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Nostalgic reminiscences

12 Dec

12 December, 2023.

Where you were and who you were with last Christmas? How about Thanksgiving of 1986? What gifts did you give your teenage son in 1990?

For many years my mom, sister, and I would have an inevitable discussion. Were we at our cousin’s last year for Christmas or at our house? Did we give Derek Hot Wheels or Legos? What year did he get that Walkman?

In 1981, in an attempt to resolve arguments before they started, I started to chronicle the Thanksgiving holiday and Christmas season. Now, 42 years later, it seems brilliant. My recall is not what it used to be. I still remember the events; not always the details such as precise years.

I have written about memories at this time of year twice before (see Christmas Memories from 2017 and Christmas Cards & Cookies from 2021) so it may be a blog trend.

I read through my holiday journal this year and a few more things popped out at me as fun to share.

For 4 years, while I was single and living in Minnesota, I held a Christmas Open House for friends, co-workers (some were both friends and co-workers) with a few family members for good measure. It was always the Sunday before Christmas and several dozen people visited throughout the afternoon and evening. My Christmas Chronicles detailed my menus. Here’s an example.

  • Glogg, a deadly Swedish mulled wine
  • Cranberry Punch, non-alcoholic
  • Japanese Yakitori
  • Sombrero Dip (very 80s!)
  • Köttbullar  (aka, Swedish Meatballs, a family recipe from my grandma)
  • Terrine de Campagne
  • Empaniditas
  • Bond Ost and Herring (Swedish Christmas favorites)
  • Wontons
  • Curried Chicken Finger-Sandwiches
  • Swedish Julkaka (bread) and Various Cookies

I cooked for days. It was crazy and something I would do in my twenties and thirties that I would NOT do these days. I wish I had pictures of these buffets! This was BECP: Before Everyone had Cameras in Pockets.

Christmas in Omaha, 1984. Ric and I were newly engaged. Left to right, Audrey, Anna, and Ruby. Ric’s mom, my grandma of Swedish meatball fame, and my mom. Grandmas was 87 and it was the last Christmas she traveled.

Then there was the year 7-year-old Derek knocked over two bottles of wine just as we were leaving for dinner at my cousin’s, and it was the very wine I had bought for the occasion. Luckily there were alternate wines I was able to grab, but two bottles of wine lay broken on the basement floor. Yuck!

Another Thanksgiving (1984), just as Ric and I had decided to get married the following year, we got a Siamese kitten for Derek, who was then 9. My step-daughter contributed a name for this naughty kitty, Méchante. She was cherished and with us for many years.

There were some very cold Christmases. In 1983, my final Christmas in Minnesota as we were moving to Omaha (this is pre-Ric), as of December 26 at midnight we had experienced 108 hours below zero. One day the high was only -15 degrees F. The high! That year it was so cold that on the morning of our Christmas Open House I woke to frozen pipes and no functioning toilets. Luckily they thawed by party time.

Although not so cold, we have had weather problems in Oregon, too. In 2008, the snow came and came and came in a series of storms. We lived at about 800 feet and could not get our cars out. Mine was stuck in the driveway for 8 days over Christmas. Our friends could not get to us and our neighbors could not get to their planned festivities so we invited stranded neighbors for Christmas Eve. We remember that evening fondly. There were two magnums of great Australian wine at the start of the evening. There were no leftovers.

Another year – 1987 – both holidays were overshadowed by our move from Omaha to Portland. At Halloween we found our house. Over Thanksgiving weekend we selected furniture and window coverings. December 29 we moved in. Whew! Sadly, we missed the wedding of Rick and Jane.

My sister and I had not missed one Christmas since she was born (1960) until 1985. She went to California, no doubt tired of the Upper Midwest cold. I missed her terribly that year. It wasn’t the same without her. She was co-hostess of the Christmas Open House (mostly in name as she was most assuredly not a cook) for at least two years.

Derek loved The Nutcracker. We attended, at his request, four performances, until at the age of 11 he said it was enough. Many years we went to plays and concerts during Advent. At least until he grew into a disinterested teenager.

This is about the age that Derek fell in love with The Nutcracker. Same year he killed the wine.

