¶ My kinda busy day: Tennis, war driving through Los Altos, and dinner with Shan and Heather. I could stand more busy days like these.

Bernard and I headed to a local park to play tennis, the first such outing either of us had had since the last time we played tennis together. Should we play tennis more often? Yes. Anyone in the Salem-area up for a game with a fairly rusty player like me? If so, LMK.

Afterward, we went war driving through Los Altos, and as one might expect there are a lot of wireless networks in this part of Sillicon Valley. Some are open and available for use as an Internet portal (I surfed at broadband speeds while we filled up at the gas station, for example). Many are closed and encrypted (including two which I can receive from the Lillys' driveway). Some are of the wide-open hello-how-are-you-here's-my-hard-drive variety. If I were a PC guy (since most of the networks are on PCs and are much more difficult to configure than Apple's Airport), I would use this as part of a business model. There is serious money to be made here.

In the evening we dined with Shan and Heather. Jonah was a surprisingly fussy little boy, but nine times out of 10 it's because we're not feeding him as much as he'd like. That's frequently hard to believe since we feed him a lot, but at least he's letting us know. Shan and Heather were great about having to delay their quite delicious dinner on Jonah's account. In fact, they were terrific in every respect, holding Jonah, playing with him, paying him attention, etc. Although I'd apparently promised that Jonah would burp up on one or both of them, this vow went unfulfilled. Maybe next time.

Shan and I snuck away from the action at one point in the evening so I could admire their 17" LCD iMac. It is indeed a thing of beauty. For those of you not needing PCI slots (which I do because of music production), the 17" LCD iMac is a terrific machine and one I'd recommend without reservation. Shan and Heather run separate desktops, and I was heartened to see Shan had tricked his out. I love it when people customize their Macs.

As always, we didn't leave Shan and Heather until well after midnight, and we're already looking forward to seeing them next time we're in town.

¶ That's 63 in dog years: Double Funk Crunch helps us disco in anniversary number nine.

Nine years Erin and I have been married. Sometimes people will say "it's hard to believe it's been X years" meaning that the length of the relationship feels either longer or shorter than the couple has actually been together. Nine years seems about right to me which, I guess, is a bonus since that happens to correspond with reality.

We've been fortunate in a great many ways during this time. We're relatively healthy. We've made substantial progress on all our personal and professional goals. We've bought a house and established ourselves in a community. We've begun a family. We are, in fact, almost precisely where we planned to be in life, and I dare say that the roadmap we've laid out for the future just keeps getting more interesting and exciting. It's hard sometimes not to just well up with feelings of gratitude and love.

This evening, the Lillys and us joined Mark, Christine, and Jared in Redwood City for a park concert by Double Funk Crunch, a disco-themed cover band. The tunes were good, and we enjoyed a picnic under pleasant weather conditions. I found it a good way to decompress after all the stress of recent weeks. Jonah, a music lover, seemed to have a good time as well.

Speaking of whom, Jonah continues his incremental growth. He's been a little upset about being a car seat lately, but given all the indignities we've unintentionally subject him to in the same, it's hard to believe he's not sharpening knives for us. A little crying is nothing given all the hours and miles he's logged. There'd probably be something wrong if he wasn't upset.

He's drooling a fair amount nowadays—though I'm told not nearly as much as he will be once he starts teething—and eating a lot more than he used to. I suspect he's probably somewhere in the 14 lbs. range, but we've not weighed him recently. The bottom line is that he's doing well, and if that's so, Erin and I can't be doing all bad. (One could argue that Jonah is at least partial proof that we must be doing something right.)

So nine years, my friends, with plans for a whole lot more.

¶ Jonah earns his wings: Baby's first airplane ride is something of a snooze. Works for me.

Jonah's first airline ride went fine. The Southwest flight was under capacity, so we got to bring his car seat on for free (normally we'd have to buy another seat). Jonah conked out as we taxied toward takeoff and didn't awaken until after we'd touched down. Sure, he missed some nice views out the window—babies in carseats are apparently required to take the window seat, presumably so they can't trap mom or dad there in cases of emergency—but we were thrilled to have everything go so smoothly. We're keeping fingers crossed that he flies just as well on the return trip.

The weather down here in the South Bay is pleasant. Perhaps a touch warm, but nothing like the 90 to 100 degree heat wave we've dealt with up in Oregon, Washington, Idaho and Montana in the last few weeks. I'm hoping that this holds for the duration of our vacation.

We're staying with the Lillys in Los Altos. It's good to be here.

¶ Your son is a war driver: Happy birthday, Dad!

War driving is what they call driving around with an 802.11b (aka Airport) card looking for open wireless networks. Joe and I got up this morning, drove through Battle Ground, and found dozens. Many if not most of them were unencrypted, meaning one could make a go at hacking the system given the time and desire. We really had neither since this was more a voyage of discovery than anything else.

Still, the last network we stumbled upon was wide open. I had complete access to the poor shmoe's hard drive, and could've copied or deleted any files I chose. Instead we dropped a helpful "you might want to fix this" text file on his main directory. I figured that if we don't warn him the next war driver might not be as charitable. We literally could have done anything we wanted to his computer system, and he may never have been the wiser.

So in case it's not immediately obvious, war driving is a lot of fun. Part of it's like being on the trail of a mystery. It's computer-centric which is enjoyable for us geek-types. And of course the opportunity to hang with friends could be considered the primary motivation to begin with. If I can ever get ahead in the financial game, I might look at adding a GPS to my Mac so that I can go war driving and log specific locations. That'd be even more da bomb.

