I SEE MY PATH.

My Finished Table!

2010-11-09T19:40:00.000-08:00

So, as you may know, I took a hand-tools based woodwork class this summer at the Oregon College of Art and Craft. We were working on mortise and tenon joints to make a bench, stool or small table. I rescued a round of what I think is Walnut from the outdoor woodpile to make myself a lil coffee table.

I didn't quite manage to finish it by the end of the ten or so classes but I had all the pieces ready to be sanded, glued up and oiled. However, what should have just been finishing touches took me 'til this weekend to complete as the table was over at the coast and Ian and I haven't been over there much (sob) since the Autumn and real-life (work, sob sob) returned with a vengeance!

Anyway, after a lot a lot a lot of sanding, gluing and leg straightening, I finally finished it on Sunday and took it back to the loft in Portland. Here's a not very short photo-story of the table from start to end!

The Wood-Shop.

I had to wire-brush the crap out of it (literally) for nearly an hour to get it in working order.

I loved the live-edge of the bark and this 'eye' in the middle of the round.

Measured my Mortise placement. I'd done a practice Mortise and I'm actually not too bad at them but I did chip out one of them and had to glue it back in place which took up half a class.

When my mortises were completed, I started on three angled tenon legs. This was the hardest part for me as I'm rubbish at Maths and found the measurements and angles difficult to grasp and visualise sometimes. On the plus side, I'm a very patient person and really enjoyed the methodical work of chiseling the tenons one shave at a time so that they fit snugly inside the mortise.

By the time classes ended in August, I had all the necessary pieces chiseled and sawed and angled. I sawed a split in the tenons where the wedge would be banged in and tapered the legs. Though it wasn't glued together, the table did officially (and wobbly) stand!

As you can see, there were rough ridges and serations on the face of the round caused by the chainsaw that cut the tree down. It took a while to sand it smooth and luckily I had a happy helper husband to give me a hand. After a while, these beautiful bands of gold and tan and fawn began to emerge from under the ridges and scratches. Very zen, one of my favourite moments.

It took two weekends at the coast to get the sanding finished. It was worth the wait, I'm glad I didn't rush that part. The 'eye' that I loved from the start looked even more incredible now.

Then it was D-day: time to do a dry run before the glue-up and pray to god the wedges didn't break!

When the glue was dry, the wedged tenon was sawed off with a Japanese handsaw. This left a few scratches on the surface so the table was sanded yet again!

Again, Ian was great at helping me measure the bottom of the angled legs so that I could saw them and make them sit flat on the ground.

All that was left to be done was oil it with some Watco Danish Oil and wait for it to dry overnight.

Before.

After!

Actually, there was one more thing to do. Take it home at long long last and sit there looking at it, stunned that I actually completed it - it's so unlike me!

Jennifer Wells Design

2010-09-01T12:25:00.000-07:00

Wow. It's been a whole 'Last Thursday' since I checked in here.

I'm not sure why. I've been doing many 'bloggable' activities! Every so often I feel a bit silly about this whole blog thing and kind of embarassed about my ramblings about jam and soup and flowers and walks in the woods. I doubt that it's very interesting really but what do I know because a couple of people - just a couple, but still! - have asked me where I've been lately?

So, here I am and in the spirit of it being First Thursday here in Northwest Portland, I thought I'd show you the results of a glass-art class I took a few weeks ago.

I joined some lovely ladies at Jennifer Wells Design and amidst the chatter and the snacks and the wine, managed to learn a technique or two and made four pieces of glass jewellery.

As always with me, the food is half the fun!

In a nut-shell: you use a glass-cutter and arrange and layer at your will!

We left the pieces there to be fused and collected them a couple of weeks later. I picked mine up yesterday and superglued some braces on to turn them into proper jewellery. I'm really pleased with how the blue piece and the purple and cream turned out. The fusing process can change the colours so the green and amber piece isn't at all how I expected. In retrospect, I'd have asked them to do a half-fuse and leave the amber beads slightly raised - they kind of just oozed into the piece, lost their shiny transparency and it's my least favourite.

Anyway... lots of lessons learned and here they are!

This one is for my sister.

This one, I'm not sure... Me perhaps!

I was surprised to see how much the colours change in the fusing process - I loved the cream in the 'before' piece whereas now it's more white. Also you could see a real difference in hue between the two ambers at the bottom and I imagined a more stark graduated effect.

This one was meant for my mam... but I'm not sure even a mother's love for their child's art-creations can make this wearable. At least in public!

Last Thursday

2010-07-30T17:19:00.000-07:00

For the uninitiated (as until recently I was), Last Thursday happens on Alberta Street at the end of every month in North East Portland. Galleries and stores stay open late and dozens of artists, DIY-ers and handycrafters open up 'shop' on the side of the road as the street is closed to all but human traffic from 6pm til late.

I live in Northwest Portland - or the Pearl District - and there's a similar set-up here on the First Thursday of the month. Last Thursday has a totally different vibe though. It's all a little bit la-dee-da and high-end (expensive) art in this neighbourhood, although I do love to wander and look and covet and sigh and avail of the gratis cheese and wine receptions.

Alberta Street is open to anyone and everyone who has something to sell or say or sing. It's definitely more vibrant over there, more free-spirited and inclusive, raucous, rambunctious, less wine and cheese, more beer and weed. Needless to say, I loved it and had myself a rare auld time.

These are some things I especially loved:

Zee Music! Zee Dancing!

Avante-garde dirty gypsy klezmer jazz indie anti-folk rock a la All The Apparatus. Best moments were when some of their singers joined in with the dancing onlookers, and when a small boy with a wooden green recorder came to the front of the crowd and played along with them. He rocked it, crazy little dude!

Honorable mentions should also go to The BloodRoots Barter and Sassparilla. Chicks and washboards seemed to be a trend, I spotted four in different bands but this gal was my fave. I also loved how the dude from Bloodroots was chewing on a stalk of lavender while playing the mandolin: hillbillyism meets floral chic.

Unfortunately this jazzy tapdancing four-piece chose to place themselves between Bloodroots and All the Apparatus and were drowned out of it. I loved them though, wish I knew their name... Also, I want her socks.

Does Double-Dutch count as dancing? It put me into a weird, rhythmical trance so I'm going to say yes. Ladies were craaazy!

Other things I loved were the guy giving free Bad Advice and the sad looking man trading poetry for smiles. Seems he's all out of them himself...

I was mostly band-hopping but if I had have bought any of the many wonderful things for sale, it would have been:

This portrait of Beaker surrounded by angry skulls.

This giant rocking-horse.

The painting of the robot guitar playing itself.

Any one of these Vintage Journals made from old books.

And, seriously, I need these socks!

The Grilled Cheese Grill

2010-07-30T15:47:00.000-07:00

I thought nothing could equal - nay, surpass - my undying love of the American diner but grease has made itself manifest to me in a new and wonderful way my friends. The latest thing contributing to my future heart attack is The Grilled Cheese Grill, recently voted the best place to take a date by readers of the Willamette Week.

Now, there are some ladies - nay, gentlemen (yeah, I'm throwing the 'nay' around like it's already gone out of fashion; I'll stop tomorrow) - who would be a titch disgruntled - nay, well pissed off - if their new luvah tried to impress them with an outdoor toasted-sandwich foodcart. But those are not my kind of ladies. And they are not my kind of gentlemen.

I'm the kind of ladygent who appreciates the simple things in life and the food of my youth - mashed potatoes and gravy, fishfinger sandwiches, Heinz cream of tomato soup, soggy Cornflakes in warm milk, etcetera. I am also the kind of folk who loves all things kitschy and crap. And nothing is more kitschy and crap - in a good way, please understand me - than eating a toasted cheese sandwich in an old schoolbus where the tables are covered in yearbook photos and there are Trivial Pursuit question-boxes from the eighties on every table. All washed down with an orange flavoured Fanta.

I'm that kind of girl and that's okay but I also have my limits and my limit is The Cheesus Burger. Imagine a beef burger with all the trimmings - pickles and cheese, grilled onions, mustard, ketchup. Now imagine that instead of a bun, all of that comes sandwiched between... well, two grilled cheese sandwiches. Bacon on a doughnut is one thing but this is just a step too far. I cast no judgement upon those who participate in this kind of behaviour - nay, I applaud them - but I'll be sticking to my traditional cheese and tomatoe with a slice of avocado in an attempt at some semblance of sophistication!

Some Things I'm Loving This Summer.

2010-07-18T21:58:00.000-07:00

Snow Cones!

Barbecues with Friends.

Night-Time Bike Rides by the River.

Saturday Cycle to the Farmer's Market.

Hiking with my Best Bud.

Movies in the Park. Fantastic!

Knowing that, though it may be summer, the Pacific Ocean is still colder than a snow-cone so staying on shore wrapped in Ian's towel and sweater is the cosier place to be.

Some Thoughts Upon Eating a Tayberry Cheesecake.

2010-07-17T19:26:00.000-07:00

Life is good.

I mean, I know it's not. Not really.

The other night, we drove by a woman who was rolling around on the pavement, trippin out and flipping like a suffocating fish from her belly to her back over and over and over. A bunch of people stopped to watch - three men staring straight down over her and laughing, another man and a nicely dressed lady across the street taking out their smart phones to take photos.

Thursday night, we rode our bikes along the river. It was beautiful. The air so soft and balmy, the city a sparkling backdrop to the wide Wilamette, the Steel and Hawthorne and Burnside Bridges rising illuminated, impressive and unyielding out of still waters. A strong and sturdy shelter for the dozens and dozens of people who call their eaves and steps and walls a bed for the night. I suddenly felt like a fraud, whizzing by, smiling and invigorated on my $700 bicycle. In fact, life is supremely unfair and disparate and perverse.

Strange to say Life is Good so. Wrong to sit down and write about berries and cream cheese and sugar. But I need to say it. Life is good and I am thankful and aware and need to do more and don't do enough and don't know what to do but it isn't lost on me, how unequally and contrarily good life has been to me. This little blog is full of idle luxuries and free indulgences. I really don't know how to feel about that. Guilty and greatful I suppose. I have lots to think about, my time could - and should, and will - be spent more thoughtfully. But I can't say I'm going to give up cake, it's just too freakin sweet man...

Tayberry Cheesecake

* Coarsely grind 2 cups of Graham Crackers in a food processor. Back in Ireland, I used to bash the crap out of Digestive biscuits in a plastic bag with a rolling pin but I digress...
* Melt one stick of unsalted butter in a pot and combine well with the cracker crumbs and 6 tablespoons of brown sugar.
* Press into - and up the sides - of a round tin then chill in the fridge.

