a little red hen

Dim Sum Friday in PDX

We were not alone at WONG'S KING on December 25.  Cars were ahead and behind us going  toward southeast Division Street. The word has been out for a while that this is THE place for Portland dim sum.  There are others in the same neighborhood but crowds wanting these tasty stuffed goodies tilt toward Wong's King (not a typo on my part).

Williamette Week raves, "...no place in Portland comes close..."   Which explains why dim sum service begins at 9 a.m. on Christmas Day.  Other Chinese restaurants in the area of southeast 82nd put out signs about dim sum; it seems they  take up the slack of the closed doors on other dining establishments around town.  We did drive by a busy Stumptown, keeping the coffee crowd alert.

With all that, our family, arriving at 11 a.m., had a one-hour wait.  Helped that it was a sunny day; some of the time Rachel and the kids walked outdoors; they were very patient as we waited for our number to come up.  They were also distracted by the diverse crowd milling about.

Besides the food, the women servers had striking purple outfits that reminded me of the olden days of airline stewardesses.  How did  Wong's King pick up the idea, I ponder.

Even with the photo-taking, I managed to eat my share.   Ron and I have a history of  Christmas dinners in Chinese restaurants in unexpected places--Paris, Rome, Oaxaca, Mexico.  However, this was the first time we ate with so many Chinese diners.

Mainly a seafood place, there were pork and beef dim sum along with shrimp variations, another held a soft-boiled egg.  Sticky rice in leaves had bits of meat and tangerine in a mix new to us.

I could have enjoyed  more of the pastry-covered sweet bean paste; Zach liked these coconut covered jellied things with pineapple or peanuts inside.  Look kind of furry in this photo.

Chinese desserts usually only intrigue me visually--like a layered coffee gelatin that Scott liked.  But it is everything else that makes this food special for our family. 

Could it be? Yes, it could. Something's coming, something good. Around the corner, waiting for you and me...

It is challenging to have the enthusiastic expectation of the lyrics in "Something's Coming" as the healthcare debacle rounded its own corner yesterday.  But I do want to believe the Senate bill to be, as Paul Krugman describes it in today's New York Times, "a great achievement."  Like me, that upbeat song from the musical, "West Side Story," contains a 1950s hopefulness.

Over these many months of strum and drang in Congress, our son, the urban historian, has assured us that something of substance would emerge.  Our daughter, the businesswoman working with people with disabilities, has held out hope too.  Since this is all more about their futures, what their children will experience, I think it's important to listen to them.  Nick says the bill offers hope for people in their twenties, younger than him, who feel so left behind economically.  Rachel too hopes the healthcare changes that  finally emerge will benefit her young employees.

Again, Krugman in today's New York Times:

         So progressives shouldn't stop complaining, but...congratulate themselves on what is, in the end, a big  win for them--and for America.

The view here is toward the north from our window on foggy Portland mornings.  Doesn't it appear to be  a storybook scene, a bit magical. One hopes...

Unsubsribe OBAMA

Soooo many of us are disappointed.  We've been making excuses for why this administration could not do better on this issue and that one.  But we have had it.  The hip might say, "It's over, boyfriend."

The failure of meaningful healthcare reform has brought us to the brink.  After personally working for significant changes, watching HR 676 pushed aside, been open to new ideas like the public option, I can only relate to Howard Dean's NO, NOT THIS ONE approach.

Why encourage our congressional representatives, the somewhat willing, to vote for meaningless healthcare reform...then wait to see what that actually means once it's delivered? 

Do you feel your voice has been heard?  Only by all the progressive groups that have been doing the work and offering me a way to send many messages to Congress, like Representative Grayson (D.Fla) whose petition I signed as one of the 100,000 against the escalation of the war in Afghanistan.

This morning I took the only route that made sense, the one that Obama and his people might actually "hear."   I unsubscribed from "Organizing for America" a/k/a/ Barackobama.com.  The request to "ring in reform" and call my senators seemed especially hollow on a rainy day in Portland, Oregon, where we read one terrible story after another about the suffering of the uninsured, the underinsured. 

When we have watched Joe Lieberman (you don't need a link, do you?) free to bully the Democratic Party into submission.

The only positive thing about unsubscribing OFA is that finally I can leave a comment.  Mine starts wih "Devastated" and points to Obama's waiting too long to come out for meaningful healthcare reform, sending more  troops to Afghanistan.  If you join me in this, please let me know.

 I'm also taking the button off my purse.

 You do what you can do.

Whole Foods finds soap request laughable

You know how the ordinary stuff we take for granted has been drifting out of sight the past ten years?  Before we left New York, I succumbed to ordering my deodorant online.  Online!  Four roll-on Tussy unscented that will last way past my demise.  Probably should leave the remainder to my grandchildren.

Then there are the habits of a lifetime:  a bar of soap at the kitchen sink--more important than the dish soap in a container that has to be lifted up, poured out.  We have that too, of course.

  Kosher soap was something I discovered in the 1960s--hard, unscented stuff for washing hands, the occasional dirty spoon between meals.  How exactly the bars entered my life is lost.  I remember that Rokeach was white and had either a blue or red symbol in the middle.