After Erin, Jonah, and I returned to Salem, we headed over to my parents to celebrate my dad's birthday. Good Davison times. Way too much food, happy conversation, and joy for a single meeting. We loaded Dad up with a bird feeder and plants and things, and I did my requisite fun time on their Power Mac G3. (Next up: A hard drive swap, from 6 GB to 120 GB.) We returned home some time after 9 PM, content in the knowledge that thanks to family and friends we'd been able to shrug off the latest auto-induced headache and have a great weekend. Thank you all.

¶ My car has a first name: It's C-R-A-P-P-Y. My car has a second name. It's M-A-Z-D-A. Oh, I hate to drive it every day and if you ask me why I'll say: The crappy Mazda has a way of dying almost every day.

Unbelievably, the steering went out on the Mazda this morning. We've had it towed to a local shop, and depending on the cost, we may just decide to crush the thing down into a small metal cube. But only if I get to pull the lever. It might be a simple fix, but I suspect that by the time we're done with this latest repair I will have, in the past three weeks, put more money into the car than it's worth. That's hardly a feel-good.

Nonetheless, we had a pretty good Saturday. My parents let us borrow their Honda Civic, enabling us for the first time in days to drive without fear of automotive catastrophe. The Kanns threw an awesome Kannburger BBQ, and I'm not just saying that because Maria and I, comprising Happy Team Yellow, were victorious in the party's croquet game. (In truth the best player was probably Eileen, who staged a monster comeback that fell only one shot short of victory.) Great food, great games, great conversation...terrific stuff for which Joe and Carol deserve major props. Thank you!

¶ Where the heart is: We arrive at the base that comes after third.

We're home now, and everything is still standing. As one might imagine, it's great to be here.

The Mazda's new alternator seems to be working. It got us from The Dalles to Salem without a hitch, so that's promising. Erin's advocating taking the vehicle on our trip to California, but I'll need a few more days of driving before I come even close to entertaining that proposition. It's one thing if the car craps out near family or friends. It's quite another if we're more than 300 miles from anyone we know. At least that's the argument I'm making.

We had another good day yesterday at Howard and Dorothy's. Swam in the pool a couple of times. Ate lunch in Dallesport, Washington at the airport across the Columbia River. The owner of NAPA auto parts in The Dalles was also there, and after hearing our tale of woe, he bought our lunch. So although the quality of his replacement parts might be suspect, at least he's a class guy. As we were leaving, we bumped into the fellow who started the Roth's grocery chain. He and his wife marvelled over Jonah, so clearly they're class people too.

It's good to be back. Thanks to everyone who wrote or called to wish us well.

¶ Okay, now it's worse: Is an alternator really an alternator if it doesn't alternate?

I don't know squat about cars, but I know this: The Mazda has seen its last long-distance road trip. We might take a drive up to Battle Ground or down to Eugene, but that's about the furthest I'm willing to travel in this car (other than, of course, trying to get home from The Dalles). I've put over $1k into the thing in the last three weeks, and for a car with 141,000 miles on it, it should be doing a whole heckuva lot better given that we've had it serviced and maintained regularly. The bottom line is that I don't trust it, and that's a fatal stain as far as I'm concerned.

But let me back up to tell you about today's disasterous turn of events. We picked up the Mazda from the mechanic in the late morning and were all packed up and buzzing down I-84 westbound when it crapped out again by Exit 40 near Bonneville. I don't know what sort of voodoo curse this car is under, but the 626 went dead just like before. We've had the ignition coil, distributor, and alternator replaced and still it goes dead. What you bet that everything we spent money repairing was fine and that the problem is something like a $5 wire? At this point it wouldn't surprise me at all.

With Erin driving along the shoulder, I pushed the car to a turnout at the base of Exit 40. Then I walked to the fish hatchery and borrowed a cell phone from the security guard. A terrifically nice fellow (also named Ty), he let us use his T-Mobile phone for the multiple calls it took to get "un-stranded."

The place we had the car serviced in The Dalles gave us some NAPA guarantee paperwork that says if we take the car to a NAPA service center—not a parts store, mind you—they'll fix the problem for free. They'll even tow up to 25 miles for free (using some bizarre reimbursement system that requires me to pay for the tow to begin with). Well, if the Yellow Pages are any guide—and I hope they are—there is no NAPA service center within 25 miles of Bonneville. I called the mechanic in The Dalles; he didn't know of another NAPA mechanic. I called the NAPA emergency roadside assistance 800 number. Unbelievably, they didn't know of another NAPA dealer either. So that proved a big waste of time.

Finally, I called USAA's roadside assist service again, and they set up a tow from a company out of The Dalles. After 90 minutes of waiting (at this point the fish hatchery had closed), I borrowed another cell phone—this one from a movie caterer whose truck had a flat—and called USAA back. They said a truck was on the way. The caterer was very kind, and gave me some apple juice from his truck to take back to Erin. He also mentioned, when I asked about what stars he's worked with, that Cuba Gooding Jr. is a classy, funny, down-to-earth guy. So props to Cuba.

After a couple hours of waiting the tow truck showed up. The best news of it all was that we got to ride in the car while it sat on the bed of the tow truck as it took us back to The Dalles, sort of a low budget carnival ride. That didn't make up for the wait (again in 90 plus degree weather), but at that point we were trying to salvage what meager happiness we could from the experience. I forgot to mention it but we also briefly toured the Bonneville fish hatchery while we were waiting. Big sturgeon, lots of trout. Too bad Jonah's not just a little older. I think he would've dug it.

