Your Nearest Exit May Be Behind You

Rob and I are about 5 months into our Airport Volunteer Gig. We are having an absolute BLAST!

PDX has been undergoing massive changes for the past 5ish years. Recently, just about every week (no exaggeration), something is new. Stores close, others open, restrooms change locations, escalators go out of service for upgrades, mass transit stops move. I try to soothe exasperated, confused locals by telling them, “Don’t feel bad! I’m here a lot and I start every shift by walking around to see what’s new.” Talk about a dynamic workplace!

Today, in the wee hours, another huge change happened at PDX: the exits are now totally different. The old way is now closed and the new way is a much shorter walk, assuming you know where you are going. Rob and I aren’t part of the crew today helping passengers find their way out, but we will be soon. We hope today is going well so far!

Last week, Rob and I got a sneak peek at the new exits. Not just a peek, though. We got to saunter through the new exits – on both sides of the airport – many, many, many times. We volunteered to be Mock Passengers for the operations folks to test out the automatic exit doors. It was a hoot!

Super cool photo snagged from an employee
newsletter. Hi, Rob!!

I think the shirts were homemade, 
but I totally want a "Trial Human"
t-shirt. And sticker. And phone case.
Serious swag opportunities here!

About 75ish airport employees signed up to participate. Also onsite were about a half-dozen other Volunteer Information People, two people in wheelchairs, an antsy toddler in a stroller, and at least 6 therapy dogs with their handlers. Our job was to lap around each side of the airport, walking through the new exits at our natural pace, while a bevy of folks with safety vests and clipboards watched, took notes, and made adjustments.

Safety Vest + Clipboard = Life Goals
Please tell me there's a spreadsheet summarizing
the findings.

Some of us were given Test Luggage. This was quite fun…for two laps. The bags were heavy – clearly someone overpacked. After the second lap, I told an organizer I could no longer pull the suitcase (my back was already talking to me). He assured me that it was not a problem and pointed out where I could leave the suitcase. Each subsequent lap, the collection of abandoned bags grew. In all honesty, I felt better knowing I wasn’t the only one wimping out on lugging the luggage.

The Test Bags even had Test Bag
claim stickers on them!

Rob and I started out walking together, but waves of people eventually separated us. I spent several laps chatting with a woman who had just completed her 2 weeks of training for the airport cleaning crew. She was going to be working the 2:30pm to 11:30pm shift each night, with weekends spent catching up with her 14-year-old son. Single parents are exhausted heroes.

I caught up to Rob! LOVE this photo
taken by Mindy, one of our AMAZING
volunteer coordinators!

At one point during our moseying, a soccer ball was thrown into an exit. It was a planned test, to see if the doors responded appropriately (I assume they were supposed to close and not allow any more movement until an Official – not Trial – Human intervened). We were warned this was going to happen. Despite my deft and enviable Wii Fit skills dodging soccer balls, panda heads, and soccer cleats on my TV screen, I was nonetheless grateful my unathletic self was not in the exit when the sports ball arrived. 

(Good Lord -- I just looked it up. Wii Fit was introduced 20 years ago. Man, I'm old. But with excellent balance, thanks to my apparently ancient Wii Fit.)

We got to see some cool stuff under construction!
The Meet & Greet/Waiting Areas have the 
iconic Vintage PDX Carpet!

A Breach was also planned. I’m not sure what that was. I just know I had to stop in place when an alarm sounded. I also know that the Faux Breach on the second set of exit doors never happened since they had an actual problem that was better than any simulation. Thankfully, the two folks in wheelchairs were not stuck between the swinging doors for very long. I was also super impressed there was absolutely zero panic and instead many comments along the lines of “This is why we test the system! Thank you for being here!” PDX ROCKS!

The exit lane with the red X was
inoperable for the rest of the test once the 
wheelchairs got out. 

According to my pedometer, we walked 4 miles for the test (it was a 16,067-step day since I worked a 4-hour volunteer shift in the morning because Tim). During our Sizzle Pie pizza dinner break (thanks, PDX!!), I downloaded a handy tracker app so I could tap my phone’s screen each time I went through the exit. 16 laps for the second half!

Even though it was a long day with almost 7 miles of walking, I had so much fun being a Mock Passenger! The folks who work at PDX take such pride in their work and their workplace. I truly feel honored to be part of the PDXPeople community…AND get to hang out in such a beautiful space.

Truly, if you haven’t flown through Portland’s airport in the past…week...you should! It’s beautiful, it’s calming, it’s fun. And it’s always changing!

This will very likely end up on our
Christmas card this year.

Tim Update – Slowly Adjusting and Still Married

Two friends who are related to contractors recently gave me some encouragement about Life With Tim. One said, “Living in a construction zone – not for the faint of heart!” The other said, “I know of marriages that didn’t survive remodels.”

Yeah, that second one isn’t happy on the surface. Rob and I have survived rougher waters, though, so I don’t doubt our wedding vows. But it was heartening to know that this remodeling stuff is widely considered HARD territory.

We’re a couple of weeks in and good gracious, we’re exhausted. And we’re not the ones pulling up tile and scraping mortar.

Seeing all this shattered tile is 
oddly therapeutic.
Progress and Change!

No, we’re just the ones trying to live out of what is essentially a hotel room – or in a couple nights’ case, an actual hotel room. Yeah, a nice little escape to Seattle for some wine tasting was just what the benevolent doctor ordered.

This wine smelled just like a dear friend's
berry cobbler. Mmmmm!

