Monday, November 30, 2009

Busy

Cleaning, unpacking, unwrapping, dusting;then place, study, move slightly, tilt head, move a little more. Traipsing from room to room, moving boxes to this place then that, repacking with unneeded bric-a-brac then restowing boxes. More cleaning, more lights, more decorating, and then making a tree topper to match the hand made ornaments. Darkness falls and makes everything twinkly and colorful, hiding all the dents and scratches the years have caused. Pleased and excited.

Next day, listing, organizing platters, shopping, unloading, placing, storing. Post the menu with its platters numbered according to what will rest on them. Melt, mix, add flour, refrigerate. Roll out with soup can, cut into stars, bells, trees then bake until golden brown. Stir up white, squeeze in gel color for red and green, cover tightly and stash where grandgirls won't see. Glaze two dozen with white to dry and place on tiered dessert tray. Slice, chop, open cans, find real butter, no dip! oh, well. Assign platter management to others. Cover tightly with plastic wrap. Wander around. Check this. Check that. A-ok. Let the celebration begin.

Rest in front of fire with sister and husband. Ahhhhh. Company late. Good. More rest and warmth. Here they come!

Eating, chatting, laughing, scootering, cookie decorating contest. Cookies with one whole inch of chocolate piled on, three made into an O an S and a U in honor of Thursday, licking, smacking, photo taking, singing, spilling, laughing, tasting. Peppermint ice creamed, cut-out cookied, all full guests returning to warmth of fire. Mary presents awards all made by her. I win! So does everyone else.

Time to go. House quiet. Fire in embers. Vacuum stored. Dishes whirring in dishwasher. We sigh. Our holiday family gathering at our house over. No fights. No tension. No children melting down. Just easy togetherness. Success.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Blue Tarps

One of the many ways to spot a sure Oregonian is by his or her possession of a blue tarp. You see them in lots of places serving lots of uses. I just can't imagine people in Southern California own as many blue tarps as we do. And are all tarps blue?
The word "tarp" is short for "tarpaulin" which refers to a canvas covering that campers used in the old days. They used them for various camping needs such as quick shelters, ground covers and, in some instances, probably to hide shady backwoods activities. They really were made out of canvas and I can remember references to such coverings in either Nancy Drew or Hardy Boys books.
Today's tarps are plastic and come equipped with handy drawstrings. You can hardly miss them when you're out searching for good photo opportunites in the natural world. They cover woodpiles, usually messy ones. Proud Oregonians stack their wood in almost symmetrical stacks that are a wonder to see and are usually uncovered just for the visual appeal. You also see them covering old house trailers. Rusty drips along the sides of them are only barely out of sight. I'm always puzzled by the many blue tarps thrown over blackberry bushes. I don't get that one. Is it the lazy Oregonian's final attempt to hold back the growth of these prickly, pesty vines? You can also use them to cover boats, make a fort, carry out old Christmas trees, or to strap over the whatever load you may have in your pickup.
I remember following our friend Lonny's pickup to Black Butte one year for vacation. Much of our combined stuff was in the back of that gigantic vehicle and pieces of the old blue tarp were flying every which way as we made our way out Highway 22. Needless to say, that tarp didn't make the return trip.
So next time you're in southern California, do me a favor and watch for blue tarps. I bet you won't see many. And if you do, I'll bet they're a lovely shade of sunset orange.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Green Bean Casserole?

It's time to think about holiday food and eating! So start polishing the silverware, shop for the best bird and think about fresh flowers for the table. Wait. That's what my mother and I did. Things are different now. That polishing, shopping and thinking have been relegated to the dusty past along with phones with finger dials, no watching TV during the day and wearing skate keys on dirty strings tied around our necks.
No. Holiday food today means "green bean casserole." People: no matter how modern you are, lose this idea. This "casserole" is nothing but a lot of canned stuff topped with lots of salty stuff. Not good. Speaking of salty, another thing to leave off the menu is Stovetop Stuffing.
This is just another way to process your veins into canals that will soon stop flowing. Make your own stuffing. It's easy. It's sort of like making midget toast pieces with seasonings of your own selection. And go buy fresh vegetables and dress them lightly with some lemon and herbs. And, please, don't put marshmallows on yams/sweet potatoes. That's like trying to trick the kids into eating vegetables. They'll just eat the marshmallows and leave naked yams on their plates.
So you do all that the way I've done in the past with all the happy, smiling relatives drifting in and out of the kitchen. Actually, that is a lie. Those holiday memories are treasured ones that belong to my sister and me as we think about our family holiday meals in the past. The more current memories include scenes not really fit for the likes of this page.
Instead, we will be feasting on good, country food at the Silver Falls Conference Center. We'll just walk in, get in line, and load our plates and then balance them carefully as we make our way to the benched tables where we'll sit with our friends and tell happy tales of Thanksgivings past.