* Place 1 and a half cups of Tayberries in a pot with 2 tablespoons of fine sugar and a splash of water. Cook over a medium/high heat for 1-2 minutes then leave to cool on a plate.

* Beat 1 and a half cups of cream cheese with 5 tablespoons of powdered (icing) sugar, 2 teaspoons of vanilla extract and the juice of half a lemon until smooth.
* In a separate bowl, whisk 1 and a half cups of heavy whipping cream to soft peaks.
* Fold the cream into the cream cheese mixture.

* Slowly pour and evenly spread the cream cheese mixture onto the biscuit base.
* Carefully spoon the cooled berry mix on top and spread gently with a knife without combining the cream cheese topping.

* Chill until ready to serve.

* Don't think about it too much like I did. Just enjoy. Life is good.

Tayberry Jam!

2010-07-13T17:20:00.000-07:00

Raspberries are like so last week. Tayberries are the new black, you heard it here first people!

Actually, this morning was the first time I heard of a Tayberry. A cross between a raspberry and a blackberry, technically they are both the new black and the old red which kinda blurs the lines of my berry-fashion categories...

Anyway... Ian and I joined some friends at West Union Gardens this morning for a pick-your-own session and it was so cute to hear their four year old son chanting "Happy Berry-Picking Day Everybody" in his little sing-song voice. It was a very happy day, the kid wasn't lying. It's a beautiful setting and not too far from the city. I'm anticipating many return trips this summer.

Today, we focused on raspberries and the newly discovered tayberries. So much to choose from though, I'd never heard of half of these.

Wonderful way to spend a morning and even better with friends.

Monster Yield! I think I ate as many as I picked along the way.

Picked up a packet of Pomona's Universal Pectin while I was at it (say that ten times fast!) and spent the afternoon making my first ever batch of jam since helping my mam when I was a kid.

T'was a little bit messy and tricky as I had to remove the hull of the tayberries (the raspberries seemed to slip more easily away from the hulls and stalks when picking them). After that, though, I was on my way. A sterilising here. A stirring there. Boiled the filled jars for ten minutes and they have sealed properly. Can't wait 'til they're cooled to see if it tastes as good as it smelled!

4 cups of mashed berries made five (and a half!) 8 oz jars of jam. That's pretty nifty me thinks. I followed the Pomona's recipe and a few welcome handy hints from Ian's mom. I also found this lovely jam blog which explains the ins and outs of jamming and canning much better than I can and has a recent recipe for tayberry jam. Hopefully mine turns out half as delish as hers... but it was a lovely way to spend the day either way.

Happy Berry Picking Day Everybody!

I Want to Ride My Bicycle, I Want to Ride My Bike....

2010-07-08T23:44:00.000-07:00

It was only a matter of time. I knew Portland would never truly accept me as long as I remained a mere pedestrian (pah!) so I succumbed to peer pressure - aka Ian - and bought myself a bicicleta, or an auld rothar as we say in Irish.

In Ireland, we get our bikes from the back of a skip or an occasional lampost, poorly locked... As the great Flann O'Brien once said, "Why should anyone steal a watch when he could steal a bicycle?"

So this whole measuring thing in River City Bicycles came as a bit of a surprise. I wasn't expecting it so when the guy asked me to raise my right arm, he had to confirm it was "out like an airplane" and "not up like Hitler." Thanks for your patience Mr River City Man!

I took a few test-rides of three or four bikes, liked the look of the drop handle-bars but they didn't really suit me in reality so I decided on a road-frame with mountainbike handle-bars....

...Which is a little bit sporty than I like appearance-wise but the retro looking beach and city bikes seem to be all style and no substance... Besides, I could always pimp my ride with some awesome accesories!!!

Like this amazing flying pigs helmet!

Or a sumo-wrestler squeeze horn?

Are flourescent Spoke Beads still cool, I'm so out of touch these days...?

Although sparkly streamers never go out of style. Classic.

Okay, so I was my usual sensible self and got none of those things but I would have got the pig helmet if they had it in my size.

Ian and I took a night-time ride down by the river, it was so beautiful. I was very nice to the folks out walking though, even when the f*****s were technically in my way. I remember when that used to be me.... This morning, haha!

Volcano Basketball... Kinda....

2010-07-06T21:29:00.000-07:00

So I inadvertently fulfilled one of my Palahniuk Pursuits this evening. Success! Sorta...

One of the "cool", "weird", "alternative" things Palahniuk lists in his guide to Portland is playing basketball inside the crater of a volcano. Cool indeed. Or magma hot as the case may be....

I had pictured something very spectacular, impressive and, well, crater-y. The mouth of Mordor but with tall, sweaty, hot guys instead of small, sweaty hobbits.

Not so.

Ian and I are on a frugal buzz lately and decided to go to one of the free concerts in Portland's parks that are being held all summer. Tonights show was in Mt Tabor city-park - an extinct volcano cone in Portland's South-East neighbourhood. Not quite the firey furnace or deep, dark hollow I had dreamed of! This evening it was mostly cute couples on blankets with wine and picnic baskets and parents dancing in the dappled light with their children. If Ian hadn't mentioned the park was a volcano, I wouldn't have made the connection between the guys on the basketball court and Palahniuk's sight-seeing must.

Tame by my imagination's standards but impressive in a different way. I'm constantly amazed by how much nature and green, leafy space there is to be found right in the heart of this city. It seems as though you're never too far away from peace and solitude and beauty, I love it. And while it may not have been the weirdness I expected from Chuck, it is certainly a rare and unusual thing to see in a city these days.

So, yeah... Success!

Baby Steps in Woodworking...

2010-07-04T13:57:00.000-07:00

After a minor false-start, I have finally joined a beginners woodwork class. Maybe mistakes are just mistakes and we apply too much meaning to events, interpreting the past to justify the present, say to ourselves "See? It had to happen that way."

All I can say is that I'm glad I lost my way and never made it to the Northwest Woodworking Studio because I love my class at the Oregon College of Art and Craft. Set in nine and a half acres of forested land, it has a calm and solitary feel and yet it's only a short bus-ride for me from downtown Portland.

I'm heading into my fourth week now and have grasped, if not exactly mastered, the basic use of hand-tools to make mortise and tenon joints and decorative carvings. I'll be applying - hopefully in a semi-capable manner - the skills I've learned to make a small project of my own. I wish I'd paid more attention in Maths class because I'm sometimes finding the measurements and angle end of things difficult to visualise. But I'm getting there. Baby steps and all that...

The Raspberry Room.

2010-07-03T16:56:00.000-07:00

Returned to the coast after a weekend away. Rode all the way from Portland with the back-seat stacked with raspberries. Was patient but managed to pop one on the sly. One, just the one. Sweet, so sweet. My knowledge of all other raspberries was tart. Here, we eat them in a bowl of milk fresh from the cow. A new understanding of the word. When people say raspberry now, I'll say aaaaahhhh and oh yes please.

And in better words, a poem I like by Karin Gottshall:

The Raspberry Room

It was solid hedge, loops of bramble and thorny

as it had to be with its berries thick as bumblebees.

It drew blood just to get there, but I was queen

of that place, at ten, though the berries shook like fists

in the wind, daring anyone to come in. I was trying

so hard to love this world—real rooms too big and full

of worry to comfortably inhabit—but believing I was born

to live in that cloistered green bower: the raspberry patch

in the back acre of my grandparents’ orchard. I was cross-

stitched and beaded by its fat, dollmaker’s needles. The effort

of sliding under the heavy, spiked tangles that tore

my clothes and smeared me with juice was rewarded

with space, wholly mine, a kind of room out of

the crush of the bushes with a canopy of raspberry

dagger-leaves and a syrup of sun and birdsong.

Hours would pass in the loud buzz of it, blood

made it mine—the adventure of that red sting singing

down my calves, the place the scratches brought me to:

just space enough for a girl to lie down.

TenThings I Heart and Hate About Roadtrips!

2010-07-02T21:05:00.000-07:00

(1) Campfire Songs! Less Kumbaya in our case and more like A Camp Song by Seattle comediennes Dos Fallopia and a lotta Lady Gaga!

(2) Sitting in the back! I hate not being able to hear conversations when the music's blaring. Or maybe they were blaring the tunes so that I wouldn't hear them talking trash about me. Hmmm... Check out my back-seat face!

(3) Tacky souvenir stops. I smashed a penny and had my fortune told by a pirate at Cape Foul Weather, Myrtlewood. He advised me that "A Closed Mouth Gathers No Foot." Wise words indeed....

(4) Pirate Jokes! Me: "Why are pirates called pirates? Because they arrrr." Steven: "What's a pirate's favourite letter?" Me: "Arr." Steven: "Ah, you think it'd be arrrr but it's really the sea!" Hahaha, fun times.... Classic.

(5) Border Crossings! Leaving home, driving into the unknown....

(6) Border Crossings. Leaving home, driving into the unknown. I missed Ian a lot. Oregon is my home now, wow....

(7) Wildflowers! Always and everywhere I go, the wildflowers... Foxgloves my especial loves...

(8) Wild Animals. We visit the world's largest Sealion Caves. It was so eerie, the echoes, their howl, their lion-like roar...

(9) Wild Beasts! Apparently the dinosaurs in Southern Oregon never experienced an Ice-Age and are still going' strong!

(10) Wild Friends! Wildly wonderful, wildly wacky, wildly funny, wildly smart, wildly sassy, wildly compassionate, wildly sarcastic, wildly welcoming friends....

A Yarn about.... Yarn.

2010-07-02T14:14:00.000-07:00

Speaking of bookends... Steven's visit to Portland began with yarn and ended with yarn. And I - who know nothing about the stuff but am always up for pretty stores and seeing new things - was so so glad that I got to join him on his knitting jaunts.

It's actually become a bit of a joke between us that I unwittingly wind up experiencing some very cool things in life by complete accident - and not often realising how lucky I am until someone says "You did whaaaaaaat?"

So, when I met Sivia Harding at Twisted, I just thought I was chatting to a sweet pixie woman about Celtic music and what it's like moving to Portland (she recently moved down from Canada). Meanwhile Steven was having a silent aneurism and looking forward to his fellow knitter's reaction when he told them he had met the famous designer but was too scared/dignified, depending on the telling of the tale, to ask her for a photo. Apparently it's not the done thing to take pictures in a yarn store, or probably any store for that matter, so all I have is this pre-being-made-aware-of yarn-etiquette-buttons-photo.