Anyway, after breaking down at 3:25 PM, we got back to Howard and Dorothy's around 9 PM. They've been very hospitable and gracious in our time of need. Jonah continues to be terrific about the whole thing, and Erin's positive demeanor is a godsend. I think we handled the day as well as it could be handled, really.

It's just that I'm getting tired of having mechanics tell me the car will run yet needing a tow truck to return to their shop. We'd already planned to buy another car at the end of the summer; we'll be accelerating those plans. I'm sure we'll keep the Mazda for bopping around the Salem area, but, as I've said, I don't trust it for much longer distances. Like it or not, tomorrow or the next day, I'm gonna have to trust it again to get us home.

¶ It could be worse: If you're gonna be stranded, why not here?

If you've got to be stranded some place, you could do a lot worse than my Uncle Howard and Aunt Dorothy's place in The Dalles. Situated on what's likely the highest buildable hill at the eastern end of the city, their home overlooks the dam, the airport, the Columbia River, and the town itself. The view is, in a word, spectacular, and it matters not whether you're looking at various things during the day or just enjoying the lights at night. It's really breathtaking.

The house is a large single level with multiple bedrooms and good spacial separation between the master bedroom and the guest rooms. That means any of Jonah's night time whining—or any of mine given the way things are working out with the car—won't be a bother to Howard or Dorothy. The view from both the formal dining room and the living room is, as I've noted, world-class.

They also have a very enjoyable outdoor pool. There's a slide and several floatation toys which I've played with for a good many minutes. A fiber optic lighting system rings the pool, and at night it gradually shifts between five different colors, making for a very attractive means of illumination. Night time swimming where you can look up at the stars and down on the lights of the city is pretty dang cool.

The mechanic has had to order an alternator from Portland so we won't be good to go until tomorrow. As I say, it could be worse.

¶ Surviving the shut down: Our journey gets funky, and it's not the good kind of funk either. We adapt. We change. We grow.

With deep gratitude for Brian and Tracey's kind hospitality, we departed Spokane for my uncle Howard and Aunt Dorothy's place in The Dalles. It's usually a five hour trip if you drive it straight. If you stop for lunch you can add another hour to that. If you stop for lunch with a baby, you can add two hours. If the car you just spent a $1000 getting fixed up for the trip breaks down at Mile post 153 by Oregon's Three Mile Canyon Exit, you can add another five hours plus the time you stopped for lunch with a baby. So it turns out that the terrifically sub-par Denny's in Kennewick where we lunched, and about which I was at one point prepared to write so much, is a very minor plot point in today's adventure.

I've not mentioned it in this space, but we've dumped a bundle of money into the Mazda in recent weeks. You'd be driving along and the car would shut down with the tachometer dropping from somewhere around 3000 RPMs to zero. If you waited a bit it you could start it back up, but obviously this was less than ideal automotive behavior. The instructions I gave the mechanic were clear: We're going to Montana in a few weeks, and this car needs to make it through. He replaced the ignition coil and the distributor (and passenger side front wheel bearing, but that's irrelevant here). The 626 seemed to work like a charm and up until about 65 miles outside The Dalles we buzzed right along.

Out around Boardman, the Mazda shut down again. Previously this meant a wait of a minute or two before restarting the engine. This time it took at least 10 minutes before we were able to restart the car. We drove another mile or so, then the engine died again. We waited 20 minutes the second time before the engine returned to life. Again, we forged ahead another mile before the 626 hung out its tongue and collapsed just shy of the aforementioned Mile Post 153 by Three Mile Canyon.

We'd been charging a cell phone this entire time, but for whatever reason, we couldn't get enough juice into it to bring it to life. That was a disturbing find, since a call to 911 was our first backup plan. I'm not sure if this will prompt me to actually acquire a full-use cell phone or not, since we otherwise have no desire to carry one regularly. But you can bet your bottom dollar that I'm going to figure out what went wrong here.

I've not, by the way, set the stage properly because I've omitted one salient fact: It was about 100 degrees out. Erin and I can soldier through just about anything, but we felt badly about subjecting Jonah to this level of discomfort. We kept him hydrated, moved him out of the sun, and frequently wiped him with wet paper towels. I suppose everyone already knows this but maybe it's worth repeating: Always carry drinkable water in your car. If we'd not had a what we did, an extremely annoying experience could have turned dangerous.

As I walked up to the Three Mile Canyon exit, a good samaritan stopped to let me use his cell phone. I owe a big debt of gratitude to Brent, a motherboard design engineer at Intel, for taking 10 minutes out of his windsurfing vacation just to help out when he saw the need. He had USAA's roadside assist on speed dial—another important point being always have a roadside assistance service—so I talked with USAA, and they arranged for a tow truck to be there in about an hour. (An aside: Turns out that Brent's grandfather was a pilot in both World War II and the Korean War, and that's how Brent has USAA membership.) With my thanks, Brent departed to catch some waves, while Erin, Jonah, and I began our wait for the tow truck.

Richard Schaffer of Bishop's towing showed up almost exactly one hour after my call. We hopped in the cab, he hooked up the Mazda, and off we went. We stopped at a food mart in Arlington so that we could stock up on water and Gatorade. I tried to call my uncle Howard, but for whatever reason, the call would not go through from the payphone. I'm not sure if this is a problem with my calling card or if it was an issue with the payphone, but I was able to reach Uncle Howard from a payphone in The Dalles, so I'm guessing the latter.

