Elizabeth Now . . . and Then

A Good Way To End The Month

2012-01-31T06:34:00.001-08:00

A resolve to improve, to organize, to turn dreams into concrete reality. Things are gradually coming together as I come out of my midwinter blues (even with happy lamps, I still hate the lack of light), and I just got the last bit of paperwork I need to file my taxes, plus I have two episodes of Downton Abbey to watch tonight and crab fried rice on the menu. Off to the shower! A new day beckons.

Photograph taken Sunday morning, as many of you Portland-area people know.

Mochitsuki And Osechi Ryori

2012-01-30T07:03:00.000-08:00

There were Japanese rites at the Scottish Rite Center yesterday, first and foremost the mochitsuki, the New Year's tradition of pounding rice in a wooden mortar to make mochi, glutinous-rice cakes. The Japanese American Citizens League and the Oregon Nikkei Endowment put this on each year, and it's very popular; last year Morgan and Leah and I couldn't get tickets. This year, it was a "first come first served" affair, and because church got out early I was able to walk down and get a seat in the auditorium for the show. It took about fifteen minutes for the members of Utsukikai to turn cooked rice into mochi.

sa-kome konete nebari dase
sa-kome konete tekari dase, yoi yoi!

After the mochi was done and sent down into the kitchens to be finished (cut into squares and dusted with rice flour) we watched a set of three traditional dances by students of Sahomi Tachibana, an 80-something teacher here in Portland; she didn't dance, however.

This woman danced three parts using masks: this round-cheeked peasant girl, a thick-browed man, and a red-faced devil. It seemed to be something about how the devil was trying to get the girl away from her suitor, but I'm not sure.

Downstairs they had tables with crafts and demonstrations, flower-arranging and origami, kendo and calligraphy. Portland Taiko had a "Rock Band"-style game set up to test your ability at keeping time.

The mochi was soft and chewy and just slightly warm.

I went home then, to prepare my own set of lucky dishes, osechi ryori. I'd gotten enoki mushrooms and Chinese chive flowers at Fubonn, after watching the lions dance, plus some black rice noodles that I cooked all together, long things swirling around each other to guarantee me long life.

I sliced golden kumquats and silver-white carrots and simmered them in a vinegar-spiked broth with ginger and then chilled them, a pile of euros on my plate to bring me all the funds I need for this mad venture into the streets of France.

I baked fresh sardines in tamari, sesame oil, honey, and maple syrup to approximate the traditional New Year's dish called tazukuri (dried baby sardines simmered in soy sauce) for growth and bountiful harvests, bringing me the success I dream of.

Much of the black of the rice noodles dissolved into the cooking water so that part wasn't as visually interesting as I'd hoped, but the meaty sweet-salty fish went well with the garlic crunch of the mushrooms and chives, enlivened by the sharp chime of the pickled carrots and kumquats.

kurekurete / mochi o kodama no / wabi ne kana

the year ends with the pounding of rice cakes echoing in my dreams

Lions And Dragons Dancing

2012-01-30T05:59:00.000-08:00

Things I've Been

2012-01-24T06:28:00.000-08:00

Doing. Going to the farmer's market on Saturday mornings and buying winter greens and root vegetables. Broccoli raab, chinese cabbage, chard, kale, squash, mushroom. There aren't many vendors but the selection is good and the market square has been packed each time I've gone.

I had three different theatre events I wanted to see in the past three weeks, but only went to one of them. I missed "The Cassandra Cat" (with live music) at the Holocene because it didn't start until 8pm on a Tuesday night, and I didn't feel like going alone. I was going to go to Filmusik's Friday the 13th showing of "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" (also with live music) and had even bought the ticket on line, but that afternoon I'd had a particularly painful and grueling bone/muscle realignment physical therapy session, and I had to get all the way out to Gresham in the cold and dark after work, and I arrived at Kate and Ben's house with about twenty minutes to eat dinner before I would have had to get in the car and drive all the way back into town for the show, and the house was warm and Toby was sitting at the top of the stairs purring and inviting me to snuggle in bed, and I was so tired ... so I was asleep at about the time the show started.

A lamb roast from the grill at Mom and John's house in late August this year.

However, I did get to Theatre Vertigo's "Hunter Gatherers" on Friday, and it was bloody and weird and full of sex and betrayal and humor. And you have until February 4th to go see it, and I hope you do. The play is by Peter Sinn Nachtrieb, who also wrote "Boom!", the play they did back in 2010 that I liked so much. And like with that one, I don't really want to say anything about the plot or plan of this play, because it would spoil it for you. So just go see it.

Utagawa Kunisada, from "The Bride's Journey" (1841)

And I finally made it on Sunday to the Portland Art Museum's exhibit of 400 years of Japanese printmaking, along with dozens of other people who also realized it was the last day of the exhibit. It was a bit crowded, to say the least. It was also the last day that my annual museum pass was valid, and I didn't renew it, since I didn't really go often enough last year to do more than break even on the cost, and I can't see spending much time there in the next five months oh my god five months I have so much to do! More on that later.

Hishikawa Moronobu, "The Poet Taira no Sadakuni" (1672)

I don't remember the artist that did this sketchbook of famous mountains and other landmarks in Japan, but do remember thinking about Mom when I saw it. It would be nice to go visit Japan again and see parts of the country I didn't see when I was there, especially interesting rock formations like this, Nakanodake in the Myogi mountain range.

Takeuchi Seiho, from "Seiho's Painting Instruction Album" (1901)

Tanaka Ryohei, "Early Winter in a Rural Village" (1980)

Eating. I've mostly been cooking at home, given my need to save money, the abundance of fresh food at the farmer's market, and my whole no-dairy/no-grain-with-sugar dietary restrictions. Oh, and I'm pretty sure at this point that I'm allergic to eggs. Let's just call it "empirical evidence" and leave it at that. However, I did meet a friend at Bar Avignon a week or two ago, and enjoyed their marinated sardine plate (with soft-boiled egg [this was before the egg realization], pickled onion, and celery salad). The only thing I didn't enjoy was the fact that the egg was cold. I think that the flavor would have been much better, plus the contrast between the chilled fish and a warm egg would have been just luscious. However, still tasty.

I also started out the new year with Shigezo's ozoni, the traditional soup with mochi (pounded-rice cake). I did not become one of the yearly fatalities, thank goodness. Delicious broth filled with spinach, enoki and eringi mushrooms, fish cake (which I didn't eat - it's half wheat gluten), chicken, and egg, and a taste of Japan, though I missed the lucky beans and soy-lacquered dried fish on the side.

Reading. The "Hunger Games" trilogy is excellent; I kept seeing it as more and more of a possible future, which is worrisome. The book is practically a movie script already, and I think it's going to be a huge hit. I'll go see it, anyway. Elizabeth George's new Inspector Lynley mystery "Believing the Lie" is more social commentary than mystery, but I devoured it in one afternoon, my heart pounding faster and faster as things all came together as they fell apart and yikes! another cliffhanger! Now I have to wait for the next one and who knows when that will be. Molly Birnbaum's "Season to Taste" is nonfiction; it's the story of her struggle with life and career plans and cooking after she gets hit by a car and loses all ability to smell, and therefore to taste anything. It's an eye- and nose-opening look at what we take for granted, and I find that I'm appreciating more and more all of the sensual aspects of what I cook and eat. Highly recommended.

Working on. Getting better as a photographer.

Developing more self-control. I also read "Willpower: Rediscovering the Greatest Human Strength" (Baumeister and Tierney) hoping to get some hints on why, when I have a clear goal and concrete steps to get there, I am not putting all the effort I could be into doing those steps and achieving my goal. This book helped me get a different perspective on why I find it so easy to (for example) spend the afternoon reading a mystery instead of organizing my room or studying French grammar in preparation for actually, you know, speaking French, something I will find of great importance in five months or so oh my god five months I have so much to do! And yet, books and plays and sitting here blogging and blah blah blah. Willpower.

It will all get done. The money will be there (thought the Fulbright scholarship will not) and I will find a place to work, and to live, and everything I need for a year will fit neatly into two suitcases, although I think I'm going to have to pack up a small box with things that I don't really want to buy over there, like my sunrise alarm clock and my French dictionary and my (deflated) balance ball and maybe a pair of boots, but that I don't want to overweight my luggage with.

I have five months - that's plenty of time. It's the Year of the Dragon, and all will be well. Kyūnenjū taihen osewa ni narimashita!

Recalling Sunshine

2012-01-19T05:52:00.000-08:00

We're in for a series of rainy, windy days here in Portland, and while that's pretty typical it's disappointing, especially after we were teased by winter with a beautiful overnight snowfall that got slushily washed away the next morning. Now it's just wet. And cold. And it's still dark in the morning so I'm grumpy. I haven't done much this past week or so but work and goof off, but slowly (slowly!) I'm getting my shit together insofar as this whole moving-overseas business goes. I'm not used to so much planning, being more of a "figure it out when you get there" person, but in this case I can't do that. This weekend - when I'm not reading the new Elizabeth George book - I will be putting together the letters to send out to prospective quasi-employers in France for July/August, and continuing the process of sorting out everything in this room into three piles: (1) things to take to France; (2) things to get rid of at the yard sale or Goodwill; and (3) things I have to try to convince Mom and John to store in boxes in their attic or use to decorate the house in Bend. The first and last piles will be the smallest ... honest, Mom. Just a few boxes.

Photographs taken on January 9 while waiting for the bus outside City Hall, where there is a small vegetable garden and some fruit trees that provide produce used at the Oregon Food Bank.

Tamago Mitai

2012-01-09T06:32:00.000-08:00

I walked down to The Garden Of Awakening Orchids at SW 3rd and Everett yesterday after church services were over and I'd sung my solo and eaten a mandarin orange (not during the service). The fog had finally lifted and while it was still cold the blue sky lifted my spirits, which were already pretty high after having belted out a series of high E-flats without too much difficulty, managing to avoid psyching myself out with my imaginary upper register limit of, oh, C-sharp usually.

The Lan Su Chinese Garden offers free admission this first week of the new year, and today's the last day so if the weather's good, I encourage you to spend your lunch hour there, if you work downtown. The persimmons are hanging like eggs on an Easter tree, and there are colorful stuffed dragons tucked into corners of the fluted rooftops, because starting January 23rd it's the Year of the Dragon. I tried to find a small dragon pendant to hang on my keychain but they didn't have any in the gift shop. I'll keep my eyes open for one, though I do still have the now-faded purple embroidered cloth dragon I bought in Japan when Mom and I were traveling around together, along with an aluminum sea turtle from Hawai'i and an enameled rooster from South America, keeping my keys separated into groups.

The garden was packed with people of all ages and languages, most with cameras, and it was hard to get space to take photos sometimes. But I found a few quiet corners where I could stand and just look at the shapes of the plants, some bare-branched and others evergreen.

I ended up sitting on the stoop along the side of the teahouse, in the sun, watching people and tracing the patterns of the stones in the pavement. A young Japanese girl was fascinated by the stones as well. "Tamago mitai!" she exclaimed. "Kochira, kochira, kochira ..." ("They look like eggs! This one, and this one, and this one ...") After about five minutes of that her mother agreed that yes, they looked like eggs, and wasn't it time to go look at something else?

They did look like eggs, in fact.

Salty Bitter Sweet

2012-01-07T19:48:00.000-08:00

The Flying Fish Company gets crab direct from fishermen in Garibaldi and frankly it's cheaper and just as tasty (if not better) than anything else you can get on the coast or here in Portland. The crabs were delivered Friday, and I bought a nice fat one on my way back from the farmer's market this morning. I whisked together three tablespoons of vegan mayonnaise with the juice and zest of a Meyer lemon (from the big bag Helen brought back with her from her family visit to California over the holidays) and six or seven garlic cloves roasted until soft and sweet but not caramelized in the toaster oven and mashed well, then folded in the crabmeat I'd picked out while listening to the news on the radio. I steamed two rosettes of tat soi (so happy the winter farmer's market has started!) and that was the green bed for the crab salad, indulgent and rich with little sparks of bitter contrast from the zest. The crab-shell broth is cooling on the counter now, and I will make a sea-briny risotto on Tuesday, I think, if there's a good firm whitefish at the fish store, or perhaps some mussels. Or maybe more crab, just to go all out on the luxury front. So nice that the ocean comes all the way in to SE Hawthorne now with this new fish store. Though I did recently watch a NOVA video about glacial ice melting and the coming rise in sea levels - perhaps I'll be able to catch my own Dungeness crabs off the back deck soon ...

Imaginary Monologues

2012-01-06T20:03:00.000-08:00

"These shoes disgust me. As do you."

"Someone has placed a dead fish in my handbag, and now I really have to pee."

Nordstrom display windows Thursday 6pm.

Noontime Riverwalk

2012-01-06T06:48:00.001-08:00

Food Intolerance Report: DAIRY

2012-01-01T11:48:00.000-08:00

I don't believe it. I don't believe it because I cannot believe it at this point in time, that my gut won't tolerate what my heart wants to do: to make cheese and taste cheese and travel around the world talking with and taking pictures of and working beside cheesemakers. So I'm not thinking about it right now. I am, however, avoiding all dairy for two months, to give this a try; I've already paid for the test and the consultations with the naturopath, after all, and it would be a pity to let that go to waste.

