Toweling season

Here in Oregon we have two seasons: summer and toweling. In the summer, it's usually warm and dry if not sunny, but during toweling season every outing with Tucker involves cleaning and drying him off with at least one towel before he comes inside. When it gets really nasty (which it's about to -- the forecast is for 2.5 inches of rain over the next two days) we have a two-towel system. We start with a bucket of warm water and a washcloth (our yellow "lab" doesn't like to be sprayed with water) to remove the mud, then use the first towel to soak up most of the sogginess before finishing up with the second towel. Of course, Tucker prefers it if the towels are still warm from the dryer.

Overheard

In the locker room at the gym a couple days ago I overheard two women talking about Halloween. One of the women said she was a retired librarian and she passes out books to trick-or-treaters--and this year she had 345 visitors to her door! She used to offer kids a choice between candy or a book, but so many chose the book she did away with the candy altogether. The other woman apparently has small children and commented that she wished her kids would choose books over candy. The librarian said many of her trick-or-treaters have never owned a book.

She orders all the books each year through a book store in her neighborhood (North Portland) where I hope she gets a great discount, photocopies the covers, and tapes them to her door so the kids can scan them and select a book. She gets books suitable for a wide range of ages so there is something for every child.

Cool, huh?

Today I was at physical therapy and couldn't help but hear a conversation between another patient and her therapist (we were sitting at the same table). The patient is 60 and a year ago she weighed 350 pounds. She had an enlarged heart and congestive heart failure among other health issues and had gastric bypass surgery. There was no discussion of her history, as in had she tried to lose the weight without surgery, but I can only assume a long-term struggle with weight.

She went from an extremely large size that I can't even remember to a size 4. She also got divorced and remarried (after she lost all the weight, her ex-husband wanted to get back together; the new guy knew her all through her heavy days and has always been supportive) and is a foster mom to a 5-month-old.

Wow! Inspirational.

Miss Gail's Southern Cooking

Watkinsville, Georgia sports a new restaurant, recently opened by none other than my sister. What started as a seemingly hare-brained idea hatched when she found herself unemployed last spring is now a wildly popular reality.

Both of us adopted our mother's kitchen skills, but my sister has always excelled at cooking the rich, traditional southern foods: sweet potato souffle, macaroni and cheese, fried chicken and the like. Now she can share her love of cooking and all the traditional southern classics with the world (or at least the fast-growing population of Oconee County).

Just three weeks after opening, the lunchtime crowd was lined up out the door on election day, also a holiday for the schools, whose many employees had yet to have the opportunity to sample the food at this weekday-only cafeteria. With a rotating menu, each day of the week offers something new to try, and the variety of daily side dishes could keep a diner occupied for weeks trying to sample them all. I can personally vouch for the meat loaf and the macaroni and cheese (it's to die for!). Despite being a born-and-bred southerner myself, I'm no fan of collard greens, but I found Gail's to be quite edible and not too soggy (my chief complaint about most greens cooked in the south).

Lunch was so good, I had to come back for breakfast before I left town. Gail has employed a top-notch biscuit maker in Pat, a wonderful woman who turns out tender yet not-too-crumbly mounds that delightfully sandwich a crisp pork tenderloin or soak up the perfectly seasoned sausage gravy. Accompanied with sides of grits and cheese-eggs, the breakfast plate is a delicious and artery-clogging experience. For the diet conscious, never fear—fruit, oatmeal and cooked-to-order eggs are available for the asking.

Gail remains committed to serving quality, fresh food (nothing from a can, she says, except the pinto beans) with a smile. I'll admit a touch of bias (Gail is my sister after all), but was not disappointed in the food or the service and hope her little cafeteria maintains its initial popularity for years to come.

Photo courtesy of my mom, Diane Boykin

Hiking with Hans

I was going to call this post Thursdays with Hans after the book "Tuesdays with Morrie" but then I remembered that one of our hikes was actually on a Friday.

One day I had a voice mail message from my friend and coworker Hans asking if I were interested in hiking the next day. My first lesson as a housebound invalid (okay, maybe a slight exaggeration since I can walk and ride the bus, but I haven't been able to drive or ride a bike, so it feels a little houseboundish) was "never turn down a social outing." So I eagerly called back and said that Tucker and I would love to go hiking.

Since it was a cool, rainy day, we opted for a Gorge hike. There's no point going to the mountains for the views if you can't see anything anyway and waterfalls only get better with rain. So we drove about 35 miles down the Columbia River Gorge to the Oneonta Trail where we hiked past Oneonta Falls and Triple Falls before continuing up along a stream toward the summit of Larch Mountain. This trail doesn't see a lot of use, but is well-maintained and signed nonetheless. We didn't have the time to hike the 20 or so miles round trip to the summit and would not have been rewarded with a view anyway, but we did go six or seven miles before we turned around. Despite the overcast weather, we didn't get rained on too much and Tucker had a blast running wildly after squirrels until he realized we still had to go all the way back to the car and tucked in behind Hans for the remainder of the hike.

