Joosh's words as they streamed in on the intertubes. [My comments in brackets].
Day 2: Klamath Falls to Reno, to meet up with OMT. 271 Miles.
Hitting the road. 10:31am. [Looks like he's pulling out of a gas station. Nice that gas prices have dipped, but I hope it doesn't put America back in their SUVs.] 
42 miles south of klamath falls on Hwy 39. I think that is the back side of mount shasta. [At first I thought he was retarded - I mean joking - but if you enlarge the pic, the tip of a glacial-topped mountain does indeed rise above the rest smack in the center of the photo, just to the left of the tree in the middle of the frame]. 215 miles to go. Cold, windy but beautiful.
This [gravel] will slow you down when you ride on two wheels.
Eagle lake 25 miles NW of susanville.
There are a lot of sea birds here. A bunch of pelicans just flew over head. [254 miles from the coast, mind you.]
Hopefully there is some good food in the next town cuz I'm starving. [You can imagine, I'm sure, how hard it must be for a vegetarian to find decent food on the road? Especially the more inland he gets? I wonder if this will be the thing that breaks him...]
From Nevada looking back at California. [So standing in Sodom, looking back at Gomorrah? Commence with the hookers.]
[Joosh and OMT met up in Reno and stayed with a friend of OMT, an interesting sounding fellow basically manages his wealth for a living. (Why wasn't that an option on my career aptitude test in High School, hmmm?). He is modest, drives normal cars, no flash, but does own a hill in Reno on top of which is a house with exceptional views. That is the only thing I know about him, other than that his wife is a teacher and that they were kind enough to put up the stinky sweaty roadsters for a night. Gracias, nice humble rich stranger man.]
So vicarious road tripping: Are we having fun yet? Oh just wait. Just you wait and see.
Next up: Further traverses into the interior, into the more misunderestimated sections of this great nation. Places you and I might not want to live forever, but people do. People do.
03 September 2008
Dispatch From A Roadtrip I'm Not On: Day 2 [Now With Brackets]
31 August 2008
Dispatch From A Roadtrip I'm Not On: Days 1 & 2
"There she is... Miss America." Honda ST1100. Don't remember the year.
Joosh is off. I am abandoned for a two-week venture with OMT* that will see them travel Easy Rider-style through several states, ending up in South Dakota (Wounded Knee, and no, he won't be burying any hearts, I already asked and he rolled his eyes mightily in my direction). About 200 - 250 miles a day. Sore bottoms will abound.
So that we may all enjoy the sights and sounds of this, our great nation, as they roll through, I offered something of a vicarious blogging situation wherein Joosh can send photos and some brief information, and I will in turn share it with you. I had hoped to speak with him at length in the evenings in order to fill out the narrative a bit, but since this is day two and that has not yet happened, I think that maybe I'll just go ahead and make up the stuff to fill in the gaps. Kidding. (Mostly).
Day 1 - Portland to Klamath Falls. 296 miles.
Joosh kept calling Klamath Falls "Clackamas" for some reason, which is only like 12 miles away. It was confusing. Also? I always thought there were two M's in "Klamath" but I guess I was terribly wrong. Huh.
He hit the road after a morning of dawdling and packing, around 1:30pm. Off to Clackamas Falls. I'd had a super hearty laugh when at one point he sat down and I noticed a seam looking a little precarious in the crotchal region of his jeans and said, "You want me to fix the hole in your dick... jeans?" He looked at me quizzically and said "Nooooooooo. Thanksssss." In my weakened state from all these days 
and days of being sick in bed, I have clearly lost my ability to communicate. But man I could not stop saying the word "dickjeans" (because oh yeah, that's a word now, people) and cracking up. Which was excellent for phlegm loosening, let me tell you.
There was some sort of big Washington/Oregon game in Eugene and rolling through was apparently quite trafficky and unfun. This photo was taken just south of there (if I'm not mistaken). I suppose we're to admire the bike and notice the long road ahead.
Salt Creek Falls.
You stay? You pay!
The Ranger would only let him stop for a minute to put on warmer gear (it was about 54 at this point). Otherwise he'd need to pony up the $5-a-day day use fee.
Odell Lake.
Just came over the pass.
It was cold.
Got down to 47.
This is my favorite dispatch from the road so far. Here, let me quote: "Sketchy rest stop 68 miles from klamath falls. Put on the 
rest of my warm gear. There was a really scuzzy looking old guy that kept asking me if I needed anything. He said he could make me a really good deal. He didn't say what he was selling and I wasn't gonna ask. Unfortunately he got really irritated when I tried to take his pic. He didn't seem to have a car so I don't know how he got there. He took off when some state troopers stopped to use the facilities."