This wasn't an allergy or sensitivity test; the results even said that I could eat wheat, which I'm pretty sure I can't, and as many eggs as I wanted, which I'm beginning to think would not be a good idea either. And besides the total ban on dairy of any kind, I was told that while I can eat grains and cane sugar, I need to not eat them within four hours of each other. That pretty much eliminates all baked goods, and the house-made jam I enjoy at Jam with a slice of gluten-free toast on Sundays, and even mayonnaise on a sandwich if it has cane sugar in it, which many things do. Oh, and high-fructose corn syrup is a no-no too, but brown rice syrup isn't, or agave, or maple syrup or honey. While this stricture will be tricky to comply with and involve reading labels more closely and not going out to eat, that's okay on several levels. I usually don't buy pre-made foods anyway, can deal with not using condiments for two months (or longer), don't need to buy GF sticky buns or scones at New Cascadia (though I hope they don't add sugar to their bread), and can handle unsweetened almond and soy milk with my oatmeal. I can even handle not eating cheese for a while. But since my dreams, my efforts, and my plans have all been based on a cheese-centric future, I will not think about anything past two months from now, when I'll see if this change in diet really leads to a change in my overall health.

I will be praying to the patron saint of cheese.

In the meanwhile, I can still cook things like peach-and-chile braised pork. It turned out rather well. Approximately 2-3/4 pounds of boneless pork shoulder that I further butterflied out to get as much surface area as possible, rubbed on both sides with about two tablespoons of a chipotle-guajillo blend I had on the spice rack, then spread with a jar of peach preserves with brandy.

I rolled up the pork around the jam and put it in the dutch oven, scraping the rest of the jam off the butcher paper and spreading it on top of the meat, then added about two tablespoons of rice vinegar to the pot. I covered the top of the pot with a layer of plastic wrap stretched tight to seal, then a layer of aluminum foil, and put the heavy lid on top, and cooked it at 250 degrees for five hours.

The low heat and the triple seal keep the juices all inside and the meat ends up falling-apart tender. The first time I did this I was worried that the plastic wrap would melt and fuse to the side of the pot, or drip down and burn in the oven, or both, but it does neither at this temperature, and it's very easy to peel away from the sides of the pot when the meat is done. Watch out for the escaping steam when you do this, though.

I took the pork out of the liquid and put it into a dish, covered it with the foil, and put it back in the oven (turned off) while the pan juices cooled a bit to let the fat rise to the surface. Once I'd skimmed off as much of the fat as I could, I put the pork back into the pot, shredded it, and strained the liquid back into it, mixing it all together to a juicy tender pulled-pork mess. Just sweet enough from the jam, just spicy enough from the chipotle, and just perfect for dinner last night and lunches this week.

And A Happy New Year

2011-12-31T20:02:00.001-08:00

Dreams come true; without that possibility, nature would not incite us to have them.

- John Updike, "Memoirs" (1989)

Voyager, c'est naître et mourir à chaque instant.
To travel is to be born and to die every moment.

- Victor Hugo, "Les Miserables" (1862)

But the life of freedom requires a beginning, and here a beginning is a resolution, and the resolution has its work and its pain - thus the beginning has its difficulty. The one making the resolution has, of course, not finished, because in that case he would have experienced that of which the resolution is the beginning. But if no resolution is made, the same thing can happen to such a person as sometimes happens to a speaker who only when he has finished speaking knows how he should have spoken: only when he has lived, only then does he know how he should have lived (what a sorry yield from life!) and how he should have made the beginning with the good resolution - what a bitter wisdom now that a whole life lies between the beginning and the one who is dying.

- Søren Kierkegaard, "Three Discourses on Imagined Occasions" (1845)

toshi kurenu
kasa kite waraji
hakinagara
another year is gone
I still wear a traveler's hat
and straw sandals on my feet

- Matsuo Bashō (1685)

Mele Kalikimaka

2011-12-25T06:00:00.000-08:00

Last Sunset In Hawai'i

2011-12-24T20:17:00.001-08:00

Last day of snorkeling (crystal clear water after last night's windstorm but somewhat choppy waves - and I saw an eel), last afternoon of strolling along the harbor in the hot sun buying chocolate-covered macadamia nuts and fresh pineapple (so much more crowded now that the Christmas-break families and college students are here), last evening of blended rum and papaya drinks before dinner (I will miss the sweet fragrant fruit), last night of lounging in bed after dinner with the remote control (switching between Food Network and the Travel Channel, mostly - with 75 channels you'd think there would be something worth watching other than those). I want to rewind the last two weeks and do it all over again.

Balance

2011-12-23T19:09:00.000-08:00

I Never Get Tired Of Rainbows

2011-12-23T19:07:00.001-08:00

Swimming With Manta Rays

2011-12-23T18:18:00.001-08:00

(and spinner dolphins)

We needed the hearty lunch because we were headed out for afternoon and night snorkeling in a bay about twenty minutes by boat north from the harbor, and weren't going to get back in time for dinner. We went out with Honu Sports (Captain Lisa and Mike) with four other people who were diving off the reef there. We'd picked this tour because of the small group size, but unfortunately that meant nothing once we got out there and the other boats started arriving with dozens of people all waiting for the manta rays. It was very, very crowded in the water, and I had to watch carefully around me so I didn't get whacked in the face with someone's fin. There must have been sixty other snorkelers in a space about the size of an Olympic pool; probably nearly as many divers, but they were far enough below us that there was no danger of being bonked in the head by an oxygen tank.

When we arrived in the afternoon, though, we had the place to ourselves. A pod of spinner dolphins drifted in and out of the bay, and I was lucky enough to be in the right place to get a close encounter with a small band of five big adults, and watched the whole group swim under me and out to the deep waters. When I put my head down into the water, I could hear them calling to each other, and as they came up the young dolphins leapt into the air.

As the sun started going down, we all got back into the boat, and Mom and John and I put on the wetsuits provided for us. Mom was a little nervous about the mantas, and even more nervous about going back in the water as she and John had seen a white-tipped shark off the north end of the bay. I wasn't so (un?)lucky, but did have a nice time swimming along with a large school of Hawaiian sergeantfish (Abudefduf abdominalis, and why that name I do not know) as they darted after plankton.

Plankton is what mantas feed on, and the manta divers try to attract them by shining lights to bring the plankton swarms, which brings the mantas in to feed. At this bay there's a permanent light cluster about 35-40 feet down that they switch on after sunset, and then all the dive/snorkel groups bring hand-held lights, or floating platforms or rings with lights shining down. I couldn't wait for the divers to get off the boat so jumped in off the side, and enjoyed the sight of the cone of light coming up from the bottom as the divers gathered around the bottom light, and a swarm of silvery fish swirled in among the bubbles, taking advantage of the plankton before the mantas arrived.

And they did arrive, eventually. The night before the videographer ($45 for a commemorative DVD) counted sixteen mantas but by the time we left there were only six. But still, six mantas are an impressive show all by themselves. Their backs look like brown velvet, but their bellies are white with brown spots. I got a close-up look at one of them that had come up to one of the floating lights, and did a backwards roll in the water right underneath me, close enough to touch, though you're forbidden to touch them because of their protective coating that's easily rubbed off. The mantas winged gracefully in and out of view, sometimes stopping in one place to do a continuous barrel roll as they filtered the plankton-rich seawater into their horizontal mouths, sometimes ghosting out into the darkness only to return to the light and the muffled watery cheers of the audience above and below. Even without the DVD I will remember this experience for a long, long time.

Bite Me Fish Market

2011-12-23T18:01:00.000-08:00

We had a late and hearty lunch yesterday down at the harbor, at the Bite Me Fish Market Bar & Grill. There was a group of local fishermen inside the market getting pretty raucous over beers, and a bunch of tourists out on the deck underneath the umbrellas. John ordered a Kona-brewed beer with his grilled fish, and Mom and I opted for single servings of "Living Jewel" sake with our meals (fish tacos for her with corn tortillas we'd brought along, and caesar salad for me with both grilled opah and freshly-smoked opah - the grilled was better, and we bought some for dinner tonight too). There were no scraps left for the cat.

Ocean Sushi, Hilo

2011-12-23T17:28:00.000-08:00

"Not much of an ambiance," it said in the guidebook, and they were right. The faded linoleum, mismatched plastic chairs, tilting tables, and calendar-picture pages thumbtacked haphazardly to the grimy-looking white walls make you think you're in a bus depot of a forgotten town, but when the bento boxes come out, this place can hold its own with any Portland-area buddha-and-bamboo-bedecked sushi spot - and at a significant cost savings. Of course, having the ocean a block or two away helps with the fresh fish side of things. But we looked around and it appeared that Ocean Sushi is where the locals go for Japanese food in Hilo, dining in or takeout. We had edamame and hot tea, then John got one of the bento boxes while Mom and I ate a Big Island roll (cucumber and ahi with a spicy mayonnaise) and a Sunset roll (avocado and hamachi with tobiko), a pickled plum roll and a spider roll. Definitely recommended if you're visiting Hilo.

Six-Month-Old Rock

2011-12-23T17:09:00.000-08:00

Where the Royal Gardens subdivision used to be a year ago, there's now a black cracked field of lava. Some people still live out there, however, and we even saw a new building being constructed towards the ocean. "They think that because the flow came down here already," said the Parks Service volunteer, "it won't come this way again." But the residents are hoping for the best, and like the plants are springing up again wherever they can take root.

Although there was a group of guys who led lava-viewing tours waiting for customers in the parking lot, it's a two-mile trip out over very rough ground to get close enough to see the lava as it flows slowly down the hills. Though this is a better option than the five-mile trip out from the other end of the flow field, we didn't go for it, and just looked at the wisps of smoke and steam in the distance.

And we didn't wait for it to get dark enough to see the dim red glow because we were hungry, and it had already been a long day of driving and walking and driving and swimming and driving some more. My close encounter with lava will have to be postponed for another visit.

Waiopae Tidepool Marine Life Conservation District

2011-12-23T08:59:00.001-08:00

On the southeast end of the island, a twisty sometimes one-lane road takes you through papaya groves and lava fields, past tumbledown shacks and gated new homes (and even a castle, incongruous amid the clumps of sugarcane), and out to the end of the spit and a subdivision called "Vacationland" where a series of lava-formed tidepools have been both incorporated into homesites, giving people their own private thermal hot tubs/koi ponds, and turned into a public park. We'd brought our snorkel gear but the wind was well beyond brisk and the rain squalls frequent, and the wet lava rocks were slippery. We teetered around the edges of the ponds for a bit but didn't go in.

Farther to the west, along the bottom of the island and heading towards the new lava flow from the Pu`u `O`o crater is Alahanui Park, where there's a bigger thermally-heated enclosed lagoon that's a popular swimming hole, and we ended up going in there instead. There were fish in the thermal pool, but not many, though John did encounter a school of small fish that seemed to think he was tasty, and he was nibbled on a bit. I just floated around watching a two-year-old girl laugh as her father carried her around the pool so she could pick up the yellow leaves floating on the water.

The only marine life I saw that day.

Lava Tree State Park

2011-12-23T08:44:00.000-08:00

The Obligatory Chicken Picture

2011-12-22T10:54:00.000-08:00

Parking lot of Lava Tree State Park, Wednesday December 21st.

Wednesday Hilo Market

2011-12-22T09:48:00.001-08:00

Ua Ka Ua, Kahe Ka Wai

2011-12-22T08:38:00.000-08:00

We left the drier west side of the island yesterday to drive up and over the top of the island to Hilo and the rainy east side, where the forecast had promised us intermittent showers. This turned out to be intermittent heavy rain between periods of light drizzle, at least on the drive, but by the time we got close to Hilo and started exploring, it cleared up a bit. We started by visiting 'Akaka Falls State Park, and a paved loop trail through insanely large-leaved plants dripping with moisture.

Everything seemed to be blossoming and/or fruiting, including the bamboo. There were several types of banana (as far as I could guess by the differences in the blossoms) and huge ferns and philodendron.

A banana blossom in its native habitat.

Banyans are fig trees that send down roots from their canopies, creating a large curtain of strands around the main trunk, or eventually trunks. It was hard to find a camera angle to truly show the height and girth of this one.

The bamboo was almost as tall, and the philodendron looping and climbing everywhere often had leaves the size of a small goat. Some of them were sending tendrils out towards the path, and we decided it would be a good idea to not stand still too long in any one spot, lest we become part of the rampant jungle growth.

Because of the falls crashing down on the other side of the gorge, and the generally overcast day, it was somewhat grey and misty, which made the pops of bright color from leaves and fruit even more startling when they appeared against the million shades of green in the background.

'Akaka Falls (according to the informational sign) drops 442 feet into the gorge, twice the height of Niagara Falls. There was a Japanese tour group there and the guide was explaining that the water came from the top of Mauna Kea and took fifty years to filter through to the falls, so it was very pure. At least I think he said fifty; I'm pretty sure I heard gojyu-nen.

