Sleeping with Saints

A belated "Happy Birthday"!

2012-02-15T12:38:00.000-08:00

I tell you, I'm one day late wishing Arizona a happy 100th birthday and suddenly 6,482,505 people are mad at me.

Gees, I'm sorry!

Happy St. Valentine's Day

2012-02-14T08:11:00.001-08:00

Why does Friday the 13th have such a bad rap?

2012-02-13T20:02:00.000-08:00

I say screw Monday the 13th!

A quick shout out!

2012-01-26T16:57:00.000-08:00

To the über-hip birthday girls!

No one would guess their real age, but I will give a subtle hint. They both have matriculated from high school! (And no, you needn't be embarrassed that I put that in print, Bethie! It doesn't have a nasty meaning!)

124 Hours Later

2012-01-24T20:50:00.000-08:00

Electricity has returned to our little corner of the world. While that has modest worth of note in cosmic reality, it is really important to my little family. I seem to be attached to two cats, two dogs and a man of a certain age who would not have enjoyed being a pioneer family. Our discussions of the 1890's grew curt and neared hostility.

Each of us, and I do include myself in this description, is drawn to the artificial brightness of a lightbulb this evening. We are lapsing into an unusual worship of electronic equipment. The coffee grinder is nearing beatification in my book. Richard doesn’t argue the point.

Oh, and tomorrow morning, my shower will not include gasping for breath and growing numb from the heartlessness of the bitterly cold water. I will have a warm shower!

Shall we all break into a quick rendition of the 'Hallelujah Chorus'

Update

2012-01-23T13:33:00.001-08:00

Living in an electricity-free zone can be a dark experience.

100 hours and counting!

Weather update.

2012-01-20T14:18:00.000-08:00

The snow has stopped falling. We got our two feet. Wednesday was spent digging out. All was good, until…

Freezing rain: the scurge of the masses.

This is the ice storm of legends. There are trees down on 13th Street, Wy’east Road, Dee Highway, Hood River Highway, Miller Road, Belmont Drive, Davis, Sylvester… The list goes on infinitum. The Hood River News will soon only report about trees that haven’t fallen.

Oddly, falling trees have a tendency to take power lines with them when they go. I think it is something of a homicide/suicide relationship.

Electricity is a luxury these days. Richard and I know no luxuries. We lost our power yesterday at about 10:30AM. We don’t know when it will be back, but “no time soon” is the current estimate. After years of little use, the wood stove has become our hero!

And we are well on our way!

2012-01-18T09:21:00.000-08:00

Something in the neighborhood of 20" of snow last night. And it is still coming down!

Okay, I’m a day late to wish you all a happy MLK Jr Day

2012-01-17T20:46:00.001-08:00

But I’m in time to wish Betty a happy 90th and Muhammed a happy 70th.

And the Upper Valley is entering it’s immitation Valdez mode. We’re suppose to get 1 to 2 feet of snow in the next 24 hours.

Yee-Haw!

Crisis in America!

2012-01-11T17:28:00.000-08:00

I just read the headlines. They wrenched at my very soul. Twinkies is going bankrupt.

This is more than just a potential inconveniece for all Twinkies fans who are afraid their pipeline to pure, unadulterated goodiness will run dry. This is a rip at the very fabric of American society. We aren’t talking some minor company like General Motors, we are talking Twinkies. We are talking what makes America great! Where are those government bailouts when the scene hits crisis mode?

I’m sure, like me, you are outraged to hear that the government has turned a blind eye, while we are facing a future with no Twinkies. It is time to write your representative in the House and the Senate. Some things can’t be left to supply and demand economics.

We are the champions

2012-01-05T19:01:00.001-08:00

Come on folks, get over the Rose Bowl. I'm talking PubQuiz here. Janice, Raquel, myself, Fred and Ryan celebrate our amazing victory!

I don't mean to rub it in!

2012-01-03T19:09:00.000-08:00

But we won... for the first time in 95 years!

Oregon 45, Wisconsin 38

2012-01-02T17:41:00.000-08:00

For the first time since 1917, the Ducks have won the Rose Bowl. I'm already planning the party for 2107!

Any questions?

2011-12-30T10:37:00.000-08:00

Breaking news from the financial section

2011-12-29T07:22:00.000-08:00

Kelloggs (or Quaker Oats or General Mills, one of those major players in the food industry) is introducing a new cereal on January 2nd.

I can’t wait!

One week to the Rose Bowl

2011-12-26T20:15:00.000-08:00

First, I have been remiss in not thanking ‘Anonymous’ for contributing the words to “On Wisconsin”.

It is such a cute song. And as a school fights song it is so reminiscent of Debby Boone’s, “You Light Up My Life.” Charming, but vapid.

But, now that Boxing Day is nearing a close, Richard and I are preparing for the big game.

GO DUCKS!!!

Happy Boxing Day!

2011-12-26T10:21:00.000-08:00

All Hail Mrs. McManus

2011-12-25T09:53:00.000-08:00

Er... I meant "Merry Christmas"!

The great Christmas tree escapade.

2011-12-24T16:12:00.000-08:00

Following old family traditions, Richard and I decided to wait until Christmas Eve day to put up our Christmas tree. That means I was out trekking through the back forty this morning looking for the perfect tree.

Although we have many trees, a Christmas tree farm we are not. I searched and searched and searched. Finally, up a hill with a steep embankment behind it, I saw the ideal evergreen. I trampled up the hill only to discover, alas, it wasn’t the tree of my dreams. But there, at the top of the cliff was the king o’Christmas trees. There was even a downed log I could use to climb up the precipice. About half way up the 10’ climb, it suddenly dawned on me why the tree was down. It was dead and rotting. It gave way. I fell backwards.

As I was tumbling down the grade, ass over teakettle, I was thinking to myself, “Self, this isn’t your finest hour!” It is amazing how things go in slow motion when you are sure they are your final moments. I lay on the forest floor, wondering how long it would be before Richard became aware I wasn’t coming back of my own volition. I swear to god there was a chipmunk about three yards from me laughing like a hyena. I wiggled the fingers on my left hand; they worked. My right hand also was functioning, as were my toes. Before you know it I was back on my feet and staggering home.

There in a bramble about four feet from the edge of our front “lawn”, was a tree. Not great, but overly passable. The poor bastard now sets in our front room!

Happy solstice

2011-12-22T13:17:00.000-08:00

And to all a good night!

It’s official.

2011-12-22T08:00:00.001-08:00

Santa and I had a confab yesterday. Due to one of us being disorganized and well behind schedule, (I will not point fingers) we agreed to postpone Christmas until sometime in mid-January! I’ll keep you updated as details are worked out!

I have just sent my first email to my elected official.

2011-12-20T20:26:00.000-08:00

"Dear Greg,

This is Mac, I work at the Hood River Inn.

You always have said you wouldn’t vote to raise my taxes. So why did you just vote to do that?

In truth, I can afford the additional taxes. I’m not personally offended on that level. But you have just voted what is best for the Republican Party, not what is best for the people of Oregon (and America). That offends me.

I know you are secure for re-election. You and I don’t agree on most issues, but this is over the top. People will be hurt by your vote."

