a little red hen

PIETOPIA, update and backdate

Once upon a time I dreamed of being a pie-maker.  Unlike just about every other old lady blogger I never had a mom or grandma whose luscious pies would sit on a country window sill and tempt the neighborhood.

Aside:  At  a 1990 conference, a drama therapist and I did a performance on "The Idea of  "Home."  It began with my opening the oven, removing a baked good, raising the window described above, placing the pie.  Very powerful fantasy enhanced by 1930s and 40s children's books and print ads.

When Ron was on the faculty at Oberlin, we went to dinner at the psychology chair's house. In the kitchen I was spellbound as  his wife (those were the days) made a pie with such grace and ease that the memory is still clear forty years later.  Would have been perfect to learn from her but did not happen.  "Crisps" are my forte, as the rhubarb one pictured above.

Three pies were winners in the recent Pietopia event.  Most striking was the text for Margit Beerli's "Rinky Dinky Pie."

 "My life is simple right now because I choose to live uncomplicated and because I am in the third third of my life."  [italics mine]

Love that phrase. Perfect addition to my recently developed  employed (not retired) life script.  Comforting too that someone over thirty entered the contest.  If you lived in Portland, Oregon, and hung around food, you would get this.  Margit lives in Seattle which I'm told is more big city than PDX.

To remind readers once again to take notice of what is happening in the big world, here's Pietopia-innovator Tricia Martin's "Rhubarb Custard Pie:  The Pie of Unemployment II."  She did this one in 2009.   She, like my 20th century self, like many women and men all around us every day, has had her own frequent experiences with joblessness.  And uses her considerable creativity to get through the days.

PIETOPIA...PDX Food + Thoughtfulness

At the usual risk of writing too long a post--including this and that from the piles of paper to my left/right/sideways and all the images too compelling to ignore, and then tying together visual impact with social issues till the poor thing can hardly lie steady on the page, I have found something unexpected to ease my struggle.

It began with my obsession with reading newspapers.  Every day.  Two of them--New York Times and The Oregonian. The Times gets less of a close read as our year anniversary in Portland approaches.  Never our "local" paper, only all that we had in Manhattan.  The free ones--Village Voice (sadly degraded from 1960s), Free Press even worse--are no match for the local (WW) Willamette Week. The latter gets high marks in usefulness for movie reviews, things to do, and a wry perspective on city politics.  If  the NYT had got their noses out of the desperate effort to appeal to younger and younger demographics,  it might have occurred to them:  develop small, local papers for different parts of the city, provide some genuine service.

Pietopia, the idea+event,  was mentioned in both locals.   Utopia as a pie?  Maybe better than as a commune.  It was to occur on my birthday, August 5, at Buckman Farmers Market, one of many around town this time of year.    We stopped by and met Tricia who has asked,  

What does it taste like to be unemployed, starting a new job, just married, divorced, a new homeowner or desperately searching for housing? What kind of pie would describe the way you are feeling right now? Could you imagine your thoughts, concerns or joys transformed into the All-American Pie?

You are looking at first place prize winner from 2009. Hard to outdo its heartfelt text by Sabrina Miller:

The ingredients in my pie are both tart and sweet . . . similar to the recent events in my life . . . and when combined, the result is unexpectedly sublime (and a force to be reckoned with, according to my husband)!  [The rest and the recipe is HERE.]

Since the winter of 2008, two photos have remained on my desktop.  Posters in the NYC subway as the recession began.  Their intent was to reach out to people unemployed and needing support.  In a much earlier life I was among them--often.  Once around 1963, I was unable to find a new job for so long that I sublet my apartment, moved into a residence hotel.  No longer had a telephone--only a service that I'd call to see if there were messages about my next interview.  Just like, but not nearly as much fun,  the musical "Bells Are Ringing."

A frequent job-seeker, the only one I had for more than two years was my own psychotherapy practice.  Twenty!  In the 1950s, I worked for New York State Employment.  Counseled women and men under 21 as they looked for jobs.  How old was I?  Twenty-four! But I already knew much about the search, loved connecting people and jobs. 

There is a special place in my heart and psyche for job-searchers.  I've been wanting to do something since the latest meltdown.  It pulls at me.  In 2008,  Claude who was then at Blogging in Paris  must have thought I was crazed when she received a long email about my concern about jobless New Yorkers.  Did Tricia realize that all the support groups are not enough?  Some kind of doing is what's needed:  make pie, ask the cook what it represents. 