We are trying to do our normal stuff – volunteering, writing, meeting with friends, doctors’ appointments, haircuts, oil changes, paying bills – but we’re doing it without a haven to recharge in. Our nightly tradition of a quiet evening on the couch, snuggled up, watching an episode or three of “Cheers” isn’t quite the same in our bedroom. The bedroom that has been carefully and painstakingly curated to promote sleep so that I never revisit that horrendous Season of Insomnia from last year. All the Sleep Hygiene rules I have been so obedient to are now being conspicuously ignored. Sigh.

Mostly, though, we are spending our time trying to figure out where we are, where we put stuff, where we are going to eat, and how long this might last. We spend our days not in the house. We are grateful for sunny days outside, and the quiet escape of our church inside on not-so-sunny days.

It’s been very odd doing errands. Trying to take as much time as possible to complete my To Do list is weird. I am driving slower, I am waving cars to go in front of me, I am taking the long route, I am stopping for yellow lights. I am not in a hurry – at all – and it is very strange. And intriguingly, quite nice.

I did laundry on the first day of 2026 with temps in the high 70s. It wasn’t too bad, trotting across our back patio with my laundry tote. Other than the sock I thought I lost along the way (turned out it snuck into a different load). I also finally found a legitimately helpful use for the app our washer and dryer came with. Having my phone tell me when it is time to move wet clothes to the dryer and dry clothes to the closet is super handy since the sing-songy buzzer is now inaudible.

Grateful the for sun! Not sure how 
much fun I'll have doing this in the rain.
Stay tuned! Because Pacific Northwest.

It is disorienting seeing Woodhaven so empty, echoey, and somewhat dismantled. We still have access to key rooms, but they involve going through magnetic doors of plastic. Woodhaven’s interior is now drenched in plastic, to protect it from being drenched in dust. A few nights ago, I went into the room where we are storing our kitchen and dining room. I can’t remember what I was looking for. What I found was an unexpected comfort and peace in seeing Our Stuff again. Who knew a Tupperware strainer could bring so much joy? I plan to visit it regularly, the strainer, as a touchpoint of sanity.

Maze of Plastic.
Magnetic Door on left.

We’ve had a couple things go slightly off plan already.

Once our kitchen was completely empty of food, utensils, and life, I was better able to imagine its new version. In doing that, I realized I wasn’t going to be able to fully open one of the doors on our new fridge. A few measurements and a panicked call to Mel (our contractor) resulted in a last-hour design swap. Mel assures me it is no big deal.

In putting the finishing touches on the flooring update in our Master Bathroom a few weeks ago, we discovered an unknowingly fancy accessory needs its own circuit in our electrical panel. That will come later, when the electrician is doing work on the kitchen and is prepared to explore our crawl space. What, pray tell, did we buy for our bathroom that needs a dedicated circuit? 

A bidet toilet seat.

Yes, the reasoning and bargaining (with Rob) behind that little gadget could be a blog post in itself. Suffice it to say, an aging back + a trip to France + an evangelistic friend = fancy tushy cleaner. So fancy, apparently, that every time we flushed, lights flickered, internet connection sputtered, and everything else on that circuit surged like a house possessed. Without realizing it, I picked a Turbo Toity, which will remain unused and unplugged for…a while.

Fancy Toity with its own remote control.
And a rather extensive Owners Manual.
Good thing I have lots of time to read.

This week we’re spending LOTS of time at the airport. By the end of the week, we will have worked six volunteer shifts over three days and will likely have enough hours to get us through August. Next week will likely involve a meandery drive to a favorite café on the coast that just completed an extensive remodel. We assume the owners’ marriage is also still intact.

PDX is going through a remodel, too.
We can't escape construction!

The Time for Tim has Come

When we purchased Woodhaven nearly 22 years ago, it came with lots of things I wanted to change. Top of the list: flooring.

From our front door, down a hallway, through our kitchen, and out to the garage runs a cold, hard swath of 1990s tile. Primarily white with swirls of grey and light pink, the achingly dated floor has been hard on my back. And my eyes. But replacing it would be an enormous undertaking. Noisy, disruptive, messy. So we put off doing anything about the floor other than complaining about it. Which was really more my forte than Rob’s.

The tan grout was probably peach
originally. Hello, 1992!

“We’ll replace the floor when we don’t have cats. Because, you know, all the noise would traumatize them.”

It was a very good plan, projecting our trauma onto innocent felines. And it worked for over two decades. But then we had to say goodbye to our beloved Sarah Girl in November. In the midst of the grief, we knew the time for “The Floor Project” had finally arrived. We had planned for it and budgeted for it. But "someday" is a lot less nerve-racking than "now."

We have spent the past several months looking at design drawings, talking to engineers and contractors, and choosing countertops and faucets. Because, as home remodeling projects typically do, the “Floor Project” has mushroomed. Lots of “While We’re At Its” have been added to the list. Mostly involving our kitchen. Because very little has been done to our kitchen since Woodhaven was built in the early 1990s.

This, kids, is an old-timey
contraption called A Trash Compactor.
Before we started reusing our trash
or using it to make worms happy,
we used to smush it down to smelly
bricks. Note: we have no idea if
this unit works, as we have never 
pushed the "ON" button.

We’ve been underway for a few weeks already, mostly focusing on a “While We’re At It” item in our master bathroom. Oh, that’s a fun fact. Did you know that today’s lingo more properly calls it a “primary bathroom”? I guess “master” is politically incorrect now? Thankfully, our contractor is close to our age, so we are struggling with the new – or conceding to the old – terminology together.

