little black journal

As much as I love to travel, I am a notoriously bad trip planner.  I put off the researching and reserving until Shane swoops in with that save-the-day manner of his, and promptly books us a room at someplace amazing and lines up a slew of activities and meals and cocktails on his giant clipboard o’ fun.  Such was the case with our anniversary trip – it was technically my turn to plan something this year, but after only 10 minutes of frustrated VRBO-surfing, I threw my hands up in exasperation.  Enter Shane, with a link to a charming little waterfront cottage on Whidbey Island and a list of nearby parks and restaurants.  I promptly booked it, and on Friday afternoon, we were island-bound.

We arrived at the house just in time to watch the sun set over the sound.  We took in the view from the deck, bouncing inside to warm ourselves by the fireplace when  the winds picked up.  We spent the rest of the night on the couch, eating ice cream and playing a round of 90’s “name that tune” via Spotify.  Nothing says happy anniversary like En Vogue and Goo Goo Dolls!

We rolled out of bed this morning only when we were good and ready, snacked on banana bread and fresh fruit while watching the sun glint off the water, and then went for a jog down the beach, stopping every so often for Shane to skip a rock or scout out the bald eagle we’ve seen criss-crossing the beach all day.

We left the house around lunchtime in search of hearty local cuisine, and found it at the Coupeville and Bayview Farmer’s Markets.  Mini-donuts as an appetizer followed by a salmon taco from a little stand at the Coupeville Market, and then a tri-tip sandwich at Bayview that rivaled SLO’s Firestone Grill (my Cal Poly peeps know the significance of this comparison), paired with a grilled artichoke and ice cold lemonade.  In the words of La Verne, “nom nom”.

After stuffing ourselves silly, we drove over to Ebey’s Landing for a beach-front hike.  The fields leading to the water were shining in vivid shades of green and yellow, and the lookouts over the sound were breathtaking.

We made it back to the car just as our legs were about to give out, and the deck at the house proved to be the perfect place to put our feet up and catch a breath of fresh, salty air.  We cracked open the special bottle of champagne we’d brought along, put together a plate of chevre-smeared crackers and squares of dark chocolate, and spent a couple of hours letting the sun warm our cheeks, listening to the tide come in while we talked and laughed and felt so…content.  It was the kind of day I desperately wanted to stretch on forever.

Tomorrow, we officially celebrate six years of marriage – I’ve been trying to wish Shane a happy anniversary all weekend, but before I can get the words out, he shushes me and says “not yet!” (in the same way that he believes Christmas music should only be played on Christmas Day, he believes anniversary wishes are only applicable one day out of the year).  So tomorrow, Mr. Schnell.  Tomorrow I’m laying it on thick.

There’s a part of me that wants to dislike Valentine’s Day – I know it’s become a “Hallmark Holiday”, full of commercialism and consumption and cheeseball sayings on little candy hearts.  But here’s the problem when it comes to me hatin’ on V-day:  I’m married to a man that decided to surprise me with a decadent French dinner at Chloe tonight and hold my hands across the table and be all romantic and stuff.  And really, who am I to turn down champagne and mussels and sorbet-topped meringue?  So I’m putting aside any bah-humbug feelings and embracing the mushy-lovey-dippy-doo.  Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Schnell.  It was fun to get out on the town and be all fancy-pants with you (and it’s also fun to sit here in our PJs and catch up on the Daily Show).  I heart you mucho.

I had a dream about Robert Pattinson last night.  We were at a party and he was being all cool and Edward-y (minus the sparkles), and I was being all swoony and silly, and then, in the wee hours of the morning, I woke up.  I suffered just the shortest moment of disappointment that it was over, but then I rolled over and I looked at my husband sleeping next to me, snoring in his easy, quiet way, and I thanked my lucky stars for him.  I bet Shane is reading this now and thinking, “Say what?  You snuggled up on me this morning and wanted to spoon because you had a dream about a Twilight character?!”  But honey, no, that’s not it – I snuggled up on you because I love you and sometimes I am just so stinkin’ happy that I get be yours.  That you get to be mine.

Sometimes I forget to be thankful, and I spend my energy nagging, or pouting, or pushing Shane away, and I’m sorry for that.  Because, really, my man in the bee’s knees.  Cases in point:

He makes me laugh.  Probably every day.  I was sitting in the living room last night blog-surfing and he was downstairs in the office hackin’ around (my phrase for his complicated technological exploits), and suddenly, in the midst of the quiet, I heard him belt out the lyrics to some old-school Rage Against the Machine song.  I poked my head into the office and he started playing the air-drums and wildly shaking his head from side to side.  He had his headphones on, and the fact that I couldn’t hear the music made it even funnier.   He may or may not have been singing for me, but I don’t care – I’m just glad to bear witness to his unabashed silliness.