I'm afraid I was unaware of the papayarnarazzi rules when we visited Yarnia, but the lovely lady who owns the store and came up with the revolutionary approach to yarn production didn't seem to mind at all. Once again, I was completely oblivious. Not knowing how normal wool is wound, I was initially unaware that it is a rare and unusual opportunity to choose from a vast array of colours and fibers, thicknesses and amounts and have them spun together by a specially invented machine. I'm still not exactly sure how it all works but I do know it was a very pretty place to spend an hour or so. Any place with vintage velvet chairs is fine by me...

They even provide knitting needles so you can make a test-swatch with your chosen colours and threads.

...then this crazy contraption spins or 'cones' your skein of yarn...

There are lots of pre-made cones for people who are too overwhelmed to make a custom-made decision. Even a non-knitter like moi couldn't fail to be moved by such beauty and creativity. I'm so glad for the lady who established this place, it's great to see women succeed in business doing something they love...

That was certainly my overwhelming impression on our final yarn adventure when I met another knitting icon and generally amazing woman, Tina Newton - the founder of Blue Moon Fiber Arts. Normally Tina doesn't do tours of her dye-barn but Steven is always one to risk it for a biscuit and she generously agreed to show us around.

It was truly Steven's day, his dream come true and I have no idea what it meant for a lover of knitting to be in that place. For me, though, more than that, I was so moved and impressed to see the success of a woman who started out with small dreams and aspirations. I really needed reminding that these things - whatever our dreams happen to be - take time and do not reap results overnight. A lot of hard work and hard times are woven into Tina's wonderful story as this quote on her noticeboard reminds.

Maybe one day, too, I will have a cosy, creative home in the woods and a workspace and a baby deer and a field of daisies. I'll keep dreaming... Thanks so much Steven for taking me on this trip with you, it was a rare and wonderful inspiration xxx

CatchUp (and White Gravy)

2010-07-02T11:39:00.000-07:00

It's been a while. A catch-up, catsup, ketchup is in order... My good friend Steven flew from Pittsburgh to Portland last week and we took a roadtrip down the 101 to San Fransisco for Pride. This was our second roadtrip together - we drove around the West and South of Ireland in the summer of 2008 - and a noted highlight of that trip was the amazing food we ate. In fact, a noted highlight of any of my days is usually to do with the food I ate...

Anyway, both of us were considerably more minted than we are now so it was less wining and dining and more whining and Dennys this time round. However, the trip was bookended by two s**t-cool dining experiences that I just have to rave about 'cause that's the kinda thing I do...

So, I'll get around to San Fran and our fun and frolics later on but, for now, I need to declare my undying love for the American diner! Although, 'undying' might not be the right word to use when talking about American diners because I'm pretty sure that two or three days in a row in one of these places could quite possibly kill a person. I'm therefore saving Beaterville and Fullers for very special occasions. Like the morning before a wonderful roadtrip... And the morning after a wonderful wonderful roadtrip...

Our other roadtrip badass compadre was Megan, an old friend of Steven's and new friend of mine. She picked Beaterville in part for its address on N Killingsworth and Gay. It seemed apt for the weekend that was in it... So we came for the Gay and stayed for the cock...

Seriously, I'm not being crass - this place had a weird thing for rooster paraphernalia...

In fact, the whole place was floor to ceiling in the kind of kitschy oddity that I just love!

I even took photos in the ladies bathroom which was amaaaaazing but the Thelma and Louise poster kind of threw me... Luckily it wasn't a bad omen and there were no dramatic cliff jumps on our trip...

I know, I know. That's a lot of pictures of a bathroom but seriously, have you ever seen anything like it in your life? (If so, do tell and I'll meet you there on a special occasion...). I loved this place - from the chipped, mismatched mugs and retro posters to the homefries, biscuits and mushroom and spinach scrambled eggs. Nom-Nom!

Speaking of nom-nom... I didn't take as many pictures in Fullers as I did in Beaterville because I was too busy eating to care at the time and there's always next time...

Who knew there was such thing as White Gravy? Certainly not me, I learned so much the past few days. Gravies, the differences between Bears and Wolves but that's a whole other story. Back to breakfast and the best fish and chips I've ever had. Yes, I had fish and chips for breakfast - this is America haha, sue me! They make their chips exactly like my dad used to, I was so happy.

This is the white gravy I spoke of. It tastes sooooo good, don't judge it by its looks, it's what's on the underneath that counts - creamy, delicious mashed potatoes, yum!

Fullers is a little bit too local for my liking. On Ninth and Davis, it's only four blocks from home and I pass it all the time and it will be difficult to resist now that I know what is waiting inside for me. I will be strong though. I can do it. Special occasions only. Roadtrip anyone...?

Back in the Back Yard.

2010-06-19T16:10:00.000-07:00

The weekend after the wedding, we stayed in Portland and didn't drive over to the coast for the first time since I arrived here in April. It's lovely to be back. Butter and honey on the deck at breakfast. Earl grumbling at the squirrels stealing his precious birds' food. The air and sky whispy and warm. We ran on the beach, it was hard but worth it. I couldn't catch the birds in swift flight over the sea and foam, their fallen feathers held still for me though. Ian is playing the trumpet, his backing singers the wind-chimes, the stellars jay and woodpeckers, the water fountain. Were I a poet, I would describe it all more beautifully, more as it really is - which is to say so much more than I can say. How simple a pleasure it is, a small piece of paradise right in your own back yard...

I'm not a poet. This is what Carl Sandburg had to say...

Back Yard

Shine on, O moon of summer,
Shine to the leaves of grass, catalpa and oak,
All silver under your rain to-night.

An Italian boy is sending songs to you to-night from an accordion.
A Polish boy is out with his best girl; they marry next month, to-night they are
throwing you kisses.

An old man next door is dreaming over a sheen that sits in a cherry tree in his back
yard.

The clocks say I must go - I stay here sitting on the back porch drinking white
thoughts you rain down.

Shine on, O moon.
Shake out more and more silver changes.

Spoons (Coffee and Soup).

2010-06-15T18:37:00.000-07:00

There is a line in T.S Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock: "I have measured out my life with coffee spoons..." It's an often weary, melancholy poem but I adore it and see something of myself in those words today.

I joked with Ian this morning. I woke at nine but by eleven had achieved little more than my second cup of milky tea and a bowl of porridge. "I won't know what hits me when I have to be up, dressed, breakfasted and out the door by eight o'clock", I laughed. I keep saying when. I keep invoking the day when my work permit comes through and I have a job and something - anything - to measure my day according to.

Then the pendulum swings. I vacillate. I fly in my mind to the reality of that when and, from there, I look back longingly on a day like today - and many days lately like it. Days when I had all the hours I wanted to grate the nutmeg, to mince the ginger, to thinly slice the baby carrots... To strain the soup, separating the liquid from the solid... To puree the carrots, potatoes and onion, 'til they're oh so smooth... To whisk the puree back into the broth... To taste and season, then taste and season again - it needed pepper... To pour the cream - dear God, the cream...

To sit. To savour. To slowly, very slowly simmer a soup. And take a book of poems down off the shelf...

Portland Rose Festival on a Sunny Sunday.

2010-06-14T11:43:00.000-07:00

O my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

-Robert Burns-

Wedding Photographs.

2010-06-12T01:16:00.000-07:00

Ian has spent a few hours each day since Saturday, editing the photographs taken by our photographer - and wonderful, exceptionally talented friend - Tyler Bailey. He posted them on his website late tonight, after a lot of time, effort and finger-biting. I love his attention to detail and his willingness to deliberate and toil over light and contrast and saturation! He praises me for my patience but he has a dilligence and persistence I will never attain.

Ian and I could never have afforded the kind of money that people usually spend on wedding photographs. I am so thankful for Tyler's generosity, he travelled from Texas to be with us and I appreciate that so much. He has a beautiful eye and managed to capture a good dozen of me without my eyes closed or mouth contorted in some painful position! Talented indeed. Check out his website and his blog for some wonderful (and often very funny) stuff!

Enjoy!

Love Letters...

2010-06-11T21:05:00.000-07:00

Looking through the cards people wrote us.

From the inspirational and heartfelt,

To the humorous and oh so pretty,

Thank you everyone.

!!!!!

Happy Iced Tea Day!

2010-06-10T16:40:00.000-07:00

Yep, you read it right. June 10th is National Iced Tea Day! The world never ceases to amuse and bemuse me.

I happen to have about a hundred million lemons left over from the wedding so I thought I'd participate in the absurdity. I had a few errands to run first: more visa stuff - paperwork and applications, attempting to adjust my status, queueing to make an appointment then told the office closes at noon on Thursdays, wondering why they make you go through security and metal detectors before telling you to come back next week, ticking the NO box beside the question Do you intend to practice polygamy in the United States? Prostitution? Espionage? All this in cold heavy rain with intermittent mists and low, grey skies.

Iced Tea? Today? Seriously?!

Hate to be a party-pooper but I came home, shook out my umbrella, dried myself off and founded a new tea holiday that suits this dreary Portland day much better. Happy Piping Hot Sweet and Spicy Chai Day everyone!

Three Cinnamon Sticks, broken into pieces.

Three or four cloves and five whole peppercorns

An inch of fresh ginger, finely minced.

Bring ingredients to boil in a quart of water. Add half a pint of milk then reheat until almost at a boil. Add, 5tsps of black leaf tea and infuse for two or three minutes.

Strain and serve hot - preferably in your pajamas with a good book and some Godiva chocolates that were a wedding present from the beautiful Lisa and Michelle. My favourite was the Almond Praline Raindrop. I don't mind chocolate rain for some strange reason...

Heaven.

Do Me A Favour.

2010-06-09T19:21:00.000-07:00

Six months ago, I thought a 'wedding favour' was asking your parents for money or a friend for a lend of their sound equipment. Little did I know, people. Little did I know.

The whole time we were planning this shin-dig, Ian and I kept saying boo-hiss to tradition but, every so often, we'd come across a custom that actually made a lot of sense or - dare I say it - was just kind of nice. Nothing I can say or give can adequately express the love and appreciation I have for everyone who joined us on Saturday. My friends and family who braved volcano clouds and maxed-out credit cards to come here from Ireland. And my new friends and family who have been so welcoming and helpful and excited for us. A bag of sugared almonds doesn't do them justice and yet I wanted something tangible for them to take away from the day.

For me, and I'm sure for Ian, music has always been a beautiful balance of the ephemeral and the tangible. Never again will I experience that time when the possibility of a 'Me and Ian' was just a silly daydream. And yet, I vividly remember catching the bus to college two years ago, listening to Lisa Hannigan's Ocean and a Rock on my ipod and thinking about him and wondering... what if?