Greg Walden is my representative in the Congress of the United States. I live in a strongly Republican district. Greg and I have know each other for something like 25 years. 'Friends' might be stretching the term, but we always greet each other warmly when we see each other.

My name is not Opal.

2011-12-05T09:50:00.000-08:00

But I do bear some similarities.

The Inaugural Pac-12 Championship Game.

2011-12-03T21:17:00.001-08:00

For those of you the missed last night’s game, let me give you the highlights:

OREGON WON!!!

World AIDS day, 2011

2011-12-01T19:37:00.001-08:00

I have a jaded view of the AIDS epidemic. I had the honor of knowing a man who was at the epicenter of the crisis. A man who knew more than history will ever announce.

Wayno was as bartender in New York City in the late 70’s and early 80’s.He knew people who died of “Consumption” in the late 70’s. AIDS was officially discovered in 1981.

We had a president at that time: a conservative president who was particularly anti-gay, and apparently particularly stupid. Despite the ravage that AIDS was wreaking in the third world, he was silent.

It was 1987 before Reagan ever mentioned AIDS out loud. Almost six years into the crisis (in America), he finally said the disease’s name. (Would anyone like to compare that to Swine Flu or Bird Flu or any of those other great health crises lately?) Over 41,000 Americans had died of the disease, and god only knows how many millions had died in sub-Saharan Africa and other third world countries before our president announced that the disease existed.

The AIDS crisis is not over. It lives.

Crushing news for a comic lover

2011-11-09T13:03:00.001-08:00

Bill Keane, the creator of the Family Circus has died.

I was never the greatest fan of the Family Circus, but I know the world is a lesser place.

Celebrating the White Salmon

2011-10-27T05:45:00.000-07:00

The breaching of Condit Damn.

Cruising the ‘net.

2011-10-26T19:54:00.000-07:00

I came across a picture from a Gay Pride event in Ft. Lauderdale or St. Petersburg… okay let’s just say some city in Florida. (And don’t ask me how I found it, you don’t want to know.) There was a picture of a group of men who were something of my age. Okay, they were younger, there was less grey in their hair and fewer wrinkles on their face, but they were semi-close to my age.

One of the men was wearing a T-shirt that said “Fuck the Clock”. I’m thinking that would be a good theme for 11-11-11.

Opening Night

2011-10-13T17:46:00.001-07:00

Adventures with Mac: or shopping with the inept.

2011-10-12T19:36:00.000-07:00

At work today, I decided to make a quiche for dinner tonight. I’ve made quiche before. They’re really quite simple to make and I think they’re delicious. I can ignore the old wives tale that real men don’t eat quiche. Actually, I don’t care what real men eat; it’s probably better I don’t know.

We have a little bit of bacon to use up, eggs, milk and most of the other goodies, but I was going to have to stop by Safeway to get some more veggies and pie crusts. (Yes, my secret to good quiche includes store-bought pie crust as opposed to the leathery crap that I toss together at home and end up throwing in the garbage deciding it is wiser to go to bed hungry rather than deal with the nightmare of trying to mold the hard, viscous substance that I have created into a pie pan. But let’s talk about that later.)

I enter Safeway, cocky and sure. I know where almost everything I want is located. I grab a hand basket and strut to the produce section. I walk straight to the mushrooms. Or let me rephrase that I bit more precisely; I walk straight to where the mushrooms used to be. But 'used to be's' don't count anymore. Instead I find cabbage, fine looking cabbage. I pick up a head. Unsure of how it would fit into my next few days’ eating habits, I set it back down. Okay, it’s a small area to cover, I’m fine, no panic. I nonchalantly stroll through the produce section. I spy broccoli! Yes! Victory is mine. One down. And there to my left are the prettiest lemons you have ever seen. I pick one up and fondle it. It is a fine lemon. I put it in my basket. He looks so lonely in there with the broccoli. He doesn’t speak broccolese. He has no one to talk to. (Broccoli aren’t known for being heavy chatters, anyway.) So I pick up another lemon and set it next to its brother. They both smile at me. I know I have done good.

I’m not having much luck with the leeks. So I set my basket down and close my eyes. I try to think like a leek. Where would I be if I were a leek? In my leek-like mode, I picture myself lying on a beach in the south of France. I am in my happy spot, when I jerked back to reality by a caring, “Hey, Mac, you okay?”

It’s my friend, John. I was in the process of explaining to him that I was trying to think like a leek so I could find the leeks when he said, “Dude, look straight ahead.” I did and damn, there were the leeks. Under different circumstance, I would have dropped to my knees and praised the goddess of the harvest for bringing the leeks to me, but John already thinks I’m a bit odd, so I decided to save that ritual for later, in the privacy of my own home. Two down. John and I bid a fond adieu and I continue the hunt for mushrooms.

Many of you know that mushrooms are known to be elusive and can don cleaver disguises. But I am way too quick for them today. I check my shopping list again and say out loud, “Now I need to find the jicama.” And there, immediately to my right was the largest pile of mushrooms you have ever seen. I chuckled to myself as I picked out the finest specimens. Those fungi are so easily fooled. Three down. Odd though, I never saw a jicama after that moment.

I’m off to find the store-bought pie crusts. And there is my other friend, Delia. You all know Delia. Come on, you know, the woman who moved to town a few years ago after receiving Bon Appétit’s Culinary Artist of the Year award for the previous 12 years. The woman who said the only person who was truly attuned enough to appreciate her omnipotent ability was Jackie O. Yeah, that Delia.

Delia is the one you would ask if you wanted to know where Safeway stocked the Fleur de Sel de Camargue. She is not the one I am going to ask if she knows where the store-bought pie crusts are kept. We make small talk. I know Delia is checking out my basket. People, minds out of the gutter, I mean my shopping basket.

“And what is for dinner tonight, my friend,” she pried.

“Oh, I’m just planning a simple quiche. I was wandering over to the wine section to find something that catches my fancy as an accompaniment.”

Delia immediately chimed in, “You MUST get the Zeiderbrűgen Riesling. It is to die for; it’s at the north end of the main island.”

Delia was, of course, in reference to the section where wines are under lock and key. There is bullet-proof glass covering the bottles, padlocks, alarms and an armed guard. It’s not where I shop for wine. I thanked Delia for her suggestion. We parted company smiling.

I strolled to the wine aisle. I glanced at the north end of the main aisle. There was a bottle of Zeiderbrűgen Riesling, shining brightly out from its prison. I checked the bottle color, size and shape, but I was brief so as not to bring much attention from the guard. Then I went to the “specials” section, found a bottle that looked similar and slipped it into my basket, label down. Delia could be lurking anywhere.

So, I am back in search of store-bought pie crust. I have just cruised through the store for the third time, when I decided to ask the next employee I saw where the store-bought pie crust might be located. At that very moment, there came an announcement over the loudspeaker. “All employees to cashier positions, please. I repeat, all employees to cashier positions.” All employees ran to the front of the store like they were crusaders attacking Constantinople. It was a little eerie. I was alone in my search.

It only took a few minutes before I found the store-bought pie crust. I happily put it in my basket (under the bottle of wine – you never know about Delia), and made my way to check out. Whatever the crisis was, was over. I paid and left.

Yes, it was a boring shopping trip. There were no emergency vehicles, confetti or throwing marshmallows at the Madoff’s involved. Yep, my life really is that mundane.

