Day 355: G. Love & Special Sauce, John Butler Trio & Tristan Prettyman Live at Edgefield

Saturday, September 6

Wow.  Ten days left and I am done with this.  I have no plans for a party or celebration.  But, if I get a book deal and get my narrative published, based on this blog, then I will definitely plan some sort of gluten-free party in a vineyard here in Oregon. 

Anyway.  I didn’t really sleep in.  When I got home from the movie last night I went right to bed, which was around 12:45.  I was feeling a little off, and have for about a week or so.  First, there’s the moderate congestion.  It’s not requiring a decongestant just yet.  But, rather, is uncomfortable.  And contributes to my being drowsy.  I realized I could use a multi-vitamin injection, as I must have had some gluten intake over the past week or so.  I’m feeling some of my celiac symptoms.  And I think I’m dealing with malabsorption again, meaning, my small intestine isn’t able to absorb nutrients from the foods I have been consuming.  It’s so complicated.

I worked all morning on the holiday catalog I had begun for work.  I’m basically doing layout design in Illustrator.  And I really like the way its turning out – I have some great photographs to work with and it looks really elegant, so far.

Finally, at around 3:00, I needed to shut down the computer and get ready for a concert.  I was going to meet friends Kerry and Renee to see G. Love & Special Sauce at Edgefield, a McMenamins property.  They have a really cool outdoor concert venue.  Opening for G. Love were Tristan Prettyman, touted as the female Jack Johnson, and then the John Butler Trio.

I got dressed, grabbed one of my straw cowgirl hats, and a bag with a blanket it in.  We met at Renee’s house and then carpooled to Troutdale, just 25 miles or so down I-84 East.  It was a quick and easy drive and we parked in a small field and headed into the roped off area.  We grabbed a drink, beers for the girls and a Lemon Jack cocktail for me.  We set out our blanket super close to the stage.  It was amazing.

Tristan was very good.  Her music is very sunny and light.  When her set was up, we walked back to the concession area and ordered Thai curry dinners.  I got the chicken.  It was pretty good.  We sat at a picnic table, which was nice.  There were trees all around.  Like a little tree village.  After we ate, we went back while the John Butler Trio was into its set.  Their music is amazing.  John Butler cut off his long dreadlocks.  He looked really cute.  He’s a great young singer-songwriter born in California, but he grew up in Australia.  He began the song “Zebra” when we got back to our blanket.  We started dancing with the rest of the crew.  There was a ton of pot smoke around us, which was actually upsetting my stomach.  And, a young woman passed by us in a long tie-dyed sundress.  She smelled of poop.  Renee and I looked at eachother quizically.  I asked her if she smelled the poop.  And she did.

JBT’s sound is a blend of reggae and Red Hot Chili Peppers.  Great guitar rifts and rockabilly sounds at one moment, then hard rock and roll the next, then folksy-reggae beats.  It’s upbeat and fun.

Here’s John Butler addressing the eager crowd.

Here we are between John Butler Trio’s set and G. Love’s.

And then, G. Love & Special Sauce hit the stage.  He was seated, playing guitar and harmonica.   He’s brilliant.  He’s really a blend of surfer folk meets Philly hip hop, with a lot of rhythm and blues. 

G. Love got everyone up and dancing.  I missed dancing like this.  Like a bunch of hippies without rhythm.  Only, me and my gal pals, we had rhythm.  We were totally getting into the groove.

Then, the highlight was when G. Love called John Butler back to the stage to sing a couple of songs together.  They basically had a killer jam session.

After the last song, we headed back to Portland.  It was pretty easy getting out of the venue and Troutdale, which was a relief.  I dropped the girls off at Renee’s and drove home.  I was tired.  It had been a full weekend, so far, and I was looking forward to sleeping in and having time to myself tomorrow.  I’ll do more work, to get ahead on some of the creative projects in my queue.  But, all in all, I was looking forward to some down time.

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Day 353: Pondering Trees

Thursday, September 4

Dark, overcast skies vanished and just like that summer was back!

It had been an unbearable short run of fall like weather.  I’m not ready for that just yet.  We had such a late start to summer this year, I want to hold on to every sunny moment while it lasts. 

But, the coming of fall is undeniable.  The most obvious warning sign, aside from the cooler, overcast days, was the shortened days.  It’s already getting dark out at 7:45 p.m.  Now that’s depressing!  I love my longer days of summer on the west coast.  There’s nothing like early July and sun still shining at 9:45 p.m., slowly melting and not yet dark at 10:00 p.m.  It’s delicious.

The other warning sign – football season.  And I love football season.  I just can’t believe we’re already there.  I left work early to learn more about my new lease situation at the property management office where I rent, then grabbed my Redskins ball cap and headed over to Upper Deck in the Pearl District.  I ordered a margarita and watched my hometeam lose to the Giants. 

I then met some friends at Park Kitchen for a cocktail and appetizer.  I had the Summer Sazarac and cold melon soup.  We then walked back to the Pearl District for the First Thursday art walk.  Kerry met us in the middle of what looked like a street faire.  Not quite as wild and random as the Alberta Arts.  But still mesmerizing. 