Shall we wager whether this guy was selling drugs or a BJ? Hmmmm? If Joosh was wearing full leathers, I wouldn't even have to ask the question because Helloooooo, Papa Bear.
God, he's going to kill me if/when he reads this post.
Moving on.
Upper Klamath Lake.
About 7pm.
15 miles to the lovely hotel I had found on Hotels.com and booked for him. The Maverick Hotel. (Very timely, yes? What with the old coot choosing his unexpected running mate, proving he's just a jolly old independent spirit like always? Ugh.)
The hotel got some good reviews for being way cheap and shockingly clean and tidy for the degree of cheapness. I reserved a non-smoking room for the boy at $45 per night. Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me? I rock.
Then came the food finding:
What passes for Pra Ram in Klamath Falls (left).
And Mango with Sticky Rice. Hold the mango. So, um, sticky rice. With cream white goo sauce on it. And no mango. Even though he ordered mango. It happens. I guess. Right?
So listen. Vicarious blogging Day One while G-chatting with my brother about this ridiculous election and Tom & Jerry cartoons and other highly important matters (is Sarah Palin's Down Syndrome baby her daughter or her - gasp - GRANDDAUGHTER?!?!) has completely worn me out. We're gonna have to pick up this party again tomorrow.
Love you, babe. Be safe out there on the wide open road. Watch out for hookers in Nevada and Mormons in Utah. And vice versa (I know they can sometimes be hard to tell apart - Katherine Heigl, I'm looking at you).
Day Two. Klamath Falls, OR to Reno, NV. To be continued.
*OMT is "Old Man Todd" - not to be confused with the much younger BabyDaddy Todd or BDT, who also lives in Ventura. BDT is a good long story for another time.
29 August 2008
Shout Out To Scout (And Other Random Pet News).
A shout out to Scout. Scout Bakken, that is.
After being sick in bed for five days, I finally went out for a brief spell this morning, to have breakfast with Joosh at an establishment we've taken lots of visitors to, mostly because it's cheap and has giant plates of goodness, but also because their motto (printed right on the menu) is "You Eat Here Because We LET You" and I like a little sass with my fast-breaking.
As we left our neighborhood, I thought how nice it would be to take a walk again, recalling that my last walk was a super one with a darling darling dog named Scout, a Norwegian Elk Hound (who knew?) with a terrific personality.
If you know me, you know I'm not a dog person, but I am partial to this sweet one and did indeed find myself wishing that Scout was available for some walkies (as Joosh and I call it when we take a stroll around the 'hood - and yes, we say it in sort of a sing-song pre-school voice: "Walk-eeeees" because that is how we behave when not in mixed company, I am both proud and mortified to admit to you here). If I can get Scout's parentals to pass over a photo, I will post it here, because she's truly a darling and unusual creature, often getting stopped and admired by strangers everywhere she trots. I was glad to have the chance to hang out with her while Moms and Pops were at a Wilco concert in Bend last weekend.
* * *
In other animal news, my stepsister friended me on Facebook yesterday. We've not spoken nor had any real words since her brief reply to my "Happy Birthday" email of last December, where she basically said thanks, and told me that I should write to my father as he'd probably like to know that I was all right. Ugh. Since when does she care about my dad? She despises the man (though she says he's good for her mom - which I have no opinion on either way). So she and I have never talked about last summer, she's never asked to hear my side of the whole fiasco, and she's still fairly dependent on the folks for support while she's finishing school in England, so I don't expect she'll ever broach it. Plus she pretty well freaked out last time I revealed a story that didn't match up to the official version she was given, and couldn't handle that her mother had conceivably lied to her, and started to short circuit in a very unpretty way. Subject was quickly dropped before new meds had to be ordered.
ANYWAY, my point here: She told me, in our Facebook chat, that my folks in Mexico have adopted two little sister kittens and named them "Fanny" and "Mae."
Which at first I thought was completely adorable and Jew-y and sweet. Then my sister typed: "Get it?" Oooh. Reallllllly. Huh.
I imagined them in their brand new 3000 sq foot slave-labor-built, staff-serviced fiefdom looking down over the ex-pat dominated and newly yuppified old town of San Miguel while people all over the US are losing their homes from the shitty decisions that resulted in things like the Fanny Mae and Freddie Mac meltdown and how the worst is likely still to come and how they moved South to exploit the cheaper services and healthcare available on the backs of the indigenous in Mexico rather than fight for something better here (and they had it just fine, here, by the way) and man, I just wanted to voo-doo dollhouse their new crib down the side of a mountain.
Saving the kittens, of course, because excepting the insensitive reference, little sister kitties named Mae and Fanny would be nothing short of idiot-smiles and awwwwww-worthy adorable.