Long story short: shopping for four items took over 45 minutes because I couldn’t find anything and I ran into a couple of friends. Any of the other details that you found interesting or amuzing are purely fictional.

Ten Ten Eleven

2011-10-10T19:36:00.000-07:00

The numbers are so close to being in perfect alignment.

This must be the anniversary of a great day.

Happy day, Shannon & John!

I have a cold.

2011-10-09T16:36:00.000-07:00

Yes, I have managed to contract one of those doosies of a head cold. My body aches, I’m congested and I fear I will never feel well again.

On an average night, I am sure that you are all aware that I desperately need my beauty rest. Last night it was nearing crisis mode. I toddled off to bed at about 8PM, with my blanky, my box of Kleenex and my faithful cat, Max, the second cousin of the devil, once removed. (By-the-by, Satan sends his regards and hopes you are all doing well.)

It is October. The nights are getting cooler. The herd of wild Saints is starting to venture closer and closer to the bed after dark. (Make no mistake, before sunset, the bed is their center of operations.) At some point, after I crawled into bed, but before Richard was tired, Trixie crossed the line. She jumped up on the bed with me occupying a side. Max was not happy. Max let Trixie know he was not happy. Max let me know he wasn’t happy. Max let every living creature between The Dalles and Cascade Locks know that he was not happy. For thirty minutes Max lectured the world on proper bedtime etiquette and a Saints place in the world.

I got very little rest last night. Every few minutes, Max would wake me up to remind me that Trixie is an interloper and I am not to allow her on the bed again. I’m hopeful tonight will be better. I’m going to sleep in the basement.

Just seemed like a good quote to me

2011-10-02T16:08:00.001-07:00

Pickles gives out my secret zucchini recipe

2011-09-25T11:52:00.001-07:00

Songs of my youth – that made a difference

2011-09-22T20:06:00.000-07:00

Janis Ian was a girl of something like 16 when “Society’s Child” was released in the mid 60’s.

Or should I say a woman with more balls than I have. She spoke of fear for her life performing this song even in safe places like New York City.

To add to her bravery, she was one of the first stars to admit to being gay (or lesbian, as the case may be.) She is one of my heroes.

Thank you, Janis.

DADT it dead.

2011-09-20T19:15:00.001-07:00

Sorry about the advertisement that begins this clip. It's commercial TV, what can I say?

Not just another birthday

2011-09-18T11:13:00.001-07:00

The picture shows a sister of mine, young and in her prime, with my mother and the infamous Santa cookies of 1977 (give or take a year or two.) They were not at our Christmas celebration, but somehow they showed up in a freezer 300 miles to the north the following summer. I'm pretty sure foul play was involved.

Happy 97th, Mom!

Post # 600

2011-09-17T13:05:00.000-07:00

PK

I respect your quest for understanding into the core cause of you wife and her sisters’ fetish for shopping and all affiliated activities. But, I beg of you, don’t rush to the cliché explanation of placing all the blame on the parent, in this case my mother. I feel the adult child does need to accept responsibility for their own actions, as destructive and counter-productive as they are. While I wholeheartedly support the concept of working with the addict and helping them to see the destructive results of their ways, allowing them to cast blame on a dear soul who is long gone (and would be celebrating her 97th birthday tomorrow) would make you, dare I say, an enabler.

I tried hard to remember my childhood; to recall the subtleties and nuances of shopping with my mother and how it could have possibly influenced my four sisters and been in any remote way responsible for the shopping neuroses they currently demonstrate. It is not possible. Frankly, my own anti-shopping neurosis is much more of a classic Jungian response.

My mother was a consummate shopper. It wasn’t that she came home with ‘something’; she came home with trophies. (Note: a trophy is not a rubber spatula at half-price, it is a bolt of fabric for $1.29 that mom made into a wedding dress, four bridesmaid dresses, a slip cover for the couch, a duvet for the bedroom and still had enough fabric left over to make three ties.) I will never be the shopper my mother was, hence I hate shopping.

This really can’t be compared to the whole hunter/gatherer thing. It is on a much different level. One that I don’t understand.

Clarification

2011-09-16T08:02:00.000-07:00

Apparently in my most recent post, I used inprecise phraseology that led people to believe that three of my sisters are insane and slaves to shopping and that one of my sisters is not. I apologize for any confusion caused by my choice of words.

Let me go on record stating emphatically that I have four sisters. Above and beyond that, any statement attempting to clarify the status of their mental stability could be dangerous to my health.

And get real, dear brother-in-law, if you haven’t determined the lucidity of your beloved wife and her sisters, I’m afraid I really can’t help you much. But there are trained professionals in your area that might be able to give you guidance.

Guilt Buy

2011-09-14T18:27:00.000-07:00

I have never told you this before. Montréal has a vast underground shopping mall. The loud click you just heard was three out of my four sisters closing this web site and signing on to Travelocity (or whatever their favorite travel site is.) They are checking when the next flight is to Montréal. They don’t care about cost or other such mundane miscellanea. One of my sisters was slow on the draw. I just heard the faint click of her signing off.

Richard and I are horrible souvenir shoppers. Other than the beloved coffee cup, our souvenirs are limited to train ticket stubs, free brochures and an occasional tee shirt. But we had a purpose in Montréal. We wanted to buy napkins: the cloth variety. A queer choice for souvenirs, I admit, but we couldn’t find what we were looking for in Hood River, The Dalles or Portland, so we decided to make them our souvenir of Canada. So, we visited the Mall Below the Floor. (My name, not theirs.)

We descended into the bowels of underground Montréal. For the first three or four minutes it was kind of fun. Then it became creepy. There was no way to orient yourself to the real world. It was just shopping, unabridged shopping. There were people who looked like they had been shopping since the last decade. (Hell, since the last millennium.)

Richard claims I panicked. But I want to emphatically deny his contention that I ran around the mall screaming, “Oh my fucking god… is there a way out of this hell hole!” I’m pretty sure I said it in French, which mean, with my incredible French Canadian accent, no one understood me.

They had these wonderful floor plans all over the place. You will notice one thing. There is no “Sortie”. That is French for “Exit”.

We found our napkins. It was a successful shopping trip.

Have fun, my dear sisters!

Anoka-Hennepin School District.

2011-09-13T19:56:00.000-07:00

Eight student dead by suicide in two years: aren’t you just a little bit embarrassed?

Don’t ask; don’t tell: gone totally awry.

It’s time to get over your big-bad-conservative selves and see what you can do to keep your kids from committing suicide.

Dollar Lake Fire

2011-09-03T16:47:00.000-07:00

I took this picture just south of Parkdale.

September 1, 2011: An esoteric question.

2011-09-01T19:52:00.000-07:00

Just think for a moment. My mother graduated from Vancouver High School. (Class of 1933… Go Trappers!) In 1956, Vancouver High School was renamed Fort Vancouver High School. All that pioneer spirit, you know! The building at 28th and Main was still the campus.

In 1970 they built a new building to house Fort Vancouver High… 5700 E. 18th Street. A decade later, the old Vancouver (Fort Vancouver) High School building was torn down.

So, does Mother’s alma mater still exist or not?