We’ve been slowly packing up closets and hutches and taking things off walls. Today a mover came to give us a quote to move 5 pieces of heavy furniture from one room in Woodhaven to another…and then move them back again some glorious day in the future.

We’ve already been trudging upstairs to our guest bedroom for showers, and have frequently announced, “There’s no toilet in there!” when heading to our Master Potty out of habit. My mom is coming over next week to help me pack up the kitchen cabinets, which means I will soon be totally released from having to cook for a good long while! WHOO HOO!!

Still no toilet in there. But hopefully
by next Tuesday!

The inconvenience is about to get REAL.

After next week, we will maintain access to our Master Living Quarters, so we can sleep, shower, and wear different clothes every day. You’re welcome. Doing laundry will be interesting, though, as it will likely involve a tromp across the back yard to enter the laundry room from the garage. It will be odd having to consult the weather forecast in order to do laundry. We won’t really have a place to eat in the house, so take-out dinner or even pizza won’t be an option. And during the day, Woodhaven will likely be rather noisy, at least inside.

So we’re not quite sure what is ahead of us. Do we escape during the day and retreat to Woodhaven each night after the construction folks are gone? Do we hang out outside on sunny days, putting permanent butt prints in our patio chairs while chaos swirls behind us? Do we nomad about to various hotels now and then? Do we camp out on a cruise ship for a spell? Do we move into the break room at the Portland airport and get all 144 annually required volunteer hours before May? How close by do we need to stay in case something goes wrong? Because things always go wrong somehow, sometime during home remodeling projects.

All the uncertainty is both exciting and terrifying. Rob and I aren’t spontaneous people (well, other than getting married after just 9 months of dating). So not having much of a plan, nor the clarity to be able to make one, is very unfamiliar and unsettling territory. I’m trying to focus on this being an opportunity for growth, maturity, and perspective. 

Yeah, I’m rolling my eyes, too.

As the “Floor Project” became the “Floor and Kitchen Project” became the “Floor and Kitchen and Master Sanctuary Project” became the “Floor and Kitchen and Master Sanctuary and Dining Room Project,” Rob and I decided we needed a shorter name for this overwhelming undertaking. So, we named it Tim.

"RUH RUH RUH!"

I anticipate I will be sharing Tim stories – woes and victories – over the coming weeks. Or months. Sigh.

We’ve endured home remodeling projects before, almost all with our favorite Master Contractor, so we have complete confidence that we will love Tim when it is all done. And we also know that Tim will totally stress us out, and we will be painfully longing for our quiet haven as soon as the first tile is broken.

But the Big Prize at the end of Tim? Besides flooring that doesn’t kill my back and a kitchen no longer memorializing the 1900s? KITTENS!

Yes, the adorably fluffy carrot at the end of the Tim Stick is the plan to find a pair of kitties to breathe life and purrs back into Woodhaven again. I can’t wait! 

But first, packing. And chaos. And wine. Probably some wine. And definitely some whine. Stay tuned!  

Airport Anecdotes! ~ The MIB and the Mom with Dementia

Welcome to our next installment of Airport Anecdotes!

Rob and I kicked off 2026 with our first “Volunteer Information People” shift of the year last night. While we won’t always be working parallel shifts, I sort of like the idea of a Sunday Evening Date Night at PDX when there isn’t football keeping us glued to our couch. Rob was downstairs in Baggage Claim most of the evening. I tried out a new position upstairs post-security at a Mobile Information Booth (MIB).

The Mobile Information Booth (MIB)

While I was training with Jim, we spent a few minutes with a volunteer who was doing an MIB. She was stationed behind a well-signed roller cart with a tall chair, greeting passengers as they passed through a central point between Concourses D/E and the TSA folks. It looked fun, with a different set of commonly asked questions. Like, “Where can I see some of the original carpet?”

Photo snagged from a training document.

Eager to try this final Information Person position (unless I want to greet International Arrivals, which requires additional training and credentials), I signed up to be all by myself on the other side of the airport. I was a little nervous but mostly excited to see how solo I could really fly.

Mindy and Bri (the volunteer coordinators) did a great job preparing me, confident I was totally ready to handle the MIB.

I was told to expect mostly questions about how to exit the airport – from folks fresh off aircraft. And questions about various concession options – from folks arriving early with time to kill before their flights. Among the questions I was asked last night:

“Where can I get Dramamine for a very sick husband?”

“Where is some good shopping?” (Caliope on Concourse E is my favorite.)

“Are the llamas here?” (Asked three times.)

“Where can I get a beer?” (He didn’t need any more, trust me.)

“Do I have time to eat a pizza before I get my suitcase from Baggage Claim?”

But then there was another category of questions. Questions I hadn’t been warned about. Questions asked in a panic or frustration. Many of them were prompted by a particularly inexpensive but nickel-and-dimey airline cancelling its one flight to Los Angeles. The next LAX-bound flight wasn’t until four days later. Yep, cheap often comes with a cost.

“My flight was cancelled! How do I rent a car without leaving security?!”

“My flight was cancelled! How can I find the cheapest flight to Southern California?!”

“My flight was cancelled! What is happening in LA?!?”

“My flight was cancelled! Where do I pick up the bags I checked through?!”

“My flight has a 3-hour delay and I was given a voucher for food but I don’t know how to use Google Pay!”

“I just got off a flight and I left my purse on the airplane! How do I get it back?!”

In these situations, I realized my job was to be a calm, comforting extra brain that could help them think through the searing heat of panic. I smiled as reassuringly as I could, I told them they weren’t alone, and I gave them clear suggestions.