I ended up seeing a painting I really wanted to buy at Last Thursday for the Alberta Arts walk last week.  She wanted cash.  I didn’t have any.  So I didn’t buy the painting.  But, as fate would have it, this artist had a booth this evening, she still had the same painting.  And, I had cash.  She went down from $125 to $75.  It was a sign.  Everything happens for a reason, no?

I bought the painting. 

Kerry and I walked toward Olea.  I put the painting in my car and we grabbed a table outside.  It was a glorious evening.  We had views of pretty trees.  The scene reminded me of Paris.

I looked up at the beautiful leaves and thought – wow, soon they will all fall!  I wanted to capture a shot of the foilage, in its full greenery, while it still lasted.  I guess I was feeling sentimental.  I love trees, afterall.  I often paint them and write about them.

Again, a scene not too far off from Paris:

Well, my photos don’t quite give it justice.

At Olea, I just had a glass of water and a salad.  It was a Caesar salad minus the croutons.  Instead there was quinoa.  It was interesting.  I was mostly delighted by the pleasant evening, which was cooling considerable.  I was excited to get home to hang my new painting in my meditation room.

And that’s just what I did when I got home.  The colors matched perfectly – shades of nectarine and aquamarine make up my Tibetan-inspired mediation room.  The glare on the painting photo is unfortunate, but I was too tired to figure out my tiny digital camera.  It was an issue with the flash.

Yes, trees have been indeed on my mind.  The growth.  The beauty.  The cycle of life and death.  The roots.  The branches.  The leaves.  Am I an Aspen?  A Cypress?  An Olive tree?  A Cherry Blossom?  Or a Dogwood?  A Palm?  I’m not sure.  What tree am I?  A good question, I ponder while I sip on Yogi Bedtime tea and read a little more of my book.

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Day 352: L’Amour Français, Worries and Woes, & A Narrative Nonfiction Plot

Wednesday, September 3

I got an email from my former French boyfriend.  Well, on Facebook.  It was sweet.  And it made me feel bad for avoiding his last two emails.  On Facebook.  I don’t know.  I’m bad about Facebook.  I forget to answer emails there.  I’m not sure if I should respond when people write on my wall.  I drink and Facebook.  I’m not the most diligent or responsible Facebooker. 

But, then again, I got a message like this one in my inbox which made me love Facebook:
Hello ! just a little kiss from Paris. I wouldn’t mind talk to you a little. hopefully soon
xoxo

Now, what girl wouldn’t swoon from such a message in her inbox?  The one thing I will give this man, my former French boyfriend, is that he knows how to do romance.  When I last visited him in Paris, ten years ago, I would wake up at his father’s apartment in the Montmartre (he had a couple of fabulous apartments) and Jean would have a fresh pastry, French press coffee and a USA Today on the old, wooden table in the kitchen, waiting for me.  He’d kiss me on the forehead and I’d wonder when he had left and for how long.  He’d wake early and go to the same patisserie on the block.  There were usually some flowers on the table for me, too.

His previous email, that was sent about a month ago, asked me when I was planning to return to Europe.  Ah, Europe.  Let’s see.  I have no vacation time to use.  I can’t afford to take leave without pay.  Um.  That would be never.  Or at least not until I win the lottery.  I’m glad I frivolously traveled in my twenties.  Because I practically live paycheck to paycheck now, which is ironic.  And I just found out today my rent is going up.  My limited funds seem to be flying out the windows.

Not ideal.  Not ideal, at all.  I made a list of where to cut spending.  I am worried about paying for my heating bills this winter.  They were pretty bad last year and will probably be worse this time around.

I worry.  I worry about taxes going up.  I worry about gas prices continuing to skyrocket.  I spend a lot of my time worrying. 

I know it doesn’t help to worry.  But it’s feeds the woe that makes me feel like it’s impossible for me to do this all on my own.  I remind myself how much easier it would be if I just married someone and got it over with.  You’re either taken care of or you split the bills.  Either way, you come up ahead.

It’s useless to lament over my inability to travel.  Which is more or less why I let my French ex’s messages go unanswered – it just isn’t plausible to get over there.  And, even if I could take a leave of absence, what next?  The thing is, Oregon is my home.  It’s funny that the few men I’ve met over the past year or so, that I’ve actually been interested in, all live elsewhere.  Not in Oregon.  I am unwilling to pick up and leave my beloved Oregon.  So, I have already decided it’s not worth getting the heart mixed up with anyone who doesn’t already live in Oregon or love it as much as I do.

As I drove home from work, I thought more about this.  I came to no new relevations.  It’s in Oregon I shall stay, loved or not loved.

At home, I changed and met Susan at Tryon Creek Park, up Terwilliger Boulevard.  We hiked a trail for about four miles or so, possibly more.  It was a nice change from the gym, an old growth forest with perfectly manicured trails and a nature center.  As we hiked, we chatted at length about Sarah Palin.  I have no idea how I’m voting for this coming election, but, because I am an Independent, I am interested in listening to what each of the candidates have to say.  It’s a thrilling election.