Never again will I stand with my father and feel that heady anticipation as the acoustic chords of Northern Sky made my feet move down the aisle without me really realising it was happening. But when I'm old and grey and wiry, I can play that track and remember when I was young and lovely, and the lyrics Been a long time that I'm waiting will seem so very long ago indeed.

I thought so much on Saturday of the people who were absent and much missed. Anais Mitchell's 'Wedding Song' was very apt for the day that was in it but, actually, it reminds me of my lovely friend Dunia who first brought the song to my ears. I love how music afftects me in this way and I wanted to create something for our friends and family that might remind them somehow of a day that was hopefully not only special to us but to them too.

I've been busy the past couple of months, the days have been full. But I've also had a lot of time on my hands and opportunities to try new things or come back to old things, long forgotten. I took Art in school and I was admittedly pretty bad but I liked a couple of things that didn't require amazing drawing abilities. I don't remember a lot about school but I can still picture a lino-cut block-print I made of a fish - I was very proud of its intricate scales! I always thought about getting into it again but never quite seemed to... You know the end of that sentence.

So, to cut a very long story short, thoughts about music and thoughts of a gift and plenty of time to create one all came together And the result was a CD that coupled as a Wedding Program. Ian and I chose five songs each that either speak directly to the day, to how we feel about each other or just remind us of each other in some strange way.

I picked up some CD sleeves made from recycled cardboard and I stole (sorry God) an image from the Sigur Ros album Takk. Ian took a picture of us walking then photoshopped it into a silhouette for me. I traced the images onto seperate lino blocks then carved them out and printed them. The order of service showed a poem by Walt Whitman from Song of the Open Road with the words:

Will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

As long as I live, I won't forget that day but it's also nice to have a tangible reminder. Hopefully, everyone liked them too...

Songlist.

Ocean And A Rock - Lisa Hannigan

Let It Be Me - Ray LaMontagne

Sorry Signs on Cash Machines - Mason Jennings

Boy With A Coin - Iron And Wine

I Don't Know - Lisa Hannigan

Pencil Full Of Lead - Paolo Nutini

Wedding Song - Anais Mitchell (feat. Justin Vernon)

Good Morning Coffee - Greg Brown

Cucurrucucu Paloma - Caetano Veloso

Northern Sky - Nick Drake

From Friends to Wife and Husband. What a Trip...

2010-06-08T15:03:00.000-07:00

It's been a couple of crazy weeks since I last had the time to sit down and write here. My last entry was about cleaning the house at the coast and discovering trash and treasures hidden under the bed and in every nook and cranny. Ian's parents completed the final touches to the painting and renovations and when we arrived at Twin Rocks last Tuesday to begin the wedding preparations, they showed me another discovery.

A package with some of Ian's camping equipment from South America also held a copy of Walt Whitman's Song of Myself. I sent it to him perhaps three years ago and he read it outloud to himself while he was walking. It was a strong reminder of how long he's been in my heart and thoughts - and but one of many lovely moments in the most beautiful and wonderful week I've ever known.

From friends to wife and husband. What a trip...

One Woman's Trash is This Deborah's Treasure!

2010-05-24T20:13:00.000-07:00

Renovations in the room are coming to an end on the Rockaway Coast. Today, Ian's parents sorted through a pile of knick-knacks, odds and ends and bric-a-brac. By that, I mean a whole lotta stuff!

Sheila gave me first dibs on some old music scores before she sends them to Goodwill. They're so cool. I'm gonna frame them and group them together. These are a few of my favourites. By that, I mean a whole lotta favourites!

Spring Summer Spring Summer Spring.

2010-05-22T20:10:00.000-07:00

"Spring is not regulated and does not get out of order" says E.E Cummings in a poem I found this evening, called 9. I used to think so too.

Driving from Portland to Twin Rocks this morning, Jeremy wondered if it might be snowing over the pass, it being May and still Spring. In Ireland, it is May. And it is Summer. It seems that Spring is oh so very regulated E.E.

Here, they follow the meteorological seasons whereby, even though the Northern Hemisphere receives the most amount of light energy in May June and July, a phenomenon known as seasonal lag creates a situation where air temperatures are at their maximum in June, July and August: "Summer."

Other countries in the Northern Hemisphere observe the solstices and equinoxes as the beginning of summer but not in Ireland. Rather, these astronomical occurrences are a mid-point for our seasons so that we're half-way through our summer when everyone else is just starting.

It's a pagan thing, we're savages for "The Summer." Even a sliver of white light breaking through a black cloud and our lily-white limbs are shorts-ed and t-shirt-ed in the futile hope that enough of our freckles might join together to form a semblance of a suntan. In truth - Ireland's summer is in name only and really the word should be abolished from our lexicon entirely.

Although, blow me down but I heard from home this afternoon that it's been glorious the past few days: "a grand auld start to the Summer." Here, meanwhile, the rain drifts in and out of my view all day and for many days now. I watch it from my window and wonder about words. It's all so arbitrary and... silly. Spring Summer Spring Summer Spring.

I remember in Australia, in The Territory, there were no seasons. They had The Wet and The Dry. No further explanation required. They knew. No-one can really regulate the sky. From now on, Cummings is my arbiter of all arguments seasonal and temporal, a much better system has he designed altogether.

9

there are so many tictoc
clocks everywhere telling people
what toctic time it is for
tictic instance five toc minutes toc
past six tic

Spring is not regulated and does
not get out of order nor do
its hands a little jerking move
over numbers slowly

we do not
wind it up it has no weights
springs wheels inside of
its slender self no indeed dear
nothing of the kind.

(So,when kiss Spring comes
we'll kiss each kiss other on kiss the kiss
lips because tic clocks toc don't make
a toctic difference
to kisskiss you and to
kiss me)

E.E Cummings

Deborah and the Dinner of Oz.

2010-05-19T20:29:00.000-07:00

Remember The Wizard of Oz? How bright and beautiful it is when Dorothy opens the door of her creaky wooden shack and enters Munchkin Land for the first time? From dreary and grey and grumpy to bold technicolour and bubbles of light with good witches floating inside? Well, that's what my dinner did for me this evening!

It's raining in Portland. Crazy-ass rain. Monsoon rain. All types of Forest Gump rain. I can barely see beyond Union Station. The Fremont Bridge has dissolved from structured solid-steel to a shimmering, trembling mist. It cleared in time for me to run to Wholefoods for some chickpeas but fresh clouds are cumulousing in the hills beyond and the leaves of the trees are dancing and shivering. The wall below my window might just be the most miserable sight I've ever seen.

Okay, I'm hyperbolising. But the weather is either the cause of or else compounding an already grey mood today. Again, yet again, I'm worried about money. The euro dropped some more today. It's so strange to see my hard-earned savings become more or less valuable from day to day. I'm not poor by any means but, for some reason, my mind has spiralled into a whirlwind of Kansas proportions. "I need a job. What can I do here? What if I can't find one? What am I good at? What if I'm not good enough? What do I love to do? What do I want to do? Where does my sense of security come from? What am I worth? Who the heck am I anyway?" I've been here before. I'm back again. Each time, it sweeps me off my feet.

My heart, my brain and my belly were craving comfort - something sweet, something spicy, something warm and nourishing, something good for me. This recipe for sweet-potato, spinach and chickpea curry did exactly that. Chopping the vegetables and spooning the spices was rhythmic, repetitive meditation. I stopped my own bubbling and boiling and let the chunky sauce simmer away instead. I tweaked it a little bit, adding some extra spices and some cherry tomatoes which pop in your mouth like a mouthful of sweet sunshine. This time I'm not hyperbolising. It really was that good and, without a real rainbow like Dorothy, made a colourful and delicious just-as-good-as. Yum. Yay!

Sweet red onion, garlic and plum/cherry tomatoes.

1 tsp cinnamon, 1 tsp turmeric, 1 tsp ground coriander, 1 tbsp cumin, 1 tbsp curry paste.

Two large sweet potatoes, cubed and roasted at 400F for 45 minutes before adding to the onions, spices, tinned and fresh tomatoes and chickpeas. You can boil or steam them but roasting brings out their sweetness and has a lovely soft, caramelised texture. I had the time to to this, it wasn't like I was going anywhere!

Wilt spinach into the sauce just before serving and add fresh coriander/cilantro.

Good mood in a bowl!

I Just Called To Say...

2010-05-18T16:37:00.000-07:00

I remember travelling in Australia ten years ago. It seems very immediate in some ways but very remote in others. I remember going to the corner store once a fortnight or so to buy an international call-card to phone home. The cheapest cards to buy were usually from the Vietnamese or other Asian sellers and I remember the frustration at not being able to return a $20 card when I realised the instructions were in another language and completely incomprehensible to me.

Some things haven't changed. Twenty bucks is still an amount of money I'll easily cry over. And I'm a long way from home yet again, trying to keep in touch with family and friends. What a difference today, though. As I'm writing this, I'm also having an online chat with my friend Maeve. She's in bed, it's late there, and we're getting very excited about her flying out for the wedding in a couple of weeks. Earlier I talked to my parents and sister Jenny on Skype which was great - as close to being in the same room as we can get right now. I took a video snapshot of them, they were joking about them being like The Simpsons, all squished onto the same couch. It's amazing to me - a live, real moment frozen in time. Something I can look at and not feel so very very far away. Roll on ten years time when I can slip my arms through the computer screen and give them a long long hug.

Rockaway Beach Kite Festival

2010-05-15T19:52:00.000-07:00

Went out for fish and chips this lunchtime and wandered across these beauties, brightening up a cloudy day on the Oregon Coast.

I'm Really Really Here!

2010-05-14T15:11:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine at home in Ireland commented on this photo when she saw it today: "So it's real? You are there?"

It's so strange that she should say that. On the way home from a family dinner last night, I tried to explain to Ian a feeling that had washed over me as I listened to twelve voices chatter and laugh around the table.

I've known Ian for four years now. We spent ten months talking every day on the phone and, now, every day, face to face. His voice is as familiar to me as my own. Of course he has an accent, just like I do, but to me his voice is simply Ian.

And, the more time I spend each week with his parents, sister, nieces and brother-in-law, the more I am 'desensitized' to their American-ness and tuning in to their individuality. I'm not sure if that makes sense...

Last night, I met some more family - cousins and second cousins, the husband of a cousin, the fiance of a second cousin! Everyone sat around talking colleges and politics, taxes in California compared to Oregon, the size- and pride - of Texas. Everyone laughed when Kate described trying to turn a corner here in Portland in her Lincoln Town Car. Of course, it made no sense to me until I looked it up and saw how long they are!