I introduced one young woman to the wonders of Kayak (a flight search engine). I told the woman with the forgotten purse to return to the gate and talk to the gate agents. I suggested a family could stay at a nearby hotel with a shuttle instead of renting a car and driving in a city they were unfamiliar with. All suggestions they likely would have conjured on their own were they not completely stressed out of their minds.

There were also a few instances where it was clear the passenger just needed someone to talk to. Like the nervous young man who had never been to Portland before. Or the team of college athletes who were bored during a long layover. Or the woman who was so frustrated by the cancellation and needed someone to simply listen and agree it sucked. Although I didn’t solve any of her problems, she later thanked me for being so helpful. Listening can be magical.

Last night might have been an anomaly, with the cancelled flight and other delays. But I really enjoyed the unanticipated job of being calm, steady, and reassuring. And yes, you can totally get that pizza. Just ask for your bag at the Customer Service Desk in Baggage Claim because they will probably pull it off the carousel and store it for you.

So far, the MIB is my favorite.

 

The Mom with Dementia

Just as I was getting ready to move my MIB to its cubby and call it a night, a frantic woman about my age ran up to the cart. I later learned her name is Cassie.

“Hi. I’m trying really hard not to have a panic attack. I’ve lost my mom. And she has dementia.”

It took a bit of effort to piece together the story – with gaps filled in by Rob later.

The gist was that Mom (Katie) had been put on a plane by Daughter 1 in Phoenix. Katie lives near Portland with Daughter 2 (Cassie), who was picking her up. But Katie’s flight arrived early and Cassie wasn’t at the gate to meet Katie in time. Somehow the flight attendants had never gotten word that Katie has dementia and needed an escort off the plane and into the safe hands of Cassie.

This meant that Katie – a woman with dementia who could not be paged because she would not know to respond – was now wandering the airport without any real understanding of her circumstances.

With a mostly-recent photo of Katie snagged from Cassie’s cell phone, and a description from Daughter 1 of what Katie was wearing, the PDX Team launched into action.

The Hunt for Katie took about 45 minutes, 2 concourses, several laps around Baggage Claim, 3 miles of walking, 2 phone calls between me and Rob, 4 updating texts between me and Cassie, the Port Police, and many silent prayers.

I was near Gate B5 when Cassie texted, “We found her!” with a crying emoji.

I hustled down to Baggage Claim and was grateful to find Cassie and Katie reunited. I smiled warmly at Katie and told her it was so nice to meet her. And I hugged Cassie, reminded her she could start breathing now, and waved good-bye as I went in search of Rob so we could head home.

 

 

Will Travel for Fandom

Although it’s true that Rob and I travel a fair amount, it’s always planned and intentional and anticipated. I often say I can be spontaneous with two weeks’ warning.

It is also true that while we continue to slowly inch our way up the waiting list for the waiting list for Seattle Seahawks season tickets (yes, there are two lists), Rob and I excitedly attend one Seahawks game in person each season.

It’s always a super fun day as we don our blue and green, take the train up and back, and yell our fandom with over 60,000 other enthusiastic 12s (Seahawks fans are called “The 12^th Man” or “12s” in honor of being an additional player on the field – we are notoriously loud enough to cause penalties because visiting teams can’t hear play calls).

This season, though, got away from us. With some home repair (not all of it planned…stupid termites) and a sick kitty and general distraction, we never got around to picking a home game to attend. And by the time we realized this, the Hawks were doing so well, tickets for home games were elu$ive.

Jolted by a realization that we can currently travel more spontaneously since we are heartbreakingly kittyless, I started looking at away games. I have long wanted to attend a Seahawks game as a visitor, curious about the experience of being a football outsider. I assumed that meant an eventual visit to San Francisco (49ers), Los Angeles (Rams), or Arizona (Cardinals).

Consulting our calendar, there was one remaining away game that lined up. It was a bit further afield than assumed. After checking frequent flyer accounts and hotel loyalty club balances, I floated my inspiration to Rob.

“What do you think about going to the Seahawks-Panthers game in a couple of weeks?” I slyly asked. Yes, I was reveling in my insane spontaneity.

Within minutes, we were checking flight schedules to see if this crazy idea might actually work.

Several days, lots of miles and points, and many disbelieving giggles later, we had a list of confirmation numbers to prove we were actually going to fly to North Carolina for a football game.  WHO ARE WE?!?

Their mascot is named Sir Purr.
ADORABLE! But not enough
to buy any swag.

The trip was fast and focused. We flew to Charlotte on Friday, visited some newly relocated cousins near Hickory on Saturday, cheered our hearts out in Section 544, Row 9 on Sunday, and flew home on Monday. Our bodies still don’t know what time it is.

My first cousin's daughter and family
(one twin still sleeping). So first cousin
once removed. Or, more appropriately,
Chloe.

As we traveled, I was a little concerned that I didn’t see any other 12s making the trek. Were we going to be lonely voices cheering on Darnold and Smith-Njigba?

Oh, silly naïve me!

Plenty of 12s showed up! But most flew out of Seattle instead of Portland. And few likely finagled a complicated (but free!) itinerary on two separate airlines along the way.

Our hotel – as planned – was within easy walking distance of Bank of America Stadium. Its lobby was increasingly peppered with Seahawks jerseys and t-shirts, especially during the complimentary Wine Social Hour. Conversations started quickly and easily.

Swagged out and ready to cheer!

