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[Note that I used the word "city" in the title of this post. I've been informed that Bend does indeed have an escalator; therefore by my own definition it is a city.]
I love farmers' markets. Who doesn't love farmers' markets? However, I'm very happy these days that I don't need to go to the Bend Farmers' Market any more. (correct possessive apostrophe of a plural noun there.) There's the small matter of parking, for one thing; getting there on time, waiting in lines, dodging the shiny happy families and so forth. Just saying.
The reason I don't have to go you-know-where is that a farm stand has opened two blocks from the house.
And it's a great farm stand.
Tomatoes that taste like my dad's eaten right there in his garden.
Big fat and little donut peaches.
Local berries, herbs, beans, potatoes, onions, beets, corn delivered daily right from the field. etc. It's thrilling.
And it's really local.
The best part? I can send Henry down with a backpack and a grocery list. I'm telling you, after nine years of doing it all myself, I'm finally reaping some payback. And it's character-building too.
Giant step yesterday on the 10-year-old front. Henry and his best friend Gavin* biked home from camp by themselves. To those of you without kids: this is a big thing.
Camp gets out at 11:30 am (as usual ignoring working parents' schedules), at which time I'm down at the Museum and don't feel like driving 10 miles back to town to ferry them a half mile home. So after I installed and loaded the new bike carrier, we rehearsed using the bike lock (with eyerolls and sighs) and I left them to find their own way home. They had their helmets, the lock, water bottles, jackets and $20 to get them through a week of junk food at 7-11. Then, of course, they got to stay home without adult supervision til I returned at 5:30.
The first time they stayed alone during the day the house was covered in spilled cereal, sticky ice cream dishes, various unmatched shoes and socks, squirt guns, video game boxes and random plastic legos that hurt like a bitch when you step on them. With the threat of a babysitter looming, they've been working on clean-up and are actually starting to catch on.
I wrestle with bad-mommy guilt over leaving them alone, never mind letting them roam the westside on their bikes. Being in a smaller, safe, family-friendly town helps. But still. I've watched too many "Law and Order" episodes to feel really comfortable. Maybe it's the natural progression toward independence or maybe they'll soon be smoking cigarettes behind the 7-11 (or maybe both). There's no manual for single moms. All we can do is make lists, check in frequently and trust in the goodness of the universe.
*Gavin is staying with us for a few weeks.
I was feeling pretty independent myself, having researched, procured, assembled and mounted the bike carrier on the car. Another episode in the endless series of "Girls Can Do It!"
To quote my deer friend, Tina: "You know you live in a small town when a deer dies in your backyard and someone from the paper calls you to talk about it."
Bend likes to think it's a city, and maybe it is, except I don't think you can be a city without having an escalator. Anyway, the bigger this town gets, the smaller it can feel. That's from living here 15 years: over half this town moved here in the last ten years. That makes for an interesting old/nouveau dichotomy. I'm now part of the old guard. Not the OLD old guard, but the middle old guard. But really, this post is about the deer story and the reporter for the local paper.
Don't get me started on the local paper. Please. I work with them, I have a subscription, it's our only choice for daily newsprint. So just don't get me started. Like most small-town (excuse me, small city) papers, they're big on happy news and local court cases, with a Western angle that includes articles on "berserk llama syndrome" and rodeo coverage.
But I do have to say that it's a little weird that they're cruising my blog for news stories.
To the sweet reporter who called me to get the lead on the deceased deer disposal story, I absolutely appreciate your readership. I'm serious. I'll try to make it worth your while by posting reportable tidbits. I came through on the noxious weed story, didn't I? Even provided a pithy quote that was duly published. (I've also provided quite a few "mother of a black child" comments for various stories over the years, but that's another post.)
I just have a little advice: don't touch the chicken-sweater story. You don't need the constant hassle from British battery-hen jumper knitters. Believe me on this one.
The perpetrator of this animal abuse shall not be identified (hint: rhymes with golly gee!) but she knows who she is. 
She claims she's reformed, but her previous behavior belies a pattern: minnie mouse, yankee doodle polo shirts, and who knows what else she hasn't dared to share.
I'm starting a letter-writing protest campaign.
OK, OK, enough with the dead animals. Here's a shot of the cutest little porky ever. Look at those feet!
Well, Kathi D might have her dead squirrel problem, but here in the forests of Central Oregon, we have a dead deer problem. Or at least my friend Tina does.