It wasn't that I felt out of place - I feel really welcome and comfortable here among all these new people. It's just that every so often - in my day to day chats with Ian, pottering around the apartment, reading, writing, doing the things I've always done - I forget. I forget where I am. I'm just me with my head in a book. Or me with my head on his shoulder. Geography is incidental. But last night, it struck me. I'm here! I'm in freakin America man! How did this happen?

Tree Stump Cake Stand

2010-05-09T18:54:00.000-07:00

There's nothing new under the sun, so they say. When I started thinking about our wedding, I quickly realised how difficult it is to find cool things that have never been done before. That was weird for me at first because I didn't want any part of our day to feel like a cliche. I'm over it now, though. I'm concentrating on things that we love and feel like us. And if a trillion other folks are also like 'us' then that just means there's a lot of shit-cool people out there.

One of the things I've seen and loved are cake stands made from tree-stumps. The wedding is taking place in the garden at Ian's parents on the Oregon Coast so a laidback, wildflower, rustic vibe is what we're after. No frills. No baby's breath! (Actually, I have nothing against baby's breath but it's one of Ian's pet wedding- peeves.)

From Etsy Seller Six Chicks Designs.

Being unemployed n all - and spending way too much money already - means paying big bucks for logs and branches wasn't a road even I wanted to walk down. A great tutorial on Etsy's How To Tuesday had my head spinning with pretty possibilities of doing it myself (Minus the doves. There will be no releasing of doves!).

Before I had a real chance to chat to Ian about it, he coincidentally came up with the idea himself (those hypnotherapy tapes work suggestive wonders!). Man that he is, though, he said "pah" and laughed in the face of these teeny weeny cake-stands and embarked on a mission to create the ultimate tree-trunk cupcake-stand extraordinaire ever!

He - and his ever patient father - started by sawing this hemlock that they felled in the creek some years ago.

They sawed five rounds, laid them in the sun then stacked them in the wood-pile to dry out.

I thought that was it but then he told me he was going to push these huge, heavy heavy stumps up to the house to form the base of the stand.

Then the rounds will be layered like steps on top of these stumps like so. Coolio no? I think they're so so beautiful, I love them. And I love my lumberjack!

Sugared Flowers.

2010-05-09T17:48:00.000-07:00

I have a compulsion for flower-photos. My trademark seems to be close-ups of petals and blooms, I have hundreds of them from all over the world and every park and garden I go to.

The garden here on the coast in Rockaway is particularly lovely at the moment so I've been in my element the past few weekends. Unfortunately some of the flowers won't be in bloom for too much longer - the roses, the rhododendron, the apple blossoms - which is a pity for the wedding. We're going to plant flowers in pots and simply the backdrop of trees and grass will be gorgeous. Today we found a way, though, to make some of these flowers last until June.

We picked any edible flowers we could find and crystalized them in sugar! I'm going to put them on top of the wedding cake and dot some petals on the cupcakes. If we haven't eaten them all by then, that is.

Quince

Sheila and I followed an old newpsaper cut-out of a Martha Stewart recipe but this site explains the process well. Basically, you're painting the petals with egg-white using a small water-colour brush then dusting them with caster sugar. It's quite an intricate job, trying not to break the flowers, making sure all of the petals are coated but not too soggy, not over-loading them with sugar and weighing them down.

Pansy

Apple Blossoms.

You need a lot of patience; I think we did pretty well with them considering it was our first try. They'll dry in a couple of days and we can select the best of the bunch to store in air-tight containers until next month. I can't believe it's only four weeks away, there's still so much to do. Ian and his dad are still upstairs trying to finish the bedroom renovations. They're sawing and drilling and measuring and cursing. I think Sheila and I definitely got the sweeter deal this afternoon!

Roses

Things that brought happiness. Thursday, Yesterday and Today...

2010-05-08T16:33:00.000-07:00

The love and perseverance that went into creating this beautiful wooden bench. I may dream about it.

The scar in the bark.

Dried Daisies from Pleasant Hedges.

Biscuit coloured yarn and pussy willows.

Gerberas and Champagne on a sunny day.

The generosity and thoughtfulness of new friends.

A dinner table, beautifully laid and brimming with deliciousness. Pureed curried cream of carrot soup from Ian's sister, Michele. Piquillo peppers stuffed with goats cheese from Jenny. Empanadillos a la Allison. From Jill, sugar and spice pepitas and a jicama and orange salad with pine nuts. An amazing rhubarb and strawberry pie with whipped cream from Sabrina. Red wine, mint and lemon water. Conversation. Laughter.

Rose petals perfect for sugaring, maybe tomorrow.

Leaves of trees drying in the sun. My baby's making me a cake-stand, bless him!

Adding up the years. All twenty-nine and forty of them.

The Never Ending (Cupcake) Story...

2010-05-04T16:59:00.000-07:00

Preface

Yum or yummy or, sometimes, yummafreakinlicious is the word used to describe when something tastes unbelievably awesome. Nom-Nom is the sound you make.

Chapter One

Once upon a time a few months ago, my sister said "You should have cupcakes at your wedding" and I said "Okay!" and so began my foray into the world of teeny tiny sweet sugary nom-nom-ness.

It started in Dublin at Powerscourt Townhouse and Lolly and Cooks in the Market Arcade on Georges Street. Jenny's a big fan of the Marks and Spenser vanilla fairycakes but I think they're all style and no substance. We've discussed this a lot! Alas, I couldn't fit her in my suitcase so I've had to eat a lot of cupcakes in America by myself, sigh... Ian has been a pretty good helper but he never wants to talk about the cupcake afterwards. All he says is "nom-nom" and groans.

Chapter Two

The Portland chapter of my story began my first week here when I brought home this selection of unbelievable awesomeness from Saint Cupcake. Legend has it that there was indeed a magical lady baker whose cupcakes were so unbelievably awesome that she received the title of 'Saint Cupcake' when a mute child who ate a mouthful was so moved as to say "Nom-Nom" and the whole land of Northwest rejoiced. The carrot-cake and malted chocolate ball moved me to thinking "hmm, I might order my wedding nom-nom from them-them."

In order to make an informed decision, however, I felt it was incumbant upon me to be fair to all the other cupcakes and try "just a couple more" before making my mind up. By that, of course, I meant just a couple in each flavour. These minis are from Cupcake Jones and, like Saint Cupcake, they have 'specials' on their menu that change on a daily basis. As well as the always available red velvet, white velvet and chocolate, Thursday brought S'Mores, Almond Joy and Samoa - a caramel velvet and coconut cake - to our bellies.

That's right - our bellies. I recruited more helpers at a great dinner a couple of weeks ago with Ian's good friend Allison, her son Peter, and two other lovely ladies, Susan and Kellie. There isn't really a legend attached to Cupcake Jones which is rather disappointing but the legend I'm starting right now has it that the cupcakes were so good they almost sent a pregnant Kellie into early labour and a teenage Peter to say something slightly less sarcastic than usual! Oh the wonder of it all...

Favourite Joneses? Velvet Painting and Almond Joy probably. They weren't quite as moist and nom-nom as Saint Cupcake's. Though, to be fair, I did buy the minis and Jones do make a larger cupcake with a filling inside as well as on top which is loads better than the dots (I discovered this to my delight last week at an impromptu dessert-run with the family-in-laws).

A pro on the Jones' side were the candied rose petal on the Velvet Painting and the white-chocolate pearl on the white velvet cakes. I found out that Godiva Chocolatier sell white pearls online and a couple of months ago I saw this recipe for edible flowers that I'd love to try to decorate my own with. My brain and saliva glands are on nom-nom overload!

I told you this was the Never Ending (Cupcake) Story right? Those of you who know me hopefully love or, at least, tolerate my long-windedness. Random passersby... I'm very very sorry. So, I was pretty certain I was going to go with Saint Cupcake when my new friend Sarah-Beth told me about an artisinal baker, Gracine, who works in the same kitchen as her. Unfortunately, the kitchen is also pretty far away for a public-transporter like myself so I haven't made it out to her. I wanted to give her a mention though because it's all part of the 'story' and she sounds amazing and the photos on her site look so cute...and because I really appreciate Sarah-Beth's help.

Nearly there!

Chapter Three

Saint Cupcake it was from the beginning and so shall it be until the end of time. I ordered a veritable diabetes-fest of nom-nom at a very laadeedaa tasting this afternoon. The flavours I chose are top secret but I will tell you that, afterwards, I went straight to my next "appointment" (I'm a very busy, hard-working laydee don't ya know) and ordered a liver-failure-fest of Malbec and Chardonnay from Cupcake Vineyards which no doubt will be the catalyst for some interesting stories and future legends come June 5th.

Nom-Nom! (The End.)

My Big Bad Handsome Man!

2010-05-01T16:04:00.000-07:00

In spite of headache, I've been humming this song all day. Mm mm mmm... What is it about a man in a suit? (Or a woman for that matter. Ahh, Shane from the L Word, how I not so very secretly heart you...)

Aaaanyway... Ian had his fitting with the tailor at Duchess Clothier this morning and all I can say is Mmmmm. Dude's gonna be better dressed than I am at this wedding gig. Nick Cave wears their suits for cryin' out loud. Mine was $100 off the rack! Worth every penny, though. He certainly scrubs up, my big bad handsome hombre!

Cirque Du Soleil, Kooza!

2010-05-01T15:42:00.000-07:00

So, I'm afraid I have all the hallmark signifiers of a hangover this afternoon - and I did drink a lot of fermented grapes yesterday - but I think it's actually the fuzzy remnants of my Wheel of Death stress-headache.

I'm pretty certain that these boys' mammies are not regular Kooza audience members: "I was a good mother. I read him stories, sang sweet lullabies. So, why?! Why is he running and skipping in the sky like a demonic hamster on acid? Where did I go wrong?"

Some seriously insane stuff to be sure. Coupled with old-fashioned, slapstick clown humour, more traditional acrobatics and aerial stunts, an incredible high-energy live-band, and beautiful moments of poignancy to counter the carnivalesque craziness, it was pure whimsical magic.

Thank you Allison for the tickets and for being a big kid in a grown lady's body!

Ian exhibits his incredible five-finger-splay contortion!

Ian, Allison and Kellie. Pizza-wolfin', wine-swillin', laugh-a-minute performers extraordinaire.

It's a sign!

2010-04-28T17:27:00.000-07:00

A quiet day. Nothing very noteworthy. It rained. It stopped. It rained again.