We met a couple from Mexico City who flew in for the game. They lived in Seattle years ago and became 12s. They were later enthralled by a movie set in Charlotte and longed to visit someday. Their trip to see their beloved American Football team in the enchanting Charlotte was a perfect year-end getaway.

We met a man who bought Seahawks season tickets when the team was still in the Kingdome and the owners were trying to build a fan base. “Yep, bought 4 tickets for $100 each 39 years ago,” he bragged. He was rewarded handsomely with my awe and jealousy.

We met a couple who had lived in Seattle but recently moved to Tennessee. Wife is a HUGE Seahawks fan so they travel to lots of away games. Anticipating other away games someday, I asked about her Visitor experiences. She recommended avoiding San Francisco. “I do not like those fans!” she explained with a story about a sober Faithful throwing food at her Seahawked self as she walked through the parking lot.

When asked about her favorite rival fanbase, the woman said “The Titans [Tennessee]!” without hesitation. She then revealed she was the fan that Wide Receiver and Superstar Jaxon Smith-Njigba had given a touchdown ball to a few weeks prior. “All the Titans fans around me were so excited and happy for me! They even wanted to take pictures of me and the ball!” The shared excitement peaked later in the game when the woman happily exchanged the game ball for a practice ball signed by Jaxon himself. I was in awe yet again.

I remembered this moment from the game!
So cool to meet her!

I wouldn’t be surprised if that nice woman ranked the Panthers fans up there with the Titans revelers. All the fans we encountered were kind and polite, without throwing any food or insults our way despite my wearing vivid green Seahawks gear all weekend. North Carolinians wished my team good luck, “But not too much!” Others shared their tables as we munched hot dogs and told us to enjoy the game. Others asked where we were from and complimented the Seahawks as a good team. Simple, courteous, friendly fans acting like grown-ups. Yay Panthers fans!

On Chloe's recommendation, we
stopped here for my love of all
things pickles. I blended right in. 
Sort of.

On Game Day, we walked to the stadium in a sea of sky blue and black. The dark blue Seahawks jerseys blended in a bit, but the neon green highlights revealed their loyalties.

I packed mostly green gear on purpose.

I was surprised to hear a familiar chant as we turned onto S. Mint Street.

“SEA!!!” one voice boomed above the crowd.

“HAWKS!!!” replied a surprising number of proud, scattered voices.

I joined in for a few chants and then got self-conscious, much to Rob’s relief.

The weather forecast for Game Day changed wildly. At one point before I packed, it was going to be 76 degrees and sunny (much like Saturday turned out to be). When I packed, it was to be high 50s and sunny. What we got was 46 degrees, foggy, and drizzly. We fortunately packed somewhat appropriately. A scarf would have been nice, though.

“Your weather here is menopausal!” I laughed with the bundled Panthers fan next to me in Seat 8. She agreed with shared understanding.

“I almost didn’t come this morning when I saw the weather. It’s too cold!” Indeed, she left after the briskly damp first quarter and never returned. Which bummed me out because she and her friends had been a nice windbreak.

I overheard a local say with confidence
that the upper deck is 10 degrees colder.
I believe it!

Although we were not sitting on the Visitors side, we had a smattering of 12s around us. Almost all were transplants, now living in North Carolina and holding tight to their 12ness. Except for the guy in front of us. He explained he was a Panthers fan for his marriage’s sake, until it mattered for the Seahawks. The couple sat together without incident for the entire game. He also went a long way to helping us 12s have a good Visiting Fan Reputation as he quickly offered his towel when a new neighbor showed up and discovered how wet the plastic seats were up in the Fog Zone.

Tatupu played with the Seahawks from
2005-2010. This fan goes back a ways!

The game started in a completely unexpected fashion. Before the national anthem was sung and the mascot appeared on the field and a notable (to them) Panther fan of some sort banged on a large drum as smoke erupted (the Panther rallying cry is “KEEP POUNDING!”), an unassuming middle-aged man with a piece of paper and a microphone approached the end zone. With silence in the stadium, the man prayed for the players, the fans, and our nation. It wasn’t super religious, but it ended with a collective “Amen!” so it was clearly a prayer and clearly a tradition. I wasn’t troubled by it (I often pray during games – always for injured players), but it certainly caught me by surprise!

I was stunned how quiet the stadium
got as soon as he started speaking.

They chant "KEEP...POUNDING!"
They bang on the plastic seats to make
noise. I mused to Rob, "I wonder why the 12s
don't do that?" He replied, "They don't need to."
Truth.

The first half of the game was a bit dicey. It was tied at 3 points at halftime. The slippery ball and field had made for some messy, fumbly plays. Everyone had had reasons to cheer and groan.

But as has been the pattern all season, something magical happened in the locker room. The Seahawks emerged with a renewed plan, insight, and energy. The Panthers fans mostly cheered about getting first downs. The Seahawks fans mostly cheered about getting points. Seahawks fans cheered all around the stadium! And I could hear them, even way over there and closer to the field.

“SEA!!!”  “HAWKS!!!”

My best guess, given my pretty good vantage point, is that about 20% of the fans in attendance were rooting for the Seahawks. They were scattered around the stadium with a concentration on the lower deck behind the team’s sideline. Those fans seemed to be the loudest – and fans who attend home games know how to be loud and let the team know they are there. My cheering voice was not lonely. At all.

12 behind us and in front of us. 
A few more scattered about in 
Section 544. Oh, and we were COLD.

With a little less than 4 minutes left in the game – and a score of 20-10 Seahawks – my peripheral vision caught some movements. Looking towards the crowd to my left, I saw a constant sea of Panthers fans streaming towards the exits. Every row, all around the bowl. I was astounded.

