Friday, July 30, 2010

A good one.

Question from Bill Bennett, radio host
(and author of books "The Book of Virtues" and "The Children's Book of Virtues":
You've got the best health care in the country, now I think, don't you? Because of your tort law?

Answer from Texas Governor Rick Perry:
We do, yes.

BUT... the day before, the New York Times reported:
There are more uninsured residents of Texas -- 6.1 million and counting --
than there are people in 33 states. ...
[O]ne in four Texans is uninsured, the highest ratio in the country.

Thanks to Think Progress for catching this one... read the full quotes here, and ain't is grand that Texas has incredible medical centers... but 1 in 4 state residents can't afford to go to them?!

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Peach Perfection.

So I have these ultra light weight, sort of stretchy string bags, that cousin M gave me, which are meant to be used as an alternative to plastic produce bags in grocery stores. I use them, more often these days, as lunch bags. They're sturdy, flexible, soft - and hide the contents of my lunch from prying eyes or possible fridge thieves.

Today, I have folded one into a sweet cushiony square, upon which sits a peach. A perfect summer peach, juuuust starting to give off a heady, peachy aroma. I'm leaving it here on my desk at work tonight, and tomorrow morning, it will have reached peach perfection. It will be the very definition of ripeness - firm yet soft yet sweet yet with a touch of tang. (And no wonder fruit is a stand in for talking about sex, incidentally.) I know I waxed poetic about the raspberries, and Oregonians praise our petite strawberries above all others but for summer fruit, give me the peach every time.

Monday, July 19, 2010

It's a mystery, x 2.

There is much, much, MUCH to write and many, many, MANY pics to post of the great weekend move. But for now, there are two mysteries to this little corner of NE Dekum...

First, we have an insane neighbor who walks around his yard of weeds and scrap wood, carefully selects a shitty, splintery piece, and uses his circular saw to cut it. ALL DAY. And evening. He also appears to maybe live in a tent in the yard. (I think he will figure greatly in future blogs... and future research into noise/nuisance laws.)

Second, a couple times a day, each day, the whole block is filled with the smell of ice cream cones. I don't how else to describe it... too light to be cookies, and too sweet to be actual waffles. Maybe there is a waffle cone factory nearby? I'm not sure, but it's sort of amazing.

Friday, July 16, 2010

Give us this day our daily bread.

In a world of low-carb, anti-sugar, white-flour-is-the-devil dieters and their diets, I find myself looking askance at rolls, crackers, soft breads, pizza. I think this suspicion seeped in slowly because it startled me yesterday, into realization.

I still work occasionally for the catering company, and at the end of my gig last night, I returned the paperwork to the office, which is on the far side of a whole-city-block industrial kitchen. In the bakery, racks and racks of bread were cooling, probably about ready to be bagged and sold at the retail stores upon their 6 AM opening.

There was a whole corner filled with racks of shiny challah, nutty grain burger buns, a dozen racks of sandwich loaves - not yet sliced - and perfect, round soup rolls. Beyond the wonderful smell, it made me remember what a miracle bread is - what a sustaining food it has always been, a combination of flour and yeast, and what a joy it is to break bread with those we love.

So on that note... goodbye to the old apartment which has treated us so well. We'll sleep here one last night, and tomorrow - a house! Our house! A home in which to break bread.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

It's official. I'm spoiled.

It's been fun, a bit of a novelty, to be living for the past four days with one pot, one pan, three plates, one bowl, a few pieces of silverware, a couple mugs. Everything else is packed so that we can dash out of here at 8 AM Saturday with the help of movers.

And no, the movers are not why I am spoiled.

I have realized how spoiled I am because with these very few dishes, I have to wash them after two - only two! - meals cooked at home each day. And MAN is a dishwasher nice, as is a half week's supply of dishes to fill it up with. First world problems - I got 'em.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

The magical moment of transformation.

I can't think of anything in life, that I've done yet, that is a single, solitary magical moment of transformation.

Sure, I graduated high school and college, but in both cases, there was no diploma in the fancy case that was handed to me with a handshake. I had to pay fees, return library books, wait for the finals to be graded and recorded, and only then was I magically turned into a B.A.

Sure, I got married last year. But to do this and have the state recognize it, a couple has to apply for a marriage license at least three business days in advance. Then they must file said marriage license, which does not happen on day of the wedding (unless you get married at noon on a Tuesday) and it takes a month or so to be recorded. Only then are you magically bound by law. (You could just skip out on filing the license, have a party, and go your merry separate ways, which I find odd; shouldn't "they" bind you to it at the ceremony!?)

Sure, I've been hired at cool jobs, but I've also had to wait to start working at them. Sure, I've turned 21 and waited for that first legal drink... but even then, they let me drink at 11 PM at Montana AleWorks in my hometown, even after seeing the date on the license. An sure, before that wedding I got engaged, but we're a collaborative type of couple; it wasn't insanely out of nowhere, ya know what I mean?

Much like these milestones, I'm on the precipice of owning a house today. At 5 PM, or a few minutes before, the county recording agency will change the title from someone else's name to mine and John's. But before this, we've applied for a loan, signed all the documents, signed some more, send even more to the banks... and at 5 PM tomorrow, the supposed magical moment of transformation will happen.

But alas, we won't get the keys till an hour later. Or on Wednesday, or actually as late as Thursday at 5 PM, since we're such darn nice buyers, so it is another contribution to the hum-drum-ness of real living and the lack of a true magical moment of transformation.

For what it's worth, I think having a baby biologically must be the only true moment of transformation; you may think of yourself as a mother or a father before that, but in a single moment, you become the mother or father of that baby. So THE single magical moment, at least, does exist for some folks!

Monday, July 12, 2010

Family Rain.

Before I have even set foot in my new house, my first house... before I even own it legally, in fact, you can leave it to a member of my family, who shall remain nameless, to remind me that the novelty will wear off quite quickly and it will be amazing how rapidly owning a home will be fixing, painting, maintaining, chugging along, dum da dum, boring ol' life.

And you wonder where I get the pessimism? I haven't even spent the night there yet! Boy. Welcome to this family.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

It's true!

N told me once... quoting someone I can't remember... that you know it's true love when that other person is the only one you can imagine running into anytime, anyplace, in any mood or state of dress, and be genuinely happy to see them.

My mother says one of the things she likes about living in a small town is that she usually knows someone on the plane when she takes a flight, and that she sees someone she knows at the grocery store most times.

I, on the other hand, skulk off if I see someone I know in the grocery store and part of the whole thrill of air travel is that no one I know is aware of my precise location while I'm moving along.

All this said... I was driving across Portland the other evening, and stuck in traffic, in another car, across from me, in the lane facing the other way, was John! And to my friend N - yep, I just lit up, and forgot stress from work, the destination I was dreading, and my melted makeup. I was so happy and surprised to see him, and to exchange a grin and an air kiss across the evening maze of commuters.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Time for a poll...

How much time has to pass before the lack of cashing a check becomes rude? Wedding gift, graduation gift, birthday present, donation to a cause… is there a point at which the failure to cash it can be considered downright rude? I'd like to know what that line is, so I can decide when to start getting offended on two checks that are out there, lingering, in the netherworld. Thanks for your input!