The BIG LEAP: Anniversaries and Adventures

January 9, 2016 by Beth Shepherd

On January 9, 2005, I took a huge leap. I drove over to the house of a guy I’d never met. Together we boarded a ferry and headed to Bainbridge Island. Wine tasting, several hours of getting to know each other and one dinner later, I was hooked! Thus began our grand adventure.

Here we are–eleven years, many journeys and one adopted daughter–on the anniversary of our first date, the beginning of a new year and a LEAP YEAR at that. Perfect timing for a BIG announcement.

I’m getting my OWN WEBSITE!

You’ll (soon) be able to find Pampers and Paklava at: www.pamperspaklava.com

Yep. I’m hitting the virtual road with a new blog and website. How cool is that? Official announcement once my site is up and running. Stay tuned!

Happy Anniversary to me and the Mr.

Here’s to a year of leaps and adventures!

Take the road less traveled, Beth

If you want to read more about all things Pampers, follow me on Facebook, Twitter or RSS/email.

And a shout out to Wee One Photography for the great photos!

Oh the places we’ll go: A decade ago I boarded a ferry

January 9, 2015 by Beth Shepherd

A decade ago, I boarded a ferry. On a cold day in January, I headed to Bainbridge Island…with a man I’d never met before.

We went on a first date that nearly wasn’t. “Why waste a perfectly good Sunday afternoon on a date that won’t go anywhere?” is what Big Papa thought some ten years ago. But in fact, we did go somewhere.

On that snowy Sunday, we took a ferry to Bainbridge. We drove to the Bainbridge Island Winery for a wine tasting. Afterwards we headed to Fay Bainbridge State Park, and froze our booties sitting on a picnic bench at the park. Then, back in Seattle, we went to Coastal Kitchen for dinner. As first dates go, ours was a trip.

We’ve been going places ever since. Some of our destinations have been actual locations: Beijing, Tibet, Armenia, Paris, London, Amsterdam, Baja, Hawaii, and Colorado. And, just as frequently, we’ve traveled to places–metaphorically–that aren’t a place at all. Adoptive parenthood for one which, as most of my readers know, was the literal and figurative mother of all journeys. We’ve traversed family illnesses and passages, transformations of our home and garden, our lives.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years isn’t that long. But when I look back on our many adventures (and misadventures), it’s hard to believe a mere decade could hold them all. These days, while we might not be traveling to distant exotic locales–at least as much as this travel blogger would like to–more often than not we still seem to find ourselves on the road less traveled.

Happy ten year anniversary, Big Papa!

Oh the places we’ve been–and the places we’ll go.

Take the road less traveled, Beth

Birthday on Bainbridge

June 30, 2014 by Beth Shepherd

A couple weeks ago, I celebrated my birthday on Bainbridge Island.

For a few blissful hours, I was on island time.

The ferry to Bainbridge Island is a short passage, about 30 minutes.

And, for me and the Mr., the Bainbridge ferry was also the setting for our first date in 2005.

Once safely ensconced on the island, we headed to Bainbridge Organic Distillery. Our favorite sip, the bourbon, was sold out so I brought home a bottle of Elderberry tonic instead.

Next stop, Perennial Vitners, where it was raining. We sipped wine under a tent that looked out onto this peaceful setting, and bought a bottle of wine made from ‘melon‘ grapes.

And then, Bainbridge Vineyards. It was my birthday after all (but we did spit what we sipped). This was the spot where we went wine tasting on our first date when the winery was called Bainbridge Island Winery. Under new ownership, in the spiffed-up tasting room, we were pleased to find they were still making a few of our old favorites (with new labels).

Our last stop before heading back to Winslow, was Eleven Winery’s tasting room at the winery itself. Eleven Winery has–special–memories for us because I was in their Winslow Way tasting room in 2007 when we got the news our wedding officiate couldn’t make it to our wedding (with less than 3 hours to spare). The winery is nestled serenely in the middle of the island and, aside from delicious wine, has a few really cool vintage bicycles hanging on the walls. The winery’s name was inspired by the modern road bike whose smallest cog in the rear cluster has eleven teeth.

Back in downtown Winslow, with time to spare before our dinner reservation, we headed to Island Vintners for an appetizer and (dare I say it) another wine tasting, followed by a lovely walk as we meandered up and down Winslow Way, checking out a few of the arty frogs painted by local artists (Frogs on the Rock).

Last stop on the Bainbridge Birthday train was dinner at Hitchcock. We noshed on pacific northwest cuisine, brought to our plate by farmers, foragers and fishermen accompanied by–ahem–one final glass of wine.