This question has relevant meaning for a number of members of my extended family. Tyee High is a memory. Did we really graduate from high school or are we just kidding ourselves?

Notes from the road – Part VI.

2011-08-29T19:12:00.000-07:00

It’s our last full day in Canada. We have another breakfast at Chez Cora. I recommend the Jambon Panini with mountains of fresh fruit.

We successful traverse the streets of Montréal and return the rental car. We ride Montréal’s subway, Métro for the first time. We journey to the Beaudry station and emerge in The Village, Montréal’s gay neighborhood. We know the secret handshake and are quickly ushered in. I’d tell you more, but it is top secret. (I’m kidding. There is no secret handshake. Anyone, even the most flamboyant breeder can enter The Village.) It’s mostly a commercial string of bars, restaurants and enterprises of ill-repute on Rue-Ste.-Cathérine Est (East St. Cathy’s Street) surrounded by some pretty swanky apartments/condos on the side streets. (Come on people, it’s the gay neighborhood, of course there are bars and restaurants and enterprises of ill-repute and swanky domiciles. I’m being semi-redundant here.)

Incongruously, there are two large Catholic churches in the neighborhood. As soon as I saw the second church, Église St.-Pierre-Apôtre (Church of St. Peter, the Apostle), I turned to Richard and said, “How many Catholic churches does a gay neighborhood need? I think this is overkill!”

He, of course, explains to me the storied history of the neighborhood as a working class, Catholic community that blah, blah, blah. And yadda, yadda, yadda.

We entered the Église St.-Pierre-Apôtre. Please, I have to ask that you all promise not to get on the horn immediately and contact the pope, but there was a very thinly disguised rainbow flag above the altar. This is not your mother’s Catholic church.

Rue-Ste.-Cathérine Est. Our neighborhood’s more festive than your neighborhood! Na-na-na!

Even the subway station has the colors!

I couldn’t read it in real life, and in pictures it just makes me dizzy.

The Université du Québec à Montréal replaced a church. I loved the way they saved the entry.

Notes from the road – Part V

2011-08-28T11:04:00.000-07:00

Il pleut. Il pleut et il pleut et il pleut et il pleut.

For those of you not as fluent in French as I am, the above translates (figuratively) to, “It is raining so fricking hard that there are ducks standing in line to purchase umbrellas.

The nice valet parking attendant snatched the $5(CAD) bill out of my hand, handed me the car keys and watched Richard and I slog out in the rain to our vehicle. In the few seconds, it took us to toss our bags into the trunk and climb into the front seats, we were drenched. We wrung the excess moisture out of our clothes as I deftly navigated the car through the streets of Ville de Québec.

Thirty-five short minutes later, we were at Ste. Anne de Beaupré. Although a scene of miracles, it is a somewhat lesser pilgrimage site than Lourdes. Richard's mother had always wanted to go to Ste. Anne de Beaupré, but had never made it there. So, in honor of Bernadette Sloan Parker we made the pilgrimage.

Ste. Anne de Beaupré’s location, while not stunningly beautiful, was quite pleasant in its own waterlogged way. The Fleuve St. Laurent was nearby and it had lovely gardens and lawns. The torrential rains pouring off the roof of the basilique were, umm, quite invigorating as they splashed on our heads.

Richard thanked me for attending mass with him to honor his mother. I’m not quite as respectful as he gives me credit. My other option was sitting at a picnic table, unprotected from the deluge.

Leaving Ste. Anne de Beaupré, we passed the Chutes de Montmorency. We had planned to stop, but quite frankly if you’ve seen one damn waterfall in a pouring rain, you’ve seen them all.

We decided to take the scenic route back to Montréal hugging the Flueve St. Laurent, largely because I took a wrong turn and that was the road we were on. We passed through many quaint, rain soaked towns before we rejoined the freeway just past Trois-Rivière. By the by, if you’re looking for a picturesque small city, do not take the route we took through Trois-Rivière. Bleak is the best description.

We got back on the freeway just in time to experience… you guessed it… road construction. Nothing gives you an adrenalin rush quite like navigating Canadian road construction in heavy traffic during a rain storm.

We were quite happy to finally get to our hotel.
Stunningly, there are few pictures from day 5. The is the basilica at Ste. Anne de Beaupré.

This is a cute little park in the town of Champlain. We needed to pee and it wasn’t raining very hard.

Notes from the road - Part IV

2011-08-27T14:42:00.000-07:00

Pictures from our full day in Ville de Quebec

The iconic hotel Chateau Frontenac.

If you ask Richard, “Chutes de neige” should never be translated into English. It refers to the steep pitched roof above the sign and the fact that in winter snow will bombast off the roof, causing danger to loiterers below.

Richard wouldn’t let me bring home my new toy cannon.

A street scene from Basse-Ville or lower town, along the river.

Notes from the road - Part IIIb

2011-08-27T12:35:00.001-07:00

Arrival in Ville de Québec.

The historic old city of Québec is perched on a promontory high above the Fleuve St. Laurent (St. Lawrence River). Our hotel was not perched on said bluff. Our hotel was at the foot of the bluff. We arrived at about 4PM. I cajoled Richard into making the trek to see the old town. We got a map from the hotel’s front desk. (Do not believe Richard when he claims that we were issued crampons and a safety rope. There was no rappelling involved.) The fifteen minute walk took a hair bit more than a quarter hour. We were panting. We were sweating. A concerned passerby checked us for a pulse. But we made it!

A typical street in Old Québec.

True to their French heritage, Québecois are into their gardens.

This is a building that is very important and I have forgotten the name of.

Notes from the Road – Part IV or III or OMG I am already lost in this trip.

2011-08-25T18:51:00.000-07:00

Okay, I’ve regrouped. This is day 3, so this should be Part III. I want everyone to go back to the last entry and where it says “Part III (or Part IIb)” in the title, take a Sharpie and cross out the “Part III” portion on your screen (if you’re grammatically fastidious, you may want to take out the parenthesis, too). Now go up to the title of this post and black out the “Part IV or” and the “or OMG I am already lost in this trip”. That will take care of any confusion.

Day III was the day I rented my first international car.

Generally speaking, I don’t refer to rental car agencies in kind terms. I admit I had a good experience in Salt Lake City, but I thought it was a total aberration.

I had walked alone from the hotel to the Atwater-Métro branch of Globe Car Rental. One would think that on foot, with an exact address, I wouldn’t toddle past the agency. But I did. Three times. I was beginning to believe I had been taken. They had my credit card number (another sorry story) and were now enjoying an all-expenses paid vacation in some country that had no extradition treaty with Canada.

Estimating the address, I walked into what I thought was a multiplex movie theater. And there, next to the popcorn machine was Globe Car Rental. (Actually, it was a shopping center. It all made sense when you opened the door.)

I entered with an attitude. I spoke French with my most authoritarian accent, “J’ai un reservation pour une voiture. Je m’appelle Robert Cornelison.”

They responded with “oooh la ètre de whâtever.”

I glazed over.

“You’re more comfortable in English, aren’t you?” was the next thing I heard.

You have to have been there. I will discuss the hospitality of Montréalers later, but I had two new best friends. They did everything but drive us to Ville de Québec. If you ever need a car in Montréal, you have my recommendation!