We dropped the car off at K & H Specialties in The Dalles, and Uncle Howard and Aunt Dorothy came down to pick us up. So we ended up at our destination for the night, but not nearly how or when we thought we'd get there. We ate a late but delicious dinner, cleaned up Jonah and ourselves, and went to bed.

Obviously, it would be easy to look at the fortunes of the day and complain. Three things that should have worked didn't: The car, the cell phone, and the calling card. I'll get these sorted out. At the same time, we have so many reasons to be grateful that it's almost overwhelming. We got our Montana trip; if the car had broken on the way there we'd have perhaps canceled the vacation altogether. We received the kindness of strangers; I hate to think how much worse it would have been without Brent's assistance. We subjected Jonah to a really lousy afternoon, and he issued nary a complaint. We still made it to The Dalles and the sanctuary of family.

Most importantly, though, Erin and I passed the test of this trial and together became the stronger for it. The dirty secret of parenthood is that it strains your spousal relations. This might be because your expectations of how to raise a kid differ from your partner's. Or it might be that you're both sleep deprived, because, you know, kids will do that to you. Or you might not be getting enough time together, because time with baby is not, strictly speaking, time with each other. For these and a myriad of other reasons, parenthood isn't for the faint of heart.

Erin's and my relationship has suffered because of Jonah's arrival. I'm not talking about having big fights or throwing plates or anything ridiculous like that. We've just been a bit testy, because, well, frankly, we've never needed to work at our relationship before. Loving and living with Erin has always been the most natural, effortless thing for me. Even Jonah, the world's most docile and lovable child (said the dad), couldn't help but throw a monkey wrench into the works. Having kids changes everything.

But if properly met, shared adventure—today's set of calamities certainly qualifying as such—brings together those who live the experience. Of all that we've seen and done on this trip, how we dealt with today's events will undoubtedly have the most significant and positive long-term impact on me, on Erin, and on our family. It may seem strange to think of harrowing experiences as beneficial, but most great truths belong to the realm of the paradoxical. Which why the worst day of our journey may have also been the best.

¶ I get my thing in action!: To work! To play! To live! To love! That's what's happening.

Before leaving Missoula we visited Erin's childhood friend Nora, her husband Patrick and their 4 week old girl Finley. We compared notes on raising a kid (Finley, like Jonah for us, being their first). Erin and I enjoyed holding Finley. Already we're reminded just how much Jonah has grown.

After our visit we headed out of Montana. For whatever it's worth, both Erin and I reached the conclusion that we could live and be happy in Missoula. We have no plans to leave Salem, but we were somehow forced into exile, we could live in Missoula and lead pretty contented lives (except for not seeing family and friends as often). In sum, we like Missoula a lot.

We stopped at Lincoln's 10000 Silver $ restaurant again on our way to the evening's rest stop, Spokane. Again, we found that any stop with baby equals the expected time plus one hour. That's OK, but eventually we've got to get our expectations reset correctly or it will drive me nuts.

After the high 90 degree temperatures throughout the drive—Jonah being a trooper the whole way—it was a relief simply to arrive back at Brian and Tracey's apartment in Spokane. This was made all the more welcome by their generous hospitality. And let me say this before I forget to mention it: I really enjoy that Erin and I have friends who are both smart and ready to laugh. Brian and Tracey both have doctorates in English—forgive my grammatical mistakes; I know not what I do—and eagerly find humor in the well-crafted ancedote or intelligent wittism. We quite enjoyed our time with them.

For the evening's entertainment we watched their School House Rock DVD, perhaps the best thing Disney ever did outside of its association with Pixar. Oh man, the memories. Conjunction Junction; I'm Just a Bill; Three is the Magic Number; Lolly, Lolly, Lolly Get Your Adverbs Here, etc. I have no clue as to the teaching effectiveness of School House Rock, but I was amazed at just how much educational information these 2-3 minute cartoons packed into each song. (My favorite, by the way, was Verb: That's What's Happening.) I also really enjoyed seeing the now amazingly politically incorrect Elbow Room, which set to lyrics a young United States kicking the Native Americans out of their land. ("The way was opened up/For folks with bravery./There were plenty of fights/To win land rights, But the West was meant to be./It was Manifest Destiny!") Remember, this represented the liberal view of the Native American rights question in the 1970s. A lot has changed in 30 years.

¶ The Place of Ground Squirrels: No, that's not a burger joint. We tour the evocative Big Hole National Battlefield. Jonah blows out and the weather heats up.

After a brief final visit with Mildred we bid her adieu and traveled south through the Bitterroot Valley to the Idaho border. In the southern end of the valley, there is substantial evidence of recent fire with hundreds of acres burned. Long-term this is just part of nature's cycle of renewal. Short-term it's not nearly as attractive as seeing thousands of healthy, green pines. Even so, I found the landscape strangely alluring.

Just prior to the Idaho border we turned east and climbed the 7,400 feet of Chief Joseph Pass. About 15 miles in we came to the Big Hole National Battlefield. Here on August 9, 1877 at a camp site that the Indians call the Place of Ground Squirrels, the US Calvary launched a surprise attack on a sleeping band of Nez Perce, killing between 60 and 90 Indians, most of them women and children. After the initial assault, the Nez Perce warriors launched a counterattack that held the calvary at bay while the rest of the tribe gathered belongings, buried some of their dead, and escaped.