When I drove home, I caught the first half of her speech on NPR.  She had my attention.  I was surprised that this was her first major national address.  She sounded confident, competent and she had her own brand of charisma.  She has my attention.

I quickly made a gluten-free pizza for dinner.  This one had a touch of tomato sauce topped with thin slices of yellow heirloom tomato, buffalo mozzarella, shreded Assagio and Provalone.  I then topped it with fresh basil from the garden.  It was my seasonal Margherita Pizza.

While eating, I worked on my latest writing project.  I’m in the process of collecting the copy for each of my blog entries and separating them out in Word files by month.  I plan to organize the entries in a way that I can build a new narrative – the book will be based on the blog.  I don’t want it to be the blog reprinted word for word.  Instead, I plan to highlight themes and begin a meaningful narrative that reads more like a novel. 

I’ve been struggling with writing the book proposal for this, as most nonfiction book proposals are constructed for writers who are experts in a field or promise to help the reader accomplish something (learn how to cook, self help, etc.).  My nonfiction book is all narrative, so it doesn’t really fit the typical model.  I’m not claiming to be an expert on finding love in all of its manifestations, nor am I trying to teach anyone how to find love in all of its manifestations.  I am simply writing about my own experiences that have helped me to seek out and sometimes find love in its many manifestations.  And I’m satisfied with that.  Now, I have to figure out how to get an agent or publisher on board.  Between that and figuring out how to launch my new website, I’ve got a lot to do in my few hours of ‘free time’.

 

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Day 350: Labor Day, Porque No?

Monday, September 1

Ah, Labor Day.  The last day at the pool, all those sales, barbecues and the end of summer.  Only, it wasn’t warm enough for the pool here.  No barbecues.  And hopefully summer isn’t really over.

I slept in.  I mean, I really slept in.  I fell asleep last night around 12:30 a.m. and then I woke up at 11:30 a.m.  That’s almost twelve hours of sleep.  I went to bed feeling like a cold was coming on, feeling congested and worried about that.  But, rest is often the best medicine.  I woke up and felt good.  I had my cats all curled up and pinned up next to me, it’s quite a comfort.

I got up and repeated yesterday’s breakfast with a second helping of Grand Marnier French toast.  Paired with a glass of organic orange juice.  A dependable meal.  And a good start to my day, simply by making myself happy.

I read some, talked to my mother on the phone, and more or less grew roots to my sofa.  Clearly, this long weekend was about relaxing.  It felt good to be lazy.  I fixed a foot bath with powdered buttermilk and rose sea salts. 

I got off of the phone with Susan, who was back in town after spending time at her family’s plum ranch in northern California, in the midst of harvest.  We decided to meet Kerry at a Mexican restaurant on Mississippi and Fremont, Porque No?

I got dressed, put my hair half-way up, and left for my weekly grocery shopping.  I picked up organic heirloom tomatoes, sweet peppers, multi-colored grapes, white peaches, mixed greens, two limes, Vanilla soy milk, orange juice, free range brown eggs, all kinds of cheese (because I’m in the mood to cook some pasta this week), spicy Italian sausage, cilantro, tortilla chips, lunch meat, recycled toilet paper and paper towels.   An hour later, I was dropping off my groceries and heading back out to meet the girls at Porque No?

When I first got there I wasn’t sure what to do.  There was a long line winding out the door with lots of hungry people.  Eventually Susan showed up.  We stood in line and waited for Kerry.  When she arrived, we waited a little longer.  But we were really hungry and there were no seats.  So, we walked up Mississippi and headed for Trebol’s.  It was a nice evening out.  Warmer than yesterday.  We marvelled at how cute this neighborhood has become.  There were a few new shops, boutiques, coffee houses and restaurants that have popped up on the strip.  It was a pleasant walk admiring this part of town and once we came to Trebol’s, after Mississippi turned into Albina, we realized the restaurant wasn’t open.  We shrugged and walked back towards Porque No? 

And it was worth the wait.  The line hadn’t gone down, in fact, once we got back in line, the line continued to grow.  We finally got up to place our order.  I had a watermelon jalapino margarita, then three small tacos with corn tortillas – two carnitas and one camarones with mango and pineapple salsa.  I also ordered a side of rice.  We were able to snag a table outside.  It took about twenty mintues or so for our food to come out.  Luckily, Kerry ordered chips with salsa and guacamole, which we shared.  When the food came, it was wonderful.  Not the best tacos I’ve had.  I still think the Taco truck in Newberg serves up the best tacos I’ve had.  That, and Panderia in Newberg.  But, this hit the spot.

As the sun was going down, the restaurant lit up the outdoor lights, which made the outside seating area on the sidewalk glow.  It was nice.  We laughed and got caught up on what’s been going on with our lives.  We had a busy August with travel and have barely spent time together.  It was nice to hang out again.  And Susan brought us a bag of freshly harvested plums that had been dried.  These were better than your typical prune.  These were exquisite dried plums.