After being sick in bed for five days, I finally went out for a brief spell this morning, to have breakfast with Joosh at an establishment we've taken lots of visitors to, mostly because it's cheap and has giant plates of goodness, but also because their motto (printed right on the menu) is "You Eat Here Because We LET You" and I like a little sass with my fast-breaking.
As we left our neighborhood, I thought how nice it would be to take a walk again, recalling that my last walk was a super one with a darling darling dog named Scout, a Norwegian Elk Hound (who knew?) with a terrific personality.
If you know me, you know I'm not a dog person, but I am partial to this sweet one and did indeed find myself wishing that Scout was available for some walkies (as Joosh and I call it when we take a stroll around the 'hood - and yes, we say it in sort of a sing-song pre-school voice: "Walk-eeeees" because that is how we behave when not in mixed company, I am both proud and mortified to admit to you here). If I can get Scout's parentals to pass over a photo, I will post it here, because she's truly a darling and unusual creature, often getting stopped and admired by strangers everywhere she trots. I was glad to have the chance to hang out with her while Moms and Pops were at a Wilco concert in Bend last weekend.
* * *
In other animal news, my stepsister friended me on Facebook yesterday. We've not spoken nor had any real words since her brief reply to my "Happy Birthday" email of last December, where she basically said thanks, and told me that I should write to my father as he'd probably like to know that I was all right. Ugh. Since when does she care about my dad? She despises the man (though she says he's good for her mom - which I have no opinion on either way). So she and I have never talked about last summer, she's never asked to hear my side of the whole fiasco, and she's still fairly dependent on the folks for support while she's finishing school in England, so I don't expect she'll ever broach it. Plus she pretty well freaked out last time I revealed a story that didn't match up to the official version she was given, and couldn't handle that her mother had conceivably lied to her, and started to short circuit in a very unpretty way. Subject was quickly dropped before new meds had to be ordered.
ANYWAY, my point here: She told me, in our Facebook chat, that my folks in Mexico have adopted two little sister kittens and named them "Fanny" and "Mae."
Which at first I thought was completely adorable and Jew-y and sweet. Then my sister typed: "Get it?" Oooh. Reallllllly. Huh.
I imagined them in their brand new 3000 sq foot slave-labor-built, staff-serviced fiefdom looking down over the ex-pat dominated and newly yuppified old town of San Miguel while people all over the US are losing their homes from the shitty decisions that resulted in things like the Fanny Mae and Freddie Mac meltdown and how the worst is likely still to come and how they moved South to exploit the cheaper services and healthcare available on the backs of the indigenous in Mexico rather than fight for something better here (and they had it just fine, here, by the way) and man, I just wanted to voo-doo dollhouse their new crib down the side of a mountain.
Saving the kittens, of course, because excepting the insensitive reference, little sister kitties named Mae and Fanny would be nothing short of idiot-smiles and awwwwww-worthy adorable.
28 August 2008
Oliver William is Heading This Way!
Sorry, please to forgive the ridiculous pun. But my brother just recently turned me on to the absurd farewell that goes something like "Time to make like a fetus and head out" and it somehow seems appropriate to use in this crazy moment when I've been told that a certain mom-to-be is fully dilated and ready to birth her babe any minute! So very exciting.
Wishing you all the best in the universe, Doc and Mister Doc. We're all so excited to welcome Oliver.
Wishing you all the best in the universe, Doc and Mister Doc. We're all so excited to welcome Oliver.
23 August 2008
100 Things to Consume Before You Die.
This list is the 100 things that Very Good Taste thinks everyone should eat at least once in their life.
Instructions were:
1) Bold all the items you’ve eaten. (Except bold white doesn't really look very bold, so I've made them red, unless they are blue, which indicate active links to explanations, some of which are DIS-gusting... you have been warned).
2) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
3) Optional extra: Post a comment at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros - what Californian hasn't eaten these? Maybe one's who don't like eggs or beans. Maybe.
4. Steak tartare - tempted to cross this out. Not a big fan of beef, so raw beef? Hmmmm, no. But I suppose I could try a tiny bite in the interest of culinary adventure.
5. Crocodile
6. Black Pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp - Jessica, look away.
9. Borscht - I could live on this for a few weeks. The food of my people. With sour cream. Delicious.
10. Baba ghanoush - mmmmm.
11. Calamari - in many many many preparations. Tentacles and all.
12. Pho - not so much of the beef stomach-y varieties, but some really good rich brothy goodness sans intestines.
13. PB&J sandwich - I think it's weird that this is on here. But that's cool.
14. Aloo gobi - yes, ma'am, veddy veddy good, ma'am. (that is not racist, shut up).
15. Hot dog from a street cart - Before reading "The Jungle" in 11th Grade, yes. Now, hot dogs in general? Not so much.
16. Epoisses - many a runny stinky cheese have I eaten, and from the description, I'm sure that I've ingested this one. The color was particularly disconcerting, knowing that something bacterial in nature came up with the exceptional shade of orangey pinkishness on the rind.
