Day 349: Gluten Free French Toast, A Cat Nap & Une Film Français

Sunday, August 31

I got up rested and made myself French toast for breakfast, made an egg mix of organic, free range brown eggs, ground cinnamon and Grand Marnier; I then dipped Ener-G brand Seattle brown loaf bread slices (which is the best gluten-free bread for French toast, as well as toasted cheese sandwiches) in the egg mix and cooked it up in a buttery frying pan.  I served this up with sliced organic Gala apples topped with Rivers Edge Chévre, known as The Little Goat Dairy by The River, in Logsden, Oregon.  I poured myself a small glass of organic orange juice and enjoyed my quiet morning.

After I ate, I worked on revising my third chapter for my writer’s group.  It took me about an hour and a half to do the revisions.

I read for about an hour and then curled up on sofa with my cats and took a nap.  It was dark and kind of gloomy out.  Occasionally, the sun would break through the sky to make an appearance.  It rained hard for about an hour and then was clear again.  And it was cool out. 

My body was reacting to the weeks of late nights and early alarms, and lack of proper sleep.  I welcomed the rest, I gave in to it and fell dreamily asleep surrounded by my soft, snuggly cats.  I was feeling a little congested and got a little anxious about it, as I had been clear for almost two months.  The last thing I wanted was a return to those weird non-allergic rhinitis symptoms.  

When I woke up, three hours had passed.  That was crazy.  I checked my voicemail messages and hurried to get dressed to meet Kerry downtown to watch a French film at the Living Room Theater, next to the Ace Hotel and Clyde Common.  The Living Room Theater has been on my list of things to do, as I love art house films.  This venue reminded me of a place I used to love to go to in Dupont Circle in Washington, DC.  We bought tickets for a French romantic comedy starring Audrey Tatou, from Amelie and The Davinci Code.  It was called Priceless, a charming story about a young woman who only dates wealthy men to ensure she’ll be taken care of.  She glitters the screen with her gorgeous haute couture.  She meets a handsome young man at the hotel bar, where she’s staying on her birthday, and she mistakes him for a rich guest.  He actually works for the hotel.  They drink a bunch of cocktails and end up in the hotel master suite, which she thinks is his room.  In the morning, she is gone.  A year later, she returns with the same older gentleman and runs into the hotel worker again.  It’s a great comic play on mistaken identity and then the old story of girl will only date rich not poor men.  The best part comes when the young man plays her game and becomes a boy toy to a wealthy much older woman.  It’s a fun story and, at times, is quite sad.  But there’s a redeeming moment when Audrey Tatou’s character wakes up and realizes what’s really important.  It’s fun, it’s light, it’s very French.

 

After the movie, we made a refreshing and bold move.  We didn’t go to one of our typical foodie spots.  We headed over to Henry’s and sat at the bar.  I was starving.  It was happy hour.  So, I ordered a medium rare cheeseburger without the bun and a chopped salad with mango and avocado.  They have an extensive beer list – probably the largest in town.  No gluten-free beer, of course.  So, I ordered a pear cider.Kerry and I caught up, as it’s been about two weeks since we’ve hung out.  We talked about what we’ve been up to, and then our smug married friends (not saying our married friends are all smug, we’re talking about very specific married friends who happen to be smug), and then our latest bad behavior.  I told her about my drinking and facebooking episode a few weeks ago, which was, of course, funny.   By 11:15 I was ready to go home.

It was so cold out, it felt like we were being robbed of a decent summer, of a decent Labor Day weekend.  It really felt like early spring or late winter out.   It was really annoying.

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Day 343: That’s Not My Mom & Dad, Is It????

Monday, August 25

The alarm clock, albeit a Zen gong, started ringing at seven.  Ugh.  I don’t like to wake up before eight.  But I had to be at the winery by nine, so there you go.  I dragged my sleepy bum out of my cozy bed and sauntered down the stairs for a bowl of Leapin Lemurs cereal.  What can I say, the sweet yumminess of gluten-free chocolate-peanut butter cereal clears away the early morning blues.I hurried along, feeding the cats, cleaning the litterbox, and getting myself ready for work.  I spent most of the day at the winery while a producer was filming segments for a video.  I kept the time to keep things moving along.  The last quarter of my day was at my desk busily working through a long line of emails. 