From where we were standing, the falls looked pretty muddy - but it was pure mud, no doubt.

John said this was the true source of the falls, so we were careful not to jostle the pipe as we headed back up to the parking lot.

Anuenue

2011-12-22T08:36:00.000-08:00

5:55PM

2011-12-20T21:36:00.001-08:00

Halehale Ke Aloha

2011-12-20T20:11:00.000-08:00

Sentinels

2011-12-20T19:58:00.001-08:00

King Kamehameha I statue in Kapa'au (the original statue, nearest his birthplace); Hawi Wind Farm; Kapa'a beach park; feral cat obviously failing at sentry duty

Locavoracity

2011-12-20T19:34:00.001-08:00

Last night, Mountain Apple steaks grilled and sliced thin (or thinnish - the knives in this condo are not the best) with lettuce and tomatoes grown outside of Waimea, and small local Maui sweet onions caramelized in some olive oil (okay, not local, but neither is the Canadian-made gluten-free English muffin nor the canola oil mayonnaise) and Hilo-area feta cheese. Tonight, more Lanson champagne to celebrate the solstice, with Hawaii Island Goat Dairy chipotle chèvre spread on thin crispy local cucumbers, smoked marlin from Bite Me fish market, and big soft avocados mashed with lime into guacamole. And more champagne, and chocolate-covered macadamia nuts for dessert. Yes, it's a rough life this week, but we're supporting as many island producers as possible. The French champagne is only because they haven't found the right lava field to plant the vines here. Also, and speaking of lava fields, we're headed to the volcano tomorrow, so we're drinking the champagne tonight.

Goats And Champagne

2011-12-16T22:20:00.000-08:00

The morning started like usual, with the chirp-gobble-cluck of the wild turkeys outside the window and the scent of freshly-mown grass from the golf course coming in the window, shortly replaced by the fragrance of 100% Kona coffee brewing on the counter. But instead of lazing around after breakfast, we loaded up the car and (after dropping off Christmas cards at the Waikoloa Village post office) headed up through the dry scrublands to Waimea, where it was not dry at all. Not too rainy, though, and I did eventually buy a rain poncho at the hardware store, but hardly needed it for the drive up and over the top of the island to the Hawaii Island Goat Dairy and a visit with Dick Threlfall, whom I'd phoned a day or two ago. He doesn't give tours, but because I am "in the industry" he agreed to show us around, and I spent a few happy hours talking cheese and goats, and tasting cheese and petting goats, and I think Mom and John weren't too bored. I'll write more over at the cheese blog tomorrow about it, so check back if you want to find out about island cheesemaking.

We spent longer there than I'd thought, and by the time we got back to Waimea it was 1:30pm and we barely made it to the lunch setting at Merriman's, a happy random choice of the many places to eat that we drove by, with an emphasis on organic and local food (I think they use Dick's goat cheese) - and "local" includes flats of salad greens on shelves around the restaurant. Mom had the olive-oil poached ahi salad with local green beans and tomatoes, and John and I had the kalua pork, his on a bun and mine with macadamia nut rice.

After lunch, we had a few minutes to look at the Parker Ranch museum exhibit, which was one window of photos/reproductions and two nice old saddles with a scattering of spurs along the floor of the window shelf, all tucked in back of the Parker Ranch store in the middle of town. Parker Ranch is one of the biggest cattle ranches in the United States, and has been in operation for almost 200 years. I took one of their horseback tours the first time I joined Mom and John in Hawai'i and it's a great way to see the uplands of the Big Island, and amazing views (weather permitting) down to the coast. We had some of the local grass-fed beef for dinner the other night, from the ranch. But the cowboys only got a bit of our time, as we were headed back to the Kamuela Liquor Store for a champagne tasting, providentially scheduled for that very afternoon.

There were eight types of champagne being poured, but only three of them were really good, and Mom and John ended up buying two bottles of Lanson Black Label, one of which we'll open tomorrow night to celebrate our first week in Hawai'i, and good food, and the fact that we're here together. It will be a good way to end a day on the beach, and the snorkeling should be fine. The guitar-playing Hawaiian Christmas carol-singing guy won't be on the beach, though it would be fun if he were strumming gently in the background as we lounged under the palm trees.

Tonight's stir-fry dinner was excellent, featuring local snow peas and the blanched banana blossoms. I still wasn't bowled over by them, but Mom liked them a lot. I was more into the kimchi furikake tonight for some reason. I'm going to have to get a container or two to take back home, though they probably have it at Uwajimaya or Fubonn. Maybe I'll get them just in case, though.

The wind's still blowing hard, and the Food Network is calling my name upstairs. I'm going to take my starfruit with coconut jelly on upstairs and relax even more. This is the best vacation ever.

Banana Blossom

2011-12-16T09:06:00.000-08:00

On the way back from Two Step, a wide cove south of Pu'uhonua O Honaunau (Place of Refuge) where Mom and John saw a six-foot eel and I was (probably not) menaced by two very scary-looking giant needlefish, we passed a grove of banana trees with the green upward-pointing clusters of ripe fruit high on the branch and football-shaped maroon objects hanging below. Banana blossoms, I told Mom when she wondered what they were, and added that I'd seen "banana blossom salad" on the menu at several Thai restaurants around Portland but had never ordered it, so didn't know what they tasted like or how to prepare them.

When we stopped at the outdoor market for vegetables for dinner and saw a pile of maroon footballs in a crate, obviously it was our chance to find out.

Banana blossoms, as Mom noted, are the fava bean of the tropics, in that you have to go through a lot of preparation and it doesn't taste like much in the end (note: I really like fava beans, but it's true about prep time). Each fibrous leaf covers a cluster of blossoms, and each blossom needs to have the tough petal at the front removed, as well as the pistil, or what I assume is the pistil, a harder strand with a round curled head. And then you remove another leaf, and there's another cluster of blossoms. I had quite the pile by the end.

Once you get to the center where the leaves are white and tender, you can quarter and chop the heart, and then everything's ready for cooking. We were advised to blanch it all and keep it in the refrigerator overnight, since we're tossing it in a stir-fry tonight. You can't eat them raw. Mom says they taste like bamboo shoots, but I think it's more like an artichoke.

Last night's dinner was grilled mahi-mahi (which was incredibly delicious) with rice topped with wakame furikake, a dried seasoned seaweed and toasted rice condiment popular in Japan - there are a dozen different furikake on the shelf at the store up the road - steamed green beans, and a salad of local lettuce and Chinese cabbage topped with fresh tomatoes and avocado. Tonight we'll saute some local sweet onion with more cabbage, baby bok choi, and snow peas, toss in the banana blossoms, and add the leftover mahi-mahi.

A hui hou kakou!

Diving In Clear Water

2011-12-14T20:33:00.000-08:00

A long hot walk in over 'a'a flows smoothed out somewhat into a path, clinking and cracking under our feet, to a hidden beach found after another long walk south over lava turning into sand (but not quickly enough for comfort), then a shaded cove with waves splashing up, inviting us in.

We went in twice, when the sun was out, and saw fish we'd never seen before. The bottom dropped off into hazy blue depths past the looping edges of the fan corals, and I wanted to follow the schools of fish out into the unknown, but the waves were getting rough and the water was a bit chilly.

John dove down to the sea floor that was thick with big black sea urchins - I've never seen so many - and brought back what was left of one of them.

Some large bird had dropped an eel some time ago, and never came back for it.

A yellow-billed cardinal hopped around in the thorny shadows of the acacia trees behind us.

I wonder what I'll see tomorrow.

Walking The King's Highway

2011-12-14T20:31:00.001-08:00

Sunset Off The Kona Coast

2011-12-13T20:05:00.000-08:00

Half a dozen fellow tourists at the two benches off the parking lot where the view of the ocean is unobstructed by trees, all lenses pointed towards the hazy red horizon, cameras clicking away, but I was the only one with a papaya and rum drink in hand. The wind has really picked up in the last half hour, which either means great weather tomorrow or the opposite, courtesy of what the weatherman referred to as a large unstable air mass off the north side of the island this morning. Leftover grilled marlin will be mixed with cucumber and tomato and mayonnaise and served with lettuce and gluten-free toast for dinner, and we bought an unidentifiable bag of some sort of edible blossoms at the market this afternoon which we were advised to de-stem, cook like spinach, and serve with fish sauce, and so we will.

Still Life With Papaya

2011-12-12T19:31:00.001-08:00

One dollar for three huge avocados and three ripe papayas. One dollar total. Yes, I'd move here. They make goat cheese on the other side of the island. I'm sure they'll have use for a French-trained cheesemaker in a year or two.

John gets credit for the perfect papaya placement.

Saffron Finch / Java Sparrow

2011-12-12T19:29:00.001-08:00

Moon!

2011-12-10T07:21:00.000-08:00

I took this picture Thursday evening at a very small Portland park, or maybe it was just a concrete plaza at the corner of - where was I, Morrison and First? something like that. Four metal podium/stands with reproductions, or possibly original pages, from old newspapers. This one was from 1969 and the moon landing, and the moon was rising behind it.

I remember my parents waking me up to see the moon landing, on our old black and white television on the rolling stand that I knocked over, once, possibly (though not deliberately, I'm sure) on one or both of my siblings. Or maybe it was the cat, in which case it would definitely not have been deliberately. Perhaps that contributed to my need to always reach higher, to go somewhere else, to head out into the unknown and unexplored (at least to and by me - it's probably too late to ever really see something for the first time, on this crowded planet, but my own personal first times are what count, because it's all about me, right?). Of course, having spent the first dozen years of my life moving frequently back and forth across the country added to the itchy-feet syndrome. For a while it felt very odd to not pack everything up each June and load boxes into a car and go to a new neighborhood, or city, or state.

I always greet the moon, when I see it in the sky; it's instinctive, almost unconscious, a quick "Moon!" said out loud or whispered or just shaped with my lips, depending on where I am. It doesn't matter if it's just a thin crescent or a bright sphere, though it seems to be more imperative to acknowledge the moon when it's full.

I missed the lunar eclipse this morning, partly because it was hidden by the West Hills by the time I got outside, and partly because I got outside too late, being caught in a dream in which I was yelling at a woman who was supposed to arrange everything for this tour/trip I was on (yes, I know she was/is me myself) but who hadn't gotten the right paperwork done, so we were stuck in this little town and the police had confiscated my computer so I couldn't do my freelance work, and I was so, so angry at her for not making sure she had gotten all the right paperwork signed and stamped by the various consulates before we got in the car and drove off. There was someone else on the trip, and possibly a dog in the car, but this other (female? not sure) person had taken the car onward, or gone back, and I think it was because of the dog. I'm not entirely sure what part of my personality the dog represents. Oh, and I was yelling at this woman in some sort of cafeteria that was attached to a corporate office, and they had all these pastries going by on a tiered conveyor belt arrangment, and the office people were saying things like "just calm down and have a pastry or a muffin, and it will all work out," and I was yelling "but I can't eat these, they're not gluten free!" and they said, "no, we have gluten-free options, don't worry," and then I woke up. And I had missed the moon.

I wonder sometimes if I aim too high.

Ah, but a ~~man's~~ woman's reach should exceed ~~his~~ her grasp,
Or what's a heaven for?
- from "Andrea del Sarto" by Robert Browning (1855)

Yesterday, Today, And Tomorrow

2011-12-06T06:54:00.000-08:00

It's another chilly morning out there, with "a dense fog advisory" according to the morning host on KOPB. Frosty and near or below freezing, but with no rain, so we can still enjoy the colors of the leaves before they dissolve into muck on the sidewalk. It's so dark I can barely see the tree branches outside my window. But I'm out of the shower and needing to leave in a few minutes so I can stop by New Cascadia and get some gluten-free bread for breakfast and lunch. I have a container of red and green peppers that I sauteed this morning then braised with capers and balsamic vinegar, and a bit of sheep's-milk cheese, and I'm going to toast bread with cheese and top it with the peppers for lunch, while doing more typing typing typing. I'm taking my laptop to Hawai'i with me for more typing, but this will be all personal (I hope), catching up on my cheeseblogging. I have many pictures and recipes to post over there, but just haven't had the time or energy to do it. After a few days of sun and snorkeling and fresh papayas, I'm sure I'll feel more the thing. I must get organized this week before I leave, though, so I can be more efficient when I get back. And then it will be 2012, the Year of the Dragon, and everything will change. And it will be wonderful.

November 25, With Turkey And Foam

2011-11-25T06:31:00.000-08:00

Not some new molecular gastronomy dish (though I'm sure there's a "mushroom gravy cappuccino with turkey foam and grated dried porcini dust" out there on a menu somewhere) but instead a turkey breast in the oven along with celery-root stuffing and wild rice with cranberries, and a wild blustery midmorning walk along the stony edge of Cape Meares, outside of Tillamook, where the wind and waves had washed up a knee-high blanket of thick spume between the twisted driftwood.

Mom and John had come north to meet friends coming south from the Washington coast, and I headed west with Sadie (having charge of the Shirley house, pets, and van for the weekend) to join them for a few hours and a belated Thanksgiving dinner.