And then, all too soon, we were back on the ferry sloshing our way homeward bound (in every sense of the word). Bye Bainbridge–it was fun–until next time.

Take the road less traveled, Beth

For better, for worse…and everything in between

July 28, 2011 by Beth Shepherd

Love boat, wedding, marriage

My first date with Big Papa was a ferry ride to Bainbridge Island, our second date was dinner at a Cajun restaurant, and our third date was an afternoon of yard work. It was mid-January and I remember spending a few hours outdoors in the brisk air raking up the leaves that covered his small backyard like a wet brown blanket. It felt so comfortable, the two of us working side by side, and I thought to myself: I could be happy with a lifetime of days just like this, with him.

When I look back over the six years we’ve been a couple, four now as husband and wife, my fondest memories are often the simplest of moments. While I love romance as much as the next girl—dinners out, vacations to exotic and interesting locales, I’m continually reminded it’s the day-to-day living, rather than grand gestures, that truly cement a relationship. For one, it’s not possible to exist indefinitely in a heightened state of passionate escape. Laundry needs to be done, groceries have to be purchased, and that little thing called life manages to jolt even the most starry-eyed lovers back to reality.

I’ve heard people say the true test of a relationship is to take a trip together, see how compatible you really are by putting yourselves in unfamiliar territory while having random unexpected situations thrown your way. I think there’s some truth to this, but also believe you can just as easily find out what your relationship is made of by facing the mundane negotiations of everyday existence, with a few extraordinary catastrophes thrown in for good measure. In my experience, it’s a lot easier to like someone while suffering from jet lag and sipping espresso at a café in Paris, than after a long, stressful week at the office.

That being said, we’ve had ample opportunity to see how our relationship will fare when faced with the trials of life on the road…or in a boat. Big Papa still reminds me that he suggested a ferry ride for our first date, because he figured if we didn’t like each other one of us could head to the bow and the other to the stern, and never the twain shall meet again. Fortunately, that’s not how our date ended.

We’ve traveled together to Canada, France, Armenia, China, Tibet, Hawaii, California, the east coast, and all over the Pacific Northwest. But the one trip that stands out as a testament to our relationship is the trip we took barely two months before we were married, when we flew to Tampa, Florida and then drove to Ocala, to move my elderly disabled father out to Seattle. He had just been released from a rehabilitation facility where he’d been off and on the past few years due to a series of falls. “Operation spring-the-Pop” is what we called it. Fly out on a Friday, pick him up from the rehab facility on Saturday, pack what we could into the four empty suitcases we’d brought with us, and fly back to Seattle with him on Sunday.

On the first leg of the journey from Tampa to Charlotte, North Carolina, dad did just fine. Then, soon after take-off on the second six-hour leg of the journey, he started complaining of pain in his chest and abdomen. Worst case scenarios played through my head and I chastised myself for underestimating the enormity of this undertaking. Soon my father was in considerable pain and asked to be taken to the toilet. Big Papa had bought us first-class tickets, so that in the event of a bathroom jaunt, we wouldn’t have to wrestle my paralyzed father past scores of other passengers only to wait in a long line for the loo. Unfortunately, dad had the runs for the remainder of our trip. I stood holding a blue airplane blanket between my outspread arms to block the view from the other first-class passengers because my father, with his paralyzed leg in a brace, couldn’t fit in the bathroom and close the door. Right beside him stood Big Papa. He cleaned and changed my father, and then cleaned and changed him again for the duration of the flight.

First class passengers who needed to use the facilities were diverted to the back of the plane. Thankfully, no one made a fuss and most of those sitting with us in the small first class cabin seemed sympathetic to our plight. It was a tough journey, the first of several we’ve experienced together.

If there had been someone available to marry us on that plane, I would have said “I do” on the spot, at 30,000 feet. There is nothing anyone has ever done for me that speaks such volumes about the content of their character. If Big Papa could do this for my dad, I knew he would stand by me—for better or for worse.

Of course, as some of you might remember from reading my blog, our wedding was one unbelievable fiasco after another. The first wedding site canceled six months before our ceremony, then the B&B where we were going to stay for our wedding night went out of business a month prior and finally, our officiate canceled merely three hours before we were going to exchange our vows.

