she's just saying...

Studless

We're having a lovely winter snowstorm here today.

It's not that winter here is so harsh; it's pretty sunny and temperate. It's that it's so long. Remember this snowy post on October 4? Well, six months later and it's exactly the same. I like snow, even though I no longer recreate in it. It's cozy and pretty; unlike rain, which is just wet.

The title of this post is not referring to my current relationship status (however appropriate). I'm talking tires. This is the land of the winter tire. Oregon still allows studs, those annoying loud wheels that chew up our streets. The rule is that they have to be off by March 31. This year, after many angry citizen phone calls and dire accident warnings, the state has relaxed the deadline to April 11.After that, $190 fine.

I have "studless" tires that do a fine job. I think it's funny that they're called studless - why aren't they just called tires?

So here's our vocabulary quiz for the day, to while away your time stuck in that endless meeting. What are other examples of words that describe a normal state by referring to the lack of a modifying condition? (And how else would you describe that kind of word?)

You may submit your answers below. Keyboards ready? Begin!

diamonds on the sole of her tires

The first sign of spring

Feb. 18:  Pitchers and catchers report to Spring Training.

Feb. 23: All other players report to Spring Training.

I have to admit that if I read a similar post regarding football in August or whenever they all report, I'd think "what a loser." But hey, it's my blog, so it's cool.

Mexican calendar girls, irony and my ex-boyfriend

I ran across this cool book while searching for a new calendar, and was reminded of an incident from my not-so-distant past.

My BigBro lives in Austin, Texas (don't get him started, please), and a few years ago sent me a calendar from his local diner that featured an illustration of a buxom Mexican beauty with straps of bullets across her chest and a gun slung on her back.

I thought it was lovely and generously thought it would be a great gift for my boyfriend at the time. (Yes, that one.)  I gave it to him for Christmas and waited for the appreciative response. He opened it, looked at me blankly and said: "Why would you think I'd want this cheesy calendar?"

I should have sensed at that point that we weren't made for each other. What I saw as an ironic, iconic, folk-artsy hip piece of Tex-Mex Americana, he saw as a cheesy calendar. Which, to be fair, it was. But that wasn't the point.

Well, never mind. I wish I'd kept it. So, hey, Steve, send me another one!

How you know you live in a ski town

Emergency! Emergency!  Should we call the police? The sheriff? 

No, wait! Let's check the conditions!

It's your birthday! Take another vicodin!

I can pinpoint the moment birthdays ceased to be exciting. November 13, 2007, when I turned 51.

My fiftieth was fantastic, actually: an all-nighter at a club in San Francisco followed by a tour of the wine country from a little inn in Calistoga. My (younger) boyfriend didn't freak out about my turning fifty (at least not that weekend) and my gal pals took me out for a wonderful dinner and celebration.

51 was unmemorable - I think Henry and I went to Red Robin. And last year on my 52nd I had a migraine and went to bed.

That brings us to this year. It started with an argument and tears about homework (Henry cried too). My eye is blood-filled (sorry), swollen and bruised and I'm spending the rest of the day in bed. Don't worry, I'm not alone: my cats and dog are happily lying on top of me.

But it's really not all bad. A friend came by with flowers, and she and other friends are bringing over dinner tonight. My facebook wall and blog comments are filled with best wishes, another compelling example of the power of social media. And best of all, the entire nursing and office staff at my eye doctor's entered the exam room this morning, sang Happy Birthday and presented me with a brownie and candle.

As my sweet doc said: "We feel like you're part of the family." Hmmm... Is that a good thing?

Potatoes? For me? You shouldn't have!

The morning after the night before

Ooo - a bit of suburban debauchery last night and the headache this morning to show for it. Plus I seem to have collected more boys - at this point seven of them, who I've cleverly locked out of the house. They keep pleading to be let in so I'm staying away from the doors.

Here's the yeti costume - the only photo I could get before the pillaging began.

The scary clown is his sidekick Gavin, mentioned occasionally in this blog.

My friend Amy as the Porcelain Goddess, with her golden toilet brush:

Bob with he-who-should-not-wear-an-afro:

Though the orange stretch polyester disco suit is quite fetching.

That's all I could  get before things started getting out of hand.

Miss Kitty vamping for the camera

  

Al Gore is a big fat liar

I had to do that thing with today's paper like kidnappers do in ransom photos so those of you outside Central Oregon would believe me.

Autumn is for sissies, I guess.

I'm really looking forward to flag football tonight at 7 pm.

Beet Me, or, What I Did Last Night

Local alert: Richard's Produce Stand is closing down for the season Oct.15. (I asked Adam what I'm going to do all winter without him, and he said: "Eat citrus." It's going to be a long winter.) 

