Yep, Summer is leaving us

I'm getting that anxious feeling that one has when your realize summer is coming to a close and you haven't done half he things you fantasized about during cold, grey, depressing February.

Things I did not accomplish this season:

• never threw the fabulous cocktail party
• vegetable garden didn't thrive beyond early June
• I planted no flowers
• only went to the beach once
• didn't install rain barrels
• didn't make jam or pickles or "put up" anything
• didn't paint the kitchen cabinets
• haven't eliminated any ivy since the great "Battle of the Invasive Plants" in January
• and on and on and on...

But today wasn't so bad. I got up fairly early, did some cleaning while listening to NPR. I then scrounged up all the semi-wrinkled, not-the-peak-of-freshness fruits I had on hand (blueberries, strawberries and apricots- all local) and made a delicious, moist coffee cake. I enjoyed a slice with a pot of French-press Stumptown coffee.

My current favorite coffee is "Los Planos" from El Salvador. The card included with the bag of beans contains the location of the grower (latitude and longitude & elevation); the varietal (Pacamara) and describes the flavor as: "Heavy bodied with notes of pear compote and fresh sqeezed orange juice in the flavor profile and an aroma of maple & sweet herbs." Makes you want a cup now, doesn't it?

As if this weren't enough, on the other side of the card is a detailed story of the grower:

In 1996, Sergio Ticas Reyers began cultivating Pacamara on Los Planos which he inherited from his grandfather. He provides land for his workers for food crops and donated land to the Chatalatenango community for construction of a water tank. Sergio Ticas also maintains a natural lagoon, spring and shade trees for local fauna. This coffee is washed processed in his wet mill with spring water and dried on patios.

If this coffee was a man I'd marry it. Only if it was grown down the street could this be more politically, socially and environmentally correct. Some of you non-Oregonians may now understand why I am so dismissive of Starbucks. I'm not a snob (OK, maybe I kinda am); I'm just lucky enough to have access to such amazing food.

Today was a cool & windy just reeking of autumn so I decided to get some yard work done. For dinner I made a pizza with the dough I had made yesterday. I topped it with basil pesto I made with ingredients from the Montavilla Farmer's Market and used hazelnuts instead of pine nuts. I added no cheese in case I make some food for 'A.' I added thinly sliced Brandywine and German Striped heirloom tomatoes and fresh mozzarella. It baked up perfectly with lots of bubbles in the crust, nicely charred on the bottom but with enough tenderness. It looked so good that I started in on it seconds after I pulled it from the oven and neglected to take a picture. Too bad- it was quite the beauty.
So as I sit on my comfortable deck at the house that I call my own, eating yet another satisfying meal made from impeccable local ingredients, admiring the Maxfield Parrish sky, and fondly recalling the all the visitors that made their way to Alder Street this season, I'm thinking that maybe this summer wasn't such a bust after all.

Dahlias=End of Summer

Summer seems so short here in Oregon. Actually, it's probably much longer than, say, Vermont summers. But because spring is indistinguishable from winter and autumn is about 2 two weeks long, summer feels very fleeting. When dahlias make their ostentatious debut at the farmer's markets, than you know the end is near.

This specimen I bought today at the Montavilla market from a guy that has this amazing dahlia farm in his yard at his home very close to mine. Another example of the urban farming trend here in Portland. This flower is called a "dinner plate" dahlia because it is over 10" wide.

Cool Kettle, Hot Lunch @ 110 degrees

I've been looking for a new kettle. The one that I currently have was purchased at Marshall's in 1998. It is copper and in the British Georgian style. It was cheap, and I suspect, manufactured for "decorative use" only in China. For years I've held the belief that it has it has been poisoning me with toxic soldering and non-food grade metals. But it looks cute...

I've been on the lookout for a healthier replacement for a while, but couldn't find an affordable kettle that I could bear to look at. But yesterday after receiving a flyer from Macy's in the mail, I found this from the Martha Stewart collection on Macy's website and it is exactly what I've been looking for. Plus it is on sale for $26.99 from $49.99. Me likes a bargain! So, despite the extreme temperature, I decided to head downtown to the least-skanky Macy's and buy myself a beautiful, non-health-threatening kettle. By the way, I decided to take the day off today; too hot for even me to take Trimet home.