When I got home, I changed and went to the gym.  On my way, I stopped by my mailbox and opened up a letter from my uncle in Florida.  In it was a fantastic photo taken of my parents from the late 60′s or early 70′s.  My mom has this huge black chignon or beehive, a little red velvet dress, looking wiped out a la Amy Winehouse style, and she’s sitting on a funky sofa (with colonial images like George Washington on a horse!) next to my dad who looks handsome in a black suit, only his eyes are totally closed.  He’s either very, very bored and tuning out his surrounds, or he’s passed out!  On the coffee table in front of them are two empty cocktail glasses.  I couldn’t stop laughing. 

My uncle is hilarious!  He included a funny note with the photo.  I’m going to have to frame this photo!  While it’s funny to see my parents in this era, and questionably sober, it’s also just cool to see them in a moment that’s so honest and real – not perfectly prim, proper and posed.  I don’t have any other photo of my parents like this, at all.  I do believe it’s now my favorite.

It’s also quite remarkable how much I look like my mom.  Aside from the black hair.  When I learned that the photo was taken in 1971, it dawned on me that I am four years older than my mom was when that photo was taken.  She had an adopted three year old little boy (which explains why they look so spent!) and, they didn’t know it at the time, but their soon-to-be adopted little girl was about to be born.  I wasn’t even a thought in the universe for another three years.

I called my mom and learned that she has to now give herself insulin shots.  Her voice was hesitant as she mentioned this.  I remembered practicing giving oranges insulin shots when my diabetic grandmother was still alive.  I knew this day was coming.  Her pills never seemed to control her irratic blood sugar.  I have worried about this, which is so fitting.  My mother spends many waking hours worrying about her children.  It’s quite the role reversal, but, I have worried about her diabetes for awhile.  But, part of me was a little relieved.  I figured the insulin shots might actually make her feel better.  This, I decided, was a good thing.

I made a thick and very cheesy two egg omelet stuffed with crab for dinner.  I had a very leafy green salad for lunch.  So, I was craving protein.  I had two organic sausage links with my omelet.  I then fixed a cup of Yogi India Spice tea, which is so darn good, with one third of a Dagoba dark chocolate bar.  I also ate two Ener-G brand gluten-free donut holes.  My sweet tooth was calling. 

Alas, I noticed a few ants around my kitchen sink.  I was pissed.  I spent days cleaning up the kitchen to get rid of the buggers.  I kept mumbling under my breath, not again.

I flipped through the latest New Renaissance book shop catalog and dog-eared pages to listings on a couple events I’m interested in attending this fall, including Images & Inspiration from Tibet – a talk and slide show on Heart Essence of the Vast Expanse, a tradition providing many pathways to enlightened being, which is scheduled for Friday, November 7th.  Another talk that I marked was Spiritual Discourse with Anam Thubten Rinpoche, a heart-to-heart dharma dialogue and exploration of the truth that is always available to us.  This class is scheduled for Thursday, November 13th.

As I made a note on my calendar about these events, I thought about my spiritual compass.  I haven’t been going to mass, still.  It’s been a couple months.  Maybe even more.   But I am still hung up on the fact that the Catholic church will not allow persons with celiac disease to take a gluten-free host for the Eucharist.  This is so offensive to me.  As if people with celiac are just trying to make a stink.  The bread is a symbol, which mean it’s not literal.  Which means Christ isn’t really wheat, water and yeast baked to crusty brown perfection.  C’mon!  It’s a sacred symbol.  I might as well have been excommunicated, as far as I’m concerned.  I’m not able to let go of this.  Communion was such a sacred, deep connection I’ve had with my faith.  It really meant a lot to me.  There are some Catholic churches out there that welcome a gluten-free host for those in need.  But, unfortunately, not mine here in Portland.  So, I’m a little bitter.  I am more or less ditching church until I am able to take a gluten-free host for Communion.