He’s my #1 fan, my loudest cheerleader and strongest advocate.  He shares in all my greatest joys, never hesitating to tell me that he’s proud of me and remind me that I have the potential to do anything I want to do.  And he often tells me that I’m hot.  That’s awfully nice.

He’s a rock.  He’s steady under pressure, cool in the midst of chaos, affirming when life starts to feel kinda…ick.  And he never ever lets me feel like I’m going at it alone – even in tough situations that don’t directly involve him, he insists “We will get through this”.  Sometimes I’m bugged by the “we” that so often replaces “I” once you get married, but sometimes that little two-letter pronoun holds so much comfort.  We got through the stress of my licensing exams a couple of years ago, we carry each other’s burdens in work and finances and relationships, we figure out how to do life together.  His contribution might be as simple as picking me up from work when I’ve had an especially long day, but sometimes that’s all it takes for me to be reassured that he’s not expecting me to fly solo.

So…thanks, baby.  Edward ain’t got nothin’ on you.

Today marks Shane’s and my fifth wedding anniversary. FIVE. Hard to believe it’s been half a decade since the two of us stood in front of our most favorite people on that California farm and promised to love each other for ever and ever. I remember the butterflies in my stomach that morning, as I realized I was just about to go through with one of the biggest decisions of my life. I remember the fun of getting my hair done with my mom and my girlfriends, and then the nervous rush to get my dress on and my makeup done and my veil placed ‘just so’. And then I remember the peace and the joy that I felt when I saw Shane waiting for me out on the lawn, and the assurance that came as we took a quiet moment to pray with each other before the flurry of the photos and the ceremony and the hellos to family and friends. That day was everything we wanted it to be – the perfect beginning to our new life together.

It’s not uncommon for people to refer to marriage as “hard work”. When Shane and I were dating, if I heard someone mention just how much it takes to maintain a good marriage, I always acknowledged those comments with a thoughtful nod and a murmur of agreement. But inwardly, I was thinking, “What can be so hard about spending your life with the person you love?” Marriage sounded pretty great  – you always have a date on Friday nights, you get help with housework and bills and stuff of the daily grind, and at those times when you really need a back rub, there’s someone there to give it to you. And I was lucky – I had found a man that made me indescribably happy, someone who made me feel safe and loved and excited about the future. Five years into this grand adventure, I still won’t say it feels like work. But being close, truly doing life together, does take effort. Some days I fail miserably – like the other night, when I snapped at Shane after a long day because his schedule and priorities did not align exactly with what I had on my to-do list.  But on other days I succeed at letting him know that he’s pretty damn special – I bake him muffins, or tell him that I’m so thankful for the man that is, or give him one of my for-Shane-only extra huge bear hugs and ask him to tell me about whatever is on his mind.  Sometimes these expressions of love come easily, and sometimes I have to remind myself that I can’t let my investment in him be based solely on feelings.  Even when I’m grumpy, he still needs affirmation.  And hugs.  So here’s to 50 more years of hugs, through the good times and the bad.  And if the past five years are any indication of what’s to come, there are plenty of good times in store for us.

After our low-key but just-right 2010 Valentines Day, spent eating cereal for dinner while watching Project Runway episodes, Shane decided to put aside our home-body-ish, old couple-ish tendencies and make reservations for us at a cozy little Seattle bistrot.  Cafe Campagne is our little slice of Paris in the Pacific Northwest, and though it lacks French-speaking waiters and a view of the Seine, it still ranks pretty high on the romance-o-meter.  We were seated at a little candle-lit table at the back of the restaurant, handed a wine list and a menu, and the rest is a euphoric blur of rich foods, bubbly champagne, and great conversation.  There was escargot, there was Chevre-topped salad, coq au vin, creme brulee, espresso, oh. mon. Dieu.  And there was talking, about travel and friends and the prospects for the 2011 Giants.  It was perfection.  So, Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Schnell.  Je t’aime de tout mon couer.

Happy birthday to my favorite person – a man that grows a little more studly, a little more wise, a little more loved each and every year…

I guess the Schnells are one year closer to becoming an old married couple, as May 20th marked our fourth anniversary.  Lucky for me, Shane was feeling exceptionally romantic and booked us an overnight getaway in a secret location – my only instructions were to meet him at the ferry terminal at noon on Thursday.  His plans were revealed as we boarded the Bainbridge Island boat – he had reserved us a night at a little cottage tucked away on the island.  It felt nice to look back at the Seattle skyline with my husband, to know that we were cruising away from work, from the house, and from the daily grind, so that we could spend the next 24 hours focusing on each other.  We were due for some ‘us’ time.