Traditionally, the US historical perspective on this was that of the White Man: The US Calvary bravely discharged its duties in the face of a hostile foe of superior numbers. There remains a large 1930s-era monument on the site with engraved words right along these lines. Only recently has the idea that slaughtering innocent women and children as they sleep raised any sort of moral qualms. The US National Park service does, I think, a good job of presenting the events of Big Hole as a clash of cultures and allowing visitors to draw their own conclusions. Now I don't think it takes much brain power to conclude that the United States screwed Native Americans nine ways to Sunday—Big Hole being only one example—but certainly as trustees of historic sites such as these, the Park Service is right to try to walk a neutral line.

Jonah had his hardest day yet at the Big Hole. We changed him a couple times only to have a blowout (parents out there know what I mean when I say "blowout"; others should just imagine something hideous having to do with poopy diapers) down by the pathway to the siege area. After a change of attire and limited sponge bath, Jonah was set to go, so we loaded him in the stroller and took to the path.

The battle area is somber, haunting, and beautiful. Unfortunately, it's also mosquito infested—at least in July—and we had to beat something of a retreat from the area a little more quickly than I would have preferred. Nonetheless, I got the experience I wanted, and like many things on this trip, I'm looking forward to the day when our kid is older and we return again.

After the delay of dealing with Jonah we decided to retrace our steps up the Bitterroot Valley to make the best possible time to our motel in Missoula. We entertained thoughts of heading toward Butte, but that would've made for a much longer day, and we were tired enough in the 106(!) degree weather. Jonah was a trooper through it all.

I booked a night at the Best Value Inn in Missoula via Travelocity. If you've every used Travelocity (or Expedia or any of the online booking services), you know that finding the motel that best suits your needs can occasionally be a bit of a challenge. In booking our stay at the Holiday Inn Express in Hamilton, I looked at the four available motels, weighed the costs versus the benefits, and booked the one I thought best. For Missoula, not only did I have a more limited time period in which to make the booking decision because we were already on the road, but the city contains a lot more than four possible overnight accommodations.

All which is to say that the Best Value Inn on 300 E Broadway in Missoula is a 1950s-era motel that was a little below expectations. I wouldn't describe it as a dive, but it's older and somewhat worn about the edges if you take my meaning. Also, the sign out front doesn't even say Best Value Inn. According to the desk manager, the new sign hasn't come in yet, so the sign out front still reads "The Bel-Aire." Despite making locating the place more difficult than it should have been, that's no tragedy. Of course, it's not a recommendation either.

¶ Great Grandpa shucked corn: And boy howdy yes I care. A look at Dr. Asa Lee Davison's 1861 diary.

Mildred gave us a tour of Hamilton in the late morning. On this vacation nothing is happening in the early morning. We drove by the Rocky Mountain Labs, the federal governments chemical/bio weapons plant. It's lined with guards and a chain link fence topped with barbed wire. The sleepy town of Hamilton seems an usual place to base such a research facility except that it began as a medical research center to cure the tick-borne disease of Rocky Mountain spotted fever prevalent in the area. At what point it more firmly came under military control, I do not know. As one might expect, however, many in the community are less than happy about having one of the nation's bio weapons research centers in their back yard (in some cases, literally), but there is no question that the center adds a number of high paying jobs to the town of 3,700.

In the afternoon the temperature topped 100 degrees, so we stayed indoors at Mildred's and talked genealogy. Mildred is my first cousin twice removed, Asa Lee Davison being our common ancestor. More specifically, Asa Lee's kids Quincy (my grandfather) and Ivy (Mildred's mother) were brother and sister. Mildred had a number of very interesting old family photos and, find of finds, Asa Lee's 1861 diary. There were a great many uneventful entries. He was a farmer at the time, and I lost count of the number days where "shucked corn" was the only entry. But sometimes he had more intriguing things to say and reading a Civil War-era primary source document was itself thrilling. I typed up what I could from the work, but eventually I'll probably need to find some way to spend a few hours with the source material again or to make a copy of it. Regardless, what a marvellous read!

We returned to the air-conditioned Holiday Inn Express (hereafter HIE) after dinner. Hamilton boasts four motels, the HIE being in my opinion the best of the lot. There is little need for me to describe what the HIE was like. Like Holiday Inns themselves, if you've seen one Express, you've seen 'em all. The hot tub was under repair, but otherwise our stay was pleasant, uneventful, and at or above expectations. If you're ever staying in Hamilton—not a bad place to visit whether you have relatives there or not—you could do worse than renting a room at HIE.

¶ A late but good start: It's hard to get moving when you're hanging out with people you enjoy. Worked out in the end anyway: We're in Hamilton, Montana.

We got a later than planned start on the day because Jonah proved a little fussy during the night (which was understandable given everything we've been putting him through during the days) and because we enjoyed having an unhurried morning with Brian and Tracey. We'll be seeing them again Saturday on our return trip.

We drove through Idaho's panhandle to Haugan, Montana, a little town about 16 miles from the border. We stopped there for a late lunch at Lincoln's 10,000 Silver $ restaurant. Yes, I've punctuated and spelled that correctly. Good eats quickly served is the summary, though Jonah burped up during a feeding and delayed our departure rendering some of their efficiency moot.