Meantime, I am exploring other spiritual options.  This isn’t really to replace my Catholic faith, but to keep my heart, mind and spirit refreshed and fulfilled.  I miss going to Mass and feel a void in my life, but I’m taking my own stand.  So, because I enjoy the philosophy and spiritual teachings of other faiths, anyway, I have been seeking out other ways to experience spirituality.  I had been on hold, spiritually, for awhile now, checked out, even.  Perhaps these Tibetan talks will feed my spiritual needs until the Catholic Church decides to be more inclusive to all, including those with celiac disease.

 

 

 

 

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Day 342: An Overdue Haircut, Shopping for Yoga Tops, Wandering Eyes & The Closing Ceremonies

Sunday, August 24

I tried to sleep in.  I woke up at quarter of ten.  I was groggy.  I slowly emerged from bed and made my way downstairs and cooked up a crab fritata with two organic, free range eggs, fresh cheese and chives.  I had two sausage links and a piece of toast made with Ener-G’s Seattle brown gluten-free loaf.  I had a glass of orange juice and consumed this while reading an article in Poets & Writers on poet Billy Collins.  We read some of Collins’ poems at Fishtrap.

I ran the dishwasher, put in a load of laundry, typed up some of my blog and then got ready to leave for my haircut.  I also packed a yoga bag, as I had every intention of going to the 3:30 class at Yoga Union.

I drove to the northwest and went to Dosha for my hair cut.  It had been a long time since I got my hair cut, so I needed to get a lot chopped off.  My hair had gotten out of control!  My hairdresser thinned it out so it wouldn’t be so heavy, thick and out of control.  I was pleased.  I bought a few Aveda products while I was there.  I walked along NW 23rd Street and wandered in and out of the many boutiques.

I got into my car and drove to the Pearl, over by R.E.I.  There, I bought a couple of yoga tops on sale.  Then, I went to Title Nine and bought a really heavy duty sports bra.  I had needed a new one for quite some time.  I missed my yoga class, but, at least, I got some much needed yoga tops that will keep me comfortable in my hot yoga classes.

I wandered up along Division and then over to Hawthorne.  I went into Pho Van for a bowl of pho soup.  I sat in a corner seat with a window to the entrance, with a view up the sidewalk.  It was good for people watching.  I unwinded with a pot of Oolong tea.  I noticed a woman, tall and lean, walking into the restaurant with a baby on her hip.  The baby spit up and it landed on the ground just outside the door.  The mother shrugged and proceeded inside.  Five minutes later, she left with takeout.  All I could think about was someone needed to rinse off the sidewalk outside of the door.  Someone was going to step in that small pool of pale yellow spit-up.  It was pretty gross. 

When my soup came, I joyfully added all of the condiments, including hot green peppers, bean sprouts, basil and lime.  I added a little hot sauce, mixed up the soup and started slurping rice noodles.  I’m proud that I eat my pho the way the Vietnamese ladies do, using the spoon like a bowl to hold the long, tangled noodles, pulling on them with my chopsticks as I carefully slurp them up from the spoon.  I noticed three couples enter at different intervals, and I noticed, when I was patting my lips with my napkin, sipping on tea or flipping a page to my book, that each of the three handsome men looked at me, making direct eye contact with me without their dates even noticing.  Wow.  I think men must learn this art as small boys.  It’s quite a skill.  I wondered how many dates I had been on that my date’s eyes wandered, stealthily, from mine to another’s.  Judging from the noticeable frequency this evening, I suspect it’s happened quite often, if not every time.  It’s amazing how a man can artfully turn his glance away from a woman to look at another woman, without letting her know.  The less than skillful ones get caught.