I bolted out of there just before eight because I wanted to watch the season premiere of One Tree Hill.  I know that’s a big loser thing to admit, and I really don’t watch that much television, but, for some reason, at some point, I got hooked on this show.  The way I did for Felicity, Jack & Jill (break-out roles for Amanda Peet, Jamie Presley, Simon Rex, Sarah Paulson), Dawson’s Creek, Ally McBeal, Sex & The City and Men In Trees.  What can I say?  Okay, well, maybe not much.

I got home, put on some comfy, warm clothes, made a cup of Yogi India Spice tea and sat on the sofa with the kitties, popping in seedless red grapes.  I watched, dare I admit it, Gossip Girl.  It’s a guilty pleasure, when you want brainless entertainment.  You don’t have to think, you don’t have to do anything.  I was too tired to read, too tired to do much of anything else.  Anyway.  The season premiere for One Tree Hill came on and did not disappoint.  Though, there were some disturbing storylines that were threaded through the episode. 

I wondered where the weekend went?  It was slightly disappointing.  First, it was cold.  And I really wanted to see the baby elephant at the zoo.  I made a note to myself to do this possibly next weekend.  Apparently, the baby elephant has been quite the celebrity here in Portland.  I also skipped yoga.  In fact, I had only worked out once this week, which was totally atypical for me.  I just needed a break.

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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 346: Last Thursday, Bourbon Cherry Sour & Braised Pork Cheeks & The White Ninja

Thursday, August 28

This evening marked the last Last Thursday on Alberta Street for the summer.  I hadn’t been to one in, gosh, about two years, maybe.  It’s unlike any other street fair or art walk on the planet.  Really.  There’s this wild confluence of hippie dippie, antique chic, hillbilly, and soulful art and music.  I wandered around up and down Alberta, loving Portland with my whole heart. 

On every corner there was different music – jazz, funk, bluegrass, folk.  I tried to stop here and there and give a listen. I looked at some really good paintings that were patched in between some creative but not-my-taste artwork.  I came very close to buying a painting of a beautiful tree in golds, oranges and turquoise blues, which would have been perfect for my meditation room.  It wasn’t meant to be.

As I walked down the street, a thirty-something guy with a hoodie on, a trucker-style mesh baseball cap sitting high on his head, was riding a bike pulling a wooden cart.  Inside the cart was some kind of cooler.  He yelled out, in a sarcastic, goofy tone, “Frozen…” he paused.  I thought what?  Treats?  Ice cream?  Popsicles?  What??  He finished, “stufffff!”  And continued along.  It was pretty funny.

I felt like I was wandering aimlessly.  But there was nothing aimless about it.  I followed the music, the smells, the sights.  Ahead, someone opened up their window to their loft apartment facing the street, put a speaker up to the window and blasted out Obama’s Democratic presidential nomination acceptance speech.   People of all walks crowded around to listen.  It was something.  It was just another moment in the midst of American history happening.

As I continued along, looking at the wares of street vendors, walking down the free spirited vanity faire, I ascertained that one couldn’t help but feel the change in the air.  People were happy, no – hopeful.  Well, both.  But the mix of different colored faces, hair and style – the happy hopeful mix was so different, so unique, so diverse, so weird, so Portland.

I actually stopped for a moment on a corner where a blues band was performing.  I missed my sister.  I thought about summertime in Chattanooga, the sweeping heat and humidity that wrapped around the Riverbend Music Festival on the edge of the Tennessee River each year.  I thought this street festival was something like the Bessie Smith Strut, a mid-week celebration during the Riverbend Music fest that celebrated the famous blues singer, a similar event by way of mood, colors, art, jewelry and food, but mostly the music and diversity.

I peeked into the window at Ciao Vito and wanted to go there to eat so badly.  I’ve never had a meal there before.  With its dark mood lighting, and especially its lovely dangling chandeliers, the place dripped romance.   I decided I’d wait for a date to go there.  That may be a long wait, but that’s okay.

I was surprised at how many amazing restaurants and eateries have popped up on Alberta over the past couple of years.  And cute boutiques.  But, mostly the “fooderies”.  Thinking about this made me hungry.  I briefly met Susan in the streets to say hello and walk a few blocks while totally distracted by all the pandemonium all around.  She ended up leaving soon after with friends, and I headed to the Alberta Street Oyster Bar – another place I have been meaning to go to.  I entered the dark front room, a throwback to another time with its dramatic black and red color scheme.  It was cozy in this room.  Another good date place, I thought.  I grabbed a seat at the bar.  That’s my thing.

I ordered a Cherry Bourbon Sour, per the recommendation of the friendly bartender.  It was a cherry-infused Bourbon cocktail with lime, orange and club soda.  Lying across the top of the tall, thin glass was black plastic toothpick lined with three amaretto cherries.  I was pleased.  I often judge bars and restaurants by the kinds of cherries they use, usually in Manhattans, my staple drink.  If an establishment offers maraschino cherries, I judge them harshly.  Gross.  If they serve up Amarena cherries, I am a life-long friend, a fan, a patron.  I asked the bartender where one could pick up the Amarena cherries, and he advised at Pasta Works.  Toschi brand.  Good bartender.