There were holiday trips. 1996 Thanksgiving in Texas was a favorite. Our brother-in-law built a plywood cover over their lap pool so they could set up tables for about 2-dozen people and we dined outside. That year he also built a dormitory/bunkhouse for half-a-dozen young men and boys to sleep in so everyone had a bed on the ranch. Ric and I got the room with a shotgun over the door and a gigantic Texas cockroach for a target.

When we moved to Italy, we took advantage of being there for holiday trips to London, the Dolomites, and Switzerland. When you cannot celebrate in a traditional manner, go for different. The lights in London, a concert at Royal Albert Hall, snow-hiking in the Alps, 5-course dinners you don’t have to make yourself. Somehow we always remember that at the lovely lodge where we stayed in the Dolomites they had a “butter buffet” with about 8 kinds of butter. Every morning. We were the only Americans with many Germans and Italians for our fellow guests.

One favorite Thanksgiving of all time: Ric and I cooked for 12 Italian friends on Thanksgiving Day 2013. Truly memorable! Those kids are at university by now, maybe graduated.

I was often on the road for business in the 90s and in 1995 was headed to Buffalo, NY, for a meeting on a December Monday. Derek was at Fort Drum in the Army, so on the Friday before we met in New York City to spend a festive weekend. We had a ball: Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, the Radio City Music Hall “Christmas Spectacular” complete with camels pooping on the stage, and the Rockettes. (They just danced.) We shopped, we ate, and we drank. Sunday at the airport our flights were in trouble: a huge lake effect snowstorm had moved in so my flight to Buffalo was cancelled and his to Syracuse delayed. I never made it to Buffalo for my meeting and Derek spent two days getting back to base as there were five feet of snow between Syracuse and the base near Watertown!

Some years Ric and I were alone in Portland. While Derek was in the Army, we spent two Christmases at a nice lodge on the Oregon Coast with our giant collie, Babe. Other years we had friends and family in large groups (I remember 13 at least once in our down-sized empty-nester condo) to dinner. Always uproariously fun with Trivial Pursuit competitions.

Jane Gray, aka Janie, at 12. She lived another 10 years.

Since we have returned from living in Italy we have spent many wonderful Christmases in Durango with Rick and Jane. Our fifth will be this year, again establishing great memories over shared meals and countless bottles of wine at high altitude. We’ve had snowy years and not-so-snowy years, big gatherings and small, cancelled flights and changes of itinerary, power outages and an intervening pandemic, of course. But we’ve always had a festive and memorable holiday.

Durango Christmas morning 2021. All fresh snow.

My brother has become the Master of making Swedish pancakes, aka plättar. Mom used to make them every year but I have not mastered the technique. A wonderful Christmas morning treat regardless of the weather.

In the end, these holidays embody time with loved ones and “home” wherever it may be. And that is what we remember. The events, the people, the problems, the victories. We forget most of the presents unless we wrote them down. (Though I’ll never forget getting my Barbie Dream House.)

As I wish you a festive and wonderful time during the year-end holidays I leave you with this lovely Italian saying:

Il Natale è un incontro con la memoria, ci porta a casa, inevitabilmente.

Christmas is an encounter with memory, it brings us home, inevitably

 – Lorenzo Marone

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Moving in the Time of COVID-19

12 Dec

One of these things is not like the other.

Chatsworth Circle

Francis Circle

Fir Ridge Road

Da Vinci Street

Kennedy Court

Via di Villa Emiliani

Via Ruggero Farro

Cascara Court

35th Avenue

Did you guess? 35th Avenue is our new, and rather boring-sounding, address. We have always lived on named streets, some rather colorful. How can you beat “Via di Villa Emiliani?” Yet here we are. You can choose a house but not your street name.

Despite the urban-esque sound, we reach our new digs by traveling through placid farms with the Coast Range looming in the near distance. Vast fields lay only a few meters from our house, no doubt to be filled with housing before another decade passes. We are at the western edge of the Portland Metroplex, up against wine country, barely an hour from the ocean and only 25 minutes from Derek. Yet our street is typical of an American suburb, perhaps one of the most classic suburban street scenes in which we have dwelled since we left Omaha in 1987.