17. Black truffle - but of course.
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes - True story: Went to Korean food the other night with niece Heather and her BFF Spencer (before their shitty car wreck in Crescent City) and among the varieties of wine was Blackberry, Pomegranate and Wild Mountain Berry. I was very excited about all (Korean wine? Fruit flavors? Whaaa?) and settled on the Wild Mountain Berry, because, well, I don't really know. It sounded exotic and wild. Out comes the bottle on which appears the words "Wild Grapes" along with a picture of grapes similar to the one on a bottle of Manischewitz. And guess what the wine tasted like? Yes, it tasted like Passover. But I've had some fabulous elderberry wine in Scotland, so I can at least check this off of this very strange list.
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries - are you kidding me? My favorite summer activity in this lovely new state of mine.
23. Foie gras - don't judge. It was in the very foodie San Francisco 90's. If there were protesters then, I didn't notice them. And by the way? It's totally delicious.
24. Rice and beans - More than is necessary, I'm sure.
25. Brawn or head cheese - I wish I could say that I'd not tried this, but since I'm sort of a try-everything-once kind of gal, I have indeed had the displeasure. No likey.
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper - does smelling one count?
27. Dulce de leche - yummo.
28. Oysters - smoked, fried, raw, stewed in seafoody concoctions, scrambled in an omelet, but in general I am very ambivalent about them.
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda - not to my knowledge. A mix of anchovies, garlic, walnut oil, cream? Into which you dip roasted veggies and whatnot, similar to a fondue. I think I would remember that. Sounds good. And yet not at the same time.
31. Wasabi peas - why is this on here?
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl - more times in more places than I can possibly count. Probably never again, however, considering the wheat content of both sourdough and most variations of chowder. Wah.
33. Salted lassi — Does a mango lassi count?
34. Sauerkraut - not a big fan.
35. Root beer float - best sleepover dessert next to a sundae bar. Also, a bunch of local breweries here craft their own rooty brews, and damn if they aren't f-i-i-i-n-e.
36. Cognac with a fat cigar - I suppose separately doesn't count? Together sounds wretched.
37. Clotted cream tea - thanks, Britain.
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O shot - Yes.... (shudder)
39. Gumbo - awwww hawwww, sho' have.
40. Oxtail — Oxtail soup count? Then yes. Thank you, Scotland.
41. Curried goat - better than you'd think.
42. Whole insects - not on purpose! Actually I did once eat chocolate covered ants. I guess that counts.
43. Phaal - sounds dangerous to eat curry that hot, but what do I know.
44. Goat’s milk - unfortunately (thanks, 1979, thanks Mrs. Gooches). It is not an exaggeration to say that it tastes (or used to taste) like goats smell. Which is to say: unpleasant.
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more - awwww yeah, and I highly recommend it.
46. Fugu - blowfish. Have not yet intentionally tempted death while eating. Clearly something to consider.
47. Chicken tikka masala - yes, and I love it and I must give credit where credit is due, which I think belongs to Tisa Read for ordering this one during our Indian Food/Watching "Friends" nights back in Berkeley.
48. Eel - surprisingly delicious and quite un-slithery.
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut - overrated.
50. Sea urchin - not really a fan, I must say.
51. Prickly pear - besides the one I grabbed off a cactus while drunk (it looked smooth in the dark) and the sliver from the bottom of a fermenty drink, I've not actually had much experience with these.
52. Umeboshi - not sure if it counts, but I did eat one of this that was sitting at the bottom of a bottle of fermented plum sake. And it was rad.
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald's Big Mac meal - I can't f*cking believe this is on here. Even worse? I now have "Two all beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese" in my head. Wah. And yes, I ate many of these in the dog days of my mother's returning to school when I was a child and having to spend a lot of time in the car driving all over the valley for various errands and crap. I'm sure there are still pieces of Mickey D's beef lining my colon. Though now that I think about it, I was more partial to Fish Filets. Good times.
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV - I am not a super beer lover, but living in a town nicknamed "Beervana," consuming things in this category happens on a pretty regular basis.
59. Poutine - this cheese curd and gravy covered french fry dish sounds totally horrifying, but I'm assured it is delish. I'm sure.
60. Carob chips - raised on these babies. Don't knock it till you try it. And no, it's not anything like chocolate, no matter how many times yer mom tries to tell you that it is. But it's still tasty.
