing to [moderately] crazy left wing. Yes, yes, thankyouverymuch.
But we learned some things too. For example: We do not live well together. Ahem. Sophomore year.
But that aside, we get along pretty well. And when I call her after a couple months of not keeping in touch, it's like we left off just yesterday. Back when we'd go on walks and only speak spanish. Or go to the basketball game because the players were hot, and not because we really liked basketball. Or when Melissa taught me to drive stick shift and I insisted on taking the corners on two wheels because I was too scared to downshift. Because that's what it's like with best friends.

Congratulations Meliss! I love you and I so wish that I could be there today. Hugs to you and D.

Vintage Chris

I was reminded of the origin of this photo by a fellow Willamette Rower. This is the novice (first year) men's crew team, immediately before they got their heads shaved as part of crew initiation. I hear it was bloody.

After that, Chris looked like this for a while:

Interestingly enough, I formally met Chris the day after the initiation episode. It was in the library. His head looked like it have been through a blender. But he was still pretty darn cute. :) And the rest, as they say, is history.

Vintage Sonja and Dad

This is what comes to mind when I think of my father's mother: playing in her beautiful garden. I had a statue of liberty hat/crown and I was queen of the garden.

We're guessing that I'm around 4 years old. Darien, CT.

My comment on this photo: Dang dad, you were ripped!

My dad's comment on this photo: Wow, look at my nice head of brown hair!

If These Hallowed Walls Could Talk...10 Year High School Reunion Recap

If these old halls,
If hallowed halls could talk,
These would have a tale to tell
Of sun goin’ down and dinner bell,
And children playing at hide and seek
from floor to rafter,
If these halls could speak.

-

Thanks to the gentle prodding of these lovely ladies

I found myself walking up the steps of this imposing structure on Friday afternoon.

My high school. Holy Names Academy.

As my lovely alma mater states on their site: Holy Names Academy, the oldest continually operating school in Washington State, is a private, Catholic, college preparatory school for girls in grades 9-12. Established in 1880 by the Sisters of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary, Holy Names Academy has graduated over 8,900 students. This is where Chris usually likes to point out that his graduating high school class had about the same number of students that my entire school had. The class of 1999 had about 110 girls at graduation.

-

I was a fairly shy, introverted 14 year old when I arrived at HNA after a rough two years in junior high. I was more interested in books than boys, which was good since there was nary a male teenager to be found in this school. I appreciated HNA's strong dedication to science and math and quickly joined the Earth Science Corps., the pinnacle of nerdiness. I signed on to the rowing team and enjoyed four years as an oarsman (oarswoman?), despite the fact that I never was a standout athlete. Best of all, I found a group of like-minded individuals who were smart, funny, and interested in a wide range of activities.Personally, I enjoyed high school. I liked [most] of my teachers, I appreciated the all-girls environment [no matter how much we complained about it], and I felt that I was strongly prepared for college after four challenging years at HNA. Of course, there were downsides: HNA was founded by Catholic Nuns, and religion classes (every day, for four years) were required. What a complete and utter waste of time. Seriously. HNA: ditch the old, outdated theology courses. Keep the 9th grade curriculum (World Religions) and toss everything else overboard. Or make them optional, to be taken by all the girls whose Catholic parents that want their daughters to have the proper faith-based education. To think of all that time wasted, listening to Sister Rosemary expound upon the intricacies of the Old Testament. Oh! Imagine those art, biology or music classes that I could have taken instead! Writing about it, I find that I'm actually still rather regretful of that wasted time and lost opportunities. Can't you tell?

I think this was my locker. Or was it the one next door? How can I not remember this?

This is for all the lovely ladies out there that didn't attend the reunion. This portrait is immediately recognizable:

Generally, I'm pleased that I attended our reunion. There were a number of folks with whom it was nice to reconnect. My classmates have done amazing things: joined the Peace Corps, moved to Hawaii, started their own businesses. I am in awe of their accomplishments.

-

I also enjoyed strolling through the halls and remembering times that seemed so very long ago. There are locks on the doors, security cameras in the hallways, and the classrooms are filled with fancy looking technological devices, but the essence of the school hasn't changed one bit. It's old, and rather dusty, but it was a great place for learning. And, I'm sure there is a teacher, somewhere, that is keeping her ruler handy to make sure that every girl's skirt fall no more than three inches above her knees.

-

I trust that girls attending the school today enjoy the same level of excellent teaching that I had as a student. Almost all of my favorite teachers have left or retired, which, I suppose, is not unexpected ten years later. For the student's sake, I hope that the rumblings I've heard of teacher unhappiness with the current administration haven't too greatly affected the level of education. HNA's strength was in its teaching body and I was well served by exceptional and inspirational educators.