It was a long time before the significance of the color was revealed: red for meat dishes, blue for dairy. Why people would bid for it on Ebay--in vintage packages--must reveal something of its mysterious power for others besides me.  As you and I learn HERE, there is no such thing as Kosher soap.

Meanwhile, back to my search.  For the past few months, a beautiful bar of amber-colored soap has held place of honor near the sink.   Bought this one a couple of years ago from  a man with an elegant manner at the Portland Farmers' Market.  For a long time I kept it sitting in a large shell on a desk as an object to admire.  I think it had something to do with bees or glycerine and had little particles similar to amber beads.

About Whole Foods and amusement.  After trying New Seasons, Safeway, I thought maybe this over-priced store would have something as retro as a bar of dish soap.  The very, very helpful woman (that's how they are at WF) lost it when I asked, "Anything other than all these soap dispensers--something like a bar of laundry soap?"  I laughed with her.

It was at Food Front, the co-op grocery, (one of several in Portland) that the search  led to Dr. Bronner's Magic Soaps.  After years of seeing these at alternative stores, once happening upon the transfixing film about the truly crazed Bronner family, I bought "All-One Hemp Peppermint Pure-Castile Soap Made with Organic Oils," the pale white bar pictured above.  Ron loves it.

You must read the small type on the back, "Emmanuel Bronner,  third generation German-Jewish master soapmaker brought the family's Old World recipes to the US in the late 1920s...[we] support fair trade, organic agriculture and a healthy environment."  What's not to love? 

Compost Redux: Sustainability Notions in a CCRC

 Earlier this week, I had lunch with Marian M, chair of Terwilliger Plaza's Green Team.  I'd attended one of their monthly meetings and wanted to know more about their efforts to increase our CCRC's sustainability.  

[Aside:  "Sustainability," we have learned, is a major Portland buzzword.   This link to an EPA definition is a reminder that "Nearly 80 per cent of Americans live in urban environments..." Probably anyone in the U.S. reading this--city or suburb.]

Learned that the Green Team was formed by residents about three years ago.  Proper battery collection and the reduction of lighting in public rooms have been among their projects. Often recycle innovations involve more complexity and   planning than you would imagine. Disposal of old television sets during the 2009 digital changeover was one of these.  Most recent, and very impressive, is a grant Terwilliger has received to study the Green Roof idea as another possibilty.

 Shared with Marian about my own work "Composting in Manhattan" and her response was revelatory.  Seriously:  the GT has initiated an outdoor compost collector behind the building.  No red wigglers simply a straightforward arrangement.

Delighted with the chance, I disposed of the beet ribs (are these gorgeous beets) from a recent dinner.  Placed dried leaves over them, poked a bit.  Voila!  Composting in PDX, very satisfying.  Thanks to Marian and the GT, no more Bloom veggies/eggshells/coffee grounds down the chute.

Maybe more compost jewelry, knit red wiggler worms in the future.  My imagination travels to a chorus of Green Team composters...elegant Terwilliger residents of both sexes decorated with beads from beets as they make poetry and music about the satisfaction of latelife composting.

The future of Terwilliger sustainability looks promising.

What I Did NOT Wear...till Portland

Have you read "Love, Loss, and What I Wore" by Ilene Beckerman?  An east coast woman, middle class child of the 1940s/50s, she speaks to how we once thought about clothes.  Her New York City life was much tidier, more elegant than mine yet there's a resonance.  Similar to the sense I've always had when meeting Jewish women around my age in different cities:  a vibe, often brief, that we share until I learn she's a Republican.

"I wore this black bathing suit when I went to Florida with my grandmother.  I was fourteen," Ilene reports.  The drawing on the facing page--I wish that were a skill of mine--tells me more.  While I never had a Florida grandma nor a black bathing suit till now, the pose is familiar.  Second position, the one we learned in ballet class.  That came along with the expected piano lessons that other first generation Jewish mothers like mine understood as required for our upwardness in America. 

Here then is my first black bathing suit.  Bought it maybe 15 years ago to wear to the beach, a place enjoyed by the rest of my family.  I have a purple one that is equally sensible and unused.

On our 1970s and 80s summer  vacations in Cape May, New Jersey, or on Cape Cod, I was comfortable under our generous green and white striped umbrella with my knitting.  Sometimes Ron coaxed me into the salt water which I reluctantly admitted enjoying.  He had been a lifeguard at Coney Island in his youth.  At the same time, after years of summer camp and beginner swim class, I was a day camp counselor (no water required) in St. Louis.

Yet, this very month I have dipped my toes in the excellent warm water of the pool at Terwilliger Plaza.  Four times so far in "Gentle Water Aerobics."  Chlorine not too strong.  Still have to master/mistress the dressing room thing.  Afterwards I put in some minutes on the treadmill, conveniently located on the way back to our apartment.

The first time into the pool, I recalled a suggestion sent me by Hattie when I mentioned my reluctance to take the water.   She likes trim Land's End  ladies' swim suits minus the skirt.  That would be my nod to the 21st century and thinking beyond how black makes me look thinner.  After diving into color and pattern in my Baltimore life, going back to New York City edged me toward, as Ilene B. would say, "...black is always chic--and makes shopping choices much easier."  Third stage retirement requires shifting...more to follow.

I'm not in Manhattan any more.