It was early May. Two days before leaving, I cracked my front tooth on a thick bar of chocolate. Got a tempo fix to last two weeks.
We began with the sight of an object that seemed far more California than Oregon coast. I called it the Radish Goddess on first sighting, was corrected by woman at front desk before we left. Noticed a cord hanging behind it, plugged it in, rewarded with moving lights. I was surprised there was not music too. If you've visited Newport Beach and spent the night in one of the Sylvia Beach Hotel's rooms named for writers, this Kitchen God would make sense.
Our overnight was in the "Amy Tan" with a window right on the windy Pacific. I'd eagerly read The Kitchen God's Wife after Tan's first novel, The Joy Luck Club. Most of us had know little of Chinese American lives. These novels revealed immigrant stories of Chinese-born mothers as seen by their American-born daughters.
As I grew up, mostly in New York City, this was the least visible ethnic group. Most of us only saw the Chinese as people who worked in the many neighborhood laundries and Chinese restaurants. Chinatown was the only other place. I have no memory of Chinese children in my elementary school.
Nor were they in my high school in suburban St. Louis, or college in northern Ohio. My father was interested in the Chinese, would often take me to eat in Chinatown, walk through the streets. He began to teach himself to do Chinese calligraphy brushwork. His ink pad was inside a beautiful square silver box with green incised letters on the top. He gave it to me--the only object of value he gave me--when I moved to New York after college. Still sorry that I lost it in one of my many moves from apartment to apartment.
But I digress. Ron has missed the ocean a great deal, happy to be near one again even though it was the Pacific rather than the other, so central to much of his life. The beach at Newport was beautiful both night and day.
Moving on, we stopped in the Farmers' Market at Port Orford, "oldest town on the Oregon coast...most westerly in the 48 states." As with others we've been in from here to New York City, each has its own charm.
Drawn to local honey, we spent some time at the stand for Lee's Bees. Man on the right is the husband of Lee, the beekeeper. Originally from upstate New York, he had a compelling story about his travels and jobs from there to settling in Sixes, Oregon, population about 330 and home of the hives. Lee had invented something unusual--bee cloth. an alternative to plastic wrap, it's cotton cloth impregnated with beeswax. For what, you ask. "You can wrap cheese in it, put it in the fridge." I have not done that yet; keep hoping to discover other applications.
"Suspended items" was explained to me by this young woman. Think it was a homemade bread that will not be offfered again till some time in the future. Escaped me then as it does now. One of the major differences between Farmers' Markets around Portland and this one was the absence of piercings and tatoos. Nice.
In your world it is Memorial Day. You are connected to someone who died while serving in the military. Unlike many in my generation, no one among family or friends died in World War II or the Korean War.
Then there was U.S. intervention in Vietnam, or as it was known there, "the American War." In my twenties and thirties then, I met parents of young men who were intent on not being drafted. When Ron taught at Oberlin College (1967-69) there was a Dean who left his job, moved the family with two almost draft-age sons to Canada.
Once I began my therapy practice, a few Vietnam veterans came my way as spouses when Ron and I did couple therapy. One clearly had PTSD though it had not yet been named in the DSM-3. A state trooper, he had grown up in a family with profoundly problems. He entered the military, as happens often, to get distance. We told him he could not bring his gun into our office (also our home),
Another couple we were seeing for the first time. Husband worked for the FBI. This led to one of several unexpected experiences I had with client behavior. Because we were getting supervision from another therapist, we'd tape record, with permission, all our sessions. We were using a two-sided, 60-minute tape.
At the end of 30 minutes, the machine clicked. This man immediately reached for his gun, then stopped. Along with his wife, Ron and I were stunned for a moment. He, like the state tropper, was not pleased when told the weapon would have to be left in his car next time.
Before Vietnam, my connection with war were only two. My father who was in business at the time took a second job in a St. Louis munitions factory making weapon for the war. My mother told me this when she decided to leave St. Louis with me to move back to New York. "Your father might get drafted," she announced. Since he hardly spoke to me about the experience, that might have been the reason for another of our numerous moves. Or the beginning of the end of their relationship. My wartime memories are school connected--collecting tin foil from my mother's cigarette packs, adding stamps to my war bond books.
Where my dread of guns came from is unclear to me. Like other Americans it was Vietnam that put the images of war into my consciousness. Last week Portland became another city have an Art=Ammo demonstration in support of sensible gun laws. Lorin Latarro, dancer and choreographer initiated the idea last February in New York; video from that one starts when you click the link.