61. S’mores - oh, god, how I miss these. Someone needs to make a gluten-free graham cracker.
62. Sweetbreads - sadly, yes, at some fancy restaurant in SF years ago. Eh. Don't really understand why this is a thing.
63. Kaolin - edible clay, huh? Pass. I suppose I'd try it if magically appeared in front of me, but wouldn't go out of my way to procure such things.
64. Currywurst - um, urban dictionary has a lovely definition of this, which I suggest you not click on if you have a weak constitution. "Cheap and unhygenic whore" I can live with, but the rest of the explication is disgusting. In food terms it's a curry sausage of some variety and photos on Google do not make it look particularly appetizing.
65. Durian - our friends Alan and Hillary have sampled this and did underscore the foul smell, but said it tasted much better than you'd expect from something described as "vomit-scented" and specifically prohibited from being opened in many public places.
66. Frogs’ legs — tastes like chicken.
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake - all of the above, like the classy classy Carnie I've always longed to be.
68. Haggis - yep. Definitely liked the vegetarian version better than the real thing, but honestly you mix enough grains and herbs and spices into pretty much anything (heart, lungs and stomach included) and it'll start to taste kinda good.
69. Fried plantain - so so so good. Especially with black beans and rice and grilled prawns or Caribbean fish stew. Especially in Amsterdam and Berkeley.
70.
71. Gazpacho -
72. Caviar and blini - thanks to that post-college catering stint, a wealth of adventure in up-and-coming culinary and asshole arts.
73. Louche absinthe - who hasn't, now that it's back in the U.S.S.A?
74. Gjetost - This cheese is awesome. Bex and I ate a bunch of it back in the Berkeley days. (Thank you, Andronicos, and maybe Winter for having Norwegian friends and knowing about it?). It's like a slightly sweet, slightly carmel-y cheese. Very very good.
75. Roadkill - I'm not going to be unhappy if I leave the planet without having knowingly eaten roadkill. If you have a few minutes, watch this lovely Top Gear excerpt on the topic of eating roadkill in America. Love it.
76. Baijiu - pretty sure this is the rice wine we drink at Korean restaurants. Sake is better, in my opinion.
77. Hostess Fruit Pie - I really wish I'd never had these, because just thinking about them I get that weird slick feeling on my tongue and the roof of my mouth that inevitably appeared immediately after swallowing. God.
78. Snail - lots of garlic, lots of butter, no slime quotient to speak of. Not bad.
79. Lapsang souchong - for those days you crave the exquisite and delicate nuance of burnt rubber tires.
80. Bellini - I can't for the life of me remember who introduced me to these. I'm thinking it was a Davis Girls event back in college. There should definitely be more Bellini drinking in life.
81. Tom yum - All the time. There's a fabulous little hole in the wall bar down the street from the office I frequent on Mondays and Tuesdays that has a terrific happy hour, including a giant bowl of Tom Yum or Tom Kha for $3 bux. Rad.
82. Eggs Benedict - Especially love it on a bed of spinach or a roasted tomato, or in the case of one seriously awesome hangover-curing-restaurant, on a risotto cake! Yes!
83. Pocky - excellent to serve at Asian themed parties, also good snack for the movies. You Venturan's can get them at Mama Ya's near Target, and in Portland don't bother going anywhere but the mega-mart of Asian ingrediants, Uwajamaya.
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant - shit. How about the tasting menu at 3 different 1-Michelen-star restaurants? In that case, done.
85. Kobe beef - does the Kobe beef burger at Rogue Brewery count? Yes? Okay, done. But I'm not a big beef fan, so it was likely lost on me.
86. Hare - if this is different than plain old rabbit, then no. If not, then I've been there/done that.
87. Goulash - AND paprikash.
88. Flowers - boatloads.
89.
90. Criollo chocolate - well having read up on this single origin chocolate, I'm now quite exited to try it!
91. Spam - sad but true.
92. Soft shell crab - Easy peasy. And yet not at the same time.
93. Rose harissa - never heard of it, but feel as though I should have.
94. Catfish - Oh yeah.
95. Mole poblano - Ooooooh yeah. Friends of my mom, Tamis and Beto, once came for Thanksgiving when we were living in Ojai and Beto made Turkey mole with the leftovers and even though I could barely chew due to being super sick with a terrible ear infection that the ER doc thought was meningitis, I remember this mole with much fondness.
96. Bagel and lox - Are you kidding? What kind of Jew would I be if I hadn't yet had this one. Plus, I practically lived on bagels and lox in the early college/ free-leftovers-from-Coffee Bean days.
97. Lobster Thermidor - well this sounds totally disgusting, but maybe it's not. I'd certainly give it a shot.
98. Polenta - a staple in my house. A million variations, all terrific.
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee - Meh. Really didn't see what all the fuss was about.