I started with a duck salad on wilted greens.  It was nice and actually tasted really good with the Cherry Bourbon Sour.  Then, I had the pork cheeks from Carlton Farms with artichokes and fingerling potatoes.  It was amazing.  I heart pork cheeks.  It’s like braised pork and just pulls apart effortlessly, almost sweet in flavor.  Delicious.  I finished with a scoop of molé ice cream with chunks of chocolate.  It was lovely.  I enjoyed it with a cup of Stumptown coffee.  Another reason to love the Alberta Street Oyster Bar – amaretto cherries, Stumptown coffee and really good food.

A few days ago I wrote about lonely.  But, truth be told, I signed up for lonely.  When I packed up all of my treasures, watched four young men load it all up on the moving truck an stood in line with a one-way ticket to Portland, Oregon, my poor, anxious cats in their carriers, yup, I signed up for lonely.

And lonely is not so bad.  It’s not as foreboding for me as it might be for others.  Because, I love my solitude.  I love the quiet of eating dinner out and sitting at the bar and savoring food as only a foodie can, without forced conversation.   I don’t need or require company.  I am delighted in my quiet, reverent moments of alone.  It’s not bad when it’s wanted.  Just like anything else.

But in the event that it’s not wanted, that I’m missing my family, or I’m bored with my routine, sometimes I have my moments of lonely that make my taking on “alone” sometimes a little sad.  And it’s okay to be sad every now and again.  I say this with strong conviction, because before I was diagnosed with celiac disease, before I went gluten-free,  I had endured many, many very dark days of lonely.

As I walked mistakenly down 31^st Street, happily full from my savory dinner and sour cocktail, I ducked down for a moment to pet a very cute kitten.  I heard giggling just ahead.  Then, a wiry, medium build young man climbed down a small tree all dressed in white.  He startled me.  His two friends, a guy and a girl probably in their thirties, were sitting on a patio cracking up.  The guy approached me in white sweat pants, sneakers, a plain white zipped-up hoodie, and a white cloth wrapped around his head, covering all but his eyes and mouth.  He had HUGE white Mickey Mouse clown handed gloves.  He kept asking me in a bad mockery of an Asian accent, if I feared the White Ninja.  It was pretty flippin hilarious.  His friends were practically rolling off the patio. 

It wasn’t scary or threatening.  It was a joke.  He was up in the little tree waiting to spook unassuming passers-by.  It was magically hilarious.  The little kitty had run off.  When he asked one last time if I feared the White Ninja, I casually told him no, but at least the White Ninja scared the cat.  He and his friends cracked up.  It was a fun night.

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Day 339: Moody, Bluesy, Lonely & In Need of Chocolate

Thursday, August 21

Another gray start to the day, rain channeling in and out of the sky.  I wasn’t really hungry, so I had a lovely frozen fruit pop in coconut milk and pineapple.  It’s packed with vitamins and tasted like a pina colada.

I chugged through a busy to-do list.  It’s amazing how quickly the days fly by.  I’m still stunned that we’re in the near last leg of August.  How did that happen?

I wasn’t feeling great early in the day.  Not sick.  No, more mood-wise.  I had PMS, I guess, unless that’s just an excuse I’m using for feeling a little bluesy.  I played some music at my desk today and kept it on artist Meiko for awhile.  Her song Hawaii is ethereal, delicate and haunting.  I imagined myself floating on a longboard under a pink sunset, towering palm trees behind me, cautionary fronds swaying in the wind telling me to paddle in.  It’s easy to get carried away by gentle waves of distraction.  I am rocking over the rise and fall, sweating under the languid breeze, hot and warm, while the persistent pull, the letting go rolls me along.  And sometimes I really just want to let go.

I met a photographer for lunch today at the Dundee Bistro to go over some shots we need for our stock photo library.  It’s all part of a larger piece of work I’m doing to use better images for storytelling.  I had Italian sausage with polenta and broccolini and a side salad.  It was pretty good.  My favorite sausage and polenta remains to be cooked up at Bar Mingo, mamma mia!  But this hit the spot.

After lunch, I finally went to the post office to send my cousin’s new baby the adorable Portland designed onesie and baby cap I purchased at the Saturday Farmer’s Market a few weeks ago.  I picked up a book of stamps with sunny sunflowers on them.  Very vibrant.  I needed vibrant.

I didn’t leave work until 7:15 p.m.!  What the heck??  I had a lot of work to do.  And I also emailed Kerry, who was back on the east coast for work, to give her my typed verbal diahharea on the usual woe-is-me crap that came with the said “PMS” blended with boredom and loneliness.  There.  I said it.  The dreaded “L” word.  I’m normally not so down, not so, well, lonely.  Mostly, I missed my family.  At least I’ll see them in a few weeks.  I’m looking forward to that.  And I missed my friends – we haven’t been able to hang out much these days.  I’m flailing all by myself, so I suppose it’s good that I have a lot of work to do.  It’s a distraction.

