When I think of Christmas growing up, I think of my mom baking dozens upon dozens of Christmas cookies. Because of my mom and my aunts, I thought everyone was a good baker. When I would go to other people’s homes for Christmas parties and saw a tray of cookies, I’d always grab a greedy share – thinking they’d be like my mom’s cookies – only to discover that napkins weren’t close enough to spit out the offending treat or hide the now unwanted pile of cookies. (Butter and sugar folks, what are you doing to mess that up?) So from a young age, I learned to distrust bakers not related to me. Continue reading
Ah, summer. I’ve lived in the Pacific Northwest for more than a decade. Summer usually makes an appearance after the Fourth of July (in a good year). In Portland this year, we’ve already had sunny, warm days ahead of the solstice. Although I am learning to enjoy riding bike on rainy days, there’s still nothing like a warm summer day for a bike ride.
In June, Portland holds a three week bike festival – Pedalpalooza. I’ve been to a few of the hundreds of events, some of which are huge community events and others are small events organized by like-minded riders. I went to the opening night ride, but I did not go to the World Naked Bike Ride. Instead, last week I created my own event. Continue reading
My brothers and I, after a good meal, tilt our heads just like our dad does. It means we are full and we are happy. With some variation we all say, the first part almost a grunt, “Mmm. That was good.” And then look to the rest of the table for agreement to dispel any disbelief that the meal was just a dream.
Last night I had one of those meals. Continue reading
To be believed in. That’s powerful. And yet I’m going to talk about rhubarb once again before I finish.
Earlier in the week, I went to a reading of a play the Portland Playhouse commissioned. The playhouse is in a former church in a residential neighborhood that is in the midst of a transition. The play is about a town that was rebuilt without the black families that once lived there.
I’m not a critic nor do I attend the theater grudgingly, yet I have a tendency to approach works of art with my arms crossed and a sharp word at the ready. Continue reading
On Easter Sunday, I ate the Baby Cheesus. I couldn’t picture my grandmother ever ordering the Baby Cheesus (nothing against a Patty Melt), so in honor of her 99th birthday yesterday, I went old school. I ordered the Kindergartner from the Grilled Cheese Grill. As a reminder, I believe birthdays should be celebrated even from afar. I think some in my family might prefer a gift, but instead I eat a meal (or two) in their honor.
A 99th birthday deserves a lot of honor. Continue reading
I have one friend who doesn’t like chocolate desserts. When she first told me that, I gasped. By this point, I had already known her for years. How could she tell me this? I love chocolate; she’s one of my best friends. I felt like I was being asked to choose between them. Continue reading