Even though I knew my body did not have it to lie on the ground, I went because there is so little happening in a creative way around gun control. Maybe it would be helpful, I thought to draw a chalk outline around the bodies on the ground. Discovered my serious limitations in this. Even crouching to make the chalk marks was too much for me--apparent in this video from the Oregonian. It did not help that I went to Pioneer Square just after an appointment at the Apple store and carried my MacAir.
The Oregonian actually covered the event, estimated it drew 30 people on a rainy day. If you watch, I am the one wearing a bright green jacket and struggling to play with chalk. The anti folks, trolling as usual, leave comments that are a window to why gun control bills are stalled in the Oregon State legislature.
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March against Monsanto arrived on Saturday, brought out estimated 6,000 women, men, children. Sunny Saturday a couple of days later. It is an equally dark cause--us against big corporate money--but somehow defending food makes joyfullness more possible. I could have created a little red hen hat to wear. And stayed upright.
Yes, I have things to figure out about ways to be acting my age when I care too much about a cause.
Yes. If one is challenged to fit two loaves into a 19.5 inch oven. And if you have very good eyesight and turn your head slightly to the right, it's possible to note that the oven thermometer registers about 355 degrees. Effort was made to reach 475 but opening the door may have altered that--or not.
In spite of it all, two delicious loaves were produced from another new recipe, Sourdough Whole Wheat and Rye with Seeds. Two years, almost to the day, Ron and I went to a class at Bob's Red Mill. Our teacher was Alan Maniscalco who had partnered with Ken Forkish to begin Ken's Artisan Bakery which then expanded to Ken's Pizza with Alan in charge.
We had returned from another great trip to California. It was starter-refresh time. Decided to branch out, develop a new rye starter from my white one. Having two starters in the fridge takes me back to the days in my large Baltimore kitchen with its commodious regular stove whose size I never thought about. Ah, the past and things one took for granted.
pumpernickel flour, sunflower seeds, flaxseeds, and water.
Similar approach--Chad Robertson's adaptation of a recipe from his book, Tartine Bread. More memories of last year's visit to Tartine in San Francisco. "Flour Water Salt Yeast" is title of Ken's new cookbook. Only just discovered his series of videos--very useful. I now know why his breads are so dark.
His kitchen very nice; I should get friendly. Thinking I might try using two small Dutch ovens--if I can find them. Might solve small oven issue.
California? The Redwoods this time to meet up with granddaughter Roxie and her parents. More soon.
Bill McKibben narrates a short, mellow video, "Dance of the Honey Bees." Planning an evening program for my retirement community about what's happening with bees, my search for resources turned this up on a Bill Moyers show. Sadly it ends with the dark side about honey bee demise. The link is from TruthOut, with transcript included along with a pledge you can sign to let Bayer (aspirin company) know you want them to stop killing bees.
Environmental groups in England and some other European countries appear more public in their demand for a ban than those in the U.S. In the past week, England has rebuffed this concern. Since Bayer is a German company, there is more interest in protecting it as an important player in the economy.
In this country the XL pipleline and fracking currently take front and center in the media. Speaking for the bees, the voices we hear in the U.S. are largely beekeepers and farmers and there are many in Oregon. Tom Foster, a neighbor of mine, had bee hives, sold honey before he moved here.
We're working on a program for June. Following his own deep history with bees--his father and grandfather were also beekeepers in the Northwest--we'll show a 20-minute excerpt from "Vanishing of the Bees." We hope to stimulate bee-connected interests among our members to buy local honey, maybe consider a bee hive on the roof of our building (where we grow tomatoes). Or, more modestly, borrow my copy of Foodopoly by the Wenoah Hauter, Exec Director of Food & Water Watch.
This informative and engaging 90-minute documentary, produced in the U.K., will be shown in Albuquerque, New Mexico in the next week. For a delightful, funkier take, an American one, try "Queen of the Sun." I'm hoping to find others as fascinated by bees as myself, an urban person moved to think more about the earth since connecting with a backyard in mid-20th century Baltimore.
Making sense of what is happening is beyond me. Bombs at Boston Marathon unmoored me--along with many, many others [live feed from Boston CBS]. Grandmothers need to think more clearly. I'm in search of better language for upbeat conversation about the future.
Pretty and pink on the street here in Portland, Oregon. Slight distraction from the news...state legislators may lose their will on gun control as they did in Congress...dumbness from dependable right wing--New York's Steve King in the House uses Boston tragedy to put skids on immigration reform.