November 20, With Moon

2011-11-20T06:29:00.000-08:00

November 19, With Leah

2011-11-19T06:19:00.000-08:00

My last year's Christmas present to Leah was a ticket to the November touring show by Cirque du Soleil, the "Michael Jackson: Immortal" one. We saw it at the Rose Garden Arena on the 18th, after a meal of barbecued meat at Clay's Smokehouse on Division (mmmmm ... meat). I didn't get the most expensive tickets, and so we were farther away from the stage area than is optimal for a show like that, though they did have big-screen duplication and close-ups to help. But we were also seated just where an overhead light - which was below us, so that says something about the location - was shining up and making it hard to see. However, it was fun, and Leah liked it, so that's the important part.

We walked over to Laurelhurst on Saturday morning for a breath of fresh air, after sleeping in until 11:00am (Leah did; I was slogging away at my freelance projects). It was a bit colder than expected so rather than taking a longer walk, we went to see "Cowboys and Aliens" at the Bagdad. I got the Leah Patented Eye Roll^(TM) when I took a picture of her, but that should have been reserved for the movie which was very silly. Enjoyable, but silly. And with a bit more blood and punching than I'd expected. But Harrison Ford, so worth the $3 ticket price. Leah had a milkshake.

We had dinner at Shigezo before the concert by Consonare on Saturday evening. I forgot to switch the camera to "inside" before taking pictures of Leah's bowl of ramen noodles, so none of those photos came out. However, I think the picture of the escolar and fatty tuna sushi is quite nice.

November 9, With Crows

2011-11-09T06:17:00.000-08:00

November 8

2011-11-08T06:04:00.000-08:00

One hundred and forty-two pictures in the camera not downloaded and the places I was when I took those photos not talked about. And one blog post - ONE!! - for November. Amazing. I still have very few words to spare, but I am going back in time to make a note of some of the things that happened in the last month, or at least post pictures of them. It's not going to be very exciting, I'm afraid.

Walking It Off

2011-11-07T06:44:00.000-08:00

Too many times in the last week or so I've been grumpy inside, trapped in a recirculated-air-filled concrete box, staring at a smaller box with pixellated print on it that made my brain numb and my eyes ache, wishing that I could be outside in the sun and the blue-skied coolness that is fall here in Portland, sometimes, when it's not raining. Yesterday I left the computer and the freelance work piling up, and went for a walk to Laurelhurst Park.

I haven't been posting here, or at my semiprofessional cheese blog, though I've been taking pictures and notes and ideas for cheese-related stories and new recipes have been accumulating on my camera and on random bits of paper scattered around the room. But whatever the opposite of logorrhea is, I had it. I've been able to squeeze out the occasional clump of hard dry words, enough to barely keep up with my paid blogging gig. All the words and images are piling up, giving me a headache, threatening to turn into an undifferentiated mush, all the colors and flavors running together, something I can't separate out into the original stories any more because too much time has gone by. No longer fresh. Old cheese, runny and stinky with that nasty ammonia smell. Past its sell-by date. Why did I think I could be a professional writer in the first place?

The problem is my perspective on this, I think. The paid blogging I do doesn't have my name on it. Oh, I take pride in those posts to some degree - enough that I want them to be good, and entertaining, in part because if they don't entertain me they're harder to write. But if one or two are shorter, or somewhat repetitive, and I finish them and post them with a "well, that's good enough" sigh, it doesn't bother me so much. This personal blog is just that, and I feel free to write whatever the hell I want, in any style I choose. Or not, as the case may be. I'm talking to myself, sometimes, like right now. It reminds me of being on the air in Bethel, broadcasting out across the tundra, not knowing who if anyone was listening, with the freedom to (within FCC regulations and my own common sense) say what I wanted, play what I wanted, knowing that I was going out live and if I made a mistake somewhere then that was part of the flow. Just get up and walk it off. Keep going, keep bringing the music and the news, because someone is listening, somewhere, and might get some enjoyment out of it. But mostly because it was an art form, that broadcasting, weaving songs and words together, feeling the satisfaction of timing the ending of a song just before the top of the hour news break. Making a seamless transition between one song and the next. Keeping the airwaves humming, radiating out under the cold Alaskan stars.

The cheese blog, on the other hand, is freaking me out. I feel like I'm writing in an artificial manner over there, because I have to be perfect, be right, be informative, be professional, be the Fulbright applicant and the for-hire writer on display, polished and honed. It takes me a long time to write those posts, and it's more work than fun sometimes. Okay, most times. I want to write them, though. I have so many ideas, and so much enthusiasm for the topic. But I have so little time and energy sometimes, especially with the whole performance-anxiety thing going here, that I don't even want to start.

Given that absolutely no one is even looking at that blog yet, why do I care? But I do. I feel as if I need to be in the "cheese expert" persona there, but I think that's the wrong attitude. Yet if I write like I do here, in a more personal style, is that too unprofessional? It's all things cheese-related, so I wouldn't be posting random pictures or quotes or poetry (unless thematic, naturally), but can it be in this voice, my voice? I don't know. I think it will have to be, though, otherwise I won't be able to write over there.

Walking yesterday helped me get some clarity, however. And I realized that it had been too long since I had done any walking, or bike riding, or anything other than sitting at a computer. It's beyond time to change that. Unfortunately, the health club is closing at the end of the month. There's a 24 Hour Fitness place with a pool a bit farther away from the office, so I wouldn't be able to swim at noon - not that I've been following through wtih that resolution, of course, but that was the plan. So I will need to start going in the mornings again, before work, which might not leave me time at lunch to do my freelance writing jobs.

And here I go again, down the too-much-to-do-too-little-time path, knowing that I can find time if I just make the choice to not do other things, like go to the movie I want to see on Tuesday, "Mozart's Sister," at the Livingroom Theatre downtown. Or I could get up much earlier and write in the mornings. I didn't set my clock back, so my alarm now goes off at 4am and that gives me an extra hour for blogging and all before I go to swim. Yet even this personal blogging takes time - in fact, it's taken me almost an hour to select and sharpen up these photographs, and write this mostly stream-of-consciousness blather, and if I don't wrap this up in the next few minutes I'm going to miss the bus and not get to work by 8am.

In the magical world of "maybe someday" I don't have to go to work, or at least not at a specific time. I'll have cheesemakers to interview, and cheese to taste, and recipes to work on for my latest book. I'll have travel plans to make, and markets to visit where I take pictures and then write about the vendors and the local foods. I'll go to farms and talk to be-aproned grandmothers to find out about the traditional dishes they make at Easter family dinners, and I'll search out young hopeful couples who are starting their own small agricultural businesses. And someone will pay me to do all of this.

But for today, and this week, and this month and the rest of the year and at least half of the next one, I'll be going to work inside the boxes, coloring between the lines, getting my paychecks and cramming in all of the writing for myself around the edges. At least I hope so - one of my fears is NOT having this boxy job, because then ... well, on the other hand, then maybe all the traveling and interviewing would just start a little earlier. The possibilities are, barring the economic collapse of the European Union and/or massive sunspot activity that destroys the wireless communication my bloggy business depends on, endless.

The cycle continues no matter what, though. The community garden beds are being cleared out and covered with compost and leaves, though a few still have hardy nasturtiums or cabbages waiting for harvest. The sun has come up again, and there's an entire day of life ahead of me, and I need to remember how good it is to be alive, and do what I can to ensure that state continues. There were a few more silvery hairs on the ground after my haircut last week, and I am beginning to realize that my age will soon begin with the number 5, which is absolutely unbelievable, frankly. But it's not winter yet.

I am, however, now late for work.

Wednesday, October 19: Fast and Feast

2011-10-24T06:00:00.000-07:00

I took my lunch over to The Old Church on Wednesday for a "sack lunch concert" by the Pianist's Outreach Project, featuring five young piano students ranging from cute as a button to intimidatingly accomplished. 5th-grader James Liu (above) was both, with a beaming smile and medals in both a piano competition and a triathlon this year. My nephew Morgan will be facing competition for Stanford admission from senior Michael Ling, who played a Rachmaninoff prelude before going back to school to maintain his 4.5 GPA. I particularly enjoyed Amber Tang's performance of the Khachaturian Toccata in E-flat minor, which I'd never heard before. Some of the sack lunch concerts scheduled over the next few months look interesting, and I'll be going back - but will pick a quieter lunch next time, perhaps a sandwich like my co-worker Lindsey had, because Tastebud's autumn cabbage slaw and mixed greens was awfully crunchy, and I felt like I was providing an unnecessary percussion accompaniment to the keyboard music.

After the concert, I headed over to my second office for more typing, and happened to walk through Pioneer Courthouse Square to find a large sukkah set up by Chabad of Oregon as part of their outreach Sukkot celebration.

On the other side of the square, several dozen members of the Tibetan Community of Oregon and Southwest Washington were seated on cushions on top of the bricks, facing an altar with a picture of the Dalai Lama, and following along in books of curling graceful script the sutras being broadcast from a speaker. They were participating in an 8-hour fast to protest and highlight the Chinese occupation of Tibet, and in particular to draw attention to the nine cases of self-immolation this year.

So much conflict around the world, and it's so easy to forget about it here in relatively peaceful Portland. Even the Occupy Portland protesters are now innocuously occupying two park blocks, and since their shutdown of one of the main bus routes has stopped, they're almost part of the landscape. Nothing that impacts my daily routine. I wonder how that will change in the future, as I move closer to the more troubled parts of the planet. I've read about cheesemakers in Beirut and Cyprus, and thought of how interesting it would be to find out if cheese is made from camel's milk in the Western Saraha, and how they make yak's-milk cheese in the Himalayas. But I'm a bit nervous about traveling to these places alone. Maybe once I start wandering the world again I'll get my mid-20s mojo back and head fearlessly into the dairy frontier, but right now I think I'll make my plans around the European Union.

On the other hand, Japan's apparently moving into the artisanal cheese field, and I've long wanted to go back there. I had no interest in becoming a business major, like many of the other exchange students at Waseda University in 1984, but combining Japanese, French, cheesemaking, and travel ... now we're talking ideal job. But until I figure out how to put all of that together, I'll eat Japanese food in Portland.

My friend Agnes took me to dinner Wednesday night at Wafu on Southeast Division, a new spot that is dangerously close to the house. While the menu is half ramen noodles and therefore out of reach, the dozen or so appetizer options are innovative and substantial enough for dinner on their own, especially with the fine sake selection provided. We tried three types of sake but I only wrote down the name of the first one, dewatsuru kimoto junmai, an "old school" sake made with pounded rice. Some of the other names I wrote down while waiting for Agnes were translated as "mirror of truth" and "hawk in the heavens" and "dreamy clouds." They were all different, and all very very good. We ordered edamame with togarashi (a spicy blend of chiles, citrus peel, and pepper), sichuan salt, and garlic, which blew every other edamame on offer in Portland out of the water both in flavor and in quantity. Impossible to stop eating.

The menu items are an interesting blend of styles and flavors, which change frequently with the season. We ordered the lamb tongue topped with daikon and truffle oil because it had gotten excellent reviews, and because it was going off the menu. Tender, gamy, with the richness cut by a smear of ponzu sauce and the clean crunch of the daikon shreds, it would convert anyone to a love of the odd bits of animals that you can't usually find in the supermarket. I will go back for the "hot/sweet/sour kabocha" and the roasted crab handroll with yuzu tobiko and the miso creamed kale, but Agnes and I couldn't resist the description of the deep-fried confit teriyaki chicken wings tossed with fresh ginger, or the kampachi (a jack fish farmed in Hawaii) plated with two sauces (apple and jalapeno), shiso leaves, and daikon. Amazingly, these two dishes which could have clashed just set each other off.

As I said, Wafu is dangerously close to home, promisingly tempting, and quite affordable, and undoubtedly a place I'll end up going this winter to warm up with cold sake and hot soybeans, watching the cars drive by in the rain.

Sunday At Jam

2011-10-23T20:59:00.000-07:00

"Fall Stack" special with roasted butternut squash, spicy polenta squares, sauteed chanterelle mushrooms, and chive-infused hollandaise, over crisp hash browns (two eggs optional). Gluten-free toast with Jam's house-made pear-chai preserve. A soy latte and the New York Times crossword puzzle. Altogether a perfect start to Sunday morning.

Not Quite Cricket, Old Chap

2011-10-22T18:19:00.000-07:00

Cloud Nine, Theatre Vertigo's first play of the season, spans a hundred years and a dozen ways of looking at relationships: colonial, patriarchal, heterosexual, maternal, homosexual, authoritarian, submissive, subversive, divisive. If you're uncomfortable with cross-dressing or the word "fuck" this play might not be for you. On the other hand, it might be just what you need.

The play starts in Africa in 1880 and ends up in London in 1980, though several of the characters appear in the second half and continue as if only twenty years or so had passed. In Africa, nearly everyone is oppressed or repressed: a young wife who's trying so desperately to be the ideal Victorian lady; a governess trying to hide her feelings from her employer; a boy trying to live up to his father's image of a real man when he's not rebelling against that image; a servant trying and failing to hide his contempt for his masters. When the play moves to London, it's the opposite of repression, with unashamed one-night stands, children running loose, marriages falling apart, and people coming together in new configurations. It's a funny, sweetly earthy, and ultimately hopeful play, and the actors play their dual roles with skill and quick costume changes. As always with Theatre Vertigo's productions, I recommend this one.