I do love this tree in a park near our home.

Three of the old addresses were in condo-land and two were apartments – ruled by condo boards – in Italy. Now we are embracing a sweet Craftsman-style house on a small lot with a very private back garden that I intend to transform come springtime.

The workmanship is incredible. Reminiscent of a 1940s bungalow but with an open plan and the features desired in 21st Century living. Here is the jaw-dropping coda to this tale: it was built by high school students! Forest Grove H.S. has run the Viking Homes Program since 1975. (Ours is the 2010 home.)

Buying and selling in 2020 are like walking a highwire with people shooting at you. Houses in the Portland area practically sell before they are listed. (See Cambiamo Case. )

COVID-19 only adds another 1000 degrees of complexity. Spending on home-improvements makes the proverbial drunken-sailor (as in “spend like a”) look like Scrooge. Refrigerators, freezers, washers, dryers, ranges, and ovens are back-ordered for months. We used to waltz into Sears (R.I.P.) or Home Depot, order an appliance, and have it appear in a matter of 72 hours. We are back-ordered until January 13 for a washer/dryer. Six weeks of laundromat stretch before me like an endless wasteland.

Scheduling movers, handymen, or anything else has to be juggled against an out-of-control mortgage and title market. Title companies are overwhelmed as mortgage lenders feed them 4 times the cases they are expected to handle. (One agent told us an escrow officer usually gets 10 cases a day and now they each get 40!) Assessors in Lincoln County are so backed-up that lenders have to hire them from Portland to make the four-hour round-trip. Without going into an agonizing litany of all the delays, I’ll simply say it was a stressful period getting from the fast-sale in Lincoln City to occupancy of the new house in Forest Grove.

It was very unsettling having strangers in our home for packing. One mask-hole from the moving company required constant reminders to stay masked and was reported to the company as not welcome to handle the move-in end of the project. Ric and I had good KN-95 masks to help protect us. Doors and windows were wide open letting the house temp plummet into the mid-50s so fresh air circulated. We moved into a hotel to make the whole experience less stressful and provide us a place of refuge. Since we are now almost 3 weeks past packing day, we are breathing a sigh of relief as all other workers have only been in the house briefly.

The furniture arrived on December 4, preceded by two days of painting (not by us, by professionals) and having some handyman services performed. By the following Monday, we were largely settled and had a tower of recycling ready for the local waste management company. They’ll get another tower in two days as we have finished unpacking (mostly). As of our one-week-in-the-house benchmark, there is art on the walls and I know where almost everything has been stowed. We can find our way to the major services in Forest Grove without the satnav.

Moving is not for wimps. Moving in the Time of COVID is insane.

We are not quite done, but here is a first look.

  • Living room decorated by the seller.
  • Living room: clean slate!
  • Ric unpacking the kitchen.
  • Coffee corner set up, thank goodness.
  • Ample pantry.
  • My Swedish Julboks stand guard. Christmas decorations are minimal this year.
  • My “office.” Awaiting a desk and cabinet.
  • The stockings are hung by the free-standing fireplace with care.
  • The living room, temporary stage. Awaiting a sectional.
  • The hobby room is a work in progress.
  • Entry nook.
  • The guest room still features sea-themed decor.
  • The backyard will be transformed starting next week as I am killing the grass. The blue tarp covers a fountain.

Several readers have asked how the cats are doing. I am sad to tell you that Frankie & Esther had to go back to the shelter. When we evacuated for the fire, we could not lay our hands on the cats to secure them for evacuation, forcing us to leave them in the house alone for the time we were gone. That was frightening. If we could not evacuate them for their safety, how would we deal with taking them to the veterinarian? They were a year overdue on vaccinations as it was. We consulted with our vet, who advised these were not likely to become socialized cats. She encouraged us to return to sender, which required a tranquilizer, a difficult capture involving a pillowcase, and a 3-hour round trip to Florence. We will adopt again when the right cats are ready for us.

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A new adventure

31 Aug

31 August 2020.

When the pandemic began, we immediately thought – as many people did – of adding a new pet to our family. It had been nearly two years since Janie passed and perhaps now was the time. However, we held out hope that our annual fall trip to Europe would go forth as planned. After all, in March, April, and even in May, we thought we could put COVID-19 behind us as a country.