Notes from the Road – Part III (or Part IIb)

2011-08-25T17:52:00.000-07:00

More pictures from Montréal.

Montréal has this neat thing called the Biosphere. Richard and I were going to go in it, but after we got there, we heard that they had scientific thingy-ma-jigs displayed there. Well, that is just so un-American. You understand we couldn’t do it. The Biosphere, part of the 1967 Expo, is on the Île-Ste-Hélène, so we had to take a ferry to get to it. (I heard that quip, ‘færies on a ferry’. That is just so funny, I forgot to laugh.) Anyway… where was I heading with this before I was so rudely interrupted?

Well, that is one thought line lost for eternity.

Montréal is a big city, with a big city skyline. It bears no resemblance to Hood River.

This is the Place Jacques Cartier in Vieux Montréal (Old Town, if you must). We arrived there late afternoon and just kind of hung out with the other tourists for a couple of hours then had a great dinner at one of the many restaurants that lined the square. It was one of my favorite times in Montréal.

Notes from the Road - Part II

2011-08-24T19:48:00.000-07:00

PHOTOS FROM MONTRÉAL.

It was the center of a busy street. I liked it.

This was really beautiful. Remind me to tell you about my success rate for taking pictures inside of cathedrals or basiliques or churches or kerken or anything like that.

An old man on a park bench: you have to be careful of them. They seem to be endemic to the parks of Montréal.

The true symbol of Canada! (Well, for some pathetic people.)

Notes from the Road – Part I

2011-08-24T17:19:00.000-07:00

Or perhaps I should say, “Notes from a tiny aluminum craft hurtling through the sky, propelled by a song, a prayer and a law of physics that is only understood by a handful of geeks who attended a prestigious institute of higher education.” Note: Tyee High School is not now, nor has it ever been a prestigious institute of higher education.

We all know that nothing good starts with an alarm clock bleating out an obscene noise at 2:30AM. Throw in an entourage of snarky airport employees, a dearth of edible food and a man who’s love of the airlines is second only to root canals and hearing tales of pestilence and plague, and you have all the makings of a good time.

Our flight out of PDX left right on time. Richard and I know it left on time. We saw it leave. It was a very pretty plane. There were happy, smiling people waving out the windows to family and friends. They were successfully on their way to Toronto, Ontario, with connecting flights to all of eastern Canada. Richard and I were at the gate next door waiting for a flight to San Francisco.

Now, I know you are all thinking to yourself, “Why are Mac and Richard heading away from Montréal and Ville de Québec instead of toward Montréal and Ville de Québec?” I was asking myself that very same question. Well, there is a funny story behind the flight to SFO.

I’m lying. There is no funny story behind Richard and I flying to San Francisco.

We arrived at Portland International Airport at 5:32AM for a 7:05AM flight. But that was too late. It seems that our airlines-du-jour has a hard rule that you must have your boarding pass in your hand 1 hour (60 minutes) prior to the scheduled departure. At 6:05AM precisely, Richard, myself and approximately 10 other passengers who were planning to head to the great white north, were ordered out of the main line and herded to a separate queue by an agent with the basic disposition of a bitter, wounded hyena (not the laughing variety.) We all assumed we were in the express lane to Toronto. We were wrong, so wrong. We were in the “You ain’t going nowhere without our express permission line.”

There was one person who had total control of our destination. She sat at a behemoth computer behind the counter at the head of the column. She was as kind and as personable as a Brillo Pad. Although San Francisco seems a somewhat circuitous route to Montréal, considering the power wielded and the compassion shown by Attila the Ticketing Agent (this is a nickname, not her real name), Richard and I felt fortunate. The couple with two small children who stood behind us sassed Attila the Ticketing Agent. Last we heard they were boarding a Greyhound Bus. I overheard something about a layover in Houston.

We flew to San Francisco. After a brief (brief in geological terms, not the common vernacular) encounter with an agent and her supervisor at SFO, Richard and I had a boarding passes in hand for a flight to Montréal. It is amazing how fast two and a half hours pass when you're having fun.

We arrived at Pierre Trudeau Aéroport only three hours after our planned arrival. We were tired, but we were in the province of Québec. All was good.

Ville de Quebec

2011-08-19T17:58:00.001-07:00

As close to Europe as you can get without leaving North America!

We are here!

2011-08-19T05:48:00.001-07:00

The day of travel to Montreal was horrific, but we are here.

Montreal is great!

We’re off!

2011-08-17T03:32:00.000-07:00

Montréal and Ville de Québec, here we come.

There is a reason to only go on one vacation a year. Getting ready is too much work!

August 11, 2011

2011-08-11T07:36:00.000-07:00

I'm sure you all have your festivities planned to celebrate the 27th anniversary of the debut of the Four Younger Siblings and Their Much Older Sister! Going to be a major party!

Oh, and "Happy Birthday, Annie!"

The perils of living with someone who is musically talented.

2011-08-02T18:39:00.000-07:00

On the way home from work today, I heard one of those great old songs from my youth: one of those great old songs that I really don’t remember, other than in bits and pieces. So when I came in the house singing it came out something like;

“Ya da da da da da da, ‘live for today’, ya da da da da da da, ‘live for today, don’t worry about tomorrow anyway.”

Richard was looking at me funny. I made some comment to the effect of “Obviously, I heard that song on the way home from work.”

His face went from blank to incredulous.

“You don’t know what song I was singing, do you?” I said, with obvious hurt in my tone.

“I had no idea if you were singing, or in horrible pain”, was his reply.

I hate people with talent.

Random notes from the Hood River Valley

2011-07-26T18:58:00.000-07:00

First, I have some tragic news for many of you. The greatest miracle of our time, the “Miraculous Apparition of the Holiest of All Dogs, the Great Saint Bernard, in a Pile O’Gravel” has fallen. I was half-way through the construction of the tollbooth, I mean ticket stand, that I was going to place at the end of the driveway so that the faithful could support the lifestyle I have become accustomed, I mean tithe for the miraculous event. There must be someone to blame for this heartrending situation

I blame, well I blame so many people and institutions. There is the pope, who didn’t come immediately to validate the miracle. There is the federal government, which didn’t give me an immediate tax break, because I was going to hire someone to work the “ticket stand” when Richard and I were at work. There is the Weather Channel who allowed a rain storm to pass through the Northwest.

I also have to comment on Glenn Beck’s observation about the victims on Utoya Island in Norway being equivalent to “Hitler Youth”. Imagine if after the Oklahoma City bombing, one of Norway’s most known radio/TV personality came on line and said… well something equivalent. We would have wiped Norway off the map. If you are listening to Mr. Beck as we speak… fucking hang up. This is so basic.

And finally, if you’re going to call me “crazy”, do it anonymously.

Okay it is official.

2011-07-23T18:44:00.000-07:00

I am calling it the “Miraculous Apparition of the Holiest of All Dogs, the Great Saint Bernard, in a Pile O’Gravel.”

It’s a Miracle!

2011-07-23T18:22:00.000-07:00

Roll over, Shroud of Turin. Prepare to be compared, Lourdes.

There is a miracle in the upper valley.

Sacred apparition of a Saint Bernard in a pile of rocks.

This is big time. This will make the Ball O’ Twine seem like a stupid tourist trap!