"Cloud Nine" runs through November 12th at Theater! Theater! on Southest Belmont.

Tone / Deaf

2011-10-19T06:49:00.000-07:00

I was gifted a ticket to see Blue Man Group last night (thanks, Heidi!) and after leaving work early (thanks, Trina!) and taking the bus out to Sellwood to pick up the ticket, and taking the bus back downtown - a much quicker trip without the outbound traffic over the Ross Island Bridge - I had a little over an hour to get something to eat. I decided on frisée aux lardons and pommes frites at Carafe Bistro across from the Keller, and ate while reading a collection of short vignettes I'd borrowed from Heidi (because I need to read while I eat) called "Tone Deaf in Bangkok" by Janet Brown, who was living in Bankok at the time but is now back in Seattle. It was a good book to read; a 45-year-old woman resettles in a foreign country because, well, she wanted to, and the country and city called to her, and that's where she felt she belonged. I wonder how my resettlement will progress and evolve over the next year or two.

Halfway through my meal, a server walking by with a pile of cleared plates dropped a container of mayonnaise on the floor, and it splashed all over me - face, hair, shirt, skirt, the banquette I was sitting on, but fortunately not my food. The poor guy was terribly embarrassed and kept apologizing, even after I assured him that it was all right, and these things happen. I told him about the time I was a waitress in Tokyo and spilled a tray of beer glasses on top of a table of Japanese businessmen - okay, they were mostly empty, but still, embarrassing. The waiter comped me my champagne cocktail and the manager gave me her card in case my clothes were ruined, and if I can't get the spots out of that shirt, I might go back and talk to them. The skirt was a Goodwill find, so it's not a big deal.

Have I talked about enough other than Blue Man Group so that no spoilers will appear on the Facebook summary? Because I know at least two of my friends will be going to the show, and I don't want to spoil it or give them any preconceptions they don't already have. The mayonnaise incident was a foreshadowing of what went on in part of the show, and indeed the first two rows of audience members were given large plastic capes and hats to wear to protect them from flying paint. I'd seen videos of the volcanic snare drum paint explosion routine and it was just as cool to watch as I'd hoped. I enjoyed the percussion on tubes and the backup percussion players who looked like Tron extras. It was like Stomp, only techno. Lots of LCD screen action and digital effects, with the Blue Men morphing between live and recorded action in a mostly-seamless interplay. But between the drum sequences, there were long stretches of audience-interaction time, and that was - to me - rather dull. Though perhaps if I'd been one of the people in the first 15 rows who were getting the camera time, I'd have felt differently. Why do we always wave at the screen when we're being broadcast? They finally decided to bring up on stage a woman of a certain age who then took part in a very VERY long slow sequence involving Twinkies. Oh, and there was a thing using Captain Crunch cereal before that. Marketing, people! A few laugh points during all of this but otherwise forgettable. The ending of the show, however, is very enjoyable, especially if you're seated in the floor section and get to play with the giant inflated flashing multicolored balloons while dancing and being told to "shake your junk drawer" by a 20-foot-tall digital avatar. It was loud and then even louder - I still have a bit of ringing in my ears.

And now I have experienced the phenomenon.

I Can Sing A Market

2011-10-15T12:23:00.001-07:00

A Hill Of Beans

2011-10-10T19:34:00.000-07:00

It doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that.
- Casablanca (1942)

There were in the house two women, one old, the other young; and they were French-speaking, from the Vaud country. They had faces like Scotch people, and were very kindly, but odd, being Calvinist. I said, 'Have you any beans?' They said, 'Yes.'
- Joseph Hilaire Pierre René Belloc, The Path to Rome (1902)

These beans have results which are not harvested by me.
- Henry David Thoreau, Walden (1854)

He founded a religion, of which the main tenets were transmigration of souls and the sinfulness of eating beans.
- Bertrand Russell, A History of Western Philosophy (1945)

Some Argentines, without means, do it,
People say, in Boston, even beans do it.
Let's do it, let's fall in love.
- Cole Porter (1928)

In a village dwelt a poor old woman, who had gathered together a dish of beans and wanted to cook them. So she made a fire on her hearth, and that it might burn the quicker, she lighted it with a handful of straw. When she was emptying the beans into the pan, one dropped without her observing it, and lay on the ground beside a straw, and soon afterwards a burning coal from the fire leapt down to the two. Then the straw began and said, "Dear friends, from whence do you come here?" The coal replied, "I fortunately sprang out of the fire, and if I had not escaped by main force, my death would have been certain — I should have been burnt to ashes." The bean said, "I too have escaped with a whole skin, but if the old woman had got me into the pan, I should have been made into broth without any mercy, like my comrades." "And would a better fate have fallen to my lot?" said the straw. "The old woman has destroyed all my brethren in fire and smoke; she seized sixty of them at once, and took their lives. I luckily slipped through her fingers." "But what are we to do now?" said the coal. "I think," answered the bean, "that as we have so fortunately escaped death, we should keep together like good companions, and lest a new mischance should overtake us here, we should go away together, and repair to a foreign country." The proposition pleased the two others, and they set out on their way in company. Soon, however, they came to a little brook, and as there was no bridge or foot-plank, they did not know how they were to get over it. The straw hit on a good idea, and said, "I will lay myself straight across, and then you can walk over on me as on a bridge." The straw therefore stretched itself from one bank to the other, and the coal, who was of an impetuous disposition, tripped quite boldly on to the newly-built bridge. But when she had reached the middle, and heard the water rushing beneath her, she was, after all, afraid, and stood still, and ventured no farther. The straw, however, began to burn, broke in two pieces, and fell into the stream. The coal slipped after her, hissed when she got into the water, and breathed her last. The bean, who had prudently stayed behind on the shore, could not but laugh at the event, was unable to stop, and laughed so heartily that she burst. It would have been all over with her, likewise, if, by good fortune, a tailor who was travelling in search of work had not sat down to rest by the brook. As he had a compassionate heart he pulled out his needle and thread, and sewed her together. The bean thanked him most prettily, but as the tailor used black thread, all beans since then have a black seam.
- from Grimm's Household Tales (1812)

Rien N'est Ni Noir Ni Blanc

2011-10-08T07:01:00.001-07:00

Previously-unpublished photographs from this summer, taken on the Rogue River, at Cannon Beach, at the PSU Farmer's Market, in downtown Portland, in my neighborhood, and at Breitenbush.

Occupied

2011-10-07T06:56:00.001-07:00

Several thousand people marched by, eleven stories below the office, chanting and shouting over the noise of the helicopters circling above. I went back to my computer. I support the goals of the movement - to increase corporate accountability and decrease the income inequality, to try to get money out of politics and politicians back to working for the good of the people as a whole - so why wasn't I down there? Because I had a job. A thin excuse, since both of the lawyers were out of the office and I had no work to do, really, so I could have taken four hours off and made a sign and marched and chanted with the crowd. I'm not sure why I didn't.

Then I saw this video, purportedly from the group Anonymous. Given my reluctance to spare a few hours to join the Occupy Portland movement, I wonder if this really will continue for more than a few weeks, with winter coming on and the holidays and all. If you start your revolution in the spring, you can take advantage of the good weather through the summer. Camping in a park might not be possible come December.

And then I left work, and as I walked by a phone booth - yes, they still exist! - the phone started to ring, and everything got just a little too Matrix for me for a moment. Maybe it was Anonymous calling to chide me for not participating. Maybe it was a portal to the reality that I find so easy to ignore, safe in my own world bubble. Maybe it was a "candid camera" type of setup, and if I'd picked up the receiver I would have been humiliated in front of millions, or handed a check for a million dollars. Maybe it was Schrödinger's cat, wondering how long it was going to take me to decide to open the box and look inside. Or maybe I was just preoccupied.

Change In The Weather

2011-10-05T20:25:00.000-07:00

Dis-Moi Ce Que Tu Manges

2011-10-02T06:08:00.000-07:00

On Friday night, we were carnivores. I don't eat a lot of meat these days but as residents of a now-vegetarian household, Morgan and Leah eat even less. While I don't think this has hurt their growth and development - I made it through 23 years as a vegetarian, after all - I do sympathize with the primal desire for a well-charred bone to gnaw. So I had the kids meet me after work at Campbell's Barbecue over at SE 87th and Powell, and we ordered the combo platter for three and dove in with sharp teeth and greasy fingers, tearing juicy pork off ribs and forking up tender beef brisket and enjoying chewy spicy smoked sausage. Oh, and I guess there were non-meat side dishes, too, but most of those came home with us as leftovers. Frankly there were a lot of meat leftovers - we could have easily been satisfied with the combo platter for two. However, I would not have then had sausage for the quiche I made for dinner last night, a very successful combination of sauteed kale and onions mixed with the diced sausage and shredded goat-milk cheddar and baked in a buttery gluten-free crust. I'm going to have to work up the recipe for that one.

I made a pear tart with the other half of the crust, and we will have that for breakfast this morning before heading to St. Stephen's for the 10 o'clock service. The church has recently expanded its food service to include a monthly food pantry distribution (in partnership with the Oregon Food Bank) as well as their Tuesday chili dinners and Saturday breakfasts. So many of us are so well-fed in this nation - myself included! - and so many more go hungry every day. There was a woman asking for change at the farmer's market on Saturday morning; I offered her one of my $5 market tokens to get some food, but she said she wasn't hungry. Leah and I were, however, so we finished our breakfasts of cinnamon-apple crêpe (Leah) and fresh tortillas with vegetables and molé (me) and shopped for quiche and tart ingredients, and my week's worth of food.

I will be roasting beta carotene-enhanced cauliflower with olive oil and salt and pepper.

I will be stewing eggplant with peppers (both hot and sweet) and onions for an Eastern-European style stew to eat over steamed quinoa.

I will be eating the abundance of fresh tomatoes from the garden as they are, sliced with a little salt to bring out their sweetness.

I will be shredding carrots raw and tossing them with lemon juice for salad.

And if I find myself in the Southwest Hills at Capitol Highway, I will be eating at the recently-opened Verde Cocina restaurant and enjoying more handmade tortillas and organic produce and gluten-free (!) housemade molé. In fact, it's more than worth a deliberate trip there - only 45 minutes by bus with one transfer. Anyone want to join me?

For He Is Of The Tribe Of Tiger

2011-10-02T05:57:00.000-07:00

I have been enjoying the company of a cat this weekend. I would like to have a cat around all the time, but on the other hand that's a tie and a responsibility that makes carefree world travel difficult, as I discovered five years ago. So I'll just spoil the cats I come in contact with as I wander, and feed the goats that produce the milk I need for cheese, and with luck there will be chickens to laugh at and save scraps for, and maybe a horse to ride now and again. I seem to be ready to be done with city life for a while ... of course, here in Portland being in the city doesn't stop people from keeping chickens or even the occasional goat, one of the many reasons I like living here.

For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.

Ghost Bird

2011-10-01T12:31:00.000-07:00

A reminder that even though we seem to have a clear path to the future, sometimes it all ends rather abruptly, and we should consider what sort of impression we will leave behind us. Spread your wings and fly!

Women.Quiet.Weekend.

2011-09-24T15:25:00.001-07:00

Last weekend Kate and I went to Breitenbush for our annual retreat during the "women-only quiet weekend" they have every fall. We've been going, together and separately, for over a decade, and while I'm excited about my plans for world travel I'm sorry that I won't be there next September. I'll have to find another natural hot spring pool somewhere that weekend, and float away dreaming while thinking of Kate so many thousands of miles away. That's really the only thing I don't like about the future: being so far away from family.

My beautiful, talented, capable sister - I love you, Kate!

Perspective

2011-09-20T19:00:00.001-07:00

I need it.

Journey

2011-09-15T06:15:00.000-07:00

The Trip To Cannon Beach

2011-09-14T07:15:00.001-07:00

Tsukimi Suru

2011-09-13T05:39:00.000-07:00

Tsukimi suru / za ni utsukushiki / kao mo nashi. - Basho
Viewing the moon - no face in this room is as beautiful.

Memories of my first days in Tokyo: the hot humid air, thick with the constant shrilling of cicadas; the first tentative explorations of that massive city; the panicky feeling of being placed in a stranger's home for the next eight months, forgetting all of my Japanese and even my English, reduced to sign language for the first evening; the pointy-ended chopsticks, polished and so much harder to use, especially when dealing with mayonnaise-slippery macaroni salad at the first lunch prepared by my host mother; the quickly-familiar routine of the long commute by train to school, crowded in with a sea of suits and briefcases, skirts and shopping bags.

I still remember the phrases that became automatic: ittekimasu, "I am going and will be back," as I left the house; tadaima, "I am here now," when I returned; itadakimasu, "I receive this," when beginning to eat and gochisoosama deshita, "I thank you for the meal," when done; oyasuminasai, "good night," at the end of another day. Hisashiburi desu ne, minna-san.