Maybe the approach that would work for other causes of mine:  MAKE PIES NOT WAR.   I'll share the outcome of the 2010 Pietopia challenge.  Meanwhile, read the winners from 2009.  Portland is a very special place when it comes to writing. I hope I catch it.

A (Portland) Bridge Too Far

By chance we discovered a one-woman show soon after our move here in Fall 2009.  Print junkie that I am, a promotional postcard, "The Bridge Lady: inspired by a true story,"  intrigued me.  This city is alive with bridges--eleven of them criss-crossing the Willamette and Columbia Rivers.

Sharon Wood Wortman, whose one- woman performance was the card's subject, has been leading school tours and writing about Portland bridges for a number of years.  But a note on the card indicated this one was not for kids. 

Hardly. Announcing that she'd never done anything like this before, Sharon told her life story of growing up harshly in the city.  Not a pretty story but a strong sense of survivorship and delving into the history of the bridges--plus a few good supportive friends--had led her beyond that to her current self at 65 years.  Joined in celebrating with her.

In connection with the 100-year birthday of the Hawthorne Bridge, she was giving her final tours for the general public, as part of  an incredible extravaganza for the bridge planned with the guy pictured next to her.  The bridge's calendar is gorgeous with artists' views of it.  It has been on our wall but I stopped turning to the next month when the drawn image to the right appeared.

As part of Sharon's tour,  we trekked to the bridge traffic control room with 70 other bridge enthusiasts to see how it all worked.  But it began so late that Ron and I  left partway through--before actually crossing the Morrison Bridge, being on it when it lifted.  It was the end of an exhausting couple of weeks.

Back to regular pedometer use, I'd racked up two days over 7,000 steps.  Walked every day to a Portland State summer class, "The Sociology of the Bicycle," which was terrific and met 8 afternoons over two weeks.  We managed a full week on foot:  no car!  Toward the end, Portland became summery and the air-conditioning in the classroom was a killer.

And so, I came down with another cold--several of these and/or allergy stuff since our move.  And I've been low energy.  It was a message:  having fun, moving fast is swell, but old ladies need to chill out a bit more than some of us are ready to accept.

Here's  the Hawthorne, oldest vertical lift bridge in U.S. and maybe the world, draped with fabric that gets lighted at night (Willamette Week ran great photos)...keeping missing that and only three days left to see it.  Oops, slow down, I tell self once again.

At the top of this post a view from an early evening walk toward the Morrison Bridge.  You cannot see us and our friends dodging the bicycle riders whizzing as we tried to take a leisurely walk  along the Willamette.

Though it seems I've been a blogging dropout, it is not the case.  Many wonderful adventures to relate in future posts--bike culture as religion, meeting Vincenza Scarpaci and reading her book  about Italians in America plus discovering an unexpected PDX gem, diPrimo Bakery and Restaurant. 

And a well known blogger is coming to town!

Blogging: Untapped Possibilities Envirowise?

My June 21  post elicited more comments than anything since my last picture of an adorable grandchild.  Thanks to all of you who validated my sense that there's an urge for each of us  to tell our environmental stories to one another and find validation that what we're doing is meaningful.  We are everywhere!

Jaykaym in Washington, D.C. suggested I watch the a documentary, "No Impact Man."  I read about the filmmaker in the New York Times  couple of years ago when we still lived there.  "Guy is writing a book," I said to spouse.  Otherwise why would you challenge your spouse to climb four flights of stairs in an NYC walk-up and schlep a two-year old, a dog, and packages at the same time.  Too much hubris.  I want to know how the family's no-impact efforts continue in their everyday life.  He does have a blog  by the same name.  It's worth following for its detailed focus on possible citizen environmental actions.

Hattie at her web acknowledges that some times ideas from another culture, Japanese soapdish from berry box, may not work elsewhere.  Readers in exotic lands like Hawaii now have a new way to grow orchids!

Kay in Ohio joins the keep-using-them club around plastic bags.  Have to find out what Freda in Scotland means about "the 50mls round trip."  Berry box as bath toy might work with grandkids who, unlike mine, enjoy low key bath times.

Darlene in Arizona wonders if her efforts are enough.   It's not "tiny," Darlene.  Only seems that way because the environmental movement, the U.S. government, your neighbors have not discovered ways to form community around small, individual steps.

How I envy Anne in Washington (the state).  I live in an apartment; outdoor clothes drying not an option.  Sigh.