Any good getaway includes plenty of indulgent food, so after fish ‘n chips and beer at the Harbour Public House, we zipped right over to Mora for ice cream.  They have 48 flavors there.  My lifelong dream is to try them ALL.  Post-ice cream, we headed over to Fort Ward Park for a little afternoon nature walk.  The sun was shining, the wind was whispering the trees, the woods were rich with just about every imaginable shade of green, and so the stage was set for a perfectly sappy hand-in-hand anniversary stroll.  Lovely.  A snake temporarily startled me out of my bliss, but he seemed much more interested in the slug he was trying to devour than he was in us, so we continued on our way.

After our walk, we were ready to check into our cottage, crack open a bottle of wine, and spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing.  Our accommodations were perfect – cozy, quiet, and nestled in among the trees…  Ten minutes there, and I was ready to move in.

We had a fabulous dinner at Agate Pass, and after a spontaneous 20-minute detour to check out the casino we passed on the way back to our place (I won $15 at my first slot machine and decided to quit while I was ahead), we were ready to call it a night.  Turning in at 10 pm is another sure sign that we’re on our way to becoming an old married couple.

Sleeping in is also a crucial part of a good getaway, and so we did just that on Friday morning, rolling out of bed in time to devour the delicious homemade breakfast that was delivered to our door.  Fresh-baked scones and French-press coffee, enjoyed from a little table next to a window that looks out into the forest?  Yes, please!  I really was enamored with the woods – ferns and moss and green, green trees as far as the eye can see.  I can feel myself becoming more and more of a Northwestern-er every day.

And then it was time to bid the island farewell and cruise back toward Seattle.  And yes, that means heading back to work, and the house, and the daily grind, but it also means heading home with the man I love.  Candles and wine and afternoon walks in the woods are all good things, but I suppose there’s also romance to be found in an evening spent on the couch together watching a baseball game, or a quick kiss good-bye on our way out the door in the morning.  So until May 20th rolls around again, I will be savoring the goodness of the day-in, day-out, which is really what’s gotten us through the last four years, and will carry us through the next forty.

Yes, I have been a bit absent lately – I gave this ol’ blog a big heap of makeover love, then I up and left it.  Haven’t felt much like posting lately.  Truth is, I have been stuck in the midst my quarterly (semi-annual if I’m lucky) F-U-N-K.  I’ve been generally kind of ‘ick’ over the last couple of weeks.  We had a nice Easter weekend with my parents, but even as I enjoyed their company, I wasn’t fully present.  Work has been tough, with some disappointments and frustrations, my body refuses to shake this mucus-y bug that has been buggin’ me for over a week now, I haven’t done any art-ing since coming down off the high of my encaustic workshop, and Shane and I have been exceptionally snippy with one another.  And my mojo is totally lost when he and I aren’t clicking.  There haven’t been any major blow-outs (ok, there have been one or two big blow-outs), but what drains me more than any sort of fighting is a general inability for us to really connect.  I’ve felt it for several days, but I’ve had so much self-indulgent satisfaction wallowing in my funk that I haven’t made any effort to get us back on track.  And unfortunately, Shane’s been under the weather, too, and hasn’t felt driven to steer the ship back towards the marital ‘bliss’ that we usually enjoy.  Boo.

But today, the clouds parted.  I don’t know if it’s the thought that we leave for Mexico in a week, or the fact that my work situation seems to be on the upswing, or simply that I realized today how tired I was of having a roommate rather than a husband, but we had a really good night together, and I am revived.  We didn’t do anything special, just cooked dinner together, watched a little tv, then sat on the couch and talked for a couple of hours.  And once again, things feel like they’re supposed to.  I have my best friend back.  Yes, surely we’ll derail again at some point in the future, but that’s ok.  We’ll get over it.  ‘Cause there’s really no other way.