In fact, today is the day we should be winging our way to Germany to start our two-month trip. <Sigh.>

In July, we pulled the plug on everything we could cancel and decided the next adventure would be bonding with new kitties. Having only adopted kittens in the past, we set our sights on a pair of adult cats, bonded to one another, and started the online search of local humane societies.

two cats in a bed

Frankie and Esther cuddled up in their bed-under-the-bed,

The Oregon Coast Humane Society in Florence had a match for us: Esther and Frankie. A middle-aged pair at 7 years, they came into our lives on August 21. They are not sure about us nor are we sure about exactly what our relationship will be with them. What is clear: they are deeply bonded. Esther is particularly skittish, and only last night did she present herself for a drive-by petting. Mostly she runs to shelter when she sees us coming. Frankie has been allowing some petting and does vocalize a bit. They play with toys but not interactively with us. They love their cozy beds and wet cat food is relished. No one is losing any weight. They are sizable.

Living outside of the cat condo at the shelter seems to agree with them.

cat on a shelf

When we came to fetch them, in Florence, OR, at the Humane Society, Esther headed to a high shelf and had to be coaxed down.

Perhaps our perspective on cat size is skewed by Janie who weighed a hair over five pounds at her death (age 23!) and never topped more than 11 pounds. These two are solid.

This is a duo that has never had a forever home. Esther was once feral and both have been strays that only had one known permanent home – together –  for two years. Surrendered yet again to the shelter last May, they need stability and patient humans.

gray tabby cat

Frankie’s shelter photo. Handsome boy!

It is going to take time for them to adapt to us and time is something we have plenty of. They are ours.

Cat in a covered bed

Frankie thinks he is hiding in the hooded cat bed.

 

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A coastal prairie and a peninsula ramble: Nestucca Bay NWR

12 Aug Deer

12 August 2020. 

A discreet brown and white sign points the way to the Nestucca Bay National Wildlife Refuge from Highway 101. Although we have traveled this highway dozens of times in the past three years, we had never noticed the turn-off until clued into this new sanctuary by an article in Oregon Coast magazine.

A pre-hike stop in Pacific City was a bit out of our way but allowed us to fortify ourselves with an Americano and a fine sweet scone from Stimulus Coffee. A few hundred people were already hitting the beach, many carrying surfboards even at 9:15 AM. Not our scene.

Haystack Rock, beach, and ocean

Pacific City’s Haystack Rock, one of many along the Oregon Coast.

We backtracked a few miles to the sanctuary. The first pullout gives a view over grazing lands that provide important habitat where geese gather during migration and also over-winter. We will be back if only for that scene several times this fall. Moving on to the trailhead, we found a genuinely nice parking lot, newly paved and striped, with a convenient – and clean! – chemical toilet. The solitary car there at our 10:00 AM arrival was just departing.

One feels rather far from the ocean but even from the parking lot, the sound of the surf crashing is unmistakable. We made the first leg of our walk the Pacific View Trail, an all-access paved path that leads to a large deck with a magnificent view to the West encompassing the ocean, a haystack rock, and even distant Pacific City.

Haystack rock and ocean

Haystack Rock at Pacific City is viewed from afar at the NWR.

The Pacific View Trail traverses a rare coastal prairie, alive at this time of year with many flowering plants. Prairie habitat was once extensive along our coastline, but development has brought a loss of habitat and with it the decline of species such as the Oregon silverspot butterfly. Approximately 21 of the 35 acres of prairie habitat have been reestablished with native species and restoration work is ongoing.

Meadow and ocean

The Pacific Ocean viewed across the coastal prairie.

Birds Only sign

Stay on the path and no dogs allowed!

Sign

There is a fair amount of interpretive signage in the refuge.

The refuge is a study in contrasts. After the .63 mile out-and-back on the Pacific View Trail, we took the highly forested Two Rivers Trail to the confluence of the Nestucca River and the Little Nestucca River. The trail has modest elevation change and varies from gravel to dirt to grass. The only sound we heard was birdsong. One doe silently sought out tender shoots in an open spot. The trail ends with a view of the estuary where we found many waterfowl lounging on the spit and several splashing in the water.