I have also been concerned with my aunt in Seattle.  I received an email this week from my cousin that she had to have surgery on her gut.  Well, apparently, there was some kind of infection.  I’m really not sure.  But, she’s back in the hospital.  So, I called my dad’s brother the other day to check in.  It sounded like she’s stable and doing okay for now.  Hopefully she’ll get to go home this weekend.  I have been thinking about them all week.  I plan to go up for a visit when I return from the east coast, which means, most likely, in early October.  Plus, that will give her ample time to recover.

I went to Fred Meyer to stock up on some fruit, salad mixings and, oh yeah, Dagoba chocolate.  I found a new organic, gluten-free EnviroKidz cereal in peanut butter and chocolate, called Leapin Lemurs.   I also picked up a box of Frosted Perky-O’s.  I don’t usually eat sugar cereals, but, well, clearly I’m jonesing for some sweets.  I got organic strawberries and white nectarines, as well!

The sunflowers on my postal stamps must have been in my head, because I bought myself a bouquet of flowers with three lovely sunflowers.  I needed some cheering up.  Sometimes a single girl’s gotta buy herself flowers.  I mean, I do everything else for myself.  Why deny myself from receiving flowers?  There I go again with my moodiness.  Well, the flowers were a treat.  And, yes, I even smiled.

My sunflowers shown with the green-leaf square ceramic plate I had painted a couple weeks ago.  Painting pottery has been another soul soother for me these days.

When I got home, I re-heated the beautiful gluten-free pizza I made last night.  I actually took a photo of it:

Yup.  Brown rice crust that I brushed with olive oil, a little bit of organic tomato sauce, fresh mozz, a little salt and pepper, super-thin local heirloom tomatoes and fresh basil from our garden at work.  It’s the best thin-crust, traditional Napolitano Margherita pizza I’ve had since I was diagnosed with celiac (hey…Dad…are you looking at that photo??  Now that’s gluten-free pizza!!).

As I ate, I turned on the genius box and watched Jaws 3.  Hell, three’s a charm!  I figured, I watched the first two the past two nights, might as well fry my brain with the 3-D version without 3-D glasses.  I was stunned.  Was that really Dennis Quaid, Louis Gossett, Jr. and Lea Thompson??  Ha, ha, ha.  This was 1983.  I was nine years old when this flick came out.  And still swimming competitively.  Though, I figured out at this point that sharks didn’t swim in pools.

 

That’s awesome… Anyway.  The 3-D made for silly television viewing.  Especially when the “35 foot” Jaws swam straight for the glassed-in control room at Sea World in the end.  It was so fake, so goofy I couldn’t stop laughing.   Oh, and then when it blew up in the end – it was hilarious how ridiculous it looked with bits bursting out in blood red ocean water, namely a large half of the jaw with several jagged teeth still intact floating to the forefront.  I laughed out loud again.  Too bad I didn’t have any 3-D glasses around.  Anyway.  Why was it that all the Jaws sharks were blown up at the end of these movies?  I guess that was done for the teenaged boys.  After Jaws 3, after the great white explosion, Dennis Quaid and his lady friend surfaced in their scuba gear and called out to their dolphin friends, who flipped and jumped in the finale.  Uh, that was the teenaged girl’s ending.  All they needed were rainbows and pegasus.  And then, Jaws 4 could emerge from the bay and take down the wing of pegasus..a segue to a final chapter.  I digress…

Anyway.  I turned on the Beijing Olympics to watch the American men win the beach volleyball gold medal.  It was killer!  Again, I am pumped to play volleyball.  That’s another thing I missed about living in Seattle.  I was part of a group that played volleyball every Tuesday all summer long at Greenlake.  I missed summer volleyball.

In any case, I had a round of crunches to get to.  And another piece of Dagoba dark chocolate.  My favorite.

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Day 332: Heat Spell, Trebol’s Holy Red Mole & Squirrel Nut Zippers at the Wonder Ballroom

Thursday, August 14

The forecast was calling for 99 degrees today.  But it was definitely hotter!  A crazy heat wave was upon us.  I always say I don’t miss the humidity of Virginia, but I missed the balmy summer nights when you could wear a sundress and hot have to bundle up by sundown.  That said, when it gets into the hundreds, I happily take back the typical, mild Oregon summer day.

The heat felt even worse considering I wasn’t feeling well.  My throat was really sore and I was still dealing with the aftermath of my gluten contamination in Montana.  Days of bloating and, well, getting sick.  It starts with nausea and then just becomes painful.  And then I have to dart to a restroom.  Not very pleasant.

I had been in and out of label press checks all day, which meant I was in my car a lot, which meant I was really feeling the rising heat outside.  It was stifling.  I snuck out from press checks to grab a bite to eat, and went to a Thai place.  I ordered a seafood salad and took a bite of a tomato that was very off.  It had either some kind of bacteria or mold.  It was nasty.  I spit it into my napkin.  It was awful.