I got to Macy's a little after 1pm, and quickly located the object of my desire. But wait a minute, the price within the plastic sleeve attached to the display model says it is on sale for $39.99. Huh?

I started rifling through that plastic sleeve and found 2 more prices, both of which were higher than the $26.99 being advertised. Crap, did I read it wrong or miss the small print? I see signs all over the place: 'One Day Sale!' 'Morning Sale!' 'Weekend Special'. I have no idea which sale- if any- applies. All I know is that this kettle was clearly marked $26.99 on the Macy's website. Time for some haggling. And this time I have my secret weapon...my beloved phone!

I log onto Macys.com and bring the kettle up to the counter. After showing the saleswoman the online price, she hesitantly gave me the online price. What else could she do?

On my way out of the store I saw this creepy mannequin. I hope this wasn't a finished display...

I happily left the store and decided to have lunch as South Park. I enjoyed 1/2 doz. raw oysters and King Crab cakes with a lemon aioli on watercress with a crisp Sauvignon Blanc. I had David Sedaris' new book 'When You Are Engulfed in Flames' and laughed out loud several times in the restaurant. Oysters, wine, Davis Sedaris and air-conditioning- it was the perfect way to spend a 110-degree day off.

Montavilla Farmer's Market

I'm really smitten by our neighborhood farmer's market. This is a picture of today's purchases. Yes, the market is tiny, but that is one of the things that makes it enjoyable. There are an adequate number of legitimate farm stands that sell produce and a minimum of crafty, non-food items. There are at least 2 bakeries, a place to get seafood and free-range organic meats. There are 2 flower vendors and some interesting prepared food stands- barbecue, tamales, sausages, lemonade- just to name a few. I also like that it is on a Sunday and doesn't start until 10am.

I never go to the downtown market at PSU on Saturday's anymore unless someone is visiting from out of town. It is way too crowded and you have to get there early- 8:30am- to get some of the high-demand items. Plus, it is like a freakin' dog & stroller show.

Now, I understand that small children and babies can't be left at home alone and most grow to a size that makes it impractical to carry them or strap them to an adult body, so I concede that strollers are a necessary evil. (Though, it may seem darling to you parents as you allow 2 year-old Sofia, Ava, Henry or Jackson push the designer, Italian-made, produce laden, wheeled baby-container into the back of ankles but in doing so you are slowing down the flow of humanity and I'm from the East coast and move fast through crowds and have other things to do this Saturday so please- this is NOT cute but annoying. GET THE KID OUT OF MY WAY!!!)

But I beg of you, leave the dogs at home. I make this request not because I don't like dogs but because I care for them a great deal- a heck of a lot more than I care for your human spawn. Hey, this is summer time and it is hot and your poor dog is standing on asphalt and isn't wearing shoes like you are. They can't run or even walk at a normal pace. They are slowly wandering around in circles, having their leashes jerked every time they smell something interesting and go in for a better sniff. They are surrounded by human legs and baby-containers on wheels with kids grabbing for their faces and tails. The little one are getting stepped on and the big ones are getting challenged by other dogs. Yes, your pup may act like going to the Farmer's Market is the most exciting, enjoyable thing a doggie could ever do as you headed out the door, but believe me, your dog is miserable. I can see the disappointment in their eyes when they realize they aren't headed for a park, or a hike, or a simple drive in the car. Kind of like the expression they have at the vet.

The Montavilla market is very small but there is plenty of space between the booths. So even though there is a fair number of posers with their canines they are easily avoidable. But I still feel bad for the dogs...

After the market, I stopped by Bui Natural Tofu deli to pick up some- yeah, you guessed it- tofu. I was hoping the lemongrass tofu would be coming out fresh from the oven but the freshest was the green onion and mushroom. Well, I 've been trying to eat more "cruelty free" food but their tofu stuffed with seasoned pork was also fresh-from-the-oven and was beckoning me with its sizzling, porky tastiness. Mmmmmm, delicious cruelty...