We arrived at the Holiday Inn Express in Hamilton about 8:30 PM local time. I say local time because we crossed a time zone when we left Idaho, and, having forgotten all about that, we were even later in getting in than we already thought we were. Regardless, the Holiday Inn Express is one of four motels in Hamilton and, as near as I could determine from the Internet descriptions, the best of the lot. My early impression of the place is favorable at least. It will be nice to have air conditioning and to be staying in the same place for a couple of nights.

After a quick check-in at the motel, we visited Mildred, my 86 year old first cousin once removed, for a couple hours. She is incredibly spry and sharp-witted. I can't begin to tell you how impressed I am that she uses a computer and can and does email regularly.

A long time rock hound, Mildred showed us her gem cutting and polishing equipment along with samples of her work. One can readily apprehend that faceting—that is, cutting a gem for display—takes some degree of physical talent. With the diamond cutting blade spinning, a bad cut could ruin the gem. What I never appreciated or understood was just how much of an intellectual exercise this process is. When one examines the uncut rock, it's necessary to decide what cut will remove flawed material while highlighting the brilliance of the gem. Every rock being different, it's not uncommon to spend quite some time puzzling over uncut gems to figure out how to best bring out the beauty hidden within. It's a much more interesting field of work than I would have imagined.

After the long day's ride, Erin, Jonah, and I had to head to the motel after only a couple hours visit. Fortunately, we'll be spending all day tomorrow tooling around Hamilton and the surrounding area with Mildred.

¶ One day's journey: Battle Ground to The Dalles to Ritzville to Spokane in 93 degree weather. Friends reunited.

Joe and I have never been ones to resist staying up late. Last time around we were playing computer games. This time we were talking politics. In light of needing to leave Battle Ground by 7 AM to make a breakfast appointment in The Dalles, this late night chatfest may have been a mistake, but you know what? I don't care. This vacation is all about having fun, and talking with good friends falls firmly into that category. Sleep deprivation be darned, I'd do it again gladly.

And this morning wasn't so bad. The drive to The Dalles was pleasant and easy since we were predominantly counter-commute. Meeting with Uncle Howard and Aunt Dorothy and having the chance to introduce Jonah to them was great, and a super way to start the day. We'll be staying with them next Sunday on the return trip.

The stretch between The Dalles and Spokane, today's intended destination, is a long one. It runs just over 5 hours, and we decided to stop for lunch before than to break up this leg of the trip for Jonah and for ourselves. The temperature in the Gorge and up into eastern Washington ran in the low 90s. The Mazda's AC proved a little tempermental, but we made to Preston's Restaurant, our lunch stop in Ritzville, Washington with fewer complaints from Jonah than from ourselves.

The wait staff at Preston's expressed a good deal of delight with Jonah, a welcome reaction after such a long car ride. Our stop at the restaurant was of a couple hours duration both so we and Jonah could feed and so he got some good awake time after sleeping in the car all day. When we left for Spokane, we could not reasonably expect Jonah to be any more ready to go.

Unanticipated roadway construction delays made the trip through Cheney and Spokane much longer than we would have liked. Jonah was no more happy about this than we were, especially since the construction forced traffic to the shoulder where every 20 feet or so we were obligated to run over a series of "driver wake up" grooves. Or perhaps they should be called "baby wake up" grooves. C'est la vie.

Brian and Tracey's stately apartment building is a former home for nurses or nuns or some such group. The point of the matter is that it's wonderfully historic in character and to my eyes delightfully attractive. As a bonus there are some plants near the entry that smell just like part of my Grandma Norma's yard used to. That brought pleasant memories.

I last saw Brian and Tracey at Purdue University seven and half years ago. At the time I was visiting my friend Suzanne, also at Purdue, as a layover on my great graduate school excursion of November, 1995. That length of separation might seem a long time, but we encountered no difficulty immediately reconnecting. With some friends time does not dim the brightness of the friendship. Clearly that's the case here, because we shared a tasty pizza dinner and chatted on innumemerable subjects until sleep overwhelmed us almost entirely.

Jonah intruded on the proceedings somewhat with a few uncharacteristic and tempermental outbursts, but given all the new experiences he went through during the day, it's hard to argue that he didn't deserve to blow off a little steam in the only way he knows how. Brian gamefully tried to comfort him with some guitar music, but Jonah was having none of it. (Since I've always been able to settle Jonah by playing piano, and Brian is an incredible guitar player, I can only conclude that either (1) Jonah prefers piano music since that's what he's heard since he was in utero or (2) he was beyond musical comforting this evening.) Regardless, Erin and I loved the tunes, and we appreciate Brian's effort to lull baby to sleep.

We are very happy to be with our friends Brian and Tracey in Spokane.

¶ Eastward ho!: A trip to Montana for Jonah's first extended car ride. We'll see how it goes.

As Erin's Western University classes fade into memory, we turn now to the next big agenda item: A trip to Montana. I've been wanting to get out to see my cousin Mildred (my grandfather's sister's daughter) for a few years now. Erin's never met her and now that Jonah's here, there's no time like the present. So much the better, we'll be stopping in to see other family and friends along the way.

Tonight we layover in Battle Ground at the always wonderfully hospitable Hotel Kann. As one might suspect, this is an extraordinarily pleasant way to be begin a long journey. Tomorrow we're aiming to have breakfast with my aunt and uncle in The Dalles, and stay over with our friends Brian and Tracey in Spokane. That's a long day's ride, and, being Jonah's first of this length, it will be interesting to see how he handles it. Heck, it will be interesting to see how Erin and I handle it. Already we're planning to stop however often is necessary to maintain our sanity.