Monday, November 9, 2009

The Owl goes to Alaska

The Owl took us on the road this weekend. We signed books in Oregon City and manned a booth at Lewis Elementary's juried bazaar this weekend. And we did that all at the same time! Well, our "staff" helped us be in two places at once. Pat took the very attractive owl post which he designed from a wooly stuffed owl (unreal) that we've had for a long time, and Bobbie and I took an owlskin remnant to our signing. Just kidding. It's not really owlskin; it's just an acrylic piece of cloth that looks like owl feathers that I leaped over rounders and customers at JoAnn Fabrics to get my hands on. So we were all decked out and turned ourselves into booksellers. We actually sold quite a few.
Next to making the money, the best thing about being in sales is the scope and sequence (old teacher term) of all the people we met and got to talk to. Nearly everyone has an owl story-we heard many. Nearly everyone has a story about kids and books-we heard lots. But only two people said they bought the book to read to their aging parents. One woman has a mother way lost in Alzheimer's who likes to be read to at bed time. She bought the book for her. Another couple has aging parents (dad 96 and mom way up in the 80's!) who bought the book not necessarily for the elders but because they live among owls on 44 acres nearby. So, of course, we got to talking about our own old Mom who passed at the age of 88.
And, by happy chance, my dear friend and ex-student Sarah called from Alaska where she and her husband, also a friend and ex-student, are stationed. We chatted and talked and I told her about the book. She sincerely wanted one, so I posted one north this morning.
Lo and behold, then there was a comment on this blog from yet another ex-student and friend who is in Fairbanks teaching and making music. So he's somehow connected to the bird and the blog. I love it. And how fortunate I am to have connected with the three of them all because and in spite of owls.
And by the way, Steve and whoever else has tried to visit my website, you noticed you couldn't find it. Simple reason: I built it for free and when I ran out of know-how, I let it expire. Another friend promises to help me get that up and running maybe during Winter Break. It's probably the logical way for this blog to morph into a more business-like sort of venue. Who knows? I'll just keep having fun with this until the next best thing comes along.
Thanks for all the interest in the book. We are starting to meet our first and original goal of sharing this remarkable story. If you don't know what the heck I'm talking about, check the first post or two on this blog. That should bring you up to speed.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Nature-alists

The outdoor world is full of all kinds of enthusiasts who relate to nature in a variety of ways-extreme divers, bug collectors, weather watchers, ocean admirers and on and on. I come from a family of mostly indoor folks except for my sister. I like to think of her as an unplugged hiker.


She's the kind of outdoor person who relates to the natural world by walking in it and observing everything around her while absorbing everything through her senses. She's done this for the last 25 years. She has hiked in the Andes Mountains, crossed the country of Switzerland from border to border on foot, and traversed the Pacific Crest Trail from the California border to the Washington border with only her dog for a companion. She has completed literally hundreds of hikes in the Cascades Mountain Range.


I'm a plugged in sort of hiker. For a period of ten years or so, I joined her on some of her jaunts in the Cascades. But I needed to plug into a weather source, determine where and what we would eat and require a nap on a mossy bank beside a stream somewhere. Before I quit smoking on June 16, 1991, I also demanded a number of smoke breaks. She was so tolerate. She'd hand me a topographical map to determine a location while I puffed away and I'd hand it right back to her. I never really could learn to read one. Then she'd make me deposit the cig butt in a litter bag to carry out.


When we returned home, she'd make careful notes in her distinct handwriting about everything she saw, heard, smelled, etc. Today she keeps species specific field observation journals about whatever she might be studying at the moment. (See my first blog about our owl adventure.)


I'd talk with her endlessly for a few days about whatever experience we'd had and then e-mail a friend about it. She wrote journals; I did narratives.


Another variety of nature-alist was my brother Gary. He headed up my large clan of relatives in Washington. He spent as many days of his life as he could in the woods. And at home, he had hanging in his front yard a replica of a spotted owl with an arrow through it. You can't say he didn't feel strongly about the outdoor world. You gotta love that as well. I do.



My other brother, Bill, behaved differently than all the other siblings but was connected to nature in his own way. For example, once he and his best friend since 6th grade Greg spent a day with the goal of fishing six different sites and making it home in time to watch a ball game. They made it. What kind of nature-alist is THAT?! I still don't know if they caught anything.



Go outside for a while today.