I pedaled over to A and L's house. They were recovering from a Timbers game the night before and were watching soccer and the Olympics on TV. I hung out for a few minutes then headed home to get my sunflowers into some water. 'L' commented that I looked like a "Portland Girl" with my produce and flowers in my bicycle basket.

While I waited for the green light at Washington and 82nd, a guy in his twenties rolled up on his bike. He appeared like a typical Outer-Southeast inhabitant: pasty complexion, baseball cap backwards, erratic pedaling. He started talking about the sunflowers:

"You know why they are called sunflowers? Because they follow the movement of the sun, supposedly. They are such nice flowers- so pretty and happy. They are like great, big smiles."

The light turned green and off he went.
Awwwww... I love this town.

Dinner from the Neighbors

There are are 4 kids- 3 girls, 1 boy- who live a few doors down on Alder Street. Typical kids, they stop to chat and tell me all kinds of things about themselves and the the neighborhood. Their's is a very traditional Pakistani family. Everyday the youngest girl asks me how old I am and the middle girl Asiya (maybe 9 years old?) asks me if I have had a wedding or if I'm married. The eldest, a 14-year old named Aysha, earns money doing yard work for the neighbors. Today I hired her and her sisters- it seems they come as a package deal- to do some weeding and raking. They went right to work and did a great job and are coming back tomorrow to bag up the ivy vines I cut back 6 months ago.

As they were working I learned that Ayisha does much of the cooking at home. Of course, I start interrogating her about ingredients, techniques, etc. Well, this evening after they went home, Ayisha sent Asiya over with 2 foil-covered plates of food. On one were 2 pieces of flat bread, very similar to a whole wheat chapati. On the other was a potato-cauliflower dish. Asiya showed me how to tear off a piece of bread and use it to scoop up the vegetable. Of course, I would have done this instinctively but it was so sweet that she thought of explaining this to a demonstrating how to eat this food to me, a middle-aged American woman.

The hand-made chapati were wonderful: slightly spongy and glistening with a thin sheen of oil, they had blackened, raised bumps and were the perfect combination of tender/chewy. The accompanying potato-cauliflower dish was a brilliant yellow from what I assume was turmeric. The cauliflower was silken yet held its form and the chunks of potato were creamy. It had all been seasoned with lots of salt, (which I believe is what makes food from India/Pakistan so delicious) as well has spices or seasonings which lent the dish the exact amount of heat: enough to get your taste buds hooked on the addictive burn.

It was the best meal I've had all week. I think I'll hire Ayisha to give me cooking lessons!

Time Machine

I've finally started archiving my photos. I'm scanning them and storing them on DVDs and plan to put the "best of the best" on Flickr. I'll have the link on this blog so stay tuned; it should be up soon.

In the meantime, I'm posting some of my favorites. These are mostly Fehrenbach photos that I received when Gramma-Grampa-Down-The-Street died. I would love to record some photos from The Lady's family as well. If you have any, send them to me to archive and I'll return them.

"If I were a rich man..."

This is the oldest "photo" I have. Gramma-Down-The-Street told me it was 1860's and is of her Grandfather- one of the guys in the center. I'll find out from Dad's sister The Matriarch which one he is.

Kind of a cross between 'Fiddler on the Roof' and Ken Burns' 'Civil War'.








Where's Ludwig?
Grampa was born in Triberg, Germany in the Schwarzwald (Black Forest). Many fairy tales that featured the "...deep, dark woods..." originated here, such as Goldilocks, Hansel & Gretel, etc. During the pre-Lenten festivities, the pagan psyche comes alive in Triberg. Here, in a post card from 1910, is a parade float depicting Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. Can you pick out 10 year old Ludwig?

Miss Helen Glass & Company

I love the fact that Gramma had a rich social life- before and during her life as a married woman. You can just tell from pictures how much fun she had with her friends and sisters.

Here they are dressed in lovely gauzy dresses and wide brimmed hats:

There they are sleeves-rolled-up and hair a-mess:

Here's to you, Trimet!