When we managed to find someone to pronounce us man and wife, with barely an hour to spare, and I walked toward the man I would marry, tears rolled down my cheeks, tears of joy. Sure, I wish the road to matrimony had been smoother. Who wouldn’t have? And, yes, there have been many days since, when I’ve desperately hoped for a break from all the crises and heartache we’ve experienced. The thing is, no one gets through this life, or a marriage, without loss, without disappointment. Some are hit with more than others, but none of us escape entirely. In the midst of what sometimes feels like unrelenting challenges, I remind myself how lucky I am in so many ways. Finding Big Papa is one of them.

For much of the year here in the Pacific Northwest, clouds roll in and the rain comes down. Sometimes it lasts for days on end, this year right through summer. And then, from time to time, there are glorious days when the sun appears and Big Papa and I head together into the yard, now our yard. Side by side we tend to our garden and care for our plants. They continue to grow, despite the hardships they encounter, and so does our relationship.

A marriage is for better and for worse. But mostly it’s for everything in between.

Happy Anniversary, Big Papa!

Whether we’re on the high slopes of Everest or at the top of the hill in the Central District, I’m so glad you’re traveling beside me.

Mom-in-waiting

May 11, 2010 by Beth Shepherd

“Happy Mother’s Day” the friendly attendant says as we roll down our car window to enter the gates at Bloedel Reserve, a lovely public garden on Bainbridge Island. “Happy Mother’s Day to you too,” our friend K. replies cheerily from the front seat. “Oh, I’m not a mom yet,” offers up Ms. Attendant.

We drive off and K. muses, “How did she know that we are mothers?” “We?” I thought to myself. How indeed?

My friend is mom to two. Maybe she gives off that I’m-a-mom vibe or possibly Ms. Attendant simply assumed that two women of a “certain age” had to be mothers. Or her greeting might have been the salutation du jour.

For me, Mother’s Day is a mixed bag of emotions. I imagine my feelings are shared by many adoptive-moms-to-be. Truthfully the past few years I’ve wanted the day to pass by as quickly as possible. This is exactly how I used to feel on Valentine’s Day during my single years. Please just get it over with.

Meandering through Bloedel we saw rhododendrons awash with blooms and families celebrating motherhood. Sons escorted elderly moms across fields of green. Toddlers ran up the trails giggling under the watchful gaze of their mothers. Even the ducks in the pond showed off their little broods as they paddled and skittered at the water’s edge.

The sun was shining and we were in a beautiful place amongst friends. Being surrounded by plants, camera in hand and Big Papa at my side is generally a recipe for complete happiness. So why did I feel that something was amiss? I think it was my expectation that I would be amongst the revelers, because this year, I’d be in the mommy club, kid in tow.

Later, back at the Urban Cabin, I took another look at the thoughtful card Big Papa gave me earlier in the day. In it he reminded me that even though I might be celebrating the day as a mother-in-waiting, it’s still something to celebrate. That in adopting we are taking a stand and doing the right thing for a child…we just haven’t met him yet.

It is true that on the day that I do become a mom, I won’t suddenly become more caretaking, creative thinking, or adventure loving. I exhibit those qualities in the relationships I nurture right now. Once we adopt, I’ll just have one more person in my life to shower those traits on.

I decided to take what Big Papa wrote to heart. Do you only become a “real” cyclist after you compete in a race? Are you truly a writer only if your words achieve publication? Is it the public recognition that makes it so? Or instead, is it the mile after mile you log every day you climb on the bike and the thousands of words written in your journal that may never see the light of day?

So before I lay my head on the pillow last night, I closed my eyes and took a moment to honor all that I am that is already a testament to my abilities to “mother,” whether it’s the delicious meals I prepare for us each weekend, to the trips to the vet to attend to our sick cat, to the moments when I sit down and listen to Big Papa talk about his day and the hours I spend orchestrating our trips and adventures. Mothering is in all those little details and I do it every day.

Five years and a facelift

January 9, 2010 by Beth Shepherd

What a difference five years can make in a life. On 1-9-05 I was a single girl. I’d been single a long time. On this cold and unusually snowy Seattle Sunday, my first date with Big Papa was on the calendar. We’d arranged for me to pick him up and drive to the Bainbridge Island Ferry terminal where we’d take the ferry over to the island, do a bit of wine tasting at the Bainbridge Island Winery and see if there was any chemistry between us.

There was and five years later, his home is now our home. It is an amazing irony that our home number is 1905, the same numbers as the date we first met. I’d like to think we were meant to be.

In this short period of time, we’ve been through a lot. We’ve enjoyed many wonderful, amazing experiences together along with our share of trials and tribulations. Becoming a twosome past forty-something (though first marriages for us both) brings a different set of adjustments in making a life together than getting hitched in one’s twenties.