Jesus Christ, Superstar!

2011-07-10T17:24:00.000-07:00

I just got home from CAST's production of "Jesus Christ, Superstar". It was amazing. Richard is one of those grand song and dance productions! He is so ready to be an honorary sib! It is remarkable to live in the small town of Hood River and have the local community theatre do such mind-boggling productions. So much talent in this area!

Farewell Betty

2011-07-08T19:19:00.000-07:00

I've always admired your courage!

And Happy Birthday!

2011-07-06T18:47:00.000-07:00

Long gone, but far from forgotten!

Summer has arrived.

2011-07-06T18:36:00.001-07:00

I’m ready to whine about the heat!

But that will wait until another day. Today, I will just glory in the heat. Okay, it is only the mid 80’s in the Upper Valley, but I am reveling in the advent of summer!

Yee Haw!

Thirteen Years

2011-07-05T19:12:00.000-07:00

I'm as stunned as you are. Who would have thought it would last this long?

Such a busy week.

2011-06-26T15:59:00.000-07:00

There was the summer solstice last Tuesday. Of course, that meant a trip out to the Stonehenge replica outside of Goldendale to perform a pagan ritual or two. You will all be stunned at how difficult it is to find a virgin willing to sacrifice themselves to some not quite believable god.

Then there was the 70th birthday party for Cheerios. All the planning and the execution: it was nerve racking.

And New York became the 6th state (along with the District of Columbia) to recognize gay marriage. Wow, totally awesome. I’m almost ready to take back all those horrible things I’ve said about you breeders over the decades.

The Last Day of Spring

2011-06-20T19:37:00.000-07:00

Perhaps summer will come tomorrow; or perhaps it will just be another lousy day in paradise.

Dorothy is gone. I know I should be sad, and a big part of me is, but there is that part that ...

Total turmoil.

And Brad is gone, too. One of my main faces from the Hood River Bridge Club, one of the few who remember Wayno from his days in the club, has also passed.

But summer is tomorrow.

It will be good.

Happy Father's Day

2011-06-19T16:04:00.000-07:00

Shouldn't there be a horse show somewhere?

At long last!

2011-06-14T21:13:00.000-07:00

The peonies are peoning!
Auntie Bea's irises are irising!

Festival d’Avignon

2011-06-13T19:09:00.000-07:00

Yes, we received our guide to the Festival d’Avignon in the mail today. The south of France’s premier theatre festival wants us to return. Apparently Richard and I were the life of the party last year. If we don’t attend, they are afraid it will be a dismal failure this year.

But alas, we need to take a year off. The cosmic signs don’t point to a European vacation this year. The cosmic signs point to Canada this year. So, Richard and I will vacation in Montréal and Ville de Québec this summer. We will survive.

Please, try not to feel bad for us. Europe will be in 2012.

Looky, looky, looky!!!

2011-06-03T07:15:00.000-07:00

I know someone famous!

I read the note when I got home from work.

2011-05-28T18:26:00.000-07:00

Mac,
The coffee maker died this morning – I made the second pot of coffee and it worked fine, but about ½ hour late I noticed that both switch lights were out…

It was signed by Richard.

I could tell by the tear marks on the paper, that he had been distraught. If you don’t drink copious amounts of coffee on a daily basis, you may not understand the close relationship that you can develop with your coffee maker. He becomes your confidant, your best friend and often your life saver. Frankly, you would give your life for him.

So, I’m sure you understand that it has been a very solemn day around the Parker-Cornelison household. But don’t worry, we will be fine. We have a back-up.

Why do I enjoy a beverage or two?

2011-05-27T17:28:00.001-07:00

Go grab a beer and join me in toasting 10 reasons to drink. (Okay, maybe 9, the woman on the top right isn't quite as scary as she is suppose to be, but that is speaking in comparative terms.)

The lilacs are going to put on quite a show this year!

2011-05-26T18:03:00.001-07:00

Actually, I was thinking about doing a post where I whined and complained about how cold and rainy of a spring we have had, then I read a news article about Joplin, Missouri and remembered Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Pissing and moaning about some minor discomforts would be totally inappropriate.

Designed by Saints

2011-05-22T19:24:00.000-07:00

No really, it is based on the dogs paths, with emphasis on the holes they dig.

It's nearing completion!

The Rapture - Part II

2011-05-21T22:06:00.000-07:00

Umm... I should ask... is there anyone else still around for the sib call tomorrow? Or am I just gonna be chatting alone?

The rapture

2011-05-21T19:26:00.000-07:00

I seem to be left behind.

Quelle surprise!

Aging with grace and panache.

2011-05-18T18:49:00.001-07:00

I know little about grace and even less about panache. But they are both very pleasant terms. Aging isn’t. So, to obtain some pertinent information and to prove my total hipness, I will Google the phrase.

(Note to readers: Panache is not a combination of Ganache and Panoche. I state this in advance to keep you from the horrible disappointment I experienced. Panache is not an amazing sweet.)

Whoa, now ain’t that interesting. Apparently, aging with grace and panache is not a possibility. It seems that the term ‘Aging with Grace and Panache’, is a hyperbolic expression made popular in the 1980’s by the Gray Liberation Society of Some of the Americas and Alaska. They knew it was a lie.

Undaunted, although somewhat depressed, I will Google, “Aging with grace”.

Some hits:

“Do you know someone who’s moving into a phase of life where their physical and mental capabilities are declining or are you overwhelmed with the thought of placing a loved one in an eldercare facility?”

“Most people suffer some niggling physical problems as they age, and often some serious illnesses as well. But many older adults also suffer some social and psychological problems. Some mental illnesses do have a genetic and hereditary component. On top of this, there are social and cultural differences on how people meet the challenges of aging.”

“What’s another way of saying old? Mature. Yes. Wisdom of years. Yeah, that too. Many winters. Yeah, all that, but I’m looking for something else that’s strongly correlated with looking down at the young ones.”

Okay, frankly I’m not liking this. I was really hoping for something a little more positive than “niggling physical problems” and “many winters”. (Although “looking down at the young ones” does hit a ‘win’ button or two for me.)

I work in the hospitality industry. For years, the industry has had a very forward-thinking retirement policy. Put succinctly, thirty years in the industry and you go stark-raving mad and the state takes care of you. Unfortunately, Oregon, following the lead of many states, has opted to discontinue its care of crazy old men. This really leaves me out in the cold.

Literally.

From my early years in Hood River, at least I know where to move to hang out with the aging homeless (by the railroad tracks, on the west side of the bridge that crosses over the Hood River.) It is really a quite beautiful neighborhood, complete with tarps and tents and desperate people. I’ll fit in nicely.

But there must be another solution. I do have a 401K. And as long as inflation doesn’t kick in, Richard and I could, theoretically, last a good three or four months before we find ourselves on the streets with nothing to our names but a few bitter, needy animals. I’m not sure Max will deal well with homelessness. And I’m sure Trixie will find many things wrong with the situation. This could be very unattractive.