Beth Reid, a neighbor of mine here in Portland, Oregon, offered a good idea about buying the net bags--much less spendy than mine from Whole Foods!  Another neighbor wondered if our retirement community might not buy biodegradeable bags in bulk that residents could then purchase at modest cost.

Interesting  "papier-mache/wooden berry boxes" idea from m.e. (Xtreme English)  in Washington, D.C. environs.  Could only find these wooden ones which could take a lot of re-use.   Maybe Beth knows where we can get a dozen of them...talk our neighbors into  starting a mini-trend at nearby Farmers Market.

Why does everything seem more sensible in Canada?  Marja-Leena Rathje in British Columbia reminds me how I always wonder why the U.S. is not more open to what we might learn.  Canadian Broadcasting Corporation long a favorite of mine.

Surprise from Joared in Southern California:  she's blogging again!  And takes the prize for being a "do everything" approach to improving the universe through personal effort.

Two days later Carrie Sturrock in the Oregonian seemed to be reading my mind.  She writes a Friday column, PDX Green.    "Changing Minds, One Step at a Time" was her theme.  Her model was the impressive effort made by Portland's Williamette Pedestrian Coalition to move its office on foot (by foot?) via an informal parade of walkers.  Yes, this city is a great place for those of us not on bicycle...more later.

[Food poster at the top of the page from a link at Marion Nestle's blog, Food Politics.  Pennsylvania promoted these ideas during World War One.]

Not doing that again--sustainability in real old life

My neighbor B.P. (not to be confused with the infamous oil company) suggested at a community meeting that we needed to stretch our recycling efforts.  She demonstrated her suggestion by holding up plastic berry boxes that she stated could be washed and returned  to the store.  Audience exchanged dubious glances.  "You could also," she continued, "take them to the Farmers Market and put your raspberries in them."

I thought that was hilarious.  Then checked myself.  Wasn't it my idea back in 1998 that New Yorkers could kitchen compost with red wiggler worms?  Didn't I use similar little plastic boxes to create the "world's smallest kitchen composter."  Many laughed,  suggested it was undoable.  Challenged, especially now a resident of the most sustainably-conscious city in America, Portland, Oregon, I would try out her idea.

More than that, Saturday, June 17, 2010, would be my uber-effort on the container front.  In keeping with the local ethic and encouragement in stores, we've become more dutiful carriers of canvas bags.  Still find it a bit uncomfortable to simply drop the unwrapped aspirin bottle into my purse and not wonder if the "Thief!" electronics will sound as I leave the drugstore.  But the Farmers Market at PSU is the place to feel righteous about dispensing even with canvas:  I have seen people  do it.

You know how everyone is very polite in PDX?  That's how it was with the young man at the blueberry table.  Explained that I was just going to transfer the berries from the little green paper box to my plastic one.  "Think they will fit?" I anxiously asked Ron.  "Sure."  He's patient too.  Well, they fit but it's a trickier maneuver than I'd imagined; quickly gathered up wandering berries as the line behind me grew longer.

Lost a few berries, felt womanly righteousness.  Spent more time than usual in figuring out how to arrange food.  Took along a shoe box in the Zabar cart...yes, there is one plastic bag for the apricots/peaches.  Ran out of canvas...gets more complex around items that need to be held while selecting, then weighed on purchase.    

My message to B.P. is that the effort was informative for my future.   But  the berry-box-reuse notion is history in my house.  

Maybe B.P., a former elementary school teacher, and I (once one of those too) could do is design a class, "Transformative Sustainability," a/k/a  "Right-thinking Bagging Techniques for the  Older Person." Respectful, conscious of age-related limitations. 

Watch for an announcement in the Oregonian where a major grocer's  anti-plastic-bag  initiative hit today's front page. [Be sure to read the online comments following the story...are they what you'd expect?]

Summer Miscellany: images sitting on my desktop

From Food Day, the Tuesday section that arrives with the Oregonian newspaper.  Usually has more useful recipes than the New York Times Dining & Wine,  arrives Wednesdays.  

Still read about restaurants opening/closing in NYC.  Only really miss Chinese in Brooklyn.

Speaking of food, this week brought reminders of how the dreadful Monsanto keeps trying to destroy farming and all naturally grown things.  Credo posted this petition to say NO! to genetically modified alfalfa.  Please.

Two new additions to the pantry. The washable produce bag actually works as advertised--kept mixed salad leaves fresh in crisper, washed easily, plan to go all the way sustainable and take it to Farmers Market for next produce purchase.

 Cutting board with little red silicone feet is made from an eco-friendly fiber (according to label but not explained on their site).  We do not put it in dishwasher.