“The fans are leaving?!? With time still to play? Does this happen often??” I asked the group of congenial Panthers fans sitting next to Rob.

One guy just shook his head, as disappointed as I was. While apologizing for his choice of words, he explained that Panthers fans are…wimpy (not his word but a good, family-friendly approximation).

As we discussed the difference in fan bases, the “SEA!!!” “HAWKS!!!” chant echoed noticeably around the stadium. While not as loud as in Seattle by any stretch, the cheering and encouragement for the Seahawks made it clear that the 12s had shown up and shown up well. I was proud to be one of them.

Mass Exodus.
Maybe the prayer was foreshadowing?

As dedicated fans do, Rob and I stayed until the end of the game, sharing disbelief that the Panthers lined up in the (not a) Victory Formation on their last possession. The Seahawks got the ball, appropriately lined up in the Victory Formation, and ended the game to audible cheers with a 27-10 win. Proximate 12s gathered at the visitor exit and cheered loudly as the players headed to the locker room. Had I been closer, I would have eagerly joined them.

The game isn't over! But look at how
empty the stadium is!

Leaving the stadium was oddly familiar. As Rob and I wound our way down the ramps from the upper deck, the “SEA!!!” “HAWKS!!!” chant bounced off the cement walls, just like it does while leaving a home game, win or lose. It made me smile and proud to be part of such an energetic fanbase.

That night at dinner, still boldly wearing our team gear, other 12s didn’t hesitate to come to our table, give high 5s, compare fan stories, and share in the excitement of now being 13 and 3 and the current leader in the NFC West. It was a wonderful feeling of community.

And that’s probably what I will most fondly remember about being a Seahawks fan at an away game: the community.

It is easy to feel a part of a movement when we attend a home game. Most of the passengers on the train are 12s, Seattle is awash in blue and green, Lumen Field bursts with enthusiastic fandom. It’s an instant family and it is easy to feel a part of it.

But being on the other side of the country, wearing the other team’s colors, sitting amongst locals with delightful accents could have left me feeling very outsider and interloperish. It’s what I expected.

Instead, I felt even more a part of the 12s family than even in Seattle.

Without saying a word, all of us sporting Seahawks gear knew we had at least a few things in common – a shared loyalty and the confidence to proclaim it. We were friends even if we didn’t speak. We knew the family traditions and we brought them with us. We were a community.

At times during the game, I wished we were sitting with the larger concentration of 12s down by the team sidelines. It was certainly lively down there! But if I had been down there, it would have felt more like a home game and I would have missed out on the best part of being a visitor. That unexpected and heartwarming feeling of being connected to so many scattered strangers, all sharing a common passion.

SEA!!!  HAWKS!!!

So grateful for experiences like this!
And frequent flyer miles. Super
grateful for those, too.

 

Introducing Airport Anecdotes!

As Woodhaven Ramblings readers know, Rob and I are part of the highly envied team of volunteers who accompany fluffy therapy llamas to Portland, Oregon’s airport. The unexpected (but increasingly highly anticipated) animals bring distraction, smiles, deep breaths, and good cheer to travelers and airport employees alike. Indeed, some of the llamas' biggest fans are TSA agents. I never get tired of seeing a TSA agent determined to exude an air of authority melt into unguarded fandom while hugging a llama.

As we’ve spent time at PDX, Rob and I started noticing friendly, helpful folks wearing blue jackets and vests scattered all around the airport. Positioned in high-traffic areas, the Blue People are there to answer questions, provide directions, and help make PDX easy to navigate. Yet another reason PDX is one of the very best airports, period.

“We should do that someday! You know, when we retire from our current version of retirement.”

Rob and I asked around and got ourselves on a waiting list with the warning that it can take a few years to get into the Volunteer Information Program (VIP), as the retention rate is very high.

Well…

It turns out that our frolics around PDX with the llamas put us in the “Airport Experience” category of VIP hopefuls. Most people in this category are retired flight attendants, pilots, former airport security people, gate agents, baggage handlers. “Llama Wrangler” is not typical airport work. But since when was Portland – or even me and Rob – typical?

Our unexpected “Airport Experience” status granted us access to the Express Lane to Blue Personhood. In other words, what Rob and I thought would take several years ended up taking a few months. Oops! And WOW!

Live trees! Wood ceiling! Still need to check out
the new Speakeasy upstairs!

Rob and I have been busy getting trained by a slew of mentors. Christine, Jim, Joanne, Tina, Bri, and Mindy have been super helpful touring us around the concourses, explaining Lost & Found procedures, modeling the best ways to explain the locations of Baggage Claim, Uber, and rental cars, and reinforcing the many rules behind our “go lots of places” badges. It has been a firehose of information!

Thanks to scheduling and general impatience, I finished my training and “flew solo” for the first time last night. Rob will likely get his wings in the next week or two. We will then start figuring out what our volunteer schedules will look like, with the hope that we can get shifts at the same time and have our own quirky version of Date Night on a semi-regular basis.

In the midst of our training, it has become obvious that this gig is ripe for fun stories. While many inquiring travelers just want to know where to get their luggage and then find their ride, there are also those oddball situations. Those “didn’t quite think it through” situations. Those “I didn’t see that coming” situations. Those “THIS is why I have a blog” situations.

And so, I am excited to introduce a new and occasional series of blog posts called “Airport Anecdotes!” I have four entries to bring us up to date.

 

The Marine

A young Marine fresh from boot camp came to the Information Booth. He had just arrived and needed to figure out how to get home.