And I remember my host mother Toyoko's moon-viewing display shortly after I arrived, piles of orange tangerines and white round rice cakes on a small table in the front room where the light of the moon could touch them through the sliding glass door. I didn't make a shrine, but did take pictures of round fruits at last week's farmer's market.

Kochira muke / ware mo sabishiki / aki no kure. - Basho
Turn this way - I am lonely, too, this autumn evening.

The Trip To Gold Beach

2011-09-12T05:30:00.001-07:00

Yes, But ...

2011-09-11T05:23:00.000-07:00

Yes, what happened in New York ten years ago was horrible, and not only for the people directly concerned. I remember getting ready for work, and turning on the television for the weather or whatever (back when I had a television) and seeing a clip - as we all saw - of the first building just after the initial crash, and then that terrible one of the second plane just disintegrating into the side of the other building (though maybe my memories are mixing things up), and feeling - as we all felt - that no, this can't be real. This has to be a trailer for a movie, because no one would do such a thing, and people really aren't deliberately choosing to jump to their deaths rather than wait for them in the flames, because that is an unthinkable choice. And also, of course, this is America! and things like this don't happen here! Except, that day, they did.

It took weeks before I stopped being really nervous when a plane flew overhead. Many people, I am sure, still have that reaction. But I didn't have any direct connection to people or places who were lost. As a proportion of the total population of the United States, I doubt the percentage of people who did have such a connection is very high. If we hadn't all been tuned in to the television, this event would likely have had a much less visceral and immediate impact on us as a nation. The political leaders might still have made the same decisions, and the outcome could have been the same, but would we still feel the need to commemorate - as a nation - the tenth anniversary? Will we do the same at the twentieth? What good is all this 9/11 memorial service media coverage doing for us as a nation other than rekindling the anger and fear that was such a heavy cloud around us then? I do not want to deny anyone their need to mourn a loss. I do not want to deny anyone their need to heal. But I do not understand why we need to have this national day of mourning.

Yes, approximately 2,500 Americans died that day in the attack. But according to the CDC, approximately 3,500 other Americans died that day because of cancer, heart disease, or diabetes. Where is the billions and billions of dollars funding medical research?

Yes, the first responders who did their duty were (and are) brave and should be honored, especially the 300 or so who died that day, and especially by those who knew them. But according to the US Fire Administration 100 firefighters die each year in the line of duty; the FBI estimates that an average of 125 police officers do (more by accident than assault) each year as well. Where are the yellow-ribbon car magnets for them?

Yes, we needed to react and to take steps to make sure that we stayed safe as a nation. But instead of joining a coalition of international partners to deal with the situation on a global level, we cowboyed up and dragged our soldiers into an unwinnable war, a war not on people but on a concept. This "war on terror" has resulted in far more death and injury and impact on the American public than the initial attack on 9/11 did. Over 6,000 US soldiers killed so far in Iraq and Afghanistan, and more than 18,000 injured in body, with uncountable thousands wounded in their hearts, souls, and minds. Over 100,000 civilian deaths in Iraq alone. When will we devote an entire weekend of media coverage to the families and friends of these dead?

Can someone tell me exactly what the point of all of this is?

The Things We Keep

2011-09-10T13:13:00.000-07:00

How many years do you keep something? When do things stop having value? At what point do these things - souvenirs, keepsakes, items bought because of momentary attraction or what-the-hellness, family heirlooms with no one to pass them on to, pieces of your childhood, pieces of your parent's childhood, pictures you painted at age four and books that your father read to you, jewelry you never wear, clothes you'll never wear again, books you always meant to read, craft supplies for projects only half-completed - become burdens, kept out of a vague sense of guilt as much as a faint sense of pleasure, eternally re-boxed and -moved and -stored and -unpacked, over and over through the decades?

At what point do you decide to just let them all go?

Under Water

2011-09-05T18:00:00.001-07:00

Many photos, much going on, and absolutely no inclination to blog about any of it at this point. Maybe it's the heat, late as it is, that's making me lazy. Books have been read, thoughts have been swarming, and I realize that if and when I make my living as a writer I'll need to be more on top of the whole daily writing thing but right now, my brain is swimming with too much to sort out. Nothing hugely exciting, mind (for those of you who might wonder), but merely me trying to work out what I've been doing, what I'm doing now, and what I will be doing in the future. The usual.

I really do have some rather nice pictures I need to post though, especially since I'm leaving for Breitenbush in two weeks and will be taking even more of them. Pictures, anyway - the niceness thereof will have to be determined upon downloading and inspection.

I think I'll go to bed early tonight.

Cannon Beach in the sun on Sunday

Road Trip

2011-08-31T06:43:00.000-07:00

Restaurant Review: Boke Bowl

2011-08-23T05:37:00.000-07:00

Well, not a restaurant per se because at this point they don't have a permanent physical space - though co-owner Brannon told me they will have one soon - but rather a roaming ramen shop that has been setting up in other local restaurants, yesterday 23Hoyt on Northwest 23rd. The team plunks down their Buddha sign, takes over the kitchen, and opens up the tables to anyone wanting handmade ramen noodles, carefully constructed broth, and interesting traditional and non-traditional toppings. Knowing I couldn't call myself a Portland foodie without going at least once, I made a reservation.

They offered three versions of the broth: miso seafood with shrimp; pork and chicken with pulled pork; and caramelized fennel with eggplant and rice cakes. I chose the latter because it had gotten some good press, and it sounded like a less-greasy alternative if I scattered noodle broth all over my shirt, which is something that happened quite often when I was eating noodles in the approved slurpy way in Tokyo. There was no slurping though, since I had requested the gluten-free yam noodles, and they came tied in knots to make picking them up with chopsticks easier. While I liked that touch, I think I'd skip the noodles the next time, because they added some texture but didn't pick up any of the flavor of the broth (I hear the handmade wheat noodles are excellent, however). The broth was definitely full of flavor, with layers of taste from the deep brown sugar of the roasted vegetables to the high bright sparks of fresh ginger. I could have spooned that up by itself - but it was even better with the sweet soft eggplant pieces and the grilled rice cakes shot through with green onion and ginger. Brannon said they offer the rice cakes topped with duck confit sometimes, as an appetizer ... I'd definitely go back for that.

I was pleased that they use fresh water chestnuts, something that's obvious as soon as you bite into one of the crunchy bits that lack that weird canned overtone we all got used to in the 1970s. Bamboo shoots and seaweed, corn and grated radish (though not daikon) finished the traditional toppings in my bowl, and I had added a slice of roasted pork belly for extra flavor, and toyed with the idea of including some of the cornmeal-crusted oysters on offer as well. I regret not ordering a side of the soy-pickled shiitakes, and that I didn't have time or room for adding in the house salad, because I'd heard good things about their handmade tofu croutons. Reasons to go back! Or forward, rather, wherever the Buddha pops up next, if it's in walking/TriMet distance from work. Perhaps they'll have found some gluten-free dessert options by then, too.

Join Boke Bowl's mailing list to get advance notice of upcoming lunch dates

In Fair Portlandia

2011-08-21T08:47:00.000-07:00

These August weekends, the dusty courtyard at the Milepost 5 art studio/residence complex becomes the battleground for the adherents of two households, both alike in dignity - the Montagues and the Capulets, that is. The newly-formed Post5 Theatre Company has jumped into the deep end of Portland's Shakespeare-in-the-park-or-wherever pool of talent and proves itself to be quite a strong swimmer. Founding members Ty Boyce (Romeo), Jeff Gorham (Friar Lawrence), and Portland newcomer Orion Bradshaw (Mercutio) are joined by familiar faces like Tom Mounsey (Tybalt) and Izzie Buckner (Benvolio), and Elizabeth Gibbs as Juliet. Romeo, Tybalt, and their gangs are decked out in slacker chic, plus switchblades. I had a front-row seat on the ground, and got a good look at the latter.

All of the lead actors gave strong performances (some of the minor roles were done a bit woodenly, but if you only have four words or so I suppose it's hard to really get into character before you're out again) but in many ways Bradshaw was center stage as Mercutio, full of swagger and 16th-century profanity (accompanied by 21st-century hand gestures - this is not, perhaps, the best show for young children).

The lovers meet, and part; the families rage and quarrel. The light was fading fast, and I didn't want to take pictures once my camera started its autoflash blinking, but couldn't resist taking advantage of my location to get this shot at the Capulet's party.

For all that she's a central figure in the play, Juliet doesn't really have much of a part, but Gibbs did a good job with what she had.

The company was able to use second-floor rooms that were temporarily vacated by their owners, so some of the lines were spoken from windows on either side of or above the main stage, and the balcony scene had, if not a balcony, at least a narrow brick ledge that Romeo could perch on.

You know how the story ends. The body count's not as high as in Hamlet, or the histories if you count all of the offstage soldiers, but there's still a fair number of corpses accumulated. The courtyard staging gave the fight scenes a disturbingly modern gang warfare look, a reminder that this sort of thing is still going on all over, with people killing each other over differences that to outsiders might seem inconsequential. What's in a name, after all? Only tradition, and anger, and blood. Lords Montague and Capulet shook hands and hugged over their children's dead bodies on Friday night - perhaps reconciliation is possible for us all, before more lives are sacrificed.

Romeo + Juliet runs through August 27th at the Milepost 5 courtyard.

A Lengthy Midsummer Post

2011-08-14T11:29:00.000-07:00

I've gotten somewhat off track with my blogging lately - partly because I've been too busy doing interesting things to have the time to talk about them, partly because what time I have had I've devoted to homework (or goofing off, a time-honored part of the college process, right?), and partly because I got a bit tired of talking about me, me, me all the time. I started really adding things to this blog back when I was traveling and wanted to share my experiences with family back home, but lately it's just been my usual Portland life, and nothing too exciting that I felt really needed to be shared with anyone.

There's been a lot going on in the larger world that I could be commenting on, of course, from the collapse of what few democratic and social institutions remain in this country to the increasingly unapologetic pandering to the wealthy few, or any of the state and federal laws (or lack of enforcement thereof) that are increasing the power of the religious right and decreasing our safety and health and our children's chances of growing up breathing clean air on their way to decent-paying jobs. I'm taking the coward's way out for now, and while I'm reading commentary and the news, I'm skimming it, or tuning out when I hear yet another rich white person talk about how things like unemployment benefits just foster a culture of dependency, or that women shouldn't get access to birth control for free because what's next, pedicures? (Yes, someone really said that.) When I start getting sick to my stomach at the callous indifference of the few towards the needs of the many - when I'm living in a land where the inequality of wealth has gotten so extreme that we're collectively worse off than we were 30 years ago, except for the top one percent, and the people making the rules are part of that one percent - when it's getting to look more and more like the next president of the United States may be someone who's part of a group that's willing to sacrifice us all in order to bring about the Second Coming of Jesus - well, I just want to cover my eyes and plug my ears and pretend it's not happening. Pretend that my plans to travel around France and the world working with cheesemakers and taking pictures and maybe writing a book are feasible even with the coming meltdowns of the euro and the global fuel supply and the ice caps. Pretend that I'm not nervous about leaping off this cliff of dreams again at the age of near-50, when it's not as easy as it used to be to wander the world, and when the place I could easily come back to is turning into a country I no longer feel part of.

So instead, I focus on my smaller life, and on enjoying the things I find around me. Free music in the Park Blocks, for one; the group Cul An Ti was playing at noon last week, and I got to hear a bit on the way to class.

Free music in the parks, too - Morgan and I went to one of the Portland Festival Symphony last Saturday at Laurelhurst Park. They're playing tonight up at US Grant Park, and have one more performance in September. Morgan and I got some portable dinner items at Zupan's and found a good spot on the lawn, and listened to the group play some Berlioz and Goldmark, and Tchaikovsky's "Peter and the Wolf."

The Metropolitan Youth Symphony played before the main concert; unfortunately, they weren't miked, so I doubt anyone beyond the first few rows of picnickers heard them. However, Morgan and I were close enough, and I enjoyed the Mozart they played. It was a good accompaniment to my note-taking on the life and works of Dieterich Buxtehude, for a short paper due in my online music class.

The Tchaikovsky was the main event of the evening, and the narrator gave the audience the vote as to whether we'd prefer the "vegetarian" or the "carnivorous" version of the ending of the piece - that is whether the duck is eaten by the wolf or not. Refuting Portland's hippie treehugging organic sprout-eating image, the vote was overwhelmingly for the bloodier option, and the wolf was carried off to the zoo in the end, the duck quacking pathetically inside him.

The last piece they played was Haydn's "Toy Symphony" and we did not stay for that after dozens of plastic recorders were produced and distributed to the children, who immediately began squawking and hooting on them, a shrill chorus drowning out the explanations from the director of the concept of a "rest" and its meaning of "do not play now." I think the orchestra probably did a good job on the Haydn as well, but it was impossible to hear, and Morgan took pity on me and helped me pack up and carry our things back to the car.