100. Snake - I feel like I have tasted snake, but am at a loss to come up with where or when. So.... I guess not. I'll have to give it a go sometime. Maybe. Mmmabye not.
I'm sure there are million more items that could be added to this list (especially after I remove the ones I deem unworthy of holding a position). Why are oysters on here, for example, but not Mussels (with Frites)! I could probably rant about the omissions for a while, but I won't. Instead I'll end by saying that I will always accept more suggestions, so please pass them along at your leisure.
14 July 2008
In Memorium.
A truly wonderful man died this week.
His name was Mick Murphy, and he was an exceptional person - larger than life, full of stories, always meeting and befriending new people, bringing groups of strangers together for smashingly good times, regardless of the activities of the day. A world traveler, writer, devoted husband to an ailing wife, he was the sort of person that was keenly interested in what was going on with you, made you feel like the only person on the planet worth knowing and talking to at that moment, taking in your stories, pulling forth an anecdote or helpful piece of information to the topic at hand. And always laughing, lots and lots of laughing.
Mick was a friend of my Dad and stepmother for almost 25 years, and I'd see him and his lovely wife Laura during summer and holiday trips to Oregon. We went on several adventures, hiking up to Mt. Hood, berry picking, picnics and outdoor concerts at Washington Park and the Riverfront. He was the master of finding fun, free events, and terrific Happy Hours in Portland, "Pub Meals" he called them. I ran into him in Trader Joes 7 or 8 weeks ago, and after a bear hug and a "We don't hear much from your folks down in Mexico these days" (to which I replied "Well, neither do I, so what are you gonna do?") he asked when would we get together for a Pub Meal. He said that he and Laura had both been recovering from a bout of pneumonia, but that as soon as they were all clear and back up to speed, off we would go.
We exchanged a few emails, then a long silence and the next thing I know he's gone, within a week of finally receiving a correct diagnosis. The lingering pneumonia was not herpes in the lung or any of the other random and seemingly implausible ills hypothesized by the medical folk. It was lung cancer that had metastasized to his ribs. Until this illness, he was a robust and incredibly young 82 and I thought there were going to be several more good years before a decline. There is so much that I take for granted in this life. It's shocking to confront. How very easy it is to forget how absurdly fast things can change. Especially when you are 32 and a lot of things have not yet sunk in below the surface tension of your life.
When I was much younger I had a crush on Mick, a Grandpa Crush, I guess you could say, and longed for some of his charm and good nature to rub off on my father. I know my Dad respected and looked up to this utter gentleman - gentle man - who was about 20 or 25 years older, and I always thought that perhaps Mick could teach him a thing or two about being a man, a husband, a father. I guess maybe it doesn't work that way. Admiration and emulation, respect and edification, are not necessarily bound up with each other. I suppose it's never too late, as they say, but I am not holding on to any hope. To be a better version of yourself, a more fully developed person in general, you actually have to want to be, to desire the most evolved state you can imagine for yourself. Mick, it is clear, was just that sort of person - a "suck the marrow out of life" kind, and a learn-all-that-you-can, be-all-that-you-are-able, taste-all-that-can, live-the-best-you-might, love-beyond-the-capacity-you-thought-possible while wandering through this mortal coil. A rare man indeed.
I attended the memorial on Sunday. It was beautiful. Mick's children, who have filled so many of his stories over the years, are wonderful. His Grandchildren are wonderful, shining stars even on a darker day. Everyone had such sweet, raucous, hilarious stories to tell. I could not stop crying.
One dear friend of the family told a story about sitting with Mick in the last day or two of his life, and his taking her hand and telling her that it is all amazing. I am paraphrasing, of course, but in essence he said that life is amazing, living is incredible, and even this dying is wondrous. It is ALL amazing. Leave it to Mick to be excited, not to leave this world, his beloved family, his fading wife, but having no choice in the matter, to remain excited to learn about what it means to be dying. Oh my god.
On the program from the service was an Emerson quote that struck me and even in the weeks after I started this post, has stuck with me vividly:
"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can.
Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense."
I've taped it to the side of my computer screen. I hope you might take this one with you, too, and maybe think of Mick, someone you never met but who had a thing or two to pass around about the simple and yet ever complex topic of living life.
Be well wherever you are, Mick. I'm so glad I had the pleasure to know you.
His name was Mick Murphy, and he was an exceptional person - larger than life, full of stories, always meeting and befriending new people, bringing groups of strangers together for smashingly good times, regardless of the activities of the day. A world traveler, writer, devoted husband to an ailing wife, he was the sort of person that was keenly interested in what was going on with you, made you feel like the only person on the planet worth knowing and talking to at that moment, taking in your stories, pulling forth an anecdote or helpful piece of information to the topic at hand. And always laughing, lots and lots of laughing.