I'm already anticipating the produce withdrawal and it won't be pretty. So meanwhile I'm overbuying and it's a great time to do it as everything is at the peak of ripeness. I'm putting up sauteed tomato chunks and garlic, freezing peach slices, jarring peeled garlic cloves in olive oil* and making parsley salsa. And last night I roasted beets.

I've never cooked beets before due to memories of their canned weirdness, but they looked really cool at the produce stand and I felt adventurous. Plus, the New York Times decreed "Beets: the New Spinach" so I had to jump on the trendwagon.

I fired up the gas grill (with soaked wood chips for a nice smoky touch), tossed slices of unpeeled beets with olive oil/salt and slow-grilled them for 40 minutes or so, turning once. I also threw thick slices of onion and a head of garlic in foil on there just to be efficient. They all came out caramelized and smoky and really transformative.

Beets pair well with goat cheese to cut their sweetness and add a creamy tang, so I'm making a beet/arugula/chevre salad with vinaigrette to serve with crusty bread and pinot gris. Dinner's at seven.

the beetness of beets

*Note: storing garlic cloves in olive oil at room temperature is a perfect recipe for botulism. Refrigerate.

The last week of summer

This post was written last Sunday.

Henry is 10, going on 16. He's a true night-owl and can sleep in til 11 am easily. So reentry into the school routine makes for a living hell over here.

I decided to wake them (Gavin here still) at 8 am this morning to get them slowly acclimated to an early wake-up and hopefully an earlier bedtime.

"Thanks for ruining my summer!" Henry said as he dragged himself into the bathroom.

Then I made him clean up his room big-time, which was quite painful and included yelling.

"This is the worst summer ever!" he complained as he pulled out filthy, dusty socks from under the bed.

Then I pushed onward, going through his clothes drawers to see what still fit. I made him hold a few things up (no chance of getting him to try them on) as the discard pile grew.

"I hate clothes!" he cried.

Then I showed him that I had sorted all underwear and matched all matchable socks.

"You're the best mom ever!" he said as he flung his arms around me.

I'm really looking forward to the teen years...

Produce and the City

[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.

This is Adam from Richard's. Tell him Melissa sent you.

Top Ten Tues. summer woes edition

Top ten things I am not enjoying about this summer:

1. the mosquitoes
2. little stinging wasps that ambush me
3. yellowjackets buzzing around my hummingbird feeders
4. mowing the lawn, over and over
5. packing Henry's camp lunch every day
6. removing sticky juniper sap from feet, floors, shoes and pets
7. having to work (versus last summer)
8. visitor traffic, especially when they can't figure out the roundabouts
9. the half-drunk glasses of lemonade that Henry leaves everywhere
10. that it's almost over.

Worst. Mosquito. Season. Ever.

I agree. Especially that last line.

Awww-gust

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.

Cool and fresh and salmony

I made a fantastic pasta salad last night, and if I can keep typing in this offensive heat, I'll post the recipe.

I'm not normally a pasta salad fan. They're either too bland, too oily, too weird or too crunchy (I don't like raw broccoli or any kind of bell peppers, which show up in most of them.) They used to be really popular - I recall one memorable patio party with the girls where everybody brought pasta salad. Luckily I was serving margaritas, so it really didn't matter. I don't know if they still are the go-to potluck dish, as I don't go out anymore. And if I do, it's not to a potluck.

So anyway, the one I made last night was stunning, especially as I concocted it with Ingredients On Hand. Here's my ingredient list. I don't have any quantities as it depends on your particular I.O.H.

1. Curly pasta - I like gemelli, but whatever you have O.H.
2. Strips of gravlax or smoked salmon (I just happened to have some leftover gravlax in the fridge. Odd, really.)
3. Cucumbers, diced
4. The itty-bitty fresh mozzarella balls you can buy at Costco, or other fresh mozz, diced.
5. Scallions, sliced, with some of the green part
6. Parsley (pretty much the only thing I grew in the garden this year. You could use dill.)
7. Olive oil
8. Lemon juice
9. Salt and pepper

Whisk the last three ingredients into a vinaigrette, then toss it all up, gently.

I ran out of capers (I know! A kitchen disaster!) which would have added a bit more piquancy, but maybe they would have been overkill.

Anyway, yum.

Yes, I do knit -- why do you ask?

I think this blog was supposed to mention knitting from time to time. It is even listed in knitting blog rings, something that must frustrate devoted knitting-blog readers (there's a lot of them).

As mentioned previously, once summer comes, knitting tends to drop off around here. Knitting magazines attempt to entice us with "summer styles" which tend to be a bit weird IMHO. Knitting just doesn't fit into a summer scene - who wants a hank of wool on their lap at the beach? Too sandy.
(I'm sure I'll get comments by dedicated summer knitters who disagree with me on this, which is fine 'cause I'll take all the comments I can attract.)