On that whole, that's probably being unfair to Jonah, though. Although he's recently started crying a bit more often (and so suddenly!), he remains a very peaceful child in most respects. For this we continue to give most grateful thanks.

Developmentally, Jonah's been busy. He's finding his hand more often than not when he tries to aim it into his mouth. Sometimes his cheek gets in the way (much to our amusement). He's drooling a fair amount, though it's pretty early for it to be teething and we don't see any teeth coming in anyway. He smiles a lot which, as one might suspect, is heaven. He coos and makes weird noises. When you pick him up and he seems to hug you back, it's one of the best feelings in the world.

He won't remember it except through pictures, but I hope he has a great trip.

¶ All systems go for Capt. Nuzzle Bunny: Of course he was none too happy about being stabbed four times.

Jonah turned 10 weeks today, and we headed to Kaiser for his two month "Well Baby" checkup. I don't know if by "Well Baby" they mean "well, yes, that's a baby" or if "hopefully well baby" sounded too tentative or if "little germ factory at 60 days" was already copyrighted or what. Call me a cynic (others do), but Kaiser's "Well Baby" checkup reminded me of the Portland Trailblazer's "30-second Jiffy Lube" time out. It's not that commercial (or stupid), of course, but mindlessly happy PR always seems to wave a red flag for me.

Nevertheless, the brief medical summary on Jonah is thus: All systems go. He is one happy, healthy little boy. The pediatrician said Jonah might be slightly ahead of the game in some developmental aspects. While the parent in me wants to wholeheartedly agree and shout out that he's the most brilliant and precocious child ever (which of course he is), I doubt any of Jonah's achievements thus far are all that unusual. Nice of the doctor to say anyway.

We did his first immunizations after the visit, and Jonah bore the pain surprisingly well. That's not to say that he didn't scream like a banshee, but he didn't notice needle number one at all. Needles two through four set him off, but what is a parent to do? Sometimes good things hurt. (For those curious, the four shots he got included vaccines for: polio; pneumococcal polysaccharide (PPV); diphtheria, tetanus and pertussis (DTaP); Haemophilus Influenzae type b (Hib); and hepatitis B.) Erin breast fed him in the medical office immediately afterward, and he settled back down, confirming a central tenet of faith in my parenthood experience: He is such a good kid, and we are so lucky.

Jonah's social smiles are picking up both in frequency and fervor, and all present are the beneficiaries. He's also cooing and gurgling a lot more, these early attempts at vocalization being honestly both charming and funny sounding. He now often seems to be hugging you back when you pick him up. As a frequent Jonah transport, I like this a lot. In fact anything that helps me feel the love from the kid is a huge plus in my book, and if anything's gonna make up for all the poopy diapers I've had to change, this will be it. Anyway, all systems go for Captain Nuzzle Bunny.

¶ One big party weekend: For what it's worth, it made up for the lousy Independence Day.

Matt and Ginger held a BBQ on Saturday night with yummy eats, a game of croquet, and a few rounds of Bocce. (Not, as Maria was quick to point out, "Bocce Ball" which would be the equivalent of playing "soccer ball" instead of simply "soccer." Point taken.) Mostly the guys (Matt, Joe, Dennis, and me) played Bocce.

Afterward, we played team croquet, where the full group of partiers (the aforementioned guys plus Ginger, Carol, Erin, Maria), partnered up into teams of two and went at it. This proved especially exciting. Happy Team Yellow, comprised of Maria and me, were poised for victory when Dennis hit an amazing shot that banked off an opponent's ball, went through a couple wickets, and ultimately proved a game winner. Hopefully Maria hit him about the head all the way back to Portland for ruining our anticipated victory.

Jonah seemed to enjoy looking up at Matt and Ginger's big oak tree, and for the most part the slight, cool breeze kept him nuzzled into whomever was holding him. Right now that seems to be as good as indication as any that he had a good time. Erin and I had a good time too.

Thanks to Matt and Ginger for hosting the fun BBQ and get-together.

On Sunday we headed up I-5 to Robyn's house in Tualatin to meet with her family and friends at a celebratory BBQ/birthday party. We met lots of people, including a couple of 5 month old babies. Both were roughly double Jonah's age and as such painted an interesting picture of what his development will be like in the next 10-12 weeks. For one thing, he'll have bigger feet!

We were very excited to see Robyn's place for the first time and are prepared to pronounce it pretty cool. Not only is her home situated in a pleasantly tranquil neighborhood, but on top of having a great location she has a huge, landscaped yard. We were very taken by this. The back yard alone has a large deck plus enough lawn area to play games or garden or whatever one would want to do. The party was held predominantly in the secluded backyard, though I should say the lower half of the back yard because there is an entire additional higher tier. It's one thing to have a lot of yard space (which we have); it's quite another to make good use of it (which we have not). Robyn's place has both.

Jared BBQ'd some tastey chicken, we sat in the shade and watched some Bocce, we celebrated a couple of birthdays for people whose names presently escape me, ate birthday cake, chatted with various folks, enjoyed the other babies who were there, and generally just had a wonderful time.

Thanks to Robyn and Jared for the delightful party and relaxing Sunday afternoon.

¶ Ty's unhappy Fourth: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times, and I'm just an idiot. And, oh yeah, illegal fireworks suck.

