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ever wonder what Portland, Orygun is like?

September 5th, 2009

Yeah, that’s not it. Why? Cuz I don’t believe I saw any hockey in that clip. We (heart) hockey. Hawkeytown!

(ps — it really is pretty here, isn’t it? It’s raining right now — poured so hard last night that it woke me up. I had to close all the windows! Everything was blowing. Really gorgeous now — the garden and flowers are so lush and green.)

(have a good weekend, y’all.)



games we didn’t play on the drives to and from the coast…

August 3rd, 2009

My son: “Quick! Everybody close your eyes and let’s play ‘Who Licked Me?'” (Grandma and me, quick!: “No.”)

My daughter: “We’re playing a game — ‘What’s That Dead Thing?'”) (Me: “That is not a good game.”)

My daughter: “He’s counting up the dead squirrels and I’m counting up the dead cats and we’re going to see who has more by the time we get home.” (Me: “No.”) (Cats would have won. Uh. Lost.)

Both kids: “Woooooo-ah-woooooooo-ah-wooooooooooo-ah-woooooooooooo…” (That’s the “Sound of the Ambulance” game.) (Steve and me: “Please stop.”)

Both kids, again: “Let’s play the ‘See Who Can Be Quiet the Longest” game?” (Me: “Absolutely.”)

The funnest game was the “Sexy” game. We saw a sign for Sexy something… no, not lingerie. Or ladies. “Sexy Lawnmower Repair” or something, coming back from Newport. The kids thought that was funny, because we have a place called “Sexy Coffee” in the neighborhood. “Oooooooh, Sexy Coffee!” So this game is easy — you just add “sexy” to the beginning of everything:

“Sexy Road Repairs Ahead”
“Sexy Spirit Mountain Casino”
“Sexy Elk Jerky”
“Sexy Portland 22 Miles”

You get the idea. Sexy.

How’s your summer?


Under the Tuscan Gun: Linguine with Langostini

July 22nd, 2009

Debi & Gabriele are my two favoritest bloggers right now (along with my girl Lelo, of course. Go look at pix of her glorious garden).

The new episode they posted on Under the Tuscan Gun includes a great recipe, a tour of Roman ruins and a rousing rendition of “Dante’s Inferno.” Right on.

Rocket Man

July 20th, 2009

My husband’s earliest memory: Watching the Apollo 11 moon landing, July 20th, 1969. Happy 40th anniversary, rocket men.

hello, insomnia

July 7th, 2009

Cat fight outside (not ours, but you still wonder until you get up and go check), early newspaper delivery (thwack) and where am I? Oh, yeah. This is my room. In my house.

Insomnia. 4 a.m.

And I think we used up the last of the coffee at the beach. I’m askeered to go look. Ack.

We were at the beach! Staying at a beach house! For a few days, even. Isn’t that a thing of beauty? My mom and late, Dear Granny share(d? what do you say after they’re gone? It’s still her birthday, even though we can’t call her to tell her feliz cumpleanos) a birthday. Mine, as you may recall, was a week ago. It was always cool, having them together like that.

But this year is different.

Man. Is this year ever different.

When I called my mom to ask her what she wanted to do (thinking she’d say dinner out, maybe go for a hike…) she surprised me — “Take the kids to the beach!” Well, alrighty. So she rented us a beach house, and we covered the driving, groceries and meals out. It was so rawesome, as my son would say. Rawesome. We haven’t rented a beach house since I was a kid. (Pixie Kitchen, Pixieland, hours on the front porch reading, digging an entrenchment and castles in the sand, walking on the beach forever… fun.) (More pix of Pixieland? Okay, here you go. I’ve linked these before, I love ’em.)

I was convinced that the Dorchester House was the old Pixie Kitchen, until my mom reminded me that it burned down. Denial, denial. It is a beautiful place to go in your head. (I had completely forgotten that it burned down. I’ve also forgotten which motels and hotels we’ve stayed at, our favorites, the best routes to the beach, once you’re there. Our house was great, but the staircase to get beach access was not. Concrete, carved into the hillside, 132 steps from here to there.) And being the Oregon coast, and not say, Carlsbad, California, it was blustery, cold and gray. Fleeces, hats that won’t stay on, long pants…

“Perfect weather!” says Hockey God.

We didn’t do any of the touristy stuff (including, but not limited to: Depoe Bay and the Sea Hag (we did go to Mo’s twice, yay, Mo’s), Newport and the coast aquarium — Wacky Boy is fond of the Oddwater exhibit — Devil’s Punchbowl, agate beach, the outlet stores, the freakin’ casinos… so many options, so little enthusiasm for driving). Steve and I did take a walk one morning and went for coffee. The girl was confused by his double espresso order and wanted to put chocolate or ice in it.