Click on any picture for a better view.

A lovely woodsy hike.
The view over the confluence of the two rivers. Waterfowl heaven.
A shady picnic spot near a fishing hole.
Peaceful grazing in the forest.

We encountered no one until we were within sight of the parking lot after 11:30 AM. Apparently, most people start later than we do!

Having amortized the morning scones, we headed to The Riverhouse Nestucca, arriving just as they opened their doors at noon. It had been almost six months since we last visited thanks to COVID closures and restrictions. This day, we were the only indoor lunch customers (they have picnic tables in full sun) and we relished those Howard burgers and rosemary fries.

man and hamburger

Ric is ready to dive in to his burger.

hAMBURGER AND FRENCH FRIES

The Howard Burger at the Riverhouse Nestucca. Best burger within driving distance of our house.

My Fitbit clocked in at just under four miles and 90 minutes for both trails and a side trip to the picnic spot. This is a hike we will take again and again, especially with a favorite restaurant nearby. Sadly, no dogs allowed.

Woman and flowers

Laurel with the late summer daisies near the picnic area.

 

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Escape to the Abbey

30 Jul

30 July 2020.

Summer in Oregon begins on the 5th of July is a trope oft-quoted in the Western part of the state. Following a “June-u-ary,” (not uncommon) even American Independence Day can be chilly. But soon the Willamette Valley (referred to locally as simply The Valley) gets its heat on.

Here on the Oregon Coast, our idea of summer is anything over 60 degrees Fahrenheit and when it on rare occasion reaches 72 we think we are going to die. It’s the number one reason Ric and I chose to live here; it does not get hot in the summer. We hesitate to journey into The Valley in July and August.

Last Friday we were looking for a day trip so we could vacate the house while our housekeeper came. The irony of needing to leave home for four hours so someone else can clean it is not lost on us; however, we choose locations where we can be physically distant from others. A hike is always a good plan and if we can follow a hike with a meal anywhere but at home, so much the better. It was cool in The Valley on July 24th so we dared to venture to the Trappist Abbey and explore the peaceful forest.

The Abbey advertises the Guadalupe Loop at 3.5 miles. Our Fitbits clocked in at almost 5 miles, accounting for a couple of spurs we took and the distance to-and-from parking. A good workout of 2 hours. While not a difficult hike, it isn’t “easy” in the Easy-Hiker sense. My knees wished I had taken my trekking sticks for the downhill portion and there were also some rugged sections on the backside of the hike where I was happy to be wearing hiking shoes.

This day was overcast and pleasant. We only encountered 15 people in two hours. Not sure I would venture here on a weekend or when it is hot or wet.

I’ll let our pictures do the talking but a few points of advice from our trek:

    • Take the loop in a clockwise fashion as we did.
    • In the rainy season, go back the way you came from the viewpoint. The section from the shrine and along the southern part of the trail would be very muddy when it has rained.
    • Trail junctions are marked counter-intuitively. Keep left except for the viewpoint, unless you want to take one of the “passes.”
    • The viewpoint is not well-marked. After making the left turn at an obvious point, make the first right you come to.
    • Take your hiking sticks if you have bad knees.

Our Lady of Guadalupe Trappist Abbey’s peaceful courtyard.

 

Signage and map with history and rules. Put your cellphone on airplane mode.

 

The trail varies from wide “highways” to narrow, rocky, packed clay.

 

A family group was among the few people we saw. They pushed a stroller up 800 feet!

 

“The woods are lovely dark and deep…”

 

The view from the top is of Oregon vineyards.

 

Reflection in the pond.

 

Still smiling after an 800-foot climb.

Some of you sharp-eyed readers will notice a new link in the navigation bar, Masks to Benefit Food Pantry. I am making lovely, effective masks and selling them as a fund-raiser. I like to sew and after outfitting family and friends and still having a vast supply of nice fabrics,  I thought perhaps I could do some good by supporting our local food pantry while keeping myself occupied. LMK if you see anything you like and I’ll figure out shipping. 

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