But I still knit a bit these days. Mostly cotton and silk, simple stitches on small projects. This scarf fits the bill.

 Montego Bay scarf

This is as close as I'll get to lace knitting, which is incredibly frustrating and tedious for me.

My friends turn out exquisite lace shawls and sweaters and socks knitted with toothpick needles and thread-like yarn, but I'll stick with the humble worsted-weight and my size 7's.

                                                               

Cindy's shawl

Top 10 Tues: summer supper edition

I really don't like heat. That's one of the reasons I moved to Oregon. I now realize that when I heard the term "high desert" I should have focused on the possible implications of the "desert" part.

Anyway, here in Bend we're having a heat wave (in my opinion) hitting over 90 on some days. Of course, it drops into the 40's at night, but I do have to go through that four hour stretch from work to darkness, and I don't like it. I know, the sound of a hundred tiny searing hot violins from friends in AZ, CA and TX. Well, why do you live there? It's stinking hot, for gawd's sake!

Sorry. Flareups from my inner hormonal furnace aren't helping. But that's another post.

So, what we eat in the summer. Recipes upon request. This list does not include the standard chicken/fish/shrimp on the grill that we have regularly. This is when I'm cool enough to cook and have the urge.

1. ratatouille with couscous
2. fish tacos
3. french potato salad
4. linguine alla vongole (clams to you)
5. greek salad - hold the bell peppers
6. gazpacho with shrimp: ditto
7. killer shrimp (stolen from the LA diner of the same name)
8. salad nicoise
9. the humble fresh tomato parsley parmesan omelet
10. grilled eggplant with soy sauce

I just realized that I've been making these same dishes for years. We don't eat beef, pork or lamb so it can be a challenge to come up with new menus. What do you cook when it's hot?

Burning Butte (kind of like Burning Man but not naked)

OK, so the thing about the Butte catching fire:

Every year since I don't know when, the city of Bend puts on a fireworks show on the 4th of July, launching the rockets from the highest spot around, Pilot Butte. (From Wikopedia: Pilot Butte is an extinct volcano located in Bend, Oregon. It is a cinder cone which rises nearly 500 feet above the surrounding plains. Bend is one of the very few cities in the United States with volcanoes located within their boundaries.) [I did not know that. But shouldn't it be within its boundaries?]

Anyway.The sparks inevitably land on the dry sagebrush on the side of the Butte and "the sucker lights up with flames" as Jen put it in her last comment. The show is ended early and the firefighters do their thing.

And inevitably, the headline of the local paper the next day is:
Fireworks start blaze on Butte!



Thanks to the monkey, Chris K, for this photo that I stole from him.

Blogcation

(If trend-spotters can name the time-honored practice of staying home "staycation," I can coin the term "blogcation." I may not be the first but I'm laying claim.) That's why you haven't heard from me for a few days. I'm at our annual family reunion at my parents' house, before the rest of the family shows up.

I'm currently in the western hills of North Carolina (which sounds a lot more scenic than it is, IMO) after a disastrous journey that included an unplanned drive to Portland, an unplanned overnight in Atlanta (paid by me, not the airline) and a lot of chicken nuggets. Plus, the only way to return to Portland (and our car) is leaving the morning of the 4th. Whatever, we're here.

The weather here is much nicer than usual, i.e. my hair is only twice its normal size, not 4 times, and I'm not "glowing" with sweat. I've remembered the secret to hanging out with family in the South:  gin. So I'm cool. Henry is enjoying the pool and awaiting the cousins. I'm enjoying the quiet before the hordes. [Who I can't wait to get here, if you're one of my siblings. Really!]

What are your plans for the 4th? Are fireworks involved? As customary in Bend, we're waiting to see if the Butte catches fire again, but that's another post.

Really? Snow? June 9?

I missed this weird little event as it didn't hit the Museum south of town. I hear that children were screaming on the playground. Everyone said it was hail, but it sure looks like snow to me. Maybe we just can't face the S word after May.

The hostas took a beating and I've lost all my irises in flower, but otherwise life goes on in the high desert. I'll take this over 95+ degrees any day. That's coming next, of course.

The "working" part of the back deck. I call that snow.

Summer dusk

Occasionally a certain sound or smell or quality of light can transport me right back to my childhood in the suburbs of Pittsburgh.

The look of dusk after the sun has set, the sky still light enough to see with; a turtledove cooing; conversation on a porch in the distance; the green smell of a watered lawn. Put these together and I'm a little girl again lying in my bed listening through the window to the laughter of the grownups and the clink of iced tea glasses on the porch below.

I can almost taste the feeling. It's a sweet and painful pang of nostalgia and primal memory.

But now I'm the adult with the icy drink, sitting on the porch, enjoying the early summer green all around me in the oncoming dusk.