So, I can’t age with grace and panache, and aging with just grace seems a tad brutal. And my retirement plan is pretty much one of desperation. Perhaps it is time I thought about fighting the aging process with all the grace and panache I have. Okay, I have no grace, and frankly I had to Google the definition of “panache”. The definition was “verve”. Back to Google. Okay, energy and enthusiasm. Wow, I’m totally up the creek with no paddle. Getting old is as much fun as, to quote the French, “Sommeil avec des larves”. I’m loving it.

What to do, what to do? I could fight with cosmetic surgery. Excuse me, a scalpel. I don’t think so. I’ve seen Richard and Wayno and Mom and Dad do way too many surgical procedures for me to step in to one without a critical, desperate need. Okay, I understand I am kind of arguing with myself (define critical and desperate), but I would rather find myself getting mail at General Delivery, Hood River, than have some of those ridiculous procedures.

Okay, cut the surgery stuff and let’s just go with cosmetics. I just Googled, and there is foundation and base and blush and … well,I am way too old to learn this stuff. It is way too complicated. Okay, how about stucco? During summer, just a coat early on and it would last for a few months, winter I would have to recoat fairly often. But I’m liking this. Slap on a coat of paint to match the day. I want a tan; easy as pie. Like to look like I’ve been working hard, let’s go with semi-gloss. Want people to think I’ve just come back from a ride in the mountains, gloss with a red tint. This is so easy. Don’t know exactly how it will work with the stache and beard, but I’m sure I can work it out.

No I can’t.

The crevasses on my face are there to stay. I am no longer the young man I remember. I am no longer a desirable treat in the gay community. I am over the hill.

But, somehow, day after day, I continue.

Discovering the Columbia River.

2011-05-11T20:44:00.000-07:00

On May 11th, or 12th or 20th or… well it depends on which reliable source you check… 1792, just a few decades of centuries after the indigenous population discovered the Columbia River, and only 17 year after Heceta explored the mouth of the mighty river, Robert Gray 'discovered' the Columbia River. He was on one of the Viking Cruise Lines first trips: back before they had cabins for sleeping. It was pre-historic. He was the only person on the boat who could write. He got to tell early history of the Columbia in his own way.

The first night was spent at the Fur Bonnet Motel in Astoria. His blog entry for the dates mentioned run-down furnishings and a lack of attention to details by the staff, but if he ever passed through here again, ‘he would consider staying there again’. He wasn’t appalled, but neither was he impressed. The captain steered his boat up the river and spent the second night at the Wendy’s Wild West Emporium and Motel in Gresham. Trust me; you don’t want to know what he blogged about on that stay. Let’s just to suffice it to say the motel has long ago closed. His criticism was devastating.

The ship headed farther inland, spending the third night at a riverside hotel in Hood River. The dude had a great night at a reasonable price, but do you think he would mention that on his blog?

Asshole!

From the White Bear Enquirer

2011-05-10T05:39:00.000-07:00

Apocalyptic Headlines in Error.

In an earlier edition of the Enquirer, we reported that the end of the world was near. Despite the terrifyingly bright lights, the loud noises and garish atmosphere, it was not Armageddon we were witnessing. We erroneously jumped to an unfortunate conclusion that proved to be incorrect.

It was just a birthday party.

Umm… Happy Birthday, Peggy Jane!!!

Stolen From the Onion

2011-05-09T19:48:00.000-07:00

Budget Mix-Up Provides Nation's Schools With Enough Money To Properly Educate Students

WASHINGTON—According to bewildered and contrite legislators, a major budgetary mix-up this week inadvertently provided the nation's public schools with enough funding and resources to properly educate students.

Sources in the Congressional Budget Office reported that as a result of a clerical error, $80 billion earmarked for national defense was accidentally sent to the Department of Education, furnishing schools with the necessary funds to buy new textbooks, offer more academic resources, hire better teachers, promote student achievement, and foster educational excellence—an oversight that apologetic officials called a "huge mistake."

"Obviously, we did not intend for this to happen, and we are doing everything in our power to right the situation and discipline whoever is responsible," said House Budget Committee chairman Paul Ryan (R-WI), expressing remorse for the error. "I want to apologize to the American people. The last thing we wanted was for schools to upgrade their technology and lower student-to-teacher ratios in hopes of raising a generation of well-educated, ambitious, and skilled young Americans."

"That's the type of irresponsible misspending that I've been focused on eliminating for my entire political career," Ryan added.

Ryan went on to tell reporters that the $80 billion budget slip-up will "unfortunately" help schools nationwide to supply students with modernized classrooms and instructional materials. Struggling to control his frustration, Ryan said he prayed the costly mistake would not allow millions of American students to graduate with strong language skills.

Jeff Sessions (R-AL), ranking minority member of the Senate Budget Committee, called for a full investigation into how the nation's schools were able to secure the necessary funds to monitor teachers and pay salaries based on performance.
"The fact that this careless mistake also ended up financing new teacher training programs, allowing educators to become more than just glorified babysitters, is disgraceful," Sessions said. "Now we are left with a situation where schools can attract talented professionals who really want to teach our children, which will in turn create smarter and more motivated students who wish to one day make a contribution to society."

"In all my years in government I have never seen such a shameful error," Sessions added. "Our appropriations process has gone horribly awry, and I for one demand to know how it happened."

House Speaker John Boehner (R-OH) echoed congressional leaders and vowed to do "everything in [his] power" to resolve the costly error that led to schools updating their curriculums to emphasize math, science, and language arts, and provided students with instruction on how to use newly purchased computers to aid their research.

"Once these kids learn to read and think critically, you can never undo that," Boehner said. "In 20 years, we could be looking at a nightmare scenario in which vast segments of our populace are fully prepared to compete in the new global marketplace."

"It could take a whole generation to cancel out the effects of this," Boehner added.

Congressional leaders also stressed that providing the nation's students with an adequate education that prepared them for college or supplied them with a solid grasp of basic knowledge could also have a devastating impact on the economy by creating a new class of citizens uninterested in settling for fast food meals and useless plastic knickknacks.

"And politicians will be adversely affected as well," Boehner said. "What will our nation do if the next generation knows that all we care about is our own selfish interests and pandering to the wealthy elite? Is that the future you want? Not me.”

It was long ago and far away.

2011-05-08T13:14:00.000-07:00

A poem I wrote in another time and space.

I’ll Never Be a King

Dedicated to Juanita McCracken Cornelison

You brought me into the world
Had the time and patience
And the strength to bear the pain
You fondled and cuddled a useless child
And dreamed on day he’d be a king.
With every diaper you washed
And every bottle you cleaned
You somehow felt your diligence would be rewarded
By the growth of a human being.

Through the traumas of early childhood
The first days of school
The cuts and bruises
Scrapes and burns
You stood undaunted
And picked me up when I fell
For your heart told you
One day that child will be a man
Out in the world
Earning bread and butter
Supporting a family of his own.

The horrors of adolescence
The first date and senior prom
Were as big to you as they were to me
And the pains were just as real
As though the name callers
Were shouting at you, too.

Through eighteen years you’ve been b y my side
With all the composure of a queen
With care and understanding
And with all the joys and all the pains.

