For our first wedding anniversary celebration, Aaron took me out on the Spirit of Washington dinner train.
He thought of everything. Before we boarded the train, he helped me complete my look with a Holly Yashi necklace and earring set. Then there were roses waiting for me when we got to our table on the train.
The food was excellent. I had prime rib, and he had the salmon. The wines were exquisite – I particularly enjoyed the whidbey port.
Aaron, my dear husband, I don’t have enough words to tell you how much I love you. You made me very, very happy tonight.
I love you more every day, and I’m so thankful that I get to spend my life with you.
Shortly after our wedding, my husband decided he wanted to learn how to play the bagpipes. He had a set of pipes he had once bought on a whim at a swap meet and then allowed to collect dust for years.
These pipes were old, made in Pakistan – which by most everybody’s account means they are of poor quality. But all that didn’t matter to Mr. H, he wasn’t about to let anyone tell him his pipes were crap, he was going to learn to play them no matter what.
Teacher? We don’t need no stinking teacher. This is Mr. Do-It-Yourself we’re talking about here.
So he set about learning to play the pipes. He spent quite a bit of time online, researching bagpipes, discussing them in bagpipe forums exploring how-to manuals, and practicing. He spent endless hours on the practice chanter (thank heavens for the practice chanter, much less noisy than the pipes), and after several months of trying to go it alone, he met another bagpipe player in one of his classes at school.
Owen is a 19 year old from Alaska who has been playing the bagpipes for years. He offered to teach Aaron for $10 a lesson. You just can’t beat that. From that point, Mr. H’s improvement has been phenomenal.
Well until about a month ago. You see, all this time he has been using these pipes that really are garbage. His bag is full of holes. He spends most of his time online researching seasoning and other options for plugging the holes in his sieve of a bag. The bag is so leaky the seasoning leaks out, so he has a garbage bag and duct tape wrapped around it to keep from staining his clothes. His handle online is ghettopipes. It’s a pretty good name for him.
The pipes have gotten so bad that at this point they no longer hold air at all, they are unplayable. At some point we’re going to have to break down and get him a really good set, but at this point even a replacement bag is out of our price range.
I never thought I would say this, but the one thing I want more than anything right now is to be able to buy my husband a new set of pipes.
For Mr. H’s 30th Birthday, I took him out whale watching… well that was the idea anyways, but apparently the whales didn’t get that memo.
The tour went out of Friday Harbor, so we had an adventure just getting there. We drove to Anacortes, two hours north of home, and then took a ferry across to San Juan Island where Friday Harbor is located.
We tried to have dinner at Front Street Ale House, but the service was so slow – not so much the kitchen, but getting the attention of the waiter (the one with the flat brim baseball hat cocked askew) – so we asked for the food to go and ate in on the boat as it was pulling out of port. The food was a bit greasy, but not bad.
The tour company we used was San Juan Safaris, and I would definitely use this service again. Our Captian was an old sea dog that looked like he’d spent more of his life on water than land, and the naturalist was a young college student who had been born and raised on the islands. They were both very skilled at keeping their guest happy and engaged (there were 20 of us on board) especially after it became apparent that the whales were not going to make an appearance.
We saw lots of eagles and eagles’ nests, rhinocerous oclets (horned diving birds), harbor porpoise, seals, sea otters, and beautiful scenery. The most fascinating sighting was also the most grotesque, we came across a tiny island, maybe 20 feet in diameter, with two young bald eagles on it. In the water below were a seal and her newborn pup. By newborn, I mean minutes old. We came up right after ther birth. The eagles on the rock were displaying their pecking order, the older eagle was eating the placenta, while the younger eagle stood by patiently waiting his turn.
We got back to Friday Harbor in time to catch the last ferry back to the mainland. The 9:55 is the milk run stopping at every island on the way, so we got back to Anacortes by midnight. That 2 hour drive back to Auburn was exhausting.
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