Sure, no damage done in looking.  But, it wasn’t just one guy.  All three looked.  And not just looked – they made very direct eye contact.  I had to blink and look away.  I didn’t even smile.  I was too stunned.  I don’t appreciate that kind of exchange.  Two of the three men were married and with their wives.  One of the wives was very pretty and pregnant.  This disturbed me.  It’s supposed to be okay for a man to “look”.  But I don’t know.  This wasn’t okay to me. 

When I left, it was raining.  I tucked my book into my jacket  and by the time I turned the corner onto 33rd Street, where my car was parked, I found shelter under a row of old, huge trees.  As I walked under the trees, the rain did not touch me.

Half way home, I realized I had left my Dosha bag of Aveda products at my table.  I pulled out my sales receipt and called the restaurant.  They put the bag aside for me to pick up on Monday or Tuesday.  What a pain!

I got home, emptied the dishwasher, finished my laundry and at a block of Dagoba chocolate.  I got nestled into the sofa and watched the Olympic Closing Ceremonies.  Crazy that the summer is nearly over.  Crazy that another Olympics has passed.  It seems like yesterday when I was in Montana, up on Big Mountain at Whitefish, watching parts of the Opening Ceremonies at the Bierstuben. 

Ah well.  Life just seems to roll along, swifty and often mercilessly.

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Day 340: A Start with Leapin Leamers, A Bite at Bar Avignon, Little Notebooks & Moss Garden Incense

Friday, August 22

I got up and enjoyed a sweet but moderately nutritious bowl of gluten-free Leapin Leamers cereal. 

I had to run errands for our vineyard dinner tomorrow.  I drove over to Michael’s printing for our menus, Trader Joe’s to look at flowers (I took notes in my little writer’s note pad), Haggan (which I couldn’t find anything that would work for centerpieces), the Fred Meyer in Sherwood, which, again, didn’t have anything for my centerpieces, and finally the Fred Meyer in Newberg – where I scored these adorable and beautiful plants with tiny red, orange and green-yellow peppers.  I then found some green-white hydrangea.  I also found these beautiful green ceramic pears with silver-gray stems that would also look beautiful.

The cellar had just finished bottling for the day and were offering “first off’s” to staff, the wine they couldn’t sell that went through the bottling line first.  There was perfectly good wine inside, in any case, a few of us went down to the cellar and picked out a number of single vineyard Pinot noirs, some Syrah and Gamay noir, as well as single vineyard Chardonnay. 

When I got to the winery there was a lot of work to do.  Others were cleaning up while I washed out our hurricane lamps and staged things for my flower arranging tomorrow.

I returned to the office to check emails and then headed out to Dundee to pick up a few coolers from another winery. 

Driving home, I had every intention to change and go for a run, but Susan had called and convinced me to meet her and her mom for dinner downtown.  So, I emptied the wine from my car, put it away in my cellar under the stairs and changed for dinner.

We were going to go to Nuestra Cocina up on Division and 22^nd, but there was an hour wait. So we went across the street to a new wine bar called Bar Avignon.  It was chic and cool inside.  We took a table by the window.  Her aunt, uncle and family friend joined us.  I shared an order of luscious green olives and prosciutto and sweet peaches, then an order of gazpacho and their local farm green salad, which was really fresh and delicious.  I enjoyed a glass of Soter rosé with it.

I tried to pay for my portion, but Susan’s mom wouldn’t have it.  That was very nice of her.  I sipped on a cup of Stumptown coffee while they passed around a couple desserts.

After, Susan, her mom and I went into the frozen yogurt shop next door.  I ordered a cup of the chocolate yogurt topped with a little coconut and shared it.  We proceeded toward the New Seasons on Division, where I bought gluten-free donut holes by Ener-G, a couple more of my new favorite gluten-free pizza crusts, organic, free-range brown farm eggs, organic sausage links and these cute, small recycled notepads. 