Mick was a friend of my Dad and stepmother for almost 25 years, and I'd see him and his lovely wife Laura during summer and holiday trips to Oregon. We went on several adventures, hiking up to Mt. Hood, berry picking, picnics and outdoor concerts at Washington Park and the Riverfront. He was the master of finding fun, free events, and terrific Happy Hours in Portland, "Pub Meals" he called them. I ran into him in Trader Joes 7 or 8 weeks ago, and after a bear hug and a "We don't hear much from your folks down in Mexico these days" (to which I replied "Well, neither do I, so what are you gonna do?") he asked when would we get together for a Pub Meal. He said that he and Laura had both been recovering from a bout of pneumonia, but that as soon as they were all clear and back up to speed, off we would go.
We exchanged a few emails, then a long silence and the next thing I know he's gone, within a week of finally receiving a correct diagnosis. The lingering pneumonia was not herpes in the lung or any of the other random and seemingly implausible ills hypothesized by the medical folk. It was lung cancer that had metastasized to his ribs. Until this illness, he was a robust and incredibly young 82 and I thought there were going to be several more good years before a decline. There is so much that I take for granted in this life. It's shocking to confront. How very easy it is to forget how absurdly fast things can change. Especially when you are 32 and a lot of things have not yet sunk in below the surface tension of your life.
When I was much younger I had a crush on Mick, a Grandpa Crush, I guess you could say, and longed for some of his charm and good nature to rub off on my father. I know my Dad respected and looked up to this utter gentleman - gentle man - who was about 20 or 25 years older, and I always thought that perhaps Mick could teach him a thing or two about being a man, a husband, a father. I guess maybe it doesn't work that way. Admiration and emulation, respect and edification, are not necessarily bound up with each other. I suppose it's never too late, as they say, but I am not holding on to any hope. To be a better version of yourself, a more fully developed person in general, you actually have to want to be, to desire the most evolved state you can imagine for yourself. Mick, it is clear, was just that sort of person - a "suck the marrow out of life" kind, and a learn-all-that-you-can, be-all-that-you-are-able, taste-all-that-can, live-the-best-you-might, love-beyond-the-capacity-you-thought-possible while wandering through this mortal coil. A rare man indeed.
I attended the memorial on Sunday. It was beautiful. Mick's children, who have filled so many of his stories over the years, are wonderful. His Grandchildren are wonderful, shining stars even on a darker day. Everyone had such sweet, raucous, hilarious stories to tell. I could not stop crying.
One dear friend of the family told a story about sitting with Mick in the last day or two of his life, and his taking her hand and telling her that it is all amazing. I am paraphrasing, of course, but in essence he said that life is amazing, living is incredible, and even this dying is wondrous. It is ALL amazing. Leave it to Mick to be excited, not to leave this world, his beloved family, his fading wife, but having no choice in the matter, to remain excited to learn about what it means to be dying. Oh my god.
On the program from the service was an Emerson quote that struck me and even in the weeks after I started this post, has stuck with me vividly:
"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can.
Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense."
I've taped it to the side of my computer screen. I hope you might take this one with you, too, and maybe think of Mick, someone you never met but who had a thing or two to pass around about the simple and yet ever complex topic of living life.
Be well wherever you are, Mick. I'm so glad I had the pleasure to know you.
30 June 2008
Diabolique Biologique
After a hard year of nothing good, a year that came after another two filled with nothing good (save a few notable exceptions), I saw and said good bye to my Dad today. One year to the day since his calling the police on the love of my life, since telling great ghastly, life-altering lies to "the authorities," to a lawyer, to his wife, to me, to everyone, we met at a cafe, I said my peace (my many pieces, perhaps), and bid him farewell.
His morning message said "Hi, Amber, it's your Bio Dad..." which is a very weird thing to say. He followed this up with the fact that he would be in town for the rest of the day and the following morning (though he had already been here for nearly a week) and did I want to get together for a cup of tea? Which also struck me as a weird thing to say. The entire message = very weird. It's saved on my phone, if you care to listen. I value your opinion.
I'm not really sure why I decided to see him in the end. But I found myself on the phone, returning the stilted message, agreeing to meet if he could make in the next hour. Ten minutes later, Chai in hand, there we are sitting across from each other as if we had anything else in common but the mysterious coding that produced this particular nose, fair skin and graying strawberry hair.