Made the big move to select cotton yarn for another vest at longtime favorite  Close Knit in north Portland on Alberta Street.  Sally, the proprietor, was very helpful...wish I lived closer and could get to the Wednesday night-nights.  The store has a newish blog with clear pictures on how to rescue dropped stitches, the knitter's dread.

Ron noticed a new restaurant across the street.  We split what I can only describe as the most politically incorrect sandwich made by [a] man at Pine State Biscuits.  Fried chicken topped with cheddar cheese and bacon.  This is what happens when you rarely eat meat but were raised on it and have some atavistic pull toward food that will remind you why you do not eat like this anymore.  Wish I'd paid more attention to the name of the bottled drink because it was delicious, kind of antidote to the food. 

Enjoyed the wall decoration most of all--artful reflection of weird Portland at its snarkiest.  We felt a little under-dressed as usual--no allover tatoos and only my pierced earrings which really do not count.

Roxie, the NYC girl, does Portland

It's her second trip here.  The last time Roxie and her parents (our son and daughter-in-law) were in Rose City their visit coincided with the birth of cousin Elianna.  Literally, the new baby arrived before her mom Rachel could get to the hospital.  Quite a scene.

Roxie's parents have made an effort to keep her memory of her now-moved grandparents up front, so she made a smooth transition to familiar old faces and furniture as soon as she arrived.

In her first week, she's been around the city-- painting in our apartment, eating in the Pearl Bakery (mounted police surprised us, provided a view out the windows).  Much playing with cousins.many thrilling rides on Portland's free trolley, another at a waterfront amusement park with Grandpa.

Today the cousins all go to the famous Rose Parade.  The SUN is shining, the sky is very blue after Roxie's introduction to the famous daily rains of the past week.

Thursday Ron and I had our own two-hour adventure--a hands-on breadmaking class, scheduled long before we knew when the New York group would arrive.  Held at Bob's Red Mill, [1500 grain-related recipes @ this link] a real mill, with an  excellent instructor, David Kobos, longtime coffee roaster.  David's avocation is baking bread, tweaking recipes he finds in out-of-print books.

   He also raises chickens --check out these gorgeous ones from his flock of 50.  A very popular class, we'd signed up early, thought it was a good way to celebrate Ron's  75th birthday.  Watching David is another old guy in the class...a trend? 

Talking afterwards we discovered  that David, besides all else, shares a background with us in teaching in 1960s public schools in New York City.  The time went by very quickly; all the chairs were filled but my picture was taken during a seven-minute break!  We had an enjoyable, energetic time, and learned new approaches to making bread.  We're going to try his Sourdough Rye recipe at home.

Good to be with someone around our age sharing his enthusiasms.  The student across the way from me had this one tatoo (she told me so) and agreed to have its picture taken.  Now that I have spiky haircut, could a tiny tatoo be in my future....I might move more toward "Portlandness" with, like her,  just one.

It's very special  to have all our family in the same place. We're grateful to Nick and Leanne for making the trip and taking three weeks out of busy NYC lives.  Last night Rachel put together Ron's strawberry historical (another story) shortcake idea, everyone sang Happy Birthday in an informal, kitchen celebration of his 75th. Tomorrow is Zach's 8th birthday.  We're  very lucky old people!

Elianna, the baby, loves chickens too

Being the third and youngest child in my daughter's familly, Elianna, has been photographed less than her brother and sister.  Now that we've moved here, our goal is to add photos as she moves toward age two.

Until recently Elianna was often carried or sitting on a parent lap as in this one where she has just discovered earrings as a style possibility.  Or about to go to bed (with pacifier) as her parents are about to go out.  This was April when Rachel  was named "Volunteer of the Year" at the annual dinner of the Oregon League of Conservation Voters. 

In the last couple of weeks, her walk has moved into stride mode; she is more on her own.  Sunday the entire family came over for pancakes.  (I'm a fan of Stonewall Kitchen's Pancake & Waffle Mix.)  Elianna, like her older sister Zoe, is a fan of chickens.

Now she has discovered most of my collection--fiber, metal, and ceramic while behind a close door, Zach and Zoe watched cartoons.  No TV in their house so it's an occasional grandparent-visit experience. 

     

Cartopia Dinner with Zach

Thinking over why food carts, the outdoor food art-form here that I admire but do not engage with often.  It may be   they require the  stand-up-to-eat pose.   I'm similarly disinclined toward buffet dinners, cocktail parties.  Not much of a casual eater, I want a chair/bench and table!