I had some errands to run. In the rain. Eeuggh. Some signs along the way made me smile in spite of it. Incidentallly, I came home with nothing I set out to find. Apart from the smiles.

In Sur La Table.

A Whole Foods carrier bag has a major identity crisis.

In search of a waxer, I came across this discriminating doggie salon. "Do my legs count as fur?" I wonder. "If I bark will they at least do my bikini line?"

At Oblations paper-press on 12th.

...And speaking of weddings...

Call me cynical but you would never see this sign in Dublin...

Or this for that matter. Read the reason for the raffle....

Keep keepin' it weird Portland! And all the best to Bodie Newman xox

Is It A Month?

2010-04-26T15:50:00.000-07:00

Is It A Month

Is it a month since I and you

In the starlight of Glen Dubh

Stretched beneath a hazel bough

Kissed from ear and throat to brow,

Since your fingers, neck, and chin

Made the bars that fenced me in,

Till Paradise seemed but a wreck

Near your bosom, brow, and neck

And stars grew wilder, growing wise,

In the splendour of your eyes!

Since the weasel wandered near

Whilst we kissed from ear to ear

And the wet and withered leaves

Blew about your cap and sleeves,

Till the moon sank tired through the ledge

Of the wet and windy hedge?

And we took the starry lane

Back to Dublin town again.

JM Synge

I left home a month ago today. It feels longer. Each day has been new and full. Oregon and Ian feel so right, so supposed to be, that arriving here felt like coming home. Cheesy right? Oh well...

Still. I'm thinking about Ireland and Dublin town and the town of Dunleer today. I'm thinking of my sister and hoping her interview goes well on Wednesday. I'm thinking of my mam. Her voice sounded tired in the message she left me. She was heading off to bed. I was on a bus somewhere between Rockaway and Portland reading All the Pretty Horses, staring out the window, contemplating my own frontier. I'm thinking about the swans in Stephen's Green, abandoned houses run rampant with ivy and cider cans, the sky, the light, where it all started, where's it going next, anniversaries, memorials. Those kind of things and many other kinds of things. It's raining here. Is it raining there?

Curious Comedy Theater.

2010-04-25T12:33:00.000-07:00

Like Grandma's Cookies from Curious Comedy on Vimeo.

I suppose I could make soup for the homeless, read to the blind or bottle-feed abandoned baby seals. Instead I've decided to commit my free time to the often forgotten Funny People and am volunteering at Portland's Curious Comedy Theater. Like Mole People, they're underground. But...above the ground.

I had a laugh: took money at the box-office, watched a cool show and met some interesting, welcoming folks. I really admire people who give their talents, time and energy for free. Not me - I just sat there! Curious Comedy is a non-profit comedy company and pretty much everyone is there because they love what they do and may very well "implode" if they didn't have that space for an outlet as one girl put it.

The space is not small but intimate - round tables and candles, close to the stage, aerial-artists overhead - so I didn't feel comfortable taking photos as I'd need to use my camera's flash. In lieu of pics, I 'borrowed' a little video clip from their website. As well as dance, trapeze performance and stand-up, they also do improvisation comedy which looks like the hardest thing in the world to do well. The short clips can also be found on their Vimeo Channel ps (hopefully those two shout-outs get me out of any unpleasant thievery accusations!)

I hope to give my time to something more serious in the future but I don't think fun and silly is any less worthy.

Would you like a baby with that m'am?

2010-04-22T17:34:00.000-07:00

So, Ian and I ticked another 'To' off our 'Do' list this morning. It's great seeing the ticks stack up - makes me feel like I actually accomplish something these days. Although, sometimes on a slow day I'll add stuff like Breathe and Breakfast and Brush Your Teeth to make the list seem more impressive than it really is.

Today was an actual 'To Do' and quite an important one - we walked downtown and picked up our Marriage License. Or should I say ~~Marriage License~~. Sixty bucks, no waitin'. Tick!

Actually, that's the marriage certificate and "purely for decorative purposes" as the little bald man behind the counter stressed upon me several times in case I'm an idiot. The real license isn't half as interesting or pretty. I like the extra touches in life. See how the outline of the cert is shaped like the State of Oregon? I also like the prairie women in their buffalo wagon. Little Laura and Mary Ingalls, aww. More likely, they were some poor child-brides off to a life of wilderness, hardship and death before forty... Let's not think about that shall we... moving on... giddy up.

I wonder if Laura and Mary knew all about the benefits of Folic Acid when they embarked upon their married life in the mid nineteenth century? I wonder did they get liquored up on a nightly basis, giving not a thought nor a damn to the health and safety of their unborn child? Luckily (phew) that terrible fate will not befall me as our license and information pack included some helpful leaflets and handy hints about everything a new bride should know and expect of a marriage.

'Cause that's what marriage equals, right? Babies. A family. The old Two Point Four.

I'm not saying that isn't a part of it and I'm not giving anyone s**t if that's what they want. I might want it some day myself. But I was a bit bemused as to why it was automatically included in our information pack about how to fill in a marriage license. Isn't that an optional extra? A decision to be made between the couple in question rather than a preemptive assumption that: "Hey, you're getting married, you'll almost certainly want to get onto that vitamin supplement regime asap. Let us at Bureaucratic Customer Service Inc. give you medical advice so that you don't deform the child you're probably definitely gonna have."

Some people will think that I'm over-reacting. And, yes, the majority of married couples do have families. I love families, I'm part of two wonderful clans! But, really this kind of thing drives me insane. What business is it of that particular office to be talking about pregnancy anyway?

This isn't a knee-jerk over-reaction. I've been thinking about this on occasion for a while now and maybe these leaflets have hit a nerve. I was diagnosed with polycystic ovaries a couple of years ago and at the time I didn't worry too much about it. It's not life-threatening. It doesn't make you very ill and, as far as fertility issues go, it's a relatively mild condition. My main concern as "just Deborah" was for my health. But when I became more than a me - a "We" - it crossed my mind that perhaps this thing that I'd almost forgotten about could become a major issue. I won't go into all the details but I can say that I'm happy to be with a man who wants to be with Deborah - not Deborah plus all the children I'm definitely going to give him. Like I said, it may very well happen for us in the future but what if it wasn't a case of "I can't" but "I don't want to"? The point, for me, is that it's not an automatic expectation, a deal-breaker, a has-to-happen. Those decisions and possibilities may come afterward but it's not encapsulated in the word and act of Marriage.

I don't normally get this personal but I'm all hot and bothered, haha! The message that marriage is fundamentally linked to the creation of a family compounds the idea that it is the exclusive domain of a woman and a man, that anything outside of that dynamic is 'alternative' to put it mildly and 'unnatural' and 'wrong' at its most bigotted. Call me crazy but the image of these young, beautiful, jewel becrusted ladies is infuriating. Folic Acid may be the best thing sinced sliced Omega Three Fish Oils but I'll look into that myself if I need to. For now, just tell me where to dot the i's and cross the t's on my marriage license and save the trees that were wasted on this paper!

Ok. It's good. I get it!

Tonight I'll be tapping my toes to....

2010-04-21T20:54:00.000-07:00

I was so born into the wrong decade.

I'm starting to put together the music playlist for our wedding. We decided to forgo a band or DJ in favour of hooking our ipod up to some awesome speakers and dancing to a collection of our favourite tunes. We also emailed our friends - including those who are not able to be there - and asked them to send us a list of five songs that they'd like to hear played at the after-party. So far, we've compiled quite the ecclectic playlist. We'll be moshing to the Foo Fighters if my friend Emma has her way!

I'm an old-skool kinda dancer/crooner. This Bobby Darin pick from my friend Lorraine is more my tempo. They don't make them this way anymore!

You Are Here. Which means you're not there...

2010-04-21T15:23:00.000-07:00

I've thrashed it out on a Skype call to my friend Kati at home in Ireland, so you're getting the diluted, appeased version of my emotions.

A few hours ago, my emotions were concentrated viles of:

Confusion. Stupidity. Unsure-of-what-to-do-next-edness. Disappointment. Frustration. And a good ol' dose of pissed-off-at-myself-ity.

I should be finishing up my first woodworking class right about now. I should be a little bit more informed about the purpose and employment of chisels and mallets! I might even have been saying "see ya next week" to a person I got chatting to during the class. I should be walking home across the river or maybe catching a bus.

But I f****d up somehow. I never made it over the river in the first place so how could I be making my way home across it?

It was a mistake. "Anyone could have done the same thing." (Thanks Kati. Truly the best friends are those who white-lie to us when we need it...). I'm still not very familiar with the city but I know that Portland is divided into two by the Wilamette river. I know this. So I don't know why I lost my way today.

It's not a very exciting story now that I start to write it down. I think I'm still working it out in my head, trying to figure out what happened. Basically, my class was in SouthEast but I walked out the door today and confidently headed SouthWest. I remembered the woman on the phone talking about the "great central location" of the woodworking studio. In my mind, SouthWest appears to be the main hub so, when I checked Google Maps this morning, my eye ignored all else and instantly went to the street 'Yamhill' which my newbie brain recognises as being located in SouthWest. I wasn't wrong. Yamhill is located on that side of the city but it stretches aaaaall the way East across the river!

Normally I give myself way more time than I need to get to a place. I hate being late and would rather be there an hour early than a minute late, especially the first time I go there. I was so sure I knew where I was going that I arrived just in time to realise my mistake but too late to do much about it. It was only when I asked a woman where 8th was that it all became clear. I feel so silly now. Tears sprang into my eyes and I'm sure I went red in my typical Deborah fashion. "I'm supposed to be taking a class in five minutes. I thought I'd try something that I've never done before," I babbled before remembering I don't know her. She said she'd take me there in her car if she wasn't just off her lunch-break, but it was nice of her to offer anyway.

I was right by the MAX (the city's tram system) which seems to go NorthEast according to this map I looked at. Some buses a few blocks away went SouthEast but that's where my 'unsure-of-what-to-do-next-edness' kicked in and I just stared at the You Are Here sign until my watch turned two and the class officially started somewhere over the Wilamette. Then I walked home cursing myself and cried for about eight seconds when I hit the button for our floor in the lift. I got an email on Monday from Bitch magazine saying the internship position has been filled - but not by me. For some reason, my silly mistake today upset me more! Some things I have no control over but this was so preventable. If I do ever learn how to handle a mallet, I'll be hitting myself across the skull with it!

Like I'm not already signed up to enough online accounts!

2010-04-18T23:36:00.000-07:00

I finally opened a Flickr account, at the behest of my good friend Steven.