I know your dreams
But I’ll never be a king
And probably
There’ll never be a Mrs.
Or little kids to carry on the family name
I know what it is you’re going through
For my dreams have faltered, too
I know only too vivid
The pains of a dying mural
Painted over the real to be

But you see
Though I’ll never be a king,
You’ll always be a queen
For there’s no one more beautiful
Ore deserving of a crown
Than the woman who raised this child.
And I’m sorry for all the pains,
And I’m sorry for the diapers, too
But I’ve got to find out where I’m going
And what its going to lead me to.

If my friends seem a bit brash
Or blatant in their way
Its not that they’re cruel
Or out to change the world
It’s just that they’ve seen their better days
For a city takes a lot out of a Person
Takes the youth, your innocence and even your soul.
And I’d give anything to be a baby cradled in your arms
But, here I am
And I’ve got to face the world

Though its not the life you planned for me
Out on my own without a wife
In fairness to all
It’s the life I’ll lead
But, Mama, I love you still.

I miss you, Mom!

The appropriate beverage for a happy Ocho de Mayo!

2011-05-08T08:50:00.001-07:00

The Mamacita

1.5 oz Rum
.5 oz Passoa
.5 oz Cointreau
Guava syrup
1 Marachino cherry
1 chunk pineapple

In a hurricane glass with ice add malibu rum, passoa, and cointreau. Fill the balance with guava syrup and shake well. Garnish with a maraschino cherry and pineapple.

And a Happy Mother's Day to all you mamacitas and non-mamacitas.

Happy Seis de Mayo!

2011-05-06T07:41:00.000-07:00

Why look! It's a herd of margaritas and they're calling my name!

Happy Cinco de Mayo

2011-05-05T07:51:00.000-07:00

Somewhere, there is a Margarita with your name on it! Go out and find it!

Quick, everyone…

2011-05-03T20:06:00.001-07:00

… go check the expiration date on your cheese!

May 2nd, 1885

2011-05-02T18:29:00.000-07:00

Good Housekeeping Magazine is first published. (I read that on the internet. I wasn't actually there when it happened.)

In honor of this auspicious anniversary, I cleaned the house. Well, I thought about cleaning the house. It was a very unpleasant couple of minutes. Thank goodnesss the urge passed.

But now I am exhausted!

I'm thinking this could be our next sib trip!

2011-05-01T10:33:00.001-07:00

May Day! May Day!

2011-05-01T10:21:00.000-07:00

Large, unidentified yellow object seen in the sky.

Terror reigns in the Upper Valley, albeit a warm, fuzzy terror!

Totally inappropriate weather forecast.

2011-04-29T07:32:00.000-07:00

UPPER HOOD RIVER VALLEY-
INCLUDING THE CITIES OF...PARKDALE...ODELL
254 AM PDT FRI APR 29 2011

TODAY...MOSTLY CLOUDY. A CHANCE OF RAIN AND SNOW SHOWERS IN THE
MORNING...THEN A SLIGHT CHANCE OF SHOWERS IN THE AFTERNOON. SNOW
LEVEL 1500 FEET RISING TO 2500 FEET IN THE AFTERNOON.

It is the end of April, after all!

Just when you think you've got it figured out.

2011-04-29T07:28:00.000-07:00

I was sure that Sarah Palin was the worst possible candidate for president.

But Trump has proven me wrong.

Farewell, Phoebe

2011-04-26T17:57:00.000-07:00

Talk to me some more
You don't have to go
You're the poetry man
You make things all rhyme

HAPPY EARTH DAY

2011-04-22T18:35:00.000-07:00

Another one is picking on me!

2011-04-18T18:45:00.000-07:00

This time it is Brian Crane with Pickles!

Am I the only one who remembers…

2011-04-14T21:22:00.000-07:00

… back in the 1980’s, when our beloved president, Ronald Reagan busted the air traffic controllers union. And now we’re crying because we have people falling asleep on the job?

Thank god we are now trying to bust the teachers unions, not some important union. We all know teacher don’t do nothing important. Ain’t no bad consequences coming from smacking a few loser teachers around. Why hell, if five or six of them lived together in some sick twisted relationship, and if it weren’t for DOMA, they could get a tax break.

Save the rich, screw the teachers! Tax breaks for the wealthy and let the poor eat cake!

Thanks, Marie!

Okay, so my blog isn't "popular".

2011-04-12T18:14:00.000-07:00

But what am I going to write above the urinal?
(Thanks to Stephan Pastis.)

Bulldogs win the Frozen Four!

2011-04-10T10:37:00.000-07:00

Okay, football champs, I can get behind you, but hockey? Aren't you just showing off a little?

Congratulations to the Minn-Duluth Bulldogs on winning the national championship in men's hockey!

Yeehaw!!!

I learned a valuable life lesson today.

2011-04-09T15:01:00.000-07:00

Bucolic The Dalles, Oregon is a hot-bed of bizarre activities on Cherry Blossom Festival Day.

I thought I would pop over after work and get a little shopping done. Richard’s birthday present isn’t going to buy itself, you know! (It really isn’t. That plan backfired on me last Wednesday.) Every other time I have been to The Dalles, it has been staid and orderly. But this time there were skateboarders, unicyclists, runners, clowns jumping out of a Google van, poodles on leashes, a craft fair in the parking lot, families camped out in said parking lot, a narcoleptic cat parade, bassoonists and other forms of general pandemonium. For the average motorist, it was a nightmare.

Fortunately, I had a plan. I was going to stop at some store and wander around until something jumped out at me and screamed, “Richard doesn’t own this, and he won’t hate it.” Shopping is so much easier when you have a definitive strategy.

The roads were bad and the parking lots worse. But the stores were remarkably empty, with staff that was very helpful. I got a present lickity-split and was out of that store faster than greased lightning. And there was Richard, driving by in his car. He almost ran me over, but I don’t think he ever saw me. So his gift may still be a surprise. (I know it will be for me. I’ve wrapped it already, and don’t remember what it is.) I am so thoughtful, aren’t I?

Many, many years ago…

2011-04-06T18:18:00.000-07:00

And in a state far, far away, Bernadette and Howard announced the birth of the first son, and their second son on this very date.

Howard and Richard are twins, though you would never guess it to look at them.

And no, I will not tell you how old the geezers are.

Totally on another subject, I read today that there is a county in Texas with a population of 60. Can you believe that, a whole county with only sixty people! Why that is one person for every year of a 60 year old man’s life. Sixty, sixty, sixty; who would have thought that possible!

Mr. Richard Parker is pictured here at the Jardins des Tuileries in Paris. He was in his fifties in this picture.

Grand-St-Bernard; Le Tunnel.

2011-04-05T17:04:00.000-07:00

It was on this date, 49 years ago, that the Great St. Bernard Tunnel was bore through the Alps. That was back in the days when the St. Bernard was a working breed.

Every day for years, the Swiss Saints and the Italian Saints punched the time clock and went digging. The young, rascally pups would dig with all their might, while the more mature dogs would hang around by the water cooler and, well frankly, drool, occasionally taking a swipe at the dirt.

I tried to tell Ralph and Trixie the story: the threatened to call the ASPCA and PETA if I made any move to get them involved, in a positive way, in landscaping.

Seems the “good ol’ days” of dogs helping around the house are gone.

The photo is lifted from Flickr.

Call Me A Duck

2011-04-03T17:17:00.001-07:00

Maybe only Trudy can enjoy this.

PROUD TO BE A DUCK!!!