Problem 1: He was surprising his family for Thanksgiving so he couldn’t call them for a ride.

Problem 2: He was 18 years old, so he was too young to rent a car.  Also, not a lot of cash or credit card availability.

Problem 3: The town he lived in was about 200 miles and 4 hours southwest of the airport.

Lots of ground transportation options were explored, the most palatable of which was taking a bus about halfway and then finding an Uber and hoping Mom and Dad would be willing to pay upon his arrival.

Eventually, because the kid was 18 and had like-minded friends ready for adventure, a buddy was contacted and agreed to make the 8-hour round trip to rescue the young recruit.

 

The Lost Grandma

A mom with 3 young children and Grandma arrived in Baggage Claim from Kansas City. They had rented a car through a service called Turo, which is basically an Air B&B for cars. The car is parked in a random spot in Long Term Parking and the customer is given scavenger-hunt-like clues for how to find it. Fun times, especially after a long flight with 3 humans under the age of 5!

Going above and beyond, Rob offered to accompany the group to find their rented minivan. Grandma lagged behind but it was promised she would keep up. Spoiler alert: she did not.

When Rob returned to a public area to retrieve Grandma and escort her to the located minivan, Grandma was nowhere to be found.

Six miles of searching, a dead cell phone battery, two White Courtesy Telephone pages, contact with the Port Police and an Avis ticket counter, and a desperate-not-to-sound-spammy note to a friend in Kansas City via Facebook Messenger finally reunited Grandma with the harried group noshing on Rob-provided snacks in Short Term Parking.

 

The Iceland Air Guy

While hanging out around the Ticketing Hall, a man in his 40s wheeling a large suitcase casually approached us.

“Where is the Iceland Air ticket counter?”

Several hours prior, this would have been an easy question to answer, as Iceland Air had been checking in passengers on Aisle 3. But thanks to slick digital signage, that ticket counter was gone and was now promising the eventual arrival of Hawaiian Air employees to check in lucky duck passengers.

We looked around, verified a proximate airline employee was not Icelandic, and returned to the man who was patiently waiting for guidance. Without any hint of concern or panic, he confirmed he needed to check in for his flight and check his suitcase, as it was clearly much too large to carry on.

“Sir, what time is your flight?”

“2:45”

My watch revealed it was 2:25.

We double checked his boarding pass – and I wanted to double check his pulse. He was FAR too calm and unconcerned that he had arrived at the airport 30 minutes before a flight – and an international one at that – with unrealistic expectations to board an aircraft.

When last we saw him, the passenger no longer bound for Reykjavík was peacefully sitting on a bench next to his suitcase, calling the airline’s Customer Service number for assistance.

 

The Birth Certificates

Three of us Blue People were standing in the Entry Hall among the trees (yes, live trees inside the airport – PDX ROCKS!). A couple in their 40s or 50s approached us. They explained a sister was arriving in about an hour from Phoenix. She was going to get on a flight back to Phoenix less than an hour later. They wanted to know if she would be arriving and departing from the same gate.

After some sleuthing and a visit to the Frontier Ticket Counter, we determined that yes, the arrival and departure would be at the same gate. However, there was still a problem.

The sister was arriving for the sole purpose of picking up original copies of two birth certificates that the wife had clutched against her chest in a folder. The husband and wife did not have clearance to go past security, and the sister would not have time to exit security, retrieve the certificates, go back through security, and get to Gate C16 in time for her flight home.

Fortunately, we had about an hour to come up with a plan.

The good news is, our badges allow us to go in and out of TSA Security without tickets. So, theoretically, one of us could have been shown a photo of the sister and met her at Gate C16 and handed her the documents.

The bad news is, while we can retrieve accidentally left-behind items, we’re not allowed to deliver new items to passengers. You know, security and all.

Thankfully, the TSA agents at PDX are fantastic.

We chatted with an agent who talked with his supervisor. When the sister arrived, she called her brother. She was given instructions where to meet the TSA supervisor post-security who handed her the folder with the birth certificates. Our agent emerged from the secured area with a big smile and a blue latexed hand giving an enthusiastic thumbs up. The couple left the airport grateful, exhausted, and relieved.

 

Sarah’s Story

My heart and spirit are broken. Three days ago, on November 12, 2025, Rob and I made the excruciatingly humane decision to say goodbye to our beloved kitty, Sarah.

Baby picture of Sweet Sarah
October 2009

Sarah was 16 years old. Despite a weight loss that began during Covidtimes when her favorite foods were not available (stupid pandemic), bloodwork confirmed she was holding strong and steady in July. She was happy, alert, engaged, tail up, the center of so many daily routines and rituals. She was integral to our life at Woodhaven. And it shatters me to write about her in the past tense. The house is deafeningly quiet and still without her.

When we took her in for a follow-up exam on October 21 to check on some new thyroid medication, we were shocked to discover Sarah’s kidneys were showing signs of distress.

The weeks since then were filled with an ultrasound, blood-draws, two different antibiotics, probiotics, an appetite stimulant, a switch to kidney-friendly kibble, daily subcutaneous fluids (not a skill we wanted to learn and yet…), constipation, diarrhea, a painkiller that traumatically made her fall over while just sitting in a shoebox, 3 water bowls for easy access, a very busy litter box, and so much stress, worry, hope, and dread.

We all fought so hard.

But it became mournfully clear that we could not cure our Sarah. And all efforts to keep her going would be for our benefit, not hers. So with the deepest love for our beloved kitty, and with profound respect for our responsibility in being her people, we let Sarah go.

