A BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAIN LOVE STORY

Last week Ross and I flew out to North Carolina to celebrate Mat and Anton's marriage. They were married in the Blue Ridge Mountains, near Blowing Rock, where legend has it that an Indian brave, torn between duty and love, leapt from the edge of a rock. His grief-stricken lover prayed so long and hard that the Great Spirit saw fit to send the brave back to her. He blew right back up over the edge of the cliff and into her arms...they say even the snow falls in reverse at Blowing Rock.

Legends aside, the wedding was lovely, and did not take place at the edge of a cliff, but next to lake, under a tree.


We saw old St. Louis friends, like David and Kim.

On Sunday we had a delicious brunch at The Gamekeeper, which was once the headmaster's cabin of the Yonahlosee Riding Camp for Girls. All that is left of the camp is the "cabin" and the tennis courts, but I have the inside scoop: a certain talented writer is working on a novel inspired by this spot...




Watch out for that gargoyle, Ross!

The wedding itself was beautiful. This was my first time in North Carolina, and I was surprised at the weather in the mountains--rather like Seattle.

Mat's niece and nephew were the flower girl and ring bearer.

Anton's sister, Alex, was the maid of honor.

Finally...the bride.







Rachel and Nick were there.

David was an usher.

And Kathryn came down from Vermont.

Alex and Tim competed for the title of funniest toastmaster.




I think Anton was judging the toast contest here.




Congratulations, Mat and Anton!

LEARNING THE LANGUAGE OF SHIPS

Among other things, June was the time to move out of our apartment--our first apartment together, really. Moving always takes so much longer than expected, and I hate the forced evaluation of possessions. It seems I always reach a point where the line between "worth keeping" and "junk" slides all the way down the scale to "all junk," but we kept a lot of it anyway. And then there is the discovery of filth beneath the oven, and the tumbleweed-sized dust bunnies that have somehow stayed hidden for months. We were lucky to have Jerritt's help (thanks, Jerritt), but moving was one of the low points of June.

In August, I'm off to Salt Lake City. In the meantime, I get to explore Ross' new neighborhood with him. There are incredible views in Queen Anne! It was hazy yesterday, but from a single viewpoint, just up the hill from our building, we can see the Puget Sound, the skyline, and Mount Rainier. I love hearing the trains whistle below, and the ships honking to each other in their secret language.


There are dozens of hidden staircases up and down the hill.

Ross' apartment is a tiny studio in the old Chelsea Hotel.


The building was designed by architect Harlan Thomas in 1907. Harlan Thomas was born in Ross' hometown of Fort Collins, CO, in 1870 and went to CSU way back in the day.



We are pretty sure his is the smallest unit in the building. When we were looking at the place, we saw a few other units, and...well...wow. I will simply say that our unit is modest.




Despite being disgusted at the sheer amount of belongings we own, I could not resist picking this portrait of the Virgin out of the free pile in our old building...




I guess we are settling in fairly well for the time being.