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Showing posts from May, 2015

strawberry fields forever

Part of what I do is writing food articles.  While I can throw in a little humor and storytelling, they need to be not about me and to the point.  Earlier this week I started a piece about strawberries, with the song “Strawberry Fields Forever” stuck in my head.  My brain functioning as it does, wandered back to being a kid and picking berries.  That was back in the day when such “child labor practices” were allowed.
After school was out and the haze of the warming valley arrived, so would the school bus … again.  Not many kids would be excited about this since school was out for the summer (another great song, by the way).  However, the early morning arrival meant that it was berry picking season. 
Once again the buses would wind their way through our neighborhoods, gathering all of us already-bored-with-nothing-to-do kids and plopping us in a berry patch or bean field to harvest the produce.  Such a thing would never be heard of these days.  Someone would be screaming that we were be…

reflections in a pool

By the pool a girl in wine colored pants and a gray t-shirt sat in the dirt, staring at the pool, clutching her rosary … trying to pray while tourists chatted, casually walking by.  Momentary silence allowed contemplation of the ripples in the pool.

a reflection is a mirror image, except for the quivered distortion the breeze, the tumbling water above disturbs the placid water
below the surface lies the quiet bed; a settled place, rooted and solid
ripples cause us to break,  notice changes in the surroundings the reflection isn’t clear, but is anything?

Ok, trying to write at Palate, I felt a bit like the girl at the pool; slightly disturbed,  but persistent. 
The cafĂ© is usually busy, but unobtrusive.  However, for a bit the place was filled with one loud conspicuous conversation.  But I noticed that as other conversations started joining the clamor, it became a pleasant tumbling of sound full of ripples.
I liked hearing the steam, it was flowing and moving.  It had life and being, action, mo…

kiss the clouds, travel the jetstream

Serendipity happens when least expected – what a keen grasp of the obvious.
Some of my best findings have been on accident.  Wandering a back street in Mexico only to stumble on a reenactment of Passover; going for a walk and seeing a red fox running down our street … in the city; or finding three baby raccoons tucked safely under the cover of our barbecue.
ser-en-dip-i-ty:  accidental discovery
Today was a serendipity day.  A drive to Eugene to take care of stuff on a rental house, with plans to have dinner with family later in the day.  In the meantime, there was present hunger and time to kill.  Instead of quick, drive-thru fast food, a stop at the local market provided an impromptu picnic, textbook for one of the parks by the river.  The day was marvelous; cerulean sky, warm sun freshened by just the perfect amount of wind.  One of those hurray, I’m-almost-a-kid kind of days in the valley.
Crossing the pedestrian bridge that hangs over the McKenzie River, there was a man preparing to …

stoops, conversations and the blues

I was sitting out on the front porch of our rented duplex, late afternoon sun drenching the area.  The space is referred to as our stoop – a drinking stoop; having heard the reference on a house-hunting TV show.  I made a note in my phone to use the phrase; probably because the girls who used it were hilarious, partly because I’m slightly warped and just because I like the idea of being connected to what’s out front – not cloistered off behind fences and gates.
stoops are flat landing spots at the top of a set of outside steps
No big deal there, we all have a landing on our stairways.  The cool thing about a stoop is the intended purpose, rather than the literal.  Being a sort of East Coast, city-dwellers, phenomena, the steps gave people a place to sit and talk with their neighbors as they walked by … hmmm …
So, where was I going with this post?  Oh yeah, when Bella (chocolate puppy) and I went to pick up the mail - which also means a walk for her - I could hear a guitar being played; s…