I'll be uploading photos and creating albums in no particular order, whatever takes my fancy. This evening I had a look back at the winter wonderland that was Ireland in January. It was an amazing few weeks. It annoyed the crap out of a lot of people but I wasn't too disrupted by it and had a brilliant time wandering about in the muffled white noise and looking at the land in a completely new way.

Anyway, you can catch me here and I installed a link to my photostream on the main page too. If anyone else is on Flickr then let me know, I'd love to have a look.

Sunday: formerly known as a day of rest.

2010-04-18T17:13:00.000-07:00

We've all heard the riddle: A farmer has a bag of grain, a chicken and a fox...

Here's a new one: Deborah has a pile of logs, a family of wood-lice and a slimy slug. She has to get the wood-pile from one side of the garden to another but her little wheely-cart can only hold one creepy-crawly at a time.What is a wood-woman to do?

Mine isn't so much a riddle with an answer as a task with a Nike themed solution: Just Do It!

Ian is lucky he's hooked a city-gal to whom the task of hauling this wood-pile away from the apple tree to the other side of the garden has some semblance of quaint novelty value.

By the time I got from this....

...to half-way...

...to this...

...the novelty had lost some of its... well... novelty!

Actually, it was a pretty enjoyable couple of hours. One thing I really liked about it was the satisfaction of fitting the logs together like a jigsaw. Mostly this is not perfectly achievable and there are a good many gaps in between. Very occasionally, however, two pieces sit so tightly alongside one another, you almost feel they were meant to be. The fact that, together, they will be burnt asunder on a firey flame only adds to the tragic romance...

I also loved my new friend Mr. Sluggerson and was very sorry to evict him from his home. I was initially upset at displacing the wood-lice (or potato bugs as they're called here) but I soon lost any sympathy when I saw this bigger dude abandoning the baby as soon as the goin' got a bit tough. Each louse to himself in the woodpile, it seems.

I moved a lot of tree today. I could see the pile I was stocking growing taller and taller but, for some weird reason, the stack by the apple tree appeared barely diminished each time I returned. I hardly made a dent it seems but I tell ya the auld arms will be aching in the morning - which is always a sign of a job well done!

A Lovely Rainy Day...

2010-04-17T20:29:00.000-07:00

Rainy, grey old day here on the Oregon Coast. Nothin' for it but to light a fire and snuggle up down in 'the pit'. Ian and his dad built it last summer. They dug deep down below what was ground-level and created a beautiful, supporting wall, all by hand.

It's really cosy down there and I love that there are so many spaces at different levels to lounge around and watch the day drift by. It's really something for father and son to be proud of and look back on as a shared achievement. We lit a fire and Ian read a couple of chapters of The Hobbit!

Last May, we sat on the deck in warmer weather. There was no pit then and no notion in my mind of everything that was instore for me. Ian read Master and Commander to me then. I hadn't heard a book read out loud since I was a child beyond an occasional excerpt at a book reading. I admit Master and Commander was not my favourite story in the world; I could never follow all the technical naval jargon and explanation long enough to keep up with any kind of plot or story. All I seem to have taken from it is a strange fondness for the word 'loblolly boy'!

I'm loving The Hobbit, though, and feeling like a kid again, pretending to be scared by the dragon Smaug and worrying over poor little, bed-loving, always-hungry Bilbo. He reminds me of someone... ha! More than that, I'm loving my man with his young heart and wonderous child's eyes who sees the world in a completely unique way and makes every day somehow magical to me.

"First we form habits, then they form us..."

2010-04-17T12:39:00.000-07:00

At the Chinese Gardens, there was a tin full of fortune sticks to choose from - or maybe they choose you, I'm not sure which.

The 'fortune' I selected said: You must change your habits for some are not good.

"Tell me somethin' I don't know," I said to the glorified icepop stick, taunting me. I don't even know where to begin talking about the habits I need to kick. Fortune me eye!

So many of my bad habits are simply the results of unasked questions. Something I've become quite conscious of lately is the amount of food I waste. It began a few months ago when I was making broccoli soup and, for the first time, wondered why I unquestioningly threw

away the thick green stalks when I was done with the dark green florets. Since then, I've been doing my best to use every part of the food I eat and question what else might be done with it before I bin it.

I took it for granted, though, that living in a city and with little access to a garden of my own, there was no option but to bin what couldn't be consumed. Ian and I were chatting about how we'd like to remedy this and one day he came home with a bamboo compost pail for the kitchen.

I love Him! (yes, I've anthropomorphized my bucket, I love his little sticky-out ears!). It has charcoal inside the lid to absorb any odours and we just about manage to get 4 or 5 days out of it before it needs to be emptied. Luckily, we've been going to the coast every weekend and I've been making mini-trips across the creek and dumping it in Sheila and Earl's compost heap.

I was packing up to head to the coast this Friday when I realised that there was loads of fresh basil and coriander left over from some meals I'd cooked during the week (I refuse to say 'cilantro' though I'm sure it will pop out of my mouth one of these days - yesterday I said vacation, for the love of God!). Quick Google question - LOVE the internet - and I found out that these herbs are particularly good for freezing. This is probably not news to anyone else but I can be quite clueless for someone with a pretty decent education and found this information very exciting. I have waaaay too much time on my hands these days.

It didn't take too much time, though, to wash and pat dry the herbs, sorting the good leaves from any yellowing or really torn or yucky ones. I laid the basil leaves on a tray without overlapping so they didn't clump together. When they were pretty frozen I put them in a ziplock bag and can now use individual leaves straight from the freezer when I'm cooking. I roughly chopped the coriander and filled an icecube tray with small handfuls before topping it with cold water. When they're frozen I can put them in a bag too and use them when I need them in soups, casseroles or curries.

It's pretty sad that small things like this make me happy but they really do! The quote that this post takes its title from says it all for me: First we form habits, then they form us.

I would say that my worst habit is my tendency towards cynicism. Most of the time, I don't actually feel cynical about whatever the subject happens to be but, invariably, the first words that come out of my mouth will be something sarcastic or droll. I don't know when it began exactly but it has become a real part of my thought-process and the way I am in the world. I still think a healthy dose of reality and self-deprecation does keep a body humble - I know I'm not going to save the planet with my little pail and my green ice-cubes! Still, something feels way better than the nothing I was in the habit of. From now on, I will follow the wisdom of the small but sage fortune stick!

Portland's Chinese Gardens and another Poem.

2010-04-15T20:45:00.000-07:00

One of the things I love about Portland is the thoughtful incorporation of nature throughout the city. With so many leafy trees and blossoms lining the pavements, the grassy slopes along the river and the city's numerous parks - including one of the country's largest urban spaces Forest Park - there is something beautiful to be seen every day and so close to home. I spent this morning at Lan Su Chinese Gardens, a beautiful walled city-garden just a block away from where I live.

The garden is full of kites in April for the traditional Qingming festival.

I also loved the wood carvings on the windows and doorways. The panels, carved in ginko, illustrate actual gardens in the city of Suzhou. On the back of one of the panels is written in Chinese calligraphy:

"Most cherished in this mundane world is a place without traffic: truly in the midst of a city there can be mountain and forest." - Wen Zhengming (1470-1559)

Portland really seems to put this sentiment into practice.

Of course, I was in my element and happiest amongst the flowers and trees.

The pine tree is one of the Three Friends of Winter (bamboo and plum being the other friends) that remind the scholar to persevere.

I'm not sure it was intended but this lovely autumnal-coloured tree reminded me that every Spring is conditional upon the passing of another season.

I also loved this raggedy old flower, dehydrated and dishevelled in the sunshine.

Everywhere the yin and yang of light and darkness.

I loved the shadows the plants created on the white walls of the garden.

Such a warm, refreshing, invigorating day; I loved it. Ian was working and more than a few times I thought how nice it would be to have shared the loveliness. This poem from The Book of Songs - China's ancient and first collection of poetry - seemed very apt somehow.

It Seems Like Years

Oh, he is plucking cloth-creeper...

For a single day I have not seen him...

It seems like three months!

Oh, he is plucking southenwood...

For a single day I have not seen him..

It seems like three autumns!

Oh, he is plucking mugwort...

For a single day I have not seen him...

It seems like three years!

I learn by going where I have to go...

2010-04-14T19:32:00.000-07:00

I've signed up to receive a poem a day in April from Poets.org

I liked a certain few lines from today's poem, Lighthead's Guide to the Galaxy by Terrance Hayes.

...All species have a notion of emptiness, and yet
the flowers doen't quit opening...

...Not what you see, but what you perceive:
that's poetry....

The words have been playing on my mind all day. I'm in a funny kind of mood: wondering what I'll do here when the money runs out and my lazy days of reading and crochet begin to lose their sense of idyllic meaning, when the word 'purpose' resumes operating by its usual definition. Wondering how resilient I am, how truly open to change I am, how adaptable I am, how brave I am, how able I am. Y'know... that kind of funny mood, a Deborah sorta mood. The flowers don't quit opening, but me?

I'm thinking about the other line too: "...not what you see, but what you perceive..." Right now, in my funny Deborah mood, all I can see is everything I can't do, everything I don't know, all the things I am not. Underneath all of that, however (because there is always a however), I sense a thing I cannot put my finger on or a name to right now. I am aware of the 'rightness' of my being here and perceive that that is maybe all I need to be certain of today, in this room, in this hour.

I've always loved this poem by Theodore Roethke and, in a sense, I've always lived my life this way: going where I have to go with little plan or reason that makes sense from the outside. It seems to have worked out for the best so far. I'll potter on to a poem a day until something else occurs...

The Waking

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.

I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?

I hear my being dance from ear to ear.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?

God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,

And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?

The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;

I wake to sleep and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do

To you and me; so take the lively air,

And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.

What falls away is always. And is near.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

I learn by going where I have to go.

Happy National Poetry Month!

2010-04-13T19:03:00.000-07:00

So, my reading has been dictated by outside forces of late.

Okay, dictated is probably too strong a verb and conceals my participation in my own life. The truth is I'm very easily persuaded by outside influences.

Paper signs cellotaped to inanimate book-shelves are notoriously difficult for me to resist. I passed this one in Powells this afternoon. "April is National Poetry Month, you say? I had no idea. I haven't particularly thought of poetry for a while now. I was mostly reading short stories. But now, of course, I simply must purchase Ginsberg's Book of Martyrdom and Artifice. Of course, of course. I need it. It's April. It's poetry month. I must."

I have an illness, I admit it.

Wildflower Girl.