A week later, Hans called again to see if we were interested in hiking. Rule #1: never turn down an outing. Of course I was interested! This time, it was a clear, warm October day and we headed toward Mt. Hood for one of very few trails within an hour of Portland that I haven't hiked before. There are two routes to a viewpoint on a ridge and we opted for the less traveled one--the Bonanza Trail that goes along a creek and past an old mine before climbing wickedly up. Again we went about 6.5 miles before turning around and most of the 3,100 feet of elevation gain occured during the last four miles. The creek was beautiful, the trail steep, the forest amazing. From a meadow atop the ridge, we had an awesome view of Mt. Hood and the warm sun made for a comfortable lunch stop. On the way back to the car, we spent an extra half hour picking chanteurelle mushrooms to saute up that evening.

Alas, this week Hans is visiting family in Wisconsin and next week he starts training to fly the Q400 at Horizon Air, so I have to find a new hiking partner for the remainder of my time off work.

Halloween

Although it rained most of the day, it's warm and dry outside and yet hardly a trick-or-treater around. Two years ago it had been raining for days and the yard was soggy and gross, but tons of trick-or-treaters. Last year it was dry and beautiful but cold and we had tons of trick-or-treaters.

Scott and I don't even like kids. We generally don't like other people's kids and we certainly don't want any of our own. Yet every year at Halloween, we carve pumpkins. We string up fake spiderweb. We hang a skeleton in the window. This year, I even put scary music on my iPod and set the player outside next to the styrofoam gravestones. But no trick-or-treaters.

Usually, the parents with small kids in tow start knocking a little after 5 p.m. Then the bigger kids with parents in tow arrive. Then a stream of kids that don't need parental chaperones. But this year the first trick-or-treater knocked at 6:45 (this does not include our next door neighbor Woody, who makes his obligatory costume display before he heads off to whatever party he's attending this year.

So here we sit, drinks in hand, scary music playing, too much candy in the cauldron, waiting for trick-or-treaters.

Exercising your rights

Since I haven't been able to work, or even to be particularly productive around the house, I decided to finally act on my long-time goal of volunteering for the O'Bama campaign (don't tell my parents). So I took the bus down to the local office and signed up. I'm rather introverted and both calling and canvassing go against my nature, but I sucked it up and went door-to-door for a few hours my first day out. And it was fun! Most people weren't home, but the few I talked to were very nice and we had some good conversations.

The next time I went out it was raining. Clad in yellow rain slicker and waterproof shoes, I set out on the rounds of my "turf." As I turned down my last street, with just a few houses to go, I paused to review my notes for the house in front of me. Presumably a husband and wife, 78 years old. My list is of known Democrats and/or O'Bama supporters, but newly registered to vote or with a sporadic voting record. I opened the gate of the chain link fence and knocked on the door of the small white bungalow. The elderly gentleman came out onto the tiny porch; when he found out why I was there, he asked if I could help him with some questions. I said sure--we're given some informative materials about most of the issues on the ballot so we can be of assistance if people have questions. So he went inside and returned with his unopened ballot.

He explained to me that he had only voted once before, fifty years ago. He wasn't really sure how to go about it, but he and his wife wanted to vote. She had never voted before. So he opened his ballot and I showed him the return envelope, which he had to sign, and how to fill in the ovals next to the selected candidates. I also had to explain that it was okay to not vote on a measure or a race if you aren't informed on it.

In the end, both he and his wife completed their ballots and gave them to me to take to the drop site (we're authorized to do that and even have receipts to give back). It was a moment of my day that felt very special--helping someone exercise their right to vote.

Pin-free at last!

I had the pins taken out of my wrist today after 4.5 weeks. Scott drove me because he thought they would give me anesthesia and I would be woozy afterward, but no such luck. The doctor just unscrewed the bracket, grabbed the first pin with a huge pair of pliers, and started pulling. I winced with pain as it left the skin. He explained that bone doesn't hurt, but there is a thin membrane around the bone that has nerves, as well is beneath and in the skin. So it hurts during the last part of the exit.

Armed with knowledge of the pain, I was slightly more anxious as the pliers gripped the second pin. But it was the fourth one that really hurt. As soon as he latched onto it it started hurting and I really concentrated on my yogic breathing. It also helped not to watch. Apparently this was the longest pin and the skin around it was a bit irritated. But finally it was free with a burst of dark red blood.

Now I'm wearing a splint that velcros around my wrist. I can take it off only to shower (but not until the holes heal over so water won't flow into the bone) and do some range-of-motion exercises.