I sang at church on Sunday morning, and got the benefit of a sermon on having faith and courage, which was what I needed to hear, since the week had been filled with doubts about whether I can make my future work for me, the travel and apprenticeships and all, done with a minimum amount of money. Inspiration comes from many places. Morgan and I went to Fong Chong for dim sum afterwards, and then came back along the river, through the Saturday Market and down the waterfront, along with many other walkers and bikers and joggers and sitters-in-the-sun enjoying the lovely day. Just as we got to the marina, some of the many Canada geese that hang out on the grass there took off and flew right over our heads. Lacking my Borg eye camera, I missed the shot, and asked Morgan to go up and scare some more into the air so I could take a photograph. At 16, this is not so attractive a prospect as it was when he was 6, but Morgan is a dutiful and kind nephew, and he did make an attempt at it. I still wasn't quick enough.

Yet another free event this past Friday night, up at Washington Park: the Blue Cranes, playing while the NW Dance Project danced. I was able to leave work early, so I got a good seat on one of the terraces below the rose garden. I didn't stay for the entire performance; I'd planned on driving out to Stub Steward State Park for the OMSI star party (the Perseid meteor shower peaked this weekend) but found that I was rather tired by 7pm, and still had to drive back to Gresham where I'm housesitting for a while. Even free things take energy to enjoy.

Of course, there have been the farmer's markets to go to, and those have been wonderful, even if it seems like we're leaving summer already and the fall is falling fast. I've been buying eggplant and green beans, eyeing the sunflowers blazing from the corner booths, and just picked up some of the first corn and shell beans yesterday, along with more ripe tomatoes and basil. Helen's upset because this long stretch of cool weather means she hasn't gotten any tomatoes from the front yard, and she might be stuck with a lot of green ones at this rate. I'm still pulling off a handful of squash blossoms every day or two, so I don't mind. But I do hope that it doesn't start raining too soon, because I'd like to get in a few more long bike rides in the evenings after work, or after the market or church on the weekends.

Because I'll have time after work from now on, with no more evening classes and no more homework. I'm done with school; I've put in my application for graduation, and while I didn't take part in the summer-term graduation ceremony they were setting up for on Saturday next to the farmer's market (I applied too late for that) I will be getting my official diploma some time in November, I was told. I have two large freelance projects that I can use that time for, but I think I'll wait to start them until mid-September, after I get back from Breitenbush with Kate. It'll be a mini summer vacation for me for the next month - even though I will still be working full time, all the other hours are free. Or filled with interesting things: I'm going to a dinner party in the Pearl on Monday night being given in honor of a visitor from France through the World Affairs Council of Oregon; there's a production of "Romeo & Juliet" at Milepost 5 next Friday night and a party at a friend's house on Saturday; and at the end of the month I'll be going down to visit Mom and John, and 3 Leg Torso will be there for a dance party at the Pistol River Friendship Hall, and I will reconnect with the ocean and remember how to breathe.

And then we'll see what's next.

Mr. A. Squirrel

2011-08-08T07:39:00.000-07:00

I call our world Flatland, not because we call it so, but to make its nature clearer to you, my happy readers, who are privileged to live in Space.

You, who are blessed with shade as well as light, you who are gifted with two eyes, endowed with a knowledge of perspective, and charmed with the enjoyment of various colours, you, who can actually see an angle, and contemplate the complete circumference of a Circle in the happy region of the Three Dimensions - how shall I make clear to you the extreme difficulty which we in Flatland experience in recognizing one another's configurations?

- from "Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions" by E. A. Abbott (1884)

የወንድም ልጅ ጅል

2011-08-01T07:03:00.000-07:00

Morgan and I sat in the hot sun yesterday afternoon at Woodlawn Park in North Portland, because even though we got to the performance site an hour and a half early, all of the seating in the bowl was taken cheek-to-jowl and we were already in the third or fourth line of people sitting on the lawn. Fortunately I'd brought my sand chair, and we had water, and I had my straw hat. But though Atomic Arts does their best, man-and-womanfully projecting their voices to the back rows, we really didn't get the full impact of the Star Trek experience. It was really a lot of fun, though, and if I'm still in Portland for the first show of next summer (featuring those blue aliens with the antennae!) then I'll make sure to arrive three hours early, to get a good seat. Though by then the group may have found a bigger venue. This year's show, "Mirror, Mirror," was a recreation of one of the classic (Shatner/Nimoy) episodes, and it seemed as if the cast had watched the original several times at least to make sure they had all of the moves and expressions as well as the dialogue. I had a mental overlay of the TV program running throughout, which made it weirdly almost exactly like the original in my mind, even when I couldn't really see the actors in the park. Though the gold lamé transporter women didn't exactly translate.

Speaking of translation, I tried to find the Klingon phrase for "my nephew is a goof" but without success. I went with the Amharic near-equivalent instead, reflecting our post-show meal at Bete-Lukas in SE Portland. The injera was wonderful, especially rolled up with butter and spicy berbere, and the vegetable selections all good, but the lamb was a little dull. We ordered a dish of the dried bird's-eye chilis and that helped spice things up a bit. Morgan and I got our fingers all messy and spent an hour or so eating and talking, and then he drove me home. So nice to have a nephew with a driver's license! And even nicer to have one to spend time with doing random things in Portland in the summer.

Atomic Arts' "Trek in the Park" - highly recommended. Bete-Lukas Ethiopian Restaurant - recommended, but there are many others in town just as good.

We Be Jammin'

2011-07-31T11:26:00.000-07:00

Breakfast with family and friends this morning at Jam on Hawthorne.

Alone I Sat

2011-07-30T07:59:00.000-07:00

Alone I sat; the summer day
Had died in smiling light away;
I saw it die, I watched it fade
From the misty hill and breezeless glade.

And thoughts in my soul were rushing,
And my heart bowed beneath their power;
And tears within my eyes were gushing
Because I could not speak the feeling,
The solemn joy around me stealing,
In that divine, untroubled hour.

I asked myself, O why has Heaven
Denied the precious gift to me,
The glorious gift to many given,
To speak their thoughts in poetry?

Dreams have encircled me, I said,
From careless childhood's sunny time;
Visions by ardent fancy fed
Since life was in its morning prime.

But now, when I had hoped to sing,
My fingers strike a tuneless string;
And still the burden of the strain—
I strive no more, 'tis all in vain.

- Emily Brontë, born July 30, 1818

Zucchini Blossom Quesadilla

2011-07-29T18:49:00.000-07:00

Goat's-milk Monterey Jack cheese, brown rice tortillas, and half a dozen fresh zucchini blossoms from the garden. Five minutes to a perfect meal.

Come Ye Wantons

2011-07-25T06:18:00.001-07:00

Flora gave me fairest flowers,
None so fair in Flora's treasure

These I plac'd on Phillis' bowers,
She was pleas'd, and she my pleasure

Smiling meadows seem to say,
Come ye wantons, here to play.

John Wilbye (1574? - 1638)

All Right, NOW It's Summer

2011-07-23T11:49:00.000-07:00

The market is full of big bunches of basil and sunflowers. The zucchini have gone from blossoms to baseball bats in a week, and the fresh peas are almost over, being replaced with the first of the padrón peppers. Strawberries are being edged out by raspberries (I'm working my way through a pint of them right now) and blueberries, and the first peaches are lined up fuzzily next to the cherries. I bought a head of romaine and one of radicchio, and a bag of broccoli side shoots to steam. I'll have fresh green beans for lunches this week, along with a salad of roasted zucchini and sweet onions and feta cheese and mint. And I'll eat my pint of blueberries with the lemony sheep's-milk yogurt that Pierre-Louis has started to produce.

I'm continuing to harvest squash blossoms from my own small garden bed, and last week I made a salad of the baby zucchini sliced in a lemon-mustard dressing with sweet onion and fresh tomatoes and parsley, and stuffed the blossoms with garlic and goat cheese and fried them up in an egg-and-cornflour batter, topped with a grinding of salt; hot and creamy over cool and crunchy. Delicious.

Fide Et Fortitudine!

2011-07-23T11:28:00.000-07:00

We cheered at the announcement of our clan banner, and were surprised when we weren't the only three people in the audience doing so. There must have been distant relatives there in the stands out at Mt. Hood Community College last Saturday, but the only man we saw wearing a Farquharson t-shirt didn't know the clan motto, so we suspected he was an Sassenach infiltrator.

The hurlers were hurling.

Dude, have you ever really looked at your tartan? I mean, REALLY looked at it?

The fleet-footed gazelle guy who blew past everyone else last year wasn't competing this year, so it was a bit more even, and the young girl in the front third of the pack made an amazing sprint at the end to come in first in the women's category, and ahead of the third-place men's finisher.

The great-great-grandson of a Buckie fisherman takes a break.

谢谢

2011-07-23T11:19:00.000-07:00

Black and white sweet sesame rolls from Ocean City (dim sum with Morgan and Leah July 17th).

We're Very Excited About This Building Renovation

2011-07-15T07:17:00.001-07:00

Several months ago when they were working on the north side of the building, the plastic tubes were much thicker, with bulbous wedge-shaped ends, a whole row of them pointing out the windows, some flaccid and some fully erect. Wish I'd had my camera with me that day instead ...

The Best Things In Life

2011-07-13T06:22:00.000-07:00

I have a list of free plays and concerts and movies being done at various parks around Portland this summer, and plan on going to a dozen or so, weather permitting. Weather was a bit chancy last Thursday down in Oregon City for the Willamette Falls Symphony's summer concert, but I had a jacket and a blanket for my legs, and a good picnic dinner with Kate and the kids: smoked salmon (though Morgan got the lion's share of that), raw vegetables (including radishes from Ben's garden), nectarines and plums, gluten-free chocolate chip cookies. The program was heavy on marches and 4th of July-ish music, but it was a nice evening, if chilly, with face-painted kids running back and forth and osprey wheeling overhead. The WFS season starts up again in the fall; concerts are on Sunday afternoons. Support your local community orchestra!

Friday I stayed downtown after work and went to the Portland Actors Ensemble's production of "The Tempest" in which they used one of the many water features in the Portland parks to good effect, tossing buckets of water around during the opening storm and splashing through the shallows around the concrete island of Prospero's domain. This weekend ends the run of this play at Lovejoy Fountain, and I recommend going - it's well-acted, interestingly staged, and has all the basic elements (water, stone, air, and fire) of a good show. Support your local community theatre!

Last night I went up to Mt. Tabor Park to hear 3 Leg Torso, always a treat. It was raining as I got off the bus, and although the band had posted that the concert was going on (a question only resolved at 3pm due to the morning's rain and threatening cloud cover) I wasn't sure the concert would continue. But they had a canopy set up, and the other several hundred people on the lawn had tarps and umbrellas and seemed prepared to sit through any shower, so the show went on; and actually after that 6pm flurry of rain the weather moved west and there was even a bit of blue sky. Lark joined me with leftovers from her Bastille Day party on Saturday (that was fun, too, and I particularly appreciated the gluten- and dairy-free fruit and chocolate tart à la crème) and we sipped wine and played Scrabble and listened to the band's infectious Balkan-klezmer-gypsy beat. They're playing at the Blue Monk at the end of July, and at the Pistol River Friendship Hall at the end of August, and I hope to be at both shows.

In other news, I'm relatively busy at work what with one of the LAs out on maternity leave, and preparations slowly beginning for the office split in August; still doing the vocabulary blogging and the occasional other small freelance projects here and there; going to class once a week and tutoring in Hillsboro Monday nights for the ESL capstone class, plus there's that online class in music appreciation I signed up for that I really should start working on, now that I finally have the book and CD and access codes; walking as much as I can and biking when it isn't raining, though I haven't started swimming again yet; and looking forward to spending the weekend with Morgan and Leah (and Toby) and going to the last Harry Potter movie and to the Portland Highland Games (there will be pictures of bekilted men in the near future) and to dim sum and maybe even to Trek in the Park on Sunday.

Posting will continue in an erratic fashion throughout the summer.

Tradition

2011-07-05T06:30:00.001-07:00

What's more American than a Fourth of July cookout with hamburgers and homemade pie? Not apple pie (not the right season), but blueberry pie, just sweet enough and with a nicely crumbly crust. And the combination of slightly charred meat, sweet pickle relish, mustard, onion, and tomato was perfection on a (gluten-free) bun. We celebrated family, flame, and freedom in Salem yesterday, at my brother-in-law's brother's house, with most of the Shirley clan in the area. Dogs milling around, kids playing with water balloons and a trampoline, smoke billowing from the barbecue - it couldn't have been more iconic. Or delicious.

A man and his grill.

Gon Out. Backson.

2011-07-03T19:28:00.000-07:00

Bisy backson.

Photograph taken July 2, 2007, Dartmoor, Devon.

Life Is Chasing Around Inside Of Me, Like Squirrel

2011-06-28T06:53:00.000-07:00

Dad and Kathy and I went to see the Anonymous Theatre production of "You Can't Take It With You" last night, and like all of their productions, it was a lot of fun. Not quite improv, because everyone had (mostly) memorized their lines, but with some off-the-cuff remarks, missed cues, and miscues, some of which were incorporated seamlessly into the production by actors with deadpan faces, making it even funnier. I'm glad they chose a comedy again, because 2009's "Macbeth" got a few too many laughs in my opinion. You can't see the production again as it's a one-off, but do go to the Theatre Vertigo productions starting up again in the fall. I think "Hunter Gatherers" should be quite interesting.