I returned to finish the label checks for the day.   Next, I had to drive to downtown Portland for a meeting with our designer to go over some marketing, branding and design work.

From there I drove to my co-workers home in Lake Oswego.  We carpooled over to northeast Portland to have dinner at Trebol’s on Andina.  My intention was to taste the food before I’d write my story on gluten-free dining in Portland.  I enjoyed, at first, a blood orange margarita with mint.  It was so refreshing, it went down way too easy.  We were given warm mini tortillas with two different salsas.  We shared a pico de gallo with heirloom tomatoes with fresh baked tortilla chips.  I ordered the special of pork cheeks from Carlton Farms with a red mole sauce, carrots and small potatoes.  I had a cucumber margarita with lime with my main course. 

The food was delicious.  Trebol’s Executive Chef and owner Kenny Hill came out to chat with us.  Friendly with a relaxed air, Hill was genuinely proud of his restaurant’s example of sustainability.  He used a custom farm door to partition his privite dining area, the base boards were re-used, as was the gorgous patio outside, railroad ties were used for the tequila bar – and he’s building an eco-roof to open in October with elementary school children maintaining the plants.  Hill is clearly committed to sustainability not only in the physical structure of his restaurant, but in his commitment to teaching and inspiring the next generation to care, as well.  His dream is to include a Zen garden and education center.  He is also committed to working with local farmers, using fresh, seasonal ingredients while creating a menu that changes every two weeks.  He uses organic products as often as possible, depending on what’s available.

The place is beautiful, the food was interesting and the service was friendly, perhaps a little slow, but I think that’s a result of the laid back vibe and not a disinterest in checking in regulary on customers.  I personally prefer the space and not constant interruption of overly attentive service.  The bartender served out table, actually, and his drinks were innovative and refreshing.  The cucumber margarita tops my favorite drinks of the summer.

After dinner, we headed out to the Wonder Ballroom to catch the Squirrel Nut Zippers show.  The SNZ hail from North Carolina and I heard them a few times back in DC over the years.  They hit a high note back in the late 90′s, around the time big band sounds, Zoot Suits and Swing had a revival, thanks, in part, to the movie Swingers.  The SNZ have an old timey sound of Swing meets Jazz (think Paolo Conte) meets blues meets Appalachian folk.  They have an authentic sound with an eccentric mix of musicians including the original circus styled ex-spouses James “Jimbo” Mathus and the wonderfully offbeat chantreusse, Katharine Whalen, with her Billie Holiday-esque voice.

By the end, I was dancing as if I were doing the Charleston on the southeast in the 1930′s.  And there were several Portland characters who showed in their best retro wear of Zoot suits and 1940′s punk glam.

It was a good night.  But I knew I’d be dreading a concert night on a ‘school night’ when I’d have to get up early for more label press checks in the morning.

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Day 326: Whitefish White Wines, The Bierstuben & The Snug Bar

Friday, August 8

I got up at 9:00 a.m. and headed over to the gym.  There, I ran for thirty minutes.  It was gray and overcast out.  After, I went downstairs to the Cafe Kandahar for the buffet breakfast.  I ate some eggs, potatoes, yogurt and fresh fruit.

I grabbed my laptop and workbag and found a comfy spot by the stone fireplace in the lobby.  I sat down and got to work.

At around 2:00 I went upstairs to clean up and change.  I drove down to the Base Lodge, which I actually kept calling the Base Camp (as if it were Everest!).

 

 There I attended the Chardonnay panel discussion, mediated by Wine Enthusiast west coast editor, Steve Heimoff.  I sat in the front row.  The discussion was about oak and stainless steel Chards.  My friend, Mike, the winemaker at Chehalem, was on the panel.  It was an engaging session.

After, we all went upstairs for the Whitefish White Wines tasting.  I poured two white wines.  My table was next to one of the Chardonnay panelists from the Santa Maria region in Santa Barbara County who kept cracking me up.  The afternoon sky opened up, the sun was radiant and it ended up being a gorgeous evening.  Kind of reminded me of Oregon!

I went to the Bierstuben pub in the middle of the resort village up on Big Mountain.  I had a Makers Manhattan and then ordered a burger without the bun.  We loved the silver tin platters the food came out on – very campy. 

I was disappointed to miss the opening ceremonies for the Olympics – it was on the flat screen in the bar at the Stuben, but it was better to be outside with friends and colleagues.  I would be sure to watch the games as soon as I could.  I love the summer Olympics – especially the swimming.

A weird thing happened – I heard some guy sining the song “Superfreak” by The King of Funk, Rick James, and just in the nick of time!  It was starting to get late, people were turning in, and it inspired a few souls to move on to another tiny bar called The Snug.  I was too tired to continue, so I headed back to my hotel.

I walked back down to the Kandahar.  A few Whitefish wine folks were hanging out in the cute, little Snug bar in the lobby.  I didn’t realize that the name of that bar was the Snug bar, as a small riot of winemakers were talking about it.  The Snug bar reminded me of the Detention Hall bar at the McMenamins properties in Oregon.  I had one glass of Pinot then retired to my room for some much needed sleep.