Seems a deer wandering through her backyard just curled up and died under a tree. The family discovered it yesterday and is at a loss on how to dispose of it. Suggestions are flying on Facebook, including several who think it could be donated for venison (it's only been dead about 24 hours.) Times are tough here.
Here's Tina's cry for help:
FREE BEER !! Yes, that's right. Just come over and help us move a dead deer from our back yard into the truck. That's all. Because ain't no one in the city of Bend or ODFW going to do it for you. Deer in your yard? Well, it's your deer now. But both agencies I called sheepishly said: "Well, if it happens to find its way onto a public road, then ...." The problem is GETTING A DEAD F%#@ING DEER INTO A TRUCK. Ewww.
Now that's living in the wild.
I agree. Especially that last line.
Hmmm. Y'all are very sparse on comments lately. (Except for the ever-faithful Kathi D. We bloggers have to stick together, ya'know.) What's up? Bored? Disenfranchised? Suddenly shy?
Maybe I need some more stimulating posts. How about a dead tortoise on an ant hill? That's the ticket!
What, you say you need grosser photos? Well, here you go: 
PS: to all of you lovely cooks who landed here looking for zucchini risotto recipes, I apologize. Quite a shock, I can imagine. Just avert your eyes and scroll down five or six posts. It's worth it, really.
Current catchphrases that annoy me:
And all that inane Life is Good crap stuff...
What are yours?
Due to circumstances beyond my control, I was at the second showing of the GI Joe: The Rise of Cobra opening yesterday.
I'm not going to spoil it for all of you who are lining up to see it today, but I can say that it was exactly what you might expect, including loud. However, there were some sociological aspects to it that were noteworthy, including how the fightin' women were portrayed.
Aside from the skin-tight leather lycra combat outfits (I was distracted by worrying about their pores clogging), the women were tough and mean. Of note was the girl-fight where they really wailed on each other, and how the redhead beat the black guy at target practice. [ed. note: yes, it would have been much more enlightened if the women refused to fight at all and instead negotiated their way out of the crisis, but then we wouldn't have much of a movie, would we?]
I was gratified by the ex-supermodel-turned-world-dominatrix who wore GLASSES throughout the movie. That might have been a first. I think she even kept them on for the kissing part, though possibly not. One style was the heavy black "I'm not just beautiful, I'm a nerdy intellectual" type, and one pair were disconcertingly like Sarah Palin's rimless ones, but she rocked them all.
I'm clearly going to have to get a new superhero spectacle wardrobe.
Another sub-theme that was notable for being so off-hand was the interracial flirting between the previously-mentioned redhead and black guy, complete with a kiss. It was a nice break from the usual colorline pairing. (Though there were no black women in the movie at all -- a bit of an oversight.)
Though I doubt many girls are going to see this movie, I like the fact that all those impressionable pre-teen (and older) boys are getting exposed to these new paradigms. Except for the skin-tight part, but it is Hollywood, after all.
The glasses. You're supposed to notice the glasses.
Disclaimer: not my photo or caption.
Are there truly people out there who need these instructions? I really hate to think so.
Ya' know, I thought that tortilla tasted like a paper towel...
I've made this a lot, as you can see
Note: This subject is now in the running with fowlwear as the highest searched phrase that leads innocents to my blog. So I'm republishing this with my sister's notes. Enjoy!
Henry will eat an entire pan of this, and that's at least a couple zucchini right there. Save this for when we actually have the warmth to grow something in Central Oregon and it turns out to be zucchini.
My sister Susan won a cooking contest with this recipe many years ago, and it is truly a winner. However, two of my sister's four major food groups are cream and butter (merlot and chocolate being the other two), so I've lightened and simplified her recipe. This is easily a work-night dinner, providing you have risotto rice and zucchini. Or a great side to anything. And it lasts and heats up great for leftovers.
Zucchini Risotto
Buy the real Arborio rice - even Safeway carries it now. And for the love of god, don't use Kraft parmesan. Though I know you don't, do you?
2 T butter (down from my sister's 6 T - if you want to go there, be my guest)
1 C Arborio rice
4+ cups chicken stock (free-range organic, of course)
1 egg yolk (I use the whole egg, actually)
1/4 cup half-&-half or milk (Susan's original calls for heavy cream - right!)