TGIFF! No, that extra 'F' is not a typo. It's been a hard week but I don't really know why. Maybe work is more demanding than I will admit. As I look back upon the many, many jobs I've had, I do see a pattern- I tend to deny when I'm under extreme pressure and attribute my stress, anxiety and feelings of inadequacy to my being, um, well...inadequate.

But maybe I'm not inadequate! Maybe my job is difficult and challenging! Nah, that can't be it...

So yesterday I got very frustrated with one of the people that reports to me. He and I have been really good friends almost since the day I started. He has been with my division for something like 8 years. He doesn't have any burning desire to climb the corporate ladder as he finds his current position gratifying. Frankly, it's refreshing to work with someone who isn't ambitious, as my place of employment is teeming with Type-A overachievers that are compensating for their feelings of inadequacy. Oh, there's that 'I'-word again...

Anyway, "Sandy" can't accept when he does something wrong. If you point out an error, he counters with an argument about how the rule that he broke is wrong, or that since he does something right most of the time this instance shouldn't matter, or the person that is accusing him of an error has issues...blah, blah, blah.

Sandy is the result of parenting of this type: "My baby is perfect" "The teacher is wrong" "The other kids are mean" "How dare the other parent criticize my baby?" "Don't worry baby, I know YOU DIDN'T DO IT" "IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT, BABY!" Please, do the world a favor and call your kid out when they screw up. You'll be doing them, and the world, a favor. Look at George W. if you don't believe me!

Luckily, Sandy "Baby" is a really nice guy. Smart, funny, definitely a stoner, but a kinder heart you could never find and I genuinely value our friendship.

But we are so different. To me, work is work, friends are friends, and when dealing with work- especially when I'm your boss- I'm going to call it straight. So, Sandy drops by my cubicle just because he was in the neighborhood and we start chatting. The conversation topic ends up being about a deadline our group recently had to meet. Sandy confesses that he knowingly completed a task after the deadline because he had left work early and then took a PTO day. I was pissed, as I was in the midst of crafting an email defending our team against another that seemed to feel that our group wasn't taking this deadline seriously. My point to was that I was putting my neck out on behalf of our team yet apparently the accusations from this other organization weren't far off, considering what Sandy just admitted.

Sandy couldn't handle my abrupt shift from "friends chatting" to "manager calling it like it is" and predictaby set about arguing how he really didn't do anything wrong because he does it right most of the time and why is he being persecuted for ruining the whole process and generally martyring himself for sympathy and to deflect criticism, etc.

Me? - "I'm too busy for this argument. A deadline is a deadline is a deadline. End of story. If you do 99% on time and deliberately do 1% late and expect me to sanction that, then you will be disappointed- you don't get a cookie for doing "most" of it right. You are supposed to do 100% right. NO COOKIE. I'm done. Conversation over." OK, maybe a little agro...

Hurt puppy face. Shoulder shrug. "I just came by to say 'Hi'..."

Yeah, see ya. I'm not your Work Mommy.

But as we always do, we reconciled the next day. While emailing about an entirely different subject, I sent the message-

ME: I told my manager that your manager was acting like a real bit@h yesterday

SANDY: LOL! Yeah, well one of your employees was acting like a real pri@k!

ME: I guess we deserve each other!

SANDY: WTF! Why don't we just get married?

(now we have a weekly staff meeting and one of the other managers loves to probe members of our group about personal events such as weddings. Recently she had one of the guys on the ropes about his impending nuptials: "When is it? Where? Where is the honeymoon? What are your colors?" For crying out loud, you don't ask a guy about the freakin' colors!)

So I reply-

ME: It would be totally worth getting married when "Ms. X" asks us about our wedding! Where? San Siro. Colors? Black. And red. Honeymoon? Oh, Sandy is going to Amsterdam. I'm going to be in Paris.

After this email dialog the reality of what just transpired slowly washes over me and I am seized in that feeling of dread when you realize you have just totally fucked up.

I AM THIS GUY'S MANAGER AND I AM ENGAGING IN AN EMAIL ABOUT US GETTING MARRIED!!!!! Yeah, it's just a joke and yes, he instigated the conversation- but I am a manager and I can not even joke about this stuff. If I were a male manager engaged in this very same discussion with a female subordinate it would be considered really, really bad.