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Day 321: A Cool Baby Shower, Cookbooks at Powell’s & My Gluten-Free Dinner Party

Sunday, August 3

This morning I got up and prepared a lovely Capresi salad with fresh, red Roma tomatoes, fresh basil from our garden at work, and wet, organic mozzarella drizzled with extra virgin olive oil and high quality balsamic vinegar.  I wrapped up the small baby gifts I got that went into one adorable gift bag.

Then, I showered and got dressed.  I drove out to the SE to friend Vonda’s house for our friend Karen’s baby shower.  You never know how baby showers are going to be.  I hoped that it wouldn’t be smug with lame baby games.  This was actually one of the best parties I had been to in a long time.

First, it was a brunch.  Vonda’s home is completely gorgeous!  I had a cup of Yogi lemon-ginger tea and sat next to Karen to get caught up.  She was a beautiful pregnant woman.  The other guests arrived and we all talked girl stuff.  Not just baby stuff, which we did chat about – and it was fun, engaging conversation, not the smug mommy-baby conversations some types of women befall to.  No, this was different!

We played a couple of games, but they weren’t lame.  We did a name game which was actually functioned to help Karen come up with a baby girl’s name.  We came up with some great ideas that she was actually excited about.  Then, we went around the brunch table, drinking bellini’s and mimosas, talking about the most mischievous thing we did as a child.  It was pretty hilarious, actually.  I told the story of how my older sister and I colored the bricks around the fireplace at our house in Pennsylvania. 

For brunch we had an amazing gluten-free egg fritata topped with fresh basil, my caprese salad, delicious summer baby potatoes (white and purple) in olive oil with herbs, which was fantastic, and then fresh strawberries and cherries.  It was really yummy. 

Karen opened presents, which was really great.  She got all kinds of good stuff.  I gave her a bunch of Burt’s Baby Bee products – like diaper cream, talc, buttermilk bath powder, baby lotion and a lullaby CD.  I really had a lovely time! 

I was going to go up to Yoga Union following the shower, but didn’t feel up to it.  Instead, I went to Powell’s and picked up two great cook books.  For forever and a day I had wanted this great soup book my friend Lota has.  I haven’t ever been able to find it.  But, today, I found an awesome soup cook book called The International Soup Book by Susan R. Friedland, editor.

There are plenty of recipes in this book that are gluten-free; and those that aren’t I can explore different gluten-free flour options.

Then, I got the book the Farm to Table cookbook: The Art of Eating Locally by north westerner Ivy Manning.   It’s a beautiful book with a chock full of recipes and hints, like meet the producer or an heirloom tomato primer, all organized by season.  Love it.

While at Powell’s, I ran into a kind of new friend, poet/artist/musician Jonathan, who I had met a few months ago at the Tea Zone.  Jonathan, because of our conversation, was diagnosed gluten intolerant.  I gave him some advice about eating a mindful, balanced diet.  We chatted for a bit and agreed to meet up soon at the Tea Zone to catch up.  I really like his spirit and feel grateful to have a new male friend!

I met Kerry at the Park Blocks.  It was our intention to play bocce.  But the courts were totally filled up and so we just sat on a bench and people watched.

I drove home to clean up and get ready for my dinner guests, the Dashmores.  I vacuumed, emptied the dishwasher, cleaned the downstairs bathroom, then began setting the table.  I put beautiful orange and purple tulips in a vase and placed it on the table with my crystal grape cluster table decorations.  I chilled the wine, pulled out and polished glasses and welcomed them after six.  We sat in the living room and noshed on the gluten free baguette I pulled fresh out of the oven, served with the triple cream Camembert, the Irish hard cheese and the herb goat cheese, sprinkled with dried berries on the cutting boards.  We sipped on the Italian Soave, a light, crisp white wine with good acidity. 

 

 

Next, we sat around the table and I served a mixed greens salad with the heirloom grape tomatoes which added jeweled colors of yellow, green, purple, red and orange, topped with pumpkin seeds and a creamy dill dressing.  I pulled out the focaccia pizzas that I had brushed olive oil all over with my basting brush, then sprinkled some sea salt and added on wet buffalo mozzarella.  When I pulled the pizzas out of the oven I topped with fresh basil from our garden at work. 

 

 

 

I semi-chilled the Barbera D’Alba, as Italian reds need to be served slightly cool.  It was all delicious.  I was very pleased with this gluten-free option!  The pizza was the best I’ve had since having been diagnosed with Celiac disease.

Then, Capri jumped up at the chair at the other head of the table because she clearly needed to feel like one of us.

Next, we ate Tobleron and dark chocolate with Argyle Blanc de Blanc bubbly.  We laughed and talked about high school, which prompted me to pull out my yearbook.  It was a fun evening.  Reminded me that I want to entertain more often.  I love to cook for others, and now armed with my new fabulous cookbooks, I was going to plan more intimate dinners in at my place.  My dining room looked absolutely lovely.  I was very happy, indeed.

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