We had found a place with great middle eastern food around 6th and Broadway (across from a Kettleman's bakery) but it disappeared.  We'd buy the very ample dish in the afternoon and take it home for dinner.

Between our place (it may be known as the  "West Hills") and our daughter's house in Hawthorne, there's a collection of carts known as Cartopia with benches protected by tents.  I learned their proper name not from a sign (maybe there is one) but a massive fact-stuffed blog, Food Carts: Portland. Driving home  around 11 p.m. after baby-sitting, we'd see all this action as we turned the corner from Hawthorne onto  12th.  All lit up, many young people.  What were we missing...we found out when  we visited closer to our old-fashioned foodtime, 6 p.m. 

El Bracero, a Mexican place, is the early bird opener, in fact hardly closed.  We've stopped by for delicious  vegetarian burritos--just one big enough to share.  A little later the Belgian fries cart,  Potato Champion with its Poutines via Canada, comes alive...excellent not-so-good-for-you food but you gotta do something risky once in a while.  And choices of things  to decorate the greasy things.

 I favor the remoulade but you might prefer rosemary truffle ketsup.

Knowing our grandson Zach is a burrito fan who loves to eat out, we took him there one mild evening.  Other families with kids are always part of the mix in the early hours.  But the pizza cart got his attention first.

 The fries worked for him too. He was very interested in the crepe-making (huge productions) at Perriera.  Turned out he'd had one recently and mentioned that the milkshakes were very good too.  What could we say?  We took two very, very rich Girardelli chocolate ones home to his Mom and Dad (his sisters were in bed) and split them among the five of us.

You could call our particular adventure Portland Cart-lite.  We have yet to try some of the other places at Cartopia.  One very decorated one, Yarp with its long message of mission, comes to life  after 8 p.m.  Of course, this scene is not here for our crowd; we are the outsiders and they are very polite in an offhand way.

Welcome to Portland, Oregon, Ronni & Ollie! 

New Fridge and Immigration Madness

 Oh, there she goes again.  I hear you but can you blame me for trying a new way to get your attention?  Done it before and will do it again because older people, Elderbloggers, seniors, geezers--whatever you want to call us-- need to add immigration reform to the list of issues that need our attention as much as healthcare. 

And the fridge news?  A recent post at Time Goes By (moving to Portland, Oregon, next month) brought a comment from My Mom's Blog that she definitely should get a refrigerator with a bottom freezer.   Millie is so correct.  We've been bumping our heads on the 1980s model that came with our new apartment.  We like the way the door is a slide-out drawer.  We'd had a side-by-side in New York but no room for that here.

Much looking around and voila!  Sears has a perfect Kenmore to fit our 30-inch space; love the cheese drawer, easy temp controls.  Had to take out a cabinet to get the height but no loss since it's just about unreachable.  And what was it that we had up there anyway?  I do miss my former glass-front Ikea cabinets.  But that's the past and in this present the important issues are treating one another like human beings.

Which brings me back to immigration madness.  How sorry I feel for Darlene, Elderblogger with progressive leanings who lives in Arizona, home of the Hispanic haters, and God knows what else that does not belong in a democracy.  She posts in more detail under the title,  Arizona's Shame.  The majority of people there appear lacking in morality with their latest move to make it a state crime--in less than three months from now-- to be an undocumented immigrant  in Arizona.

Morality aside, for those that can go there, how do they imagine their infrastructure will work without all the workers from across the borders.  Like the two excellent movers who seamlessly delivered our new fridge and took the old one away.  Spoke very good English too.

Boycott Arizona (link is to the number one Hispanic website, Hispanic News)  is the only thing that may stop clueless, vicious Arizonans.  Today I had lunch with my new friend, Elizabeth, who lives in the apartment right under mine.  With her family she had to leave Austria in the late 1930s.  They went to Mexico, were not able to come here till 1950.  Perhaps many readers here have forgotten that the U.S. would not open its doors to Jews trying to leave Europe: 190,00 000 - 200 000 Jews could have been saved.

There are stories in all American families about what it was like to be the first immigrant Irish, Italians, Japapanese, Roumanians....where does it end?  We are all immigrants, many of our forebears came here legally.  But it did not matter to many who'd had some years to Americanize. We need to get it together around just what it means to be American whether you speak "perfect" English or still have a Latino accent.

***UPDATE:  Saturday, May One, there will be a May Day Rally in downtown Portland, Oregon.