Essentially I told him that I wasn't interested in investing in our relationship any longer, that I regret the amount of time and energy I'd put in over the course of my life (from early childhood on up to a year ago) trying to bridge the giant gaps between the two of us, as well as between me and his wife. I reiterated something I'd said last year, that I was glad to have at least seen behind the curtain and to know who they both were and what they were capable of (not just how they treated me or Joosh, but their employees, other family, friends, John Q. Public of their clientel), though I wish the lesson could have been shorter and less drawn out. I am dense, or naive, too hopeful and benefit-of-the-doubt-y, or probably all of the above. I said that while I wish things would have worked out differently, overall I am exceedingly happy to have stepped off the "Scott and Jeanne Showboat." Life is good on this side of the shitstorm-filled river.
In a nutshell, he disagreed with my perspective, told me that he has "deep and connected relationships with lots of people" and would like to have one with me. However, survey says: not possible. And I told him as such.
One moment that will live forever in my memory of this meeting is when I said that some people - Joosh, for example - only have one parent, and it's up to that one parent to be somewhat selfless in order to provide everything for their children, raise them up as best they can, etc. So here I am, with a whole bevy of parental units, the majority of whom end up being shockingly narcissistic, self-centered, not at all focused on their children, and what are the statistical odds of that happening? His reaction? Nope, not denial. He totally laughed, and then smirked in this strange shoulder-shrugging, "what can you do?" sort of agreement. Christ. Just like the time he offered up "Well she knew who I was when she married me, what did she think was going to change with a ring?" when I asked why he was such a cheater (blatant, blatant, cheater), as if it was matter of poor judgment on his wife's part, rather than a fuckface flaw of his.
So yeah. What can I say? Just what I said to him, which is that he's my father, I'll always love him for that reason, but that I'm removing myself from the dysfunction junction that is the life he leads and leaving the inadequate and unhealthy relationship dynamic until further notice. I know they say that blood is thicker than water, and you can choose your friends, but you can't choose family, and yadda yadda yadda, but with respect to the institution of familyhood, I am opting to disagree. Life is too damn short to spend in on this kind of treadmill.
His morning message said "Hi, Amber, it's your Bio Dad..." which is a very weird thing to say. He followed this up with the fact that he would be in town for the rest of the day and the following morning (though he had already been here for nearly a week) and did I want to get together for a cup of tea? Which also struck me as a weird thing to say. The entire message = very weird. It's saved on my phone, if you care to listen. I value your opinion.
I'm not really sure why I decided to see him in the end. But I found myself on the phone, returning the stilted message, agreeing to meet if he could make in the next hour. Ten minutes later, Chai in hand, there we are sitting across from each other as if we had anything else in common but the mysterious coding that produced this particular nose, fair skin and graying strawberry hair.
Essentially I told him that I wasn't interested in investing in our relationship any longer, that I regret the amount of time and energy I'd put in over the course of my life (from early childhood on up to a year ago) trying to bridge the giant gaps between the two of us, as well as between me and his wife. I reiterated something I'd said last year, that I was glad to have at least seen behind the curtain and to know who they both were and what they were capable of (not just how they treated me or Joosh, but their employees, other family, friends, John Q. Public of their clientel), though I wish the lesson could have been shorter and less drawn out. I am dense, or naive, too hopeful and benefit-of-the-doubt-y, or probably all of the above. I said that while I wish things would have worked out differently, overall I am exceedingly happy to have stepped off the "Scott and Jeanne Showboat." Life is good on this side of the shitstorm-filled river.
In a nutshell, he disagreed with my perspective, told me that he has "deep and connected relationships with lots of people" and would like to have one with me. However, survey says: not possible. And I told him as such.
One moment that will live forever in my memory of this meeting is when I said that some people - Joosh, for example - only have one parent, and it's up to that one parent to be somewhat selfless in order to provide everything for their children, raise them up as best they can, etc. So here I am, with a whole bevy of parental units, the majority of whom end up being shockingly narcissistic, self-centered, not at all focused on their children, and what are the statistical odds of that happening? His reaction? Nope, not denial. He totally laughed, and then smirked in this strange shoulder-shrugging, "what can you do?" sort of agreement. Christ. Just like the time he offered up "Well she knew who I was when she married me, what did she think was going to change with a ring?" when I asked why he was such a cheater (blatant, blatant, cheater), as if it was matter of poor judgment on his wife's part, rather than a fuckface flaw of his.
So yeah. What can I say? Just what I said to him, which is that he's my father, I'll always love him for that reason, but that I'm removing myself from the dysfunction junction that is the life he leads and leaving the inadequate and unhealthy relationship dynamic until further notice. I know they say that blood is thicker than water, and you can choose your friends, but you can't choose family, and yadda yadda yadda, but with respect to the institution of familyhood, I am opting to disagree. Life is too damn short to spend in on this kind of treadmill.
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