a little red hen

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.]

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. 

How She Was Remembered in the New York Times

Who'd miss this obituary of Fran Lee, a feisty activist who died earlier this month at 99.  The 1972 photo by John Sotomayor was 3.5 x almost 5.5 inches.  My gratitude goes to New York Times reporter, Margalit Fox, for a very respectful, long obit on a woman she described as a "preternaturally outspoken consumer advocate."

Fran Lee had a career of questioning many problems under many guises--Mrs. Fix-it, Granny Franny--but was known best as leading the losing battle for a more stringent pooper-scooper law than New York City planned in the seventies.  Picking up the stuff on the street was too easy, she claimed.  Dog owners needed to collect the stuff at home!  Before strolling outdoors.  Watch her on this vintage YouTube interview.

She had science behind her, explaining that a tiny roundworm found in dog feces was a health risk, especially for children.  The City did enact a fairly strict law; the streets are cleaner over the past 50 years.  Except in Greenwich Village and some outer boroughs.  The relentless determination of dog-owners to make a better place for their animals has extended to the creation of "dog runs" in City parks.  The link here describes recent energy on the upper East Side about the surface of a dog run--petitions too.

To her credit, Fran Lee had energy for many other battles described in her obit from cyclamates to asbestos to curious homemade candles.  Starting as an actress, this "force of nature" left four boxes of material in the NYC Library Archives.   Her son describes hearing his atheist mother as he passed her bedroom  at night, as she railed about world problems, "God, when I get to see you...am I going to tell you a thing or two."

Reading about questioning old women (did I mention that the lively 92 year old who lives down the hall, called me--in a very pleasant way--a "rabble-rouser"), soothes me.  We should all have Margalit Fox to write our obits.

We came expecting the rain, but look...

When we told NYC friends last winter that we planned to visit Portland, Oregon, in December and January, they did not exactly support our plan.  "Won't it be cold there?"  Assured them it would be warmer than the City.  Wrong we were, as reported HERE.

Weather was not our prime motive for the move.   So it is a bit ironic that this winter, now happy residents of the Rose City,  we've been enjoying very, very lovely weather--mostly.  And New York City:  not so much. Excellent, graphic wintry photos arrayed on a post by  Chicken in Every Granny Cart,  Manhattan blogger and food maven. She is more good-natured than I ever was about work-required enounters with deep snow.

Maybe she's too young to have experienced the 1950s when women were not allowed to wear slacks in the office.  Actually, you'd skulk into the ladies' room and remove wet long pants  beneath your skirt before arriving at your desk.  Then have to put them on again, half-dry, to return to the streets and subway.

I'm sharing with you (sorry Kays in Toledo and NYC) my day on this past sunny Tuesday, temps in the fifties. After another visit to the dentist (future post) where I was distracted by windpower on a nearby building (electricity for four apartments), I stopped to pick up a brie and cucumber  on French bread from Addy's, one of the inspired food carts dotting most of Portland.  Yes, I've been here several times after the dentist--good distraction.

Hopped the bus home.  Encountered Ron, suggested we  share the sandwich  on the top of our building.  Sunny but hazy so could not see Mt. Hood in the distance but I enjoy the many bridges here too.  This one is the Ross Island Bridge. The sundial shows the direction of each of the distant seven mountains.

Of course it has rained a bit since then.  That's what we were expecting!

PDX Bands @$5 Fund-raiser: NO-people running scared?

Our daughter Rachel truly has been knocking herself out this month.  She's sprained an ankle, has the flu, but says it will be worth it when (not "if") YES wins the day.  In this photo she's phone banking from home with ice on her foot.  The hat is one I made in those halcyon days of big deal knitting--it matched a zip-front pullover.  For figure skating when she was 13, few years ago.  Another YES patch--blue yarn, scratchy wool/hemp from China that's found its best use.

Her young staff at her business, FULL LIFE, wanted to pitch in some way.  Why not use their Coffee House space on a Saturday night for a low-cost event that would attract and raise consciousness of twenty and thirty-somethings.

Music, of course, is the way in Portland, Oregon.  On yesterday's post here, the card created by clients at Full Life features "YES, PLEASE!" an evening of music in support of Measures 66 & 67.  Speaking to Portlanders of all ages, last week's editorial in Williamette Week, came out for YES.  Under the title,"Class Warfare,"  all the issues plus charts were carefully laid out.  What rock are "undecideds" living under?