We all went to a play on Sunday as well, the Original Practice Shakespeare Festival's "Much Ado About Nothing" up in Kenton Park. Ben and Leah and Morgan joined us there, along with about six hundred bicyclists and a gaggle of young children cavorting in the fountain (it was the North Portland Parkways event) and of course the #4 bus going by every fifteen minutes ... it was a rather noisy production. Fun, though, and I'd brought a picnic lunch of cheese and rabbit-and-morel pâté, sliced gluten-free bread, steamed snap peas, cherries, strawberries, radishes, and carrots, all from the Saturday farmer's market. OPSFest is continuing through the summer in various parks with three different plays, and I hope you'll go and support them.

The farmer's market was hopping on Saturday morning, and there were aspiring chefs looking over the produce when I was there.

I'm going to make a salad of the fennel, but not until tomorrow night. Last night I took Dad and Kathy to Typhoon! on Broadway before the play, and tonight Lark is taking me to Trebol for a post-birthday birthday dinner. Last Friday I used a Groupon at Gilt Club down in Old Town, and was pretty impressed by the food. Of course, they served Rivers Edge "Up In Smoke" on their cheese tray, so that scored them several points up front.

I liked the salad with avocado and radishes and fried crispy pig ears, too. The food is reasonably priced and of good quality, with some innovative menu items. They've started putting tables out on the sidewalk, and this would be a good place for a summer evening meal, watching the people go by. I was less impressed with the food at Typhoon! last night, but it was tasty enough, and I'm interested to see what Trebol offers tonight. I have a meeting tomorrow after work at the newly-reopened Brasserie Montmartre, but I don't think I'll be getting anything to eat there. Must stop spending my money on food!

It's summer in the city.

Starshine

2011-06-21T05:51:00.000-07:00

The sun has just started to lengthen the evenings, unhidden by clouds and rain, and already we're at the point where the days start getting shorter again. This year is just zipping by; so much to do, so little time. I haven't been carrying my camera around lately to record the fleeting moments, haven't been documenting the events of the week here, haven't had the energy to both participate and observe. Maybe I'll get back into soon. Or maybe not: classes start this week, both on-line and in-person, and freelance blogging continues, and I have a scholarship application to finish, so I'll be working on those rather than blathering on to the blogworld. But if something exciting happens, I'll be sure to let you know.

A Not-Boring Postcard

2011-06-14T08:05:00.000-07:00

Though as Michael remarked on my last post, what defines "boring" is highly individual. My boss and friend Scott was visting his son in New York City last month and took this picture for me outside the Stinky Bklyn store. I'd heard about this place when it opened, and am glad that there are more and more of these places where people can taste cheeses from all over, and especially from small producers. They don't carry Rivers Edge cheeses though, so I may have to drop them a line and tell them what they're missing.

A Boring Postcard

2011-06-11T07:47:00.000-07:00

Well, it looks like one that Michael might post, but it's not really a postcard, rather a picture that I took in June 2007 near Gloucester Cathedral. I think this is behind the cathedral, near the King's School. But isn't that the best part of boring postcards, the vagueness of the references and the text scribbled on the back that might not have even been interesting to the person writing or receiving the card? This one would have said "Having a lovely time visiting with David and Caroline and Alex. Editing project is going well. Off to Plymouth in a few days. It's kind of hot here - how's the weather in Oregon? Love, E."

I haven't been taking pictures much lately so I don't have a boring-postcard picture for the last week, but the message would be "Finally done with spring term, and my Medieval French paper did not turn out too horribly so I should still get at least a B in the class. Classes start again on the 22nd so I have eleven days to finish my freelance project. Have picked up some sort of cold or throat infection that is making this a bit harder since my brain is full of sludge, but I got a massage after work yesterday, and my first full night's sleep in I don't know how long, so I'm feeling better today. It's cool and overcast here in Oregon. I just installed Skype, so give me a call! Love, E."

Stating The Obvious

2011-06-03T05:37:00.000-07:00

I will be working on term papers until I'm not working on them any more.

Fifty-Four After Forty Is A Fight

2011-06-01T06:07:00.001-07:00

Of all the goals I have set for myself in the past six months, the only one I'm really behind on is the lose-weight-and-get-in-shape goal. Therefore, I will go public with this endeavor, following the footsteps of fellow blogger Michael5000 (though without the spreadsheets) in a hope that public accountability will spur private effort. I have a little less than a year under my current schedule to regain flexibility and build muscles and strength so that I'll be able to keep up with the other cheesemakers; right now about all I'm good for is being a cheese press. My bike's tuned up, and if it ever stopped raining, I'd be out on it. I'm starting to walk more again, though haven't gotten back to the gym in a while - but spring term is almost over, and I won't have the same class load, or rehearsals, this summer. Where I've been profligate lately is in the food, and while it's been all quite delicious, I need to rein that back in and focus on simpler dishes. Also I'm beginning to suspect that I need to go on a candida elimination diet for a bit. So while I have a few Groupons that need to be used, and an upcoming belated birthday dinner celebration, it's time to return to the farmer's market for fresh vegetables and fruit, and do my own cooking again. Last night's dinner was sauteed onions and kale and mustard greens, and baked tilapia with curry powder, a good start on all fronts.

Your support is welcomed! Please contact me if you want to go on a bike ride (but NOT in the rain - I'm not a true Oregonian in that respect) or a walk, or head to the farmer's market on Saturday mornings, or do yoga stretches in the back yard. It will be summer here eventually, I'm sure.

Bring Them Home Now

2011-05-30T12:35:00.000-07:00

All of them, to wherever home is, to sit down without worrying about killing or being killed, to let go of the need to rule the world or solve its problems or get revenge or just do what they've been told when what they've been told makes no sense. To empty the battlefields and take a minute, an hour, a month, a year to really think about the why of it all, and to decide if it's what we really want to do. To shut down the drones and tanks, to shut off the flow of money to profiteers and politicians, to shut up, just shut up, and listen. Listen to this poem. Listen to the echoes of innocent civilians dead, or worse, living with the blood of their parents killed in front of them, washed off their skin but etched bone-deep, a scar that will never heal. Bring them home, and let others have that same brief peace, in their bombed-out houses, in their shattered lives. Bring them home. Now.

Thank you, Tony Mena.

Altered States

2011-05-29T07:37:00.000-07:00

I had my first session in a flotation tank yesterday afternoon, right after an hour-long massage, both at Common Ground and using a Groupon I'd gotten last year. I switched the half-hour chiropractic session plus half-hour massage to a full hour massage after reading some not so good feedback from other Grouponistas who'd gotten the same combination, and am glad I did. The therapist did an excellent job of working out a lot of the tension in my right shoulder from all the mousing and typing I do, and did her best to get rid of the hip/hamstring tightness as well, but I think that's something I'm going to have to stretch out myself. Must start yoga again. Anyway, the flotation tank was an interesting experience. I wondered if I'd get claustrophobic, there in the dark in a closed-in space, but that wasn't a problem. I thought it would be more sensory-deprivatory than it was, but I could hear my heartbeat and my breathing, and there was a little bit of light from two sensors overhead. I've never been good at meditating, but tried to slow my thoughts down and let them go. Didn't work very well. I was thinking of the essays I have to write and the practicality of taking a bicycle to France. The woman at the front desk said that in order to really get into the alpha-wave territory you have to be in there for at least an hour, and preferably an hour and a half, and that two hours in the tank is the equivalent of a full night's sleep. I do feel rested and balanced this morning. I'm off to church shortly, and will use another Groupon afterwards for brunch at Wild Abandon, before coming back home and getting all shoulder-tensed again with computer work. I have promises to keep, and millions of words to type before I sleep.

Flashback: May 26, 2007

2011-05-26T06:09:00.000-07:00

Wandering through London: Neal's Yard Dairy, view from a boat on the Thames, getting lost trying to find Buckingham Palace.

I'm Not Dead Yet!

2011-05-25T05:55:00.000-07:00

Every birthday I wake up amazed that I'm still alive, and grateful for the opportunity to cycle through another year of ups and downs, merrily going around making my plans and hoping for the best. Perhaps next year I'll wake up in France ...

Utsukushiku

2011-05-19T06:26:00.000-07:00

hana yori mo
utsukushiku narite
chiru momiji

Becoming more beautiful than the cherry blossoms,
the leaves of the maple fall away - Matsuo Bashō

If You Surrendered To The Air

2011-05-17T06:57:00.001-07:00

"I wish I'd a knowed more people. I would of loved 'em all.
If I'd a knowed more, I would a loved more."

- from Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon

Life Is Like

2011-05-15T06:19:00.000-07:00

Photo taken at Moonstruck Chocolates on NW 23rd at 8:20pm on April 30th, while waiting for my (soy) Dark Mayan Hot Chocolate and Morgan's Brown Cow (root beer and chocolate milkshake) to be ready.

Croquer La Vie À Belles Dents

2011-05-14T10:43:00.000-07:00

Six-month checkup and cleaning at Friendly Smiles; small plates at Accanto (charcuterie, truffle pecorino, housemade chutney / meltingly tender cow tongue, salsa verde / potato frittata, truffle aioli / cassis sorbet); mushroom, bacon, and asparagus hash browns with broccoli-hazelnut pesto at Jam on Hawthorne; duck fried rice from a new food cart called "Bangkok Duck and Chicken". I will definitely be going back to Accanto (and may yet get to Genoa in its new incarnation, but that's not as GF-friendly), Jam is my regular pre-church Sunday breakfast spot, and the food cart's worth another visit to try another roast-duck dish - the fried rice was fragrant with cilantro and rich with egg and shreds of duck meat (must check for MSG usage however). Miam!

Flashback: May 2007, Forest of Dean

2011-05-12T06:23:00.000-07:00

To remind myself that I have gone places, and will be going places, and that there is a network of friends and not-yet-friends that have given and will give me direction, that opportunity is out there waiting for me to look for it, that goals are subject to change, and that the fact and the act of travel, movement, discovery is often enough in the moment, eyes open and camera ready, heading for the next adventure.

Music Hath Charms

2011-05-10T06:53:00.000-07:00

On May 10, 1849, nearly two dozen people were killed and a hundred injured in the Astor Place Riot in New York City, a riot that was planned as part of an ongoing feud between two actors, but also used by a group called the Bowery Boys to express their disapproval of what they considered an elitist institution, opera, and the top-hatted and white-gloved people who could afford to attend. The Bowery Boys were a gang of proto-Tea Party men who hated Catholics and the then-current group of immigrants, the Irish - they were affiliated with the Know-Nothing Party as well, making parallels with today's Republican right wing even more clear. Replace "Catholics" with "anyone who isn't a fundamentalist Christian," "Irish" with "anyone who isn't white," and "Know-Nothing" with ... okay, you don't have to replace that. In any event, opera continued to be part of New York City life, and pre-planned riots stopped being part of political theatre. I took this picture on April 9th from my vertiginous perch at the Newmark Theatre before Portland Opera's production of Ravel's "L'Heure Espagnole" and "L'Enfant et les Sortileges," the first a funny frivolity, light and charming and all about sex, an adult fantasy; the second one dark and troubling and sad and scary, a childhood nightmare. I enjoyed them both very much, but am not renewing my subscription for next year. I've seen three of the four they're staging next year, and if I go to any of them it will be the one I've not seen, Philip Glass' "Galileo Galilei" - I really, really liked his "Orphée," which Portland Opera did last year.

Frederick Austerlitz, the frequently top-hatted and white-gloved singer, dancer, and actor better known as Fred Astaire, was born on May 10, 1899. American composer Milton Babbitt, who just recently died, was born on May 10, 1911, after confounding several generations with his avant-garde compositions. The song "Rock Around the Clock" was released on this date in 1954, on its way to becoming the first Billboard #1 rock and roll hit. Sid Vicious was born on May 10, 1957 as John Simon Ritchie, and three years later Paul David Hewson was born, who later became known as Bono.

What makes your heart sing today?

Photo taken during a performance by the Willamette Falls Orchestra on May 1st.

Dogwood

2011-05-09T19:05:00.001-07:00

The beauty of the forests of Indiana in the rich and lovely month of May surpasses all description. The rivers, swollen by the rains, flow through long lanes of verdure, caressing the islands they seem to carry with them in their course and which look like floating nosegays. The trees raise their straight trunks to the height of more than a hundred and twenty feet and are crowned with tops of admirable beauty. The magnolia, the dog-wood, the catalpa, covered with white flowers, the snow of the springtime, intermingle with the delicate green of the other trees.

- Saint Mother Théodore Guérin (1798 - 1856), born in Brittany, France, and founder of the Sisters of Providence of Saint Mary-of-the-Woods in Indiana, where the rivers, swollen by the rains, are currently causing a few problems.

Mom, With Love

2011-05-08T12:27:00.001-07:00