I have become obsessed with little notepads that I carry around in my purse, leave in my car and stock in a pocket inside my workbag.  I take a little notepad everywhere I go, just in case I get an idea I need to write down.  I use the little notepads for more.  Like when I was in Trader Joe’s in Lake Oswego and needed to note which kind of flowers would work best for our vineyard dinner.  I jot down notes of things to do, people to call or meals I should make for the week.  I write down names I like that may either become characters or children.  I write down addresses and phone numbers, but, mostly, I scribble thoughts that come to me when I’m driving down 99 West or I-5 or when I’m in the middle of doing something else but don’t want to lose that train of thought, that perfect description in my head, that crazy thing that just happened as I turned that corner on 21^st  and Clinton, where the two guys on their bikes nearly hit a parked wagon with the front windows slightly open where two shiatsus practically wrestled each other to fit their sad little pink tongues through the slight open crack of window.

There was a cute, smallish guy putting his groceries down on the conveyor belt as a tall, round girl with friendly violet eyes framed in old-school black and mother-of-pearl glasses checked me out.  I handed her my check card, excited about the gluten-free donut holes.  The cute guy looked at my little notepads and said they were cool.  I told him I was a writer.  When the check-out-girl gave me my receipt, I smiled happily as the cute guy kindly offered, “good luck with the gluten-free, and the writing.”  I smiled back, “thanks!”

At home, I finished the place cards for the vineyard dinner.  I watched the last five minutes of Jaws 4 (or Jaws: The Revenge).  I had no choice.  I had watched the first three this week.  I didn’t even know there was another one after the 3-D version.  This Jaws didn’t blow up.  I was disappointed.

I burned some Moss Garden incense, not that it really smelled like moss.  It was actually a blend of sandalwood, benzoinum, patchouli and spices.  Not sure what the spices were, even with my trained wine professional’s nose.  It was Japanese.  Manufactured in Kyoto and distributed in Boulder, Colorado.  I have been slightly obsessed with Kyoto.  Not the same way as I have been about Tibet or Vietnam.  But enough so that I read a whole book on the tea service in Kyoto and the spirit of reciprocity there, how everyone is keen on gratitude, even if only in a matter of politeness and gesture.  There is what is called ‘the spirit of the gift’, to which Kyotans give little gifts to patrons who dine in their tea houses or restaurants, the gifting concept carrying over in many areas of their culture. 

Anyway.  I burned the incense to relax.  It’s a kind meditative gesture to myself, really.  I read a little and headed up for bed later than I had intended.  I made a note in one of my little notebooks that I was now going to bed rather regularly at 1:30 a.m.  It started off at 11:30 p.m.  That had been my bedtime for quite some time.  But then the late hour for me crept to midnight.  Then 12:30, always reading or writing, stretching my day as long as I could to get in all of the time I needed after work to workout, cook dinner, get some writing done, meditate and unwind, read and then turn in, which no sooner turned to 1:00 a.m.  And for the past couple of weeks, this has proceeded to dip into that too-late pool of 1:30 a.m.  I made a note that I simply could not allow this pattern to continue.  I could not let the minutes charge on to 2:00 a.m.  I had to curb the restlessness, the need for more time. 

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Day 293: The Drive to Wallowa Lake

Sunday, July 6

I pretty much had everything packed up last night. It’s hard to leave the kitties behind. I put a towel behind the toilet in the spare bathroom upstairs to try to hold off a leaky pipe. I made sure the cats had plenty of food and water. I kept a few windows open an inch to circulate air and then did the last minute things I needed to do for my trip.

I made a turkey sandwich on the Ener-G gluten-free Seattle hamburger bun. I filled up my water bottle grabbed a Vitamin Water from the fridge, packed a small bag of tortilla chips, threw in a organic fruit leather snack, and I was on my way.

I was running a few minutes late when I drove toward Susan’s. I called her to let her know I was on my way. When I got there, I parked my car in the guest parking and put my bags in Susan’s trunk. I always over pack. I had one duffel bag for my shoes, towels and hats, a small suitcase for my clothes and toiletries, I bag filled with gluten-free bread and snacks, my sleeping bag and pillow, and then my laptop bag filled with empty notebooks ready to receive all of the written words I would scribble across the pages while at Fishtrap’s summer writer’s workshop and gathering.