Back to the bands.  "Quiet Countries," here's the cover of their latest CD.  And "bazillionaire"--from Jesse, seen here playing guitar, works at Full Life, runs all kinds of activities for clients--a radio show for one.  (Yes, I lifted this photo from Jason Quigley's blog; he is a real PDX photographer.  I think the idea for tonight's event started with Jesse.  Two more bands, "St. Frankie Lee" and--you have to wonder how their high school English teachers would react to some of these titles--"Swim Swam Swum."

The latest development in the struggle over the lifeblood of schools and social services in Oregon, which is what this is all about, happened where Ron and I live.  Every Saturday morning there's a Men's Breakfast with a speaker.  Oh, I hear you, Hattie as you demand, what's with that?  From my perspective, it's a good thing:  older guys are so (how do I say this nicely?) less-able  than women around socializing outside of work and sports.  When we came to look over Terwilliger Plaza last winter, we were surprised how many of them lived here.  (That would make an intriguing research project.)

Anyway, a few weeks ago, the Breakfast speaker was a Vote Yes proponent, a CEO named John Calhoun, who returned a couple of weeks later for an afternoon debate with Bob Wiggins, a venture capitalist from the other side.  Meanwhile, in this very active retirement community, a Vote No proponent was invited as the solo speaker for this morning's Saturday breakfast.  In the interest of niceness, I will not give his name because he did not show up!  As they say, what's with that?

Both sides have been pouring many dollars into this struggle but I'm sure the Noes feel confident with the number of big corporations behind them--Nike (Phil Knight is the real-life bazillionaire), Columbia Sportswear (real loss to us because we've had to boycott their clothes which havve been favorites), Whole Foods (well, John Macky their CEO is opposed to universal health care, so that's no surprise;).  Great sadness when THE paper in town, The Oregonian, came out for the No side.  Many cancelled subscriptions--including Rachel Bloom's.

Could it be that the heavy-hitters are over-confident?  Let me end with this link to the Flashmob singing and dancing to the tune of "Hey, Mackey" at the Oakland, Whole Foods.  Yes to 66 & 67 and to more music by more bands in PDX!  If you go tonight, the "Portland Mercury" wants you to write a review HERE.

 

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. 

October already...having too much fun

Thinking it's important to make an appearance, I offer a harvest moon, a little bear knit for our youngest  granddaughter (completed a couple of weeks ago from Italian merino, Oat Couture pattern).

We have been busy since landing in the City of Roses--still unpacking/arranging/discarding stuff--visiting often with family, looking into lifelong learning offerings and getting integrated into life in an urban retirement community.

More time than I expected in decisions about where I'm going with my bead accumulation.   Last week many of them went to a silent auction for a new after-school, middle school program.  Being "with them" again after many years at a distance, their colors, shapes, memories of collecting drew me close.

Great weather too, the kind that makes me want to stay outdoors before the promised Fall rainy season.

Elderblogging 2.0 Begins in PDX Retirement Community

Ten days into our altered lifestyle in the northwest.  Besides the physical part of getting settled, accepting that we really did not reduce our possessions enough, there's much to experience--in addition to our family.  Last week we went to  orientation for SSI, Senior Studies Initiative,  sponsored by the local community college.  We'd enjoyed a couple of their "Current Events" meetings last winter on our "deciding" visit.   There are six sites around town, only one close by. 

It took place in Lake Oswego, very leafy with big houses; I wondered how people get there without a car.  Intrigued that one of the groups has a presentation scheduled on Emma Goldman.  Looking forward to that.  Today, after a trip to an ENT doctor (nose-bleeding is my dramatic response to the move), I mentioned to Ron that our time so far has felt very suburban.  Must get out of the car soon, take mass transit buses and light rail which are very available from our place.

Saturday we stopped by the Belmont Street Fair, an annual explosion of  hippie-dom plus eviro and neighborhood consciousness.  Not the only one, of course; the city is filled this time of year with celebration, fruit festivals.  Young people come to several parts of Portland for the lifestyle of music and tatoos, live alongside young families who sort of like that atmosphere.  This is the world we know from visiting our daughter in a nearby neighborhood. 

Yesterday I went to the Terwilliger Users Group (TUG to insiders) and was amazed by how many people were there.  Must have been forty, men and women.  A woman gave a talk about Facebook which I was pleased to hear.  Each of our children, different as they are from one another, is now on it.  When I had dinner in New York before we left with Lisa Daehlin, the soprano/knitter, she told me I ought to consider it for the Condom Amulet project.  It's thanks to her that there's a group for it on Ravelry but Facebook does have some perks not available there. 

The staff tech person (how cool is that?) for Terwilliger Plaza had mentioned there were a couple of other folks with blogs living here, so I asked if the internal website might list them.  It's going to happen.  This is very different from New York City where I never met another blogger near my advanced age.