The ache is deep and visceral. My whole body, spirit, and heart hurt. I have been magnetically drawn to cats since early childhood. My soul requires cats to be a part of my life. With Woodhaven now catless, I am adrift.

Our last morning together.

If you had told me six years ago that I would be weeping over the loss of Sarah, I would have been utterly confused. Because until five years ago – when Sarah’s brother Zak unexpectedly died – Sarah was a completely different cat. I loved her but I didn’t feel very close to her. After she and Zak grew out of their kittenhood, Sarah barely let me touch her. She was always with Rob, if she was with anyone. Mostly Sarah kept a wary distance from everyone and everything. We just thought she was skittish. It turns out she sort of hated her brother.

Tiny kittens! Zak on the left, Sarah on the right.

Zak and Sarah were best buds for the first year or so. They snuggled, they played, they stayed near each other, they bonded with us and each other. When we brought them home on October 5, 2009, Sarah was the first one out of the carrier. She was bold, curious, and confident. Zak was a bit of a lumbering doofus, super sweet, full of purrs, and always wanting to be where things were happening. He often followed Sarah to make sure he wasn’t missing out on anything. He was the ultimate FOMO (fear of missing out) Cat.

Sarah boldly checking out the kitchen
Zak following (left bottom corner)

As the kittens grew bigger, Zak was much larger than Sarah. 16 sturdy pounds of fluff, Zak walked like a linebacker. Sarah was five pounds smaller and – we realized after Zak died – intimidated and unintentionally bullied by Zak. Sarah lived on edge because she never knew when Zak would want her toy or her food or her person. Zak gravitated towards me, so Sarah avoided me. For about 10 years, I was very close to Zak and appreciated Sarah from a distance. It felt like we had 1.5 cats instead of 2.

Sarah in front on left, Zak behind
Photo taken in August 2016 
They were 7 years old.

In just a matter of days after Zak died after Thanksgiving in 2020, Sarah began blossoming into a new kitty. By the time Christmas arrived, Sarah was transformed.

Beautiful Sarah enjoying being an only kitty
December 2020

Apparently confident her annoying brother was not returning, Sarah relaxed. She was happy, calm, and present. She sat on laps, greeted visitors, allowed me to brush her, and became so snuggly. For the past five years, Sarah lived her best kitty life. Although Zak’s death was a storm of shock and despair, it brought the rainbow of a beautifully peaceful and happy life for Sarah. I am so grateful for rainbows.

And that’s been a bit of a surprise the past few days – the immensity of the gratitude.

I am heartbroken and shattered into a million pieces to never have my Little Girl on my lap again. To feel her warm tummy vibrating on my legs, to feel her head lean into my hand as I scritch her chin, to feel her stretch her front paws with a satisfied sigh as she rearranges herself for the second act of Nap Time, to put off switching laundry loads or making dinner because Sarah is happily on my lap and you simply do not accomplish things when a cat bestows that gift upon you.

Sarah became a football fan
Lots of lap time

But even stronger than the sadness of never feeling Sarah on my lap again is the gratitude.

I am so grateful Rob and I got to be Sarah’s people.

I am grateful she trusted us and felt loved and safe when she took her last breath on my lap.

I am grateful I got 5 years to bond more deeply and fully with her.

I am grateful for that one white whisker she had as a kitten that allowed us to easily tell our black kitties apart, and allowed them to quickly learn their names.

It was the only white whisker she ever had.

I am grateful for her magnificent tail that was a fountain of fluff that curled forward and touched her head when she was happy.

Occasionally referred to as her Teapot Tail

I am grateful for her beautiful aquamarine eyes that slowly blinked back love when I would give her cat kisses by doing the same.

One of our all-time favorite Sarah photos
Those eyes! That tongue!

I am grateful for the videos and photos I have of Sarah’s sweetly fun need to lick condensation off of Rob’s water cups.

Her love of condensation started
very early. Also, she was clearly
our cat! Click here to see
a video of 12-year-old Sarah
enjoying Rob's water cup.

I am grateful that I finally found her favorite toy a few weeks ago after the beloved Potato Head went missing for two panicked weeks.

Potato Head started off with a black cap attached
to a fishing line on a wand. The cap made it 
look like Mr. Potato Head and the name stuck
long after the cap, fishing line, and wand
disappeared. Photo taken June 2022.

I am grateful for our amazing house sitter, Willow, whom Sarah loved and who took some of the best photos ever of our girl.

I can hear this photo! 

 

That tail again! And those eyes!

Willow was crocheting and decided to see if
Sarah would model a coaster. This photo
proves how much Sarah loved Willow.

I am grateful for our dear friend Cathy, who was Sarah’s doctor and helped us surround Sarah with love and prayers as we said goodbye.

I am grateful that God and the Holy Spirit spoke to me as they do and gave me perfect peace that Sarah is so good where she is now and that everything’s gonna be alright.

Most of all, though, I am profoundly grateful for the tears. So very many tears. Because the tears are a direct reflection of the love. I am grateful I opened my heart fully to love Sarah even though I knew a day like Wednesday was eventually likely to happen.

And in the midst of this full-body ache of grief and sadness and longing, I know I will open my heart fully again. When Rob and I are both ready, I will once again open my heart and home to another pair of kittens, offering a life filled with love and treats and laps and the commitment to always do what is best for them. 

Regardless of how much it hurts.

Photo taken Oct 20 -- the day before
the appointment that revealed her
kidney issues.

Rest in peace, Little Girl. We love you so very much.