We scooted along toward highway 84, to the Fred Meyer Gateway location. We met the van in the back and I loaded up my stuff into the van. It was a beautiful day. Perfect clear blue skies brightened with the warm sun and we loaded the van and headed out 84 East, towards the Columbia River.

There was a nice group on the bus, including three fellows for this year’s summer Fishtrap, including a woman my age from Boston, a woman from Texas and another from Montreal.  There were two elderly women from Oregon, who were quite lovely and charming, a professor from Richmond, who teaches at VCU, and a senior in high school who was really sweet and happily celebrating her 17th birthday. We were chauffered by the former Fishtrap director, and a great tour guide, Rich.

We saw many landmarks along the way, including Multnomah Falls. We had our first break near Hood River where we got some coffee and used the restrooms. As we went a little further along, we stopped at Celilo State Park and sat at picnic tables for lunch. It was very windy, it felt like we were going to lose our lunch! I took a couple photos of the River and a few people windsurfing. We had seen kite surfers launching up nearly 20-30 feet just before. This, of course, is a hotbed for extreme sport enthusiasts from around the globe.

Some of the landscape reminded me of the Middle East, with the sandy colored hillsides and the shape of the trees.

We continued along east, crossing a bridge over to the Washington side for a change of scenery. And then crossing another bridge later, back to the Oregon side. We moved on toward Grand Junction, with the sandy colored hills now starting to look alpine again. We drove through Enterprise, with gorgeous green country and sharp green and rock, reminding me very much of lovely Telluride, Colorado. We soon pulled up toward Wallowa Lake, with the mountains poking over it, the water blue as the sea, and floating rafts lined up with picnic tables. It was very cool to see this little rafts with people enjoying the sun, food and company.

We drove up past the lake into a woodsy area, passing several beautiful log cabins and A-frames. We passed a dark brown lodge that looked like it belonged in the Alps and made our way to the Wallowa Lake Methodist camp ground, home to summer Fishtrap.

We unloaded and got situated in our rooms. I was staying in a rustic cabin named Caldwell. As I approached the door, a small, brown squirrel was poking its head out from under the doorstep, which included a hole that sunk below the cabin. Our eyes met, I smiled at my curious little host, who then dipped below the cabin with caution. I entered. It was rustic alright. Old tiled floors and lines of beds and two bunks reminded me of camp, or a really bad college dorm. I selected the bed far across from the font door, against the wall. I unraveled my sleeping bag, threw down my pillow, brought in my bags and was satisfied.

We then went to the dining hall to register and have dinner. We got these cute wood nametags that looked like small cut logs, where you could count the age of the tree by its rings. At registration, I saw a kind woman named Betsy who I bonded with at the Sitka Center for Arts & Ecology workshop on the coast back in April. It was a delight to see her!

They prepared a gluten-free lasagna option for me, with brown rice, ground meat, ricotta cheese and tomato sauce. It was pretty good. I also had a salad. And then a couple cups of chamomile tea. My throat was a little sore.

After dinner, the new director, Rick, welcomed everyone and began the introductions of staff. It was an engaging opening. A highlight was listening to writer and Fishtrap instructor Luis Urrea’s words of wisdom. He told a great story about Fishtrap, being in nature, and how his friends back home in the city referred to nature as where you go out to pee. It was pretty funny, in the context of his talk. He also mentioned an experience one summer where a nest of young birds captured the attention of the group and the joke was that the birds would learn to fly away by the time the week would end. And sure enough, as Fishtrap came to an end that summer, the small birds flew away. Luis recounted, that’s what happens at Fishtrap. It’s mystical. It’s like the woods know when we’re coming. You get inspired. Things just happen. And he recounts his own story of successes as a writer, from his Fishtrap experiences.

After the opening, a group walked down to the local restaurant, called Russell’s, and I had a glass of the Snoqualmie Syrah. The staff kept bringing out endless popcorn. It was great to just relax. After I finished my glass, I walked back with another group who had flashlights and we marveled at the stars that seems endless, within reach.

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