Big Papa now sports a beard. My hair is longer. We’ve both got more lines in our faces.

We moved my father from Florida to Seattle and he lives in nearby in an assisted living facility (having him here has brought its own set of challenges); two beloved cats have passed away (Joel’s Cleo and my Madison). We’re on the path to adopt a child.

Our tiny, old (circa 1898) house, lovingly known as ‘The Urban Cabin,’ has undergone some changes recently too. We added 150 square feet to the back of the house, moved the laundry upstairs (it used to be in our dirt floor basement), refaced the kitchen cabinets and fir floors, put on a new deck and opened up the back with lots of windows and light. It’s the same house, but with its face lift, it sure feels different.

This afternoon the Urban Cabin will fill with friends to celebrate two occasions, our five years together and our “new and improved” digs. As I look around, my world has changed in so many remarkable ways, both literally and figuratively.

No matter how tough times have gotten in the past five years, I count my blessings to be where I am, in the Urban Cabin with Big Papa by my side. Being together makes this house a home and adds riches beyond words to both our lives.

1-9-0-5

July 24, 2009 by Beth Shepherd

Part I of V

All hail the Internet! Without it, Big Papa might never have entered my life. When we met, I’d been dabbling with online dating on and off for several years. On New Year’s Day, 2005, I was about to head into an off phase. I needed a break. A spell of disastrous dates had dealt my self-esteem a serious blow and I wanted off the Match.com merry-go-round.

The New Year began with me purging all the emails from ‘prospects’ I’d corresponded with in recent months. Then I canceled my membership. I was informed that my profile would remain up for three days before I would fade into Match.com history.

As a parting gesture, I ceremoniously sent one final e-mail into the ether to a guy whose profile said he found that “pulling weeds was therapeutic.”Salt of the earth, I liked that. My e-mail read, “In three days I’ll be a Match.goner. If something in my profile piques your interest, my home e-mail is…”

A reply was in my in-box the next morning. For the next few days, little missives were exchanged, and we discovered a bit about each other. We both moved to Seattle from similar cities on the east coast in 1985. We’d each done a few-year stint in California. I had two cats and he had one (big points for being a guy with a cat). He also lived barely a mile from my apartment, which meant he was geographically desirable, as a former boss used to say.

We decided to meet in person and bypass the awkward, “Let’s chat on the phone” stage of the blind dating process. Sick of coffee dates that felt like job interviews, I asked if he would suggest “something more unique” for our first get together. He responded with, “How about a ferry ride?” Brilliant! I love to ride the ferry and this adventure sounded like fun, albeit that it was early January and snow was in the forecast. Some months later, we both confessed to each other that we’d had second thoughts. Big Papa told me he’d mused to himself, “Why waste a perfectly good Sunday on something that isn’t likely to go anywhere.”

Our rendezvous was set for Sunday, January 9, 2005. I offered up transportation to the ferry and Big Papa gave me his address. His house number was 1-9-0-5.

So, on 1-9-05, I drove up to 1905 and picked him up. My first impression was that the Urban Cabin was cute and homey. Standing in the doorway, I saw two Edward Hopper prints, one of my favorite painters. I like the colors in Big Papa’s home. It looked like a place where I’d feel comfortable. It also didn’t hurt that I thought Big Papa was pretty handsome too.

He got into my car. I was nervous. He was nervous. Off we drove to the Bainbridge Island ferry. As we chatted more, we both relaxed. I had a feeling of ease and familiarity. Talking with Big Papa was as comfortable as standing in the doorway of the Urban Cabin.

The ferry ride led to wine tasting at the Bainbridge Island Winery, which led to hanging out at Fay Bainbridge State Park and eating cheese and frozen chocolate truffles (remember, this was early January), which led to dinner back in Seattle at Coastal Kitchen.

When I dropped Big Papa off at the Urban Cabin, some eight hours later, we kissed goodbye. He told me he enjoyed our time together and wanted to go on a second date. Driving back to my apartment, I realized I felt none of the first-date angst that so often accompanied online dating. Did he like me? Yes, I felt fairly confident he did. Would he really call me to get together again? Yes, I was pretty sure he would. Honestly, it was the best dang date I’d ever been on.

I smiled to myself as I reminisced about our first date on 1-9-05. I smiled bigger as I thought about Big Papa and 1905, the Urban Cabin. After many years of wandering, it felt like I’d finally come home.