We visited Connie Hansen’s garden, which was, as always, delectable and perfect. They built sand castles and entrenchments, I watched until I got too cold. The news about the tides was right — they have been way out and the tidepools were extraordinary. Steve took some cool photos and I’m hoping he’ll post some. We watched movies, ate like pigs, read, did a puzzle, played games — it was a great weekend.

I read Joyce Carol Oates’s “We Were the Mulvaneys” cover to cover like a madwoman — could not put it down, stayed up late, got up early to finish it. It is her masterpiece. She just got out of the way and let Judd tell his story. Oates, the writer, who is such a strong presence in her own work that you can almost hear her voice sometimes, moved out of the way. It was Judd’s story, and Marianne’s, and Patrick’s. And there was Corinne and her husband, Michael Mulvaney, and their eldest, Michael Jr., who, in that frustrating way of older brothers, was elusive, bigger than life, then just almost there — then gone.

Oates is reliably good, spooky, deep, Gothic, emotional and detached all at once. Her writing means a lot to me, as a writer and as a woman. “Black Water” for instance was so good — years later it is still tucked away in my mind. (This is why I can’t remember our phone number, the password for the voicemail, which buildings have burned and which haven’t — it’s all those books tucked away, taking up space.) Intense book.

Gotta work out, catch y’all later.

Hope everyone had a good Fourth (if you’re in the States and like to blow things up). We loved being away from the fireworks and howling dogs.



NYT (hearts) Portland. (Ore-gone or Maine? Oregone!)

May 13th, 2009

I liked living in New York, for the short time I was there. Well, the several short times I was there (a few times for just about a week per visit, once for a few months). Esp. when my favorite bartender at Life Cafe asked me which Portland, “Ore-gone or Maine? Ore-gone! Oh, you got the killer green bud out there…” Glad we’re known for something besides the rain.

Funny story in today’s New York Times about golfing at Edgefield. I like McMenamins fine as long as I don’t have to eat their food. Also, I first ran into my sexy husband, Hockey God (thank god he finally updated his blog, woooooooot) when he worked at another McMenamins, the Barley Mill, when we used to live off Hawthorne. Also, when I finally got the nerve to break up with my gay boyfriend my new boyfriend and I used to hide out at Tavern & Pool in NW because if we’d gone to the Blue Moon he would have found us and honestly? I liked the new boyfriend a LOT more than the old boyfriend and didn’t feel like being found. I like men and bars is that so wrong? So you can see that McMenamins has played a big role in my love life.

Here’s my favorite Portland comment from the story:

it rains all the time. the people are mean. the streets are dirt. bears eat people in their back yards. Oregon is horrible. you would never, ever, ever, ever want to move there. don’t even visit. it is a scary place. rains all the time. rains all the time. no jobs. rains all the time. don’t even think about even stopping here, even for a day.
— cecil

cecil, u r soooooooooo rite! People here are the meanest. Esp. these girls. Can you believe they throw around phrases like “circle jerk” and no one even deletes the comment? Esp. since it’s in a post about a sweet little school where innocent little children are going to go? (In regards to my husband’s other blog: All Power to the People.)

Portland Girls: We Blog Dirty

Maureen Jenkins: UrbanTravelGirl

May 12th, 2009

Yippee! My friend Maureen Jenkins finally started her own travel blog. Yay. Go take a look and leave her a note.

Happy Tuesday, indeed.



“I swear to God…”

August 12th, 2008

Hockey God, to Wacky Boy, while they were both inside the pit toilet because… You know. We didn’t want him to fall in:

HG: “I swear to God, if you don’t quit whining about the smell I’m never taking you camping again.”
WB: “I swear to God, why did Mommy make us go camping???”

best junk mail I’ve ever received… QOTD from Zora

August 3rd, 2008

“Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time. That is the life of men.”

— Zora Neale Hurston, “Their Eyes Were Watching God”

Seriously, that was in my folder this morning. Thank you, Marietta!

Yesterday my daughter and I went… (more…)

road signs

March 23rd, 2008


It saddens me to say that my favorite road sign — WINOS GO HOME! — is no longer posted in Dundee, Oregon. (We like our wineries, okay? Is that wrong?)

But I did spot several other good ones outside of Dundee:





and my favorite:


Right back at ya… Happy Easter (if you celebrate Easter. If not, I say Happy Spring! to you). We stayed at the coast over night in Depot Bay. We slept in a motel, not on a charter boat, don’t get all excited. My son and I both spotted whales migrating north from Mexico to Alaska.

Wacky Boy: “I thought it was a rock, first. But then it moved and then splashed!”

That’s how you know it’s a whale, not a rock. Just in case you ever go whale-watching. Yesterday was sunny and clear, perfect whale-watching weather. Today was overcast and stormy, bad visibility, so we headed home. That’s all…


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