At least I described a seperate honeymoon...

Finally it is Friday and I'm going to leave work early so I can get tickets to Live Wire for tomorrow night. I'm so spent. I take the Max train into the city and jump on a bus so I can get the tickets at the theater box office. Yes, I could have just bought the tickets on line through Ticket Master, but after all those gouging "handling fees", 2 $15 tickets would have cost me $46 bucks. Fuck that! I am way too cheap and way too outraged to give them all that money. So, like a good citizen I go way out of my way to get to the Aladdin Theater box office to buy tickets in cash and pay only a $1 handling fee per ticket (which still kind of pisses me off- I mean, it's a freaking "Box Office", and by definition their sole purpose is to "handle" tickets, so now I have to pay you an extra buck to buy a ticket which is the only thing you are supposed to do? Yeah, that's like me asking for a "handling" salary to do what I'm expected to do at my job.) But I give it to them without rant and rave because the theater is cool- a shabby independent venue and hey, if freakin' Ticket Master can gouge huge profits by being a middleman, why shouldn't they hustle a few extra $.

I buy the tickets and now have to catch a bus all the way back across town to get home. It's only about 83 degrees, but on a skanky, urban intersection pounded by unrelenting sun-on-asphalt it has got to be 95 degrees. Luckily, the bus to take me from south to north (a challenge in SE Portland) is due in 5 minutes. Or 10 minutes? 15? 20- maybe 25...

I check the schedule online, call Trimet to see when the bus is due, check the posted schedule: All say the bus is scheduled for 4:15 and it is 4:36 yet there is no bus. I call Customer Servise and leave my usual "...I'm an annual pass holder, this is it- I'm buying a car...blah...blah...blah" The bus finally arrives and there are no seats, of course, but I should just be happy that it came within 40 minutes of the scheduled time, right? Plus, the air-conditioning seems to be working- yipee! But why is there no one sitting in those seats, I wonder...?

Oh, I see.

You might be thinking that by now I am in a full-bore rage, but seeing this mysterious styrofoam box set upon a pile of fluid-soaked paper towels with such a simple and succinct message- DONT SIT- well, it just about made me cry.

Because not ever, EVER, since I've been a Trimet rider- have I seen a warning to a fellow passenger that they should avoid some undesireable fluids. Not once in 7 years.
Things are looking up!

After such a roller-coaster day, I decided upon arrival at Alder Street that I needed a cocktail. My liquor-inspiration follows the same pattern as my food inventiveness: concept>composition>assembly. As I am car-less and usually too lazy to head to the store, my best innovations come from using what is already in "the pantry." Following this pattern of creation, I debut my original cocktail.

As I prefer everything have a utilitarian purpose, so does my poison. Here are the ingredients and why they were included:

TRIMET ANTIDOTE

• 2 oz. vodka (or 4-6 oz, I don't know...)- because of it alcohol and "forgetting" properties

• 1/2 fresh squeezed lemon juice- to prevent scurvy; also to *reduce acid in the blood. *see, Yogi! I'm being healthy!

• 5 shakes Angostura bitters- to aid in digestive disturbances that riding public transit induces

• 1 teaspoon sugar- to counteract the healthy qualities of the lemon juice

• 5 leaves fresh Moroccan mint- the spicy, aromatic herb helps "cleanse" your spirit from the polluting effects of human piss, sweat, snot and yes, poo, that you knowingly-or unknowingly- came into contact with on Trimet

• 1 sprig fresh lavender- the antiseptic qualities will help keep your immune system healthy and the aroma will aid your imagining that you are actually in an ancient farmhouse in Provence. You are overseeing the building of a limestone patio by some local men. Young, dark, muscular men, lifting stones, glistening with perspiration...mmm...

Oh yes, I digress...

Add all of the above ingredients to a cocktail shaker with lots of ice. shake, shake and shake some more. Pour into a martini glass and garnish with mint or lavender.

Ahhhhhhh. That's much better....