The first image I saw of the explosion at the Boston Marathon brought back memories of how I experienced New York in the days after September 11, 2001. It happened on a Tuesday. I was deep into preparations for my most ambitious environmental work, an art installation at Queens Botanical Garden. I needed to buy more fabric in a place close to the World Trade Center. Everyone, everywhere talked about how to give support to those living close to the site, children who had seen it happen and had to evacuate schools. Hard to stay centered around my own concerns--important to me, small in the big picture.
The show was meant to celebrate a better day for the enviroment in New York City. Fresh Kills on Staten Island, where the City's garbage had been dumped for over forty years, had been closed to create a cleaner environment for families who lived there. But shortly after 9/11 the City announced that the remains of victims of the terrorist attacks would temporarily go to Fresh Kills. After a few days, it was decided that the show could open as planned--with a shifted focus. The Garden's Director correctly sensed that the public gardens would offer respite for many.
Downtown, most of the streets near the World Trade Center were
blocked off. Canal Street where I wanted to go was one of them. Smoke from the Towers still filled the air when we could get near the store; in the upper lefthand corner a pigeon flies. We watched Sanitation and Army trucks passed by over and over again. Young NYPD officer man let us past the barrier to the store on the other side.
What did we learn from 9/11 that will support us now? The two brothers bombers have been identified. One is dead, the other badly wounded. The negative chatter has begun again about Muslims. How do we reassure our families? Do we ignore what has happened, or bring out the flags. Oppressively flagged after 9/11--what we really needed was leadership to help us examine our values and prepare for how those awful events might change our world. But Rudy Guiliani, New York's Mayor then, and George W. Bush were too limited for that sort of thinking. Their urge to DO SOMETHING only led in the opposite direction. Two wars.
Earlier this week, I wrote this post's headline. As if reading my mind--and so many of us--David SarasohnI the Sunday Oregonian writes a commentary, Watching Boston and waiting for Portland's time."
We could have been Boston. For Portland, of course, that has two meanings. There's our creation myth about Francis Pettygrove from Maine, winning a coin flip with Asa Lovejoy of Massachusetts, who wanted to name [us] after his hometown of Boston.
Then there's the more immediate reality that Portland or any city in the country--could at any instant find itself...Boston...its street running with blood and its emergency rooms swamped with casualties.
He talks with Martin Schrelber, a trauma surgeon, at Oregon Health & Science University, the state's health and research institution. Its many buildings stand up the hill from where I live. Dr. Schrelber is very direct, "Our reality is not if it is going to happen [here] but when." He says OHSU has a plan, along with the city's other trauma hospital. That plan is rehearsed every six months. For details, see Sarasohn's article.
Am I reassured? Not at all. While impressed with the doctor's dedication to emergency preparedness and his difficult work, it is a different plan I seek.
Were you with us when HBO announced the new film "American Winter"? At the website there's more about it's producers, Joe and Harry Gantz, and their focus on social justice films. Maybe living in Portland, Oregon, where it was filmed gave it a certain immediacy for us. Also that it was about real middle class families who have fallen into poverty since--what do you call it now--the economic disaster of the last decade.
Seven of them white, one black, all doing okay and then... When there is so much focus on the funny and forthy "Portlandia" picture of the city, it's crucial that more people see the reality of everyday life here for so many.
The staggering amount of people on unemployment begs a documentarian analysis, and American Winter provides the best one I've seen yet. High on reality, low on statistics, and often emotional, this is 2013's best documentary thus far. It is the third I've seen detailing the poor's struggle in an increasingly complex world, next to Escape Fire: The Fight to Rescue American Healthcare and this year's limited/VOD release A Place at the Table. Needless to say that American Winter sores past the goodness of both films into gratifying greatness.
He brings up a secondary problem frustrating many of us. Access to documentaries. If you do not have cable, and HBO, you were dependent on the kindness of interested friends to see "American Winter."
That's why I was pleased to join their Kickstarter campaign (check out the site for a model of hands-on change at their Portland premiere) to raise funds to expand outreach for
"...a series of events around the film...bring together speakers, comics, and social theater to draw attention to critical needs of working poor and disappearing middle class...."Cirque Du Soleil" meets "Les Miserables" that will bring people together in an invigorating movement to create change."
Thrilled to learn yesterday we were among the 217 Kickstarters who made it happen!
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Writing this post, I discovered Mom Bloggers for Social Good--another to watch along with the quickly growing Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense, seen here in the past week's "Stroller Jam" happening at various congressional offices around the country.
Worthy followers of Gray Panters, Grandmothers against the War (see blogroll). Personally satisfying for this grandma to hook onto the local Moms Demand group at demonstrations and on Facebook; my futile resistance to FB ended last summer.
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