Tonight another Plaza activity, "Victory for Woman Suffrage in Oregon," a talk with great slides by Dr. Kimberly Jensen of Western Oregon University.  I have been too east-coast-centric about women's studies; was surprised by many western states voted to give women the vote ahead of the opposite coast.  Portland was a leader in moving the Oregon legistlature to do in 1912--on the sixth try and pioneered less ladylike approaches with mass advertising and public displays.  In  her recent book, Minerva, Mobilizing Women in the First World War,  Jensen has written about Dr. Esther Lovejoy, a Portland physician and local leader in women's rights, who was an Army doctor. 

For the coming 2012 centennial of woman suffrage in Oregon, here's a link to an active committee gathering ideas and material--particularly interested in finding photos and letters from the period. 

Zoe, our granddaughter, on a brief visit to our apartment, announced in her four-year-old way (birthday party last Saturday), "What a mess!"  One day we hope to present a better model to our descendants. If we can only figure out where to hang all the pictures, stow the books.

"Grandma, How many boxes left?"

"Quite a few," his grandmother answers.  And does not tell him that it may be some time before every one is emptied.  Tony Patterson, our mover, who did a great job, said there were 140 boxes.  And then there was the furniture--and the car.

Some of the resident chickens are settled and enjoy their view.  That's Zoe, standing rather than sitting, in the first day of nursery school.  Zach on his way to Tae-Kwan-Do class.

 

We are very happy to be here in Portland, Oregon, where people seem less stressed.  Okay, it's an illusion but that's a relief some times too.  So many friends and acquaintances were puzzled that we'd choose to leave the Big Apple.

Our last day in the City, AM, the free newspaper handed out at subway stops, ran a front cover to remind us of the enormity of our decision.  But this works for us--a smaller, gentler place: second stage retirement.

 

Little Red Hen Flies Big Apple Coop...

They said it could not be done.  Selling one's own apartment in Manhattan in 2009--sans real estate broker.  But as other unexpected things might happen (chickens fly late at night when no one's looking), we now have a happy buyer, a contract, and  a closing date.  In the interest of transparency, I should add that our buyer was brought to us by a broker, Mary Pat, perky redhead, former actress from L.A.  Fortunately, our broker fee is only three percent, not six. Here's how it worked.When I first blogged about  Second Stage Retirement and our decision to leave New York City for Portland, Oregon, it was April.  We began the slog in late February--five months from start to finish.  Not bad for this economy.

Our middle income co-op has a cap on all apartment prices:  you can sell for less, but not more.

First we tried something a bit lower than  our "the maximum re-sale price" for our two bedroom, one bath apartment.  Not happening, we quickly lowered it.  (Earlier I wrote  about adventures in advertising from the New York Times to the Fulan Gong paper.)  We scheduled frequent   "Open House"  weekends; posted on bus kiosks in the neighborhood during Columbia University's graduation.  Around May, something shifted.  Until the recent downturn, Morningside Gardens  had a long waiting-list, was an affordable "secret" in the City.  Now it  was discovered by brokers. Several began to represent sellers of the 15 or so apartments in the six buildings.

By chance, our Open House notices on the lobby buzzers were noticed by them--and other potential buyers.  This meant we benefitted from brokers'newspaper/online advertising.  Overwhelmed by their glossy brochures and the "de-clutter" message, we resisted signing up with any of them. In June, needing a break, we flew to Portland for a ten-day respite with family.  We made an important decision to choose a less expensive apartment at Terwilliger Plaza.  And gave up our personal view of Mt Hood (our family pointed out we'd only be able to see it two months a year). 

Two days into our trip, Mary Pat, the perky broker, called.  We  liked her--no brochures, no aggressive pitch.  She had a client who had seen another apartment in our building but she knew ours was both more attractive (remodeled kitchen) and cheaper.  The wonders of fax plus cellphone plus a cooperative management, plus an excellent lawyer made it happen long distance. One visit by buyer:  we had a sale before we returned home!    

We leave New York City at the end of August .             

Many life changes ahead as we relocate to  the Northwest; we have spent most of our lives on the east coast.  What will it be like to have grandchildren who could stay overnight with us?  Will I start driving again?  Will I finally wear my old bathing suit because there's a pool right there--and it would be great exercise...get over dislike of cholrine?  Learn to cook on electric?  What will it be like to live in a building where everyone is over 65?  One unlamented loss will be the climb up the stairs to the elevated subway stop at 125th Street (pictured above).

 For the past few months, it's been clear my relationship with blogging needs review.  "Peace, politics, yarnlife over 60" begs revision; my 76th birthday is Wednesday.  In Second Stage Retirement would Elderblogging 2.0 be a better description?