When Shane and I were dating, Valentine’s Day was always a big deal – he would make reservations at some fancy restaurant and drive down to visit me at college, usually arriving at my door with a bouquet of flowers or special gift in hand.  I would look forward to our evening together, thankful that when someone asked me, “Are you doing anything for Valentine’s Day?”, I actually had something good to say.  After we got married, our zeal for Valentine’s Day waned a little bit, but we still celebrated the day, usually with a special home-cooked meal and an exchange of cards.  We started talking last week about what we wanted to do for this Valentine’s Day, knowing that I would probably be spending most of the day at the office, as I have a big deadline at work tomorrow.  I flipped through one of our cookbooks, gazed into our well-stocked fridge with a total lack of motivation, and finally we looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders with a simultaneous, “eh.”  Valentine’s Day can be a great excuse to go out for a nice dinner or indulge in a fancy box of chocolates, but I’ve decided that if you’re not feeling moved to do anything special, just let it go.  And so, I am not ashamed to admit that I had cereal for dinner tonight, and after a long day of work, nothing felt better than hanging out on the couch with my husband, playing a round of Tetris, catching up on Project Runway, eating a bowl of my favorite ice cream.  As Shane rubbed my feet and asked me about my day, I was reminded that I don’t need a dozen roses or a stuffed Cornish game hen to know that I am loved.  I am married to a man that stayed up until 2:30 last night fixing a glitch on my laptop’s photo software, a man that let me watch the latest Project Runway tonight when I know he’d rather have flipped it to the newest episode of 24, a man that has already offered to get up early on his day off to drive me into work tomorrow morning, so that I can sleep in just 10 minutes later and avoid the rainy walk to the lightrail stop.  Now if that’s not love, what is?

It was almost exactly a year ago that Shane came home one night and told me that he thought he wanted to run in a 5k race that would be taking place near our house in late October.  I raised my eyebrows when he told me this – I hadn’t seen Shane run for at least a couple of years.  He was in good shape from biking a lot that summer, but whenever I asked him to join me on jogs, he always told me that running ‘wasn’t really his thing’.  But he continued to talk about the 5k, and when he headed out the door for a training run, I thought he might be serious.  Then he came home and told me he couldn’t finish the 3-mile jog, and I began to have my doubts about whether or not he’d really follow through with this out-of-the-blue-interest.  Shame on me – my skepticism was put to rest when he finished the 5k Pumpkin Push race in late October with impressive speed.  Then he ran the 5k Turkey Trot in November.  And the Mercer Island 10k in March.  And the Kirkland Half Marathon in June.  Holy cow – this guy could run!  And then the marathon talk started.  I tried to be supportive, but I inwardly cringed at the pain I knew he would have to endure to train for and complete a 26.2-mile run.  I admit that I secretly hoped he would decide not to go through with it – I loved that he was dreaming big and aiming high, but I was also envisioning shin splints, sore muscles, and lost toenails.  Then in August he registered for the Portland Marathon, and he was officially committed.  So he ran.  And ran.  And I watched him hobble around the house after his 16-mile Saturday training runs, feeling sorry for his hurting body, but eventually letting my pride in him outweigh my concern.  Yes, this would be hard, but he was strong and driven and dead-set on finishing this thing.

This weekend was the weekend that all those months of training would pay off.  We arrived in Portland yesterday afternoon and enjoyed hanging around downtown with friends and family that had come in for the race.  The day ended with a carbo-loading session at a small Italian place in Northwest Portland.

We were up bright dark and early this morning to get Shane to the starting line before his 7 a.m. race time.  My mom and I dropped him off, I gave him a quick kiss for good luck, and then my man disappeared into a sea of runners.  He was on his way.  (I was on my way, too, to Stumptown Coffee for a latte and a scone.)  I had some anxiety about whether or not we’d be able to catch sight of him along the course, but we headed down toward the waterfront in hopes of finding him somewhere around mile 2.  And voila, a few minutes after claiming our spot on the sidewalk, there he was, running fast, smiling, hardly breaking a sweat.  He was off to an amazing start.  Then we saw him again as he looped back for mile 6, and he was slightly sweaty, maybe breathing a little harder, but he was still bookin’ it, and he still had that same happy look on his face.  I was relieved to see him doing so well.  But I also knew that he was facing a major hill right around mile 17, and that a lot of people had told him that mile 17 is also the same point in a marathon when your body really starts to give out, so we jumped in the car and headed across the river so that we could be there to cheer him on right at mile 17.5, as he was coming off the St. John’s Bridge.  We found a good vantage point to watch him approach, and I was ecstatic to see him still bookin’ it and still smiling when he came off that bridge less than three hours after his race had begun.  We cheered like crazy, I snapped photos like I was the paparazzi, and Brian jumped right in to run with him for a few minutes to offer some support.  I tried to run with him for a little while too, but even at mile 17.5, he was still too fast for me to keep up.

From there, we hopped back in the car and headed back across the river to catch Shane at the finish line.  We found a spot on a ledge where we could stand and watch the runners come in, we unrolled our ‘Run Shane Run’ signs, and held our breath.  Would he meet his time goal?

Of course he would.  Shane crossed the finish line with a stellar time of 3:58:44.  One minute less than the 4 hour time he was hoping for, and many minutes less than the 4 hour-15 minute time he was actually expecting.  He was beat, to say the least, but he was also so proud of himself and so thrilled with how the entire experience played out.  I am also quite proud, and sorry that I ever doubted that his body or mind could handle the challenge.  This man is a rock star!