It turns out that the mortgage company, USAA/PHH, debited our checking account for the old mortgage which was paid off at the end of last month. We could kind of use that $1500, you know? Especially when July was supposed to be a skipped month so far as house payments were concerned. Now I get to try and unravel this mess on Monday since the office is closed for the holiday. Like I didn't have enough problems with the escrow snafu (though we did receive the closing check via FedEx yesterday).

Those of you who remember my previous adventures with USAA/PHH might wonder what I'm doing going back to them for another go-round. Good question. They messed up our first closing to the tune of $2300, they screwed up both the PMI (in our favor) and the escrow account (not in our favor) during our first refinance, and this time, well, I have no idea how this is going to end, but it's a ship headed toward the rocks, that's for sure. At this point, I've got to get back the $1500 they shouldn't have taken from my checking account then figure out how much money I have to throw into the escrow account which they underfunded at closing. That's not even to mention the title company not showing up to their first appointment and us having to reschedule. These mistakes don't strike me as issues of malevolence as much as competence. Go ahead: Ask me how much better that makes me feel. USAA has been great about everything else—we've done our banking and insurance through them for years—but they really don't know what's up with mortgage stuff. They don't charge a lot of the "junk fees" ($50 for a fax, for example) that a lot of other lenders do, but it's hard to recommend a company that takes three swings at your loan and doesn't do any one of them perfectly. I don't know who I'd recommend for home loans, but USAA isn't them.

Speaking of feeling just spiffy, today is, as US readers know, Independence Day. Welcome to what is now my least favorite holiday. May I say for the record that I've nothing against celebrating the country's birthday (see Things That Go Bang), but a whole lot against illegal fireworks. We invariably see them in the park, and there is no easier way to make me nuts. I mean if you want to go blow off your fingers for America, fine. Just leave me the hell alone when you do it. All I need is to feel like I'm in downtown Dresden during a firebombing when I'm trying to get to sleep at night. This is the only time of year in which I absolutely hate living next to a park.

Mind you I'm not talking about the big professional fireworks causing me problems. Though I'm not a huge fan—seeing a display once every few years is adequate for my tastes—I have no particular objection or anything. And set to music, some of the displays can be quite nice, if not spectacular.

No, the ones I hate are the illegals that people buy and set off late at night in neighborhood parks. I'm as big a freedom-lover as the next guy, but somebody's elses freedom ends at my property line. So M-80s at 11:30 at night kind of push my buttons. The way I see it we're going to do things differently next year. Either we'll (1) spend the holiday somewhere quieter (like maybe an airport tarmac); (2) hire a rent-a-cop security guard to spend the night in the park enforcing the three city ordinances that this year's crowd violated; or (3) post all kinds of signs and stake out the park ourselves.

On the brighter side, odds are good that next year's Fourth won't be this bad.

¶ What's up for early July: What's up with Six. What's up with our escrow account. What's up with our side yard. What's up?

Just as you don't want to hear a drawn out tale of woe about our old used car, I'm not all that interested telling the expansive version. So I'll cut to the chase. Our Mazda 626's engine died on the way home from soccer in Portland on Monday night. This, just after having been in for a tune-up. We were able to get it restarted and get back on the road, but without my parents we'd be carless for a few days. The mechanic replaced the ignition coil, but it happened again. He's got the 626 over the weekend and will be replacing the ignition module on Monday. The car will back in the shop on Friday for brakes and wheel bearings. We plan on buying another car in September, but the idea is to have two cars, not replace the Mazda.

The news is also less than perfect on the house refinance. The news that we have a rate of 4.879 and that we'll have the house paid off in less than eight years is, of course, very good. The escrow account got messed up in closing though, and it's uncertain at this point exactly how much money we will need to come up with for house insurance and property tax. You'd think it would be obvious, but of the good faith estimate, the numbers we were given by the loan officer, and the HUD-1 statement we received at closing, none bear any relation to one another. It's as if everybody just came up with their own numbers along the way.

See we were supposed to be paying about $350 at closing based the last talk I had with the loan officer. The HUD-1? It said we get $1450 back. Although I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, there's no way that was supposed to happen. It did, however, and it took me a while to figure out why. Essentially, they dumped the $2500 in our old escrow account into the closing costs to reduce the overall size of the new mortgage and help defry closing costs. The big question then is how are we supposed to pay insurance and taxes this year because the closing only funded the new escrow account to the tune of $250.

Now I think the solution is to plop the $1450 we get into the escrow account and fund the remaining $800 out-of-pocket. That's more than the $350 we were told which cheeses me off a little bit. On balance, though, it's all money we'd owe one way or another (since it's taxes and insurance), and the interest rate and loan deal are absolutely awesome. I'm contenting myself with that knowledge. Having the house paid off by the time Jonah turns eight? Well, that's just happiness.

Speaking of the house, the LDS missionaries returned to finish their work around the pathway to the park. I underestimated the number of bark chip bags needed, so the weed block isn't entirely covered, but even so it looks really, really good compared to the overgrown vegetation that was intruding on the sidewalk before. Another pizza lunch and drinks is really insufficient thanks for their fine work.

Now that the pathway is looking good, I'm considering building up a retaining wall, filling the space with dirt, and creating a side yard garden space for Erin. We want to that eventually anyway, but I'm wondering if now might be a good time for it if time and money permits. If car and the escrow thing hadn't both gone goofy it'd just be a question of time, and I'd be more inclined to give it a go. We'll just have to see how the rest of the summer and the early fall works out.