1 T olive oil - but who measures?
3 small zucchini, sliced thin or grated if easier
1/4 cup parmesan or more
2 lg garlic cloves (admission: I use jarred chopped garlic - nothing would get cooked here if I didn't)
1 bunch scallions or chopped onions or shallots - whichever
salt/pepper
1/2 c chopped ITALIAN parsley - don't ever use the frilly garnish kind - no flavor
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/3 cup or so of white wine - whatever you're drinking at the moment
So, if you've never made risotto before, it's way easier than its reputation.First, melt 2 T of the butter and the olive oil, add the onion and saute slowly.
(Mmmm, the smell of frying onions - guaranteed to make men go wild, if you're looking for that sort of thing.)
Once they're soft, throw in the garlic (so it doesn't burn), then all the rice, with a little more oil. I know, seems weird with no liquid, but that's risotto. Stir fry the rice for a few minutes, then add about a cup of broth. Traditionally, it should be hot, which you can do in a glass pyrex cup measure in the microwave. But you don't have to.
The key to risotto is to keep adding the broth as the rice sucks it up - it should never be dry or conversely, drowned. You do have to stir regularly, though not continuously as the books would say.
Now, my sister sautes the zucchini with garlic in a separate pan, but I don't because I'm all about one-pot meals. The cheater way is to add the zuke when the rice is almost done, along with the cream, egg and parmesan, lemon, wine, salt/pepper and parsley. I throw it all in together and it comes out fine.
You'll need to correct the rice with broth or hot water if it isn't done enough or is too dry. Cook til it's done. This is where my sister adds the additional 4 tablespoons of butter. Because it's not rich enough.
I'm realizing it's really hard to write recipes down when you cook intuitively. If you'd like a step-by-step explanation of risotto, you'll need to use a cookbook.
Notes from my sister:
"Oh, for heaven's sake-- one-quarter cup of heavy cream in a recipe with a quart of chicken stock isn't going to kill you. I won the cooking contest many years ago, when risotto was wildly ambitious. The reason you should saute the zucchini beforehand is that it holds its shape better. If you just add it raw (wrong! wrong!) it turns to mush and becomes one with the rice. There. The genie has spoken."
Clearly, the universe did not want me to go up to Portland.
First I developed a sinus staph infection (a mere 3" away from my eye as the nurse said), then Henry woke up with pinkeye (can't operate with conjunctivitis in the house), and then, just now, I was stung by bees, one spot of which is a half inch from the operation eye, which has reddened and swollen up prettily.
OK, I get it! Bad idea sliding down into the Neighbor X tarpit! But don't you think the bee was a little overkill?? Sheesh.
(For those who didn't know, I was going to stay at his place in Portland (conveniently 5 blocks from the hospital); I stayed there for the pre-op appointment, we're communicating again and...)
Thank the gods, the goddess, Shiva, the heavens, my angels, a Bodhisattva, the universal spirit, whatever. I got the message. Really. I did cancel the flight, even after a (lukewarm) invitation to come up anyway.
When we're weak, the universe supports us and shows us the way. We just have to listen.
But really, there's no need to send bees.
I've never really liked August. It's too damn hot, summer is as tired as three-day-old macaroni salad, and all those things you planned hopefully to accomplish aren't done and are mocking you.
My August was supposed to start with invasive eye surgery - fun! However, due to a lurking sinus infection, it's been indefinitely postponed, complete with last minute phone calls, faxes to doctors' offices, canceling airline tickets and general frustration. Not to mention the accompanying sinus infection. Meanwhile, Henry woke up with pinkeye, or eyes. So we're in an upbeat mood this lovely August first.
It's going to be another scorcher here in the (high) desert, so we have to batten down the hatches to keep the house cool. So we begin the slow sticky slide into the school year.
Don't say school!! Henry begs. He has five more weeks of various camps left, so school feels like it's years away. Labor Day being late this year has caused parents to scramble to fill one more week. I've been handing Henry off to whoever drives up, to go to the Fair, the lakes, baseball games and campouts. All things I usually enjoy but don't feel the urge to do right now. Meanwhile, all the Facebook families of the town are having wonderful laugh-filled, joyous, adventuresome summers (and even have time to post their photos and updates).
Hmmm. Mood getting ugly. I think H and I are going to hit the movies and stay out of the heat.
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