2010-04-11T12:54:00.000-07:00

I spent a lot of this weekend at the coast taking pictures. Apparently I am Ian's grandmother reincarnated. She too was a big fan of the often blurry, close-up flower photo. They seem to be the only kind I know how to take. I want to take thoughtful portraits and candid reportage, catch hummingbirds in fighting flight and blustery sand sweeps on the beach. But flowers stay still for me and that's the kind of pace I can take!

Tres jolie, non?

Never Trust A Woman Who Wears Mauve...

2010-04-10T14:06:00.000-07:00

The past couple of years I was mostly reading some pretty heavy-duty theory and academic literature for my Women's Studies programme. Along the way, I was continuing to buy any interesting fiction or poetry that caught my eye and I soon established quite a few shelves of unread wonders. It got to the point that my New Year's resolution was to not purchase another more until I had read everything already in my possession.

I failed miserably before February, of course, but I do now spend a good deal of my blissful unemployment catching up with my lost and forgotten lovelies. I don't know if I will ever be able to return to work again, there's so much to read, it's a stressful life, sigh....

April has been yet another failure in my "buy nothing" endeavour. I decided to read The Picture of Dorian Gray as part of the Dublin: One City, One Book project and just had to pick up a copy in Powells. God, I love that place. A $4.95 edition that includes all of his plays and a full-length version of The Ballad of Reading Gaol really eased my consumer guilt!

Wilde is renowned for his wit and wisdom and Dorian Gray is not so much a novel as a collection of classic one-liners and cynical opinions on life, love, beauty and 'the way things are'. As you can see from the picture, one wonderful line trips on the heels of another and another. It's fairly hideous in terms of its sentiments and beliefs about women. Most of these expressions are so laughable, however, that they produce more of a smirk and a cringe for the silly men who speak them as opposed to any sense of real offence.

Remove the stuff and nonsense and there really are some quotable gems inside. So many, in fact, that I soon had to keep a pen with me to underline the best of the best. Here's a few I liked the most...

It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.

Being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose I know.

...I can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible.

Conscience and cowardice are really the same things. Conscience is the trade name of the firm. That is all.

Laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is far the best ending for one.

Besides, women were better suited to bear sorrow than men. They lived on their emotions. They only thought of their emotions. When they took lovers, it was merely to have someone with whom they could have scenes.

There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves we feel that no-one else has the right to blame us. It is the conession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.

...one should never make one's debut with a scandal. One should reserve that to give an interest to one's old age.

Never trust a woman who wears mauve, whatever her age may be, or a woman over thirty-five who is fond of pink ribbons.

Brutal Beauty: Tales of The Rose City Rollers.

2010-04-08T17:28:00.000-07:00

There's a quote from Katherine Dunn in Chuck Palahniuk's travelogue cum memoir Fugitives and Refugees: A Walk in Portland Oregon:

"Everyone in Portland is living a minimum of three lives. Everyone has at least three identities. They're a grocery store checker, an archaeologist, and a biker guy... Or they're a poet, a drag queen, and a bookstore clerk."

After going to see Brutal Beauty: Tales of the Rose City Rollers last night, I'm beginning to understand Dunn's observation a little bit more. It's not simply a case of working three jobs. It's a matter of alter egos.

The Rose City Rollers are Portland's all-female roller derby league. They are also: a social-worker, a cosmetic's consultant, a wife, an attorney, tall, short, voluptuous, flat-chested, butch, pretty, tattooed, pierced, fierce, caring, competitive, loyal, fearless, vulnerable to injury, focused, full of heart and, if you ask me, kraaazy with a K - but in a good way.

In short they are all different kinds of real women with a passion and a drive for adrenaline and fast-action in common. I loved this film and I loved those women and their alter-egos: Marollin' Monroe, Cadillac, Blood Clottia, Aurora Brutalis, Grace Lightning and - my favourite - Scratcher In The Eye!

I heard about the film through feminist response to pop culture magazine Bitch who sponsored last night's showing. In a Q&A after the screening, I asked director Chip Mabry if he consciously chose to focus on the feminist aspect of the sport. He said he did not but the women were such strong individuals and voices that issues of power and strength and femininity shone through in every scene and conversation. He said he was also inspired by the amateur aspect of the sport. For him, it harked back to the early days of baseball and the like where people played a game for the love of the game and not the $15,000,000 price-tag on your name. These women are not payed for what they do and yet they are committing the same energy, dedication, sweat and toil to the sport as any professional. It occupies their thoughts and actions 24/7, has become a lifestyle rather than a hobby and, for some, they say it has saved their soul.

I don't think I'll be taking up roller derby any time soon (no surprise there) but I completely related to that feeling of finally finding a place with other women in which you feel as though your soul connects or is fired-up and inspired somehow. I was talking to a friend of Ian's last week about my experience doing Women's Studies. I was stressing the fact that studying and books, philosophy and theory were a way into feminism that made sense to me but books might not work for everybody. I needed to read it and think it but some people just do it - sometimes without even being conscious that they are. None of the roller derby girls ever used the word 'feminist' or 'feminism' but their expressions and sentiments were what I understand feminism to be: female comaraderie and the respect and enjoyment of women's company and abilities, non-adherence to traditional gender-roles, dressing how they want, doing what they want, in complete control of their bodies and their actions and their words. Truly inspirational!

Released in January, it's playing this week at the Northwest Film Center before moving onto various locations around the State, the film-festival circuit and, hopefully, much wider recognition. I may need to watch it a second or third time because, with all that said, I still don't quite know what the hell roller derby is - despite a very interesting demonstration from their coach, Rob Lobster, who used doughnuts to illustrate how the game works. Roller derby coach by night, doughnut baker by day... wonder what his third identity is...?

Two Methods To Their Madness!

2010-04-07T19:45:00.000-07:00

I wonder how the bees are settling in on their second day....

By now they should have settled well, completed their orientation flights in which they get to know their new environment and learned to guide themselves back to their hive. Yesterday, though, they needed a little bit of help moving into their new home.

Or should I say homes. Earl and Sheila have two hives - one each - and they both decided on different ways to hive their bees on Tuesday.

Some of the basics were the same to start with:

Both hives are positioned on the upper deck of their house. Earl's hive is the white-topped one on the right and Sheila's is the stripy 'bee-jail' on the left. Close to hand were bottles of sugar syrup to fill the feeders and spray the frames, a hive tool to pry the feeding can from the package hive and open the cage, and a bee brush to softly sweep away any bees clinging to the Queen's compartment.

(I never thought I'd see a day where I was surfing bee sites and actually enjoying it but I read about a plant called 'bee brush' on this lovely website and thought I'd share.)

Also to hand were mini marshmallows!!!

The Queen is isolated from the other bees within the package. They feed her through a mesh but it takes some time for them to fully accept her. When the Queen was removed from the package, Earl and Sheila removed the cork that blocked her teeny cage and placed a marshmallow in the entrance. The bees then eat through the marshmallow in order to release her. This timely process decreases the risk of Queen rejection. Kinda kinky but whatever doesn't get ya killed or kicked out I suppose!

So, those are some similarities but what about the differences? Like I said, Earl and Sheila approached hiving in quite different ways.

Earl went first and chose to place the entire package cage into his hive. He removed five frames to make room then placed the cage right in there; the bees should then wander out of their own accord. He will have to return to the hive a day or so later to remove the empty package.

Sheila wasn't too keen on returning so quickly to the hive. She chose a method that means she can wait seven or eight days before checking on her bees again.

After removing the can and marshmallowing the Queen, she banged the package cage on the upper-deck rail so that her bees would drop to the bottom and she could then pour them into the hive. This was a most impressive approach, particularly from a visual point of view as the bees didn't seem too impressed about being banged around and they flew and buzzed about much more this time.

The lids were quickly replaced and a crazy twenty minutes ended with Sheila and Earl running down to the garden to look up at their bees in wonder from below. I, in turn, was looking at them in complete wonder and awe. I'm so impressed and and in admiration of their tenacity and will to see this dream of theirs through. They well deserved their rest afterwards and I love that Sheila celebrated the moment by making a big pot of popcorn and sitting in her chair to stare up at her 'babies' as though they were the latest blockbuster release!

Congratulations guys!

Dressing For the Occasion.

2010-04-06T16:23:00.000-07:00

After a quick cup of tea, a long pause and a deep breath, the novice beekeepers got to getting dressed. Earl and Sheila were semi-professionally kitted out in their hooded jackets but differed slightly to each other in the style of gloves they chose. Earl went with thin latex gloves while Sheila chose bright orange 'washing-up' gloves. I'm glad they did 'cause there is little to distinguish man and woman once these sci-fi space-suits get zipped up!

I love this picture of Sheila helping Earl zip-up.

I was somewhat less professional and more of a shabby, thrown-together kinda beekeeper. I knew light clothes were better but don't really own any apart from a pair of white silk pajama bottoms. An elastic band, double-wrapped at the ankles, with my calf-length Doc Martins underneath kept my legs sting-free. An old pair of elasticated sports socks blocked off any potential entry to my sleeves and Sheila sowed some netting to a floppy sun-hat. I tucked it into a pale jacket of hers and I was away. Homeless insect chic!

The Arrival of the Bees!

2010-04-06T15:45:00.000-07:00

If you had told me this time last year that I would voluntarily be within a few feet of a bee, I wouldn't so much have laughed as wondered "How?" What series of cosmic events would have to take place in order to bring such a scenario into being? If you had then told me what that series of events would indeed be, I wouldn't so much have laughed as wondered how you had somehow seen past my skin and far into the deepest reaches of my heart and mind.

No time to talk now about how life is strange and life is good. Suffice to say, I have wonderously made my way to the Oregon Coast to see Ian's parent's collect their very first hive of bees. Last December, when I visit, I sat in on a class with them when they were still deciding if they'd really do it. I'm so happy that they did and happier that timing was good and I was here to see this day.

The day started early when Sheila and Earl picked me up on their way to Ruhl Bee Supply.

A quick check by their staff to see if the Queen was doing okay and we were back on the road to Rockaway.

Earl and Sheila seemed pretty comfortable right from the get go but I'm afraid my cheesy grin masks more than a little trepidation!

I must admit that the poor little fellas were very well behaved on the windy road from the city to the coast. I was surprised by the sound they made at first, too. I expected a feverish buzzzz but, actually, it was more like rain on a tin roof, a kind of tcktcktcktcktck rustling. They seemd to sense our journey's end, though, and started buzzing and humming and frenetically crawling all over each other as we approached Tillamook.

I think they were as excited as we were about finally getting home!

What Makes a House a Home?

2010-04-05T22:07:00.000-07:00

Full and satisfied Saturday evening - split-pea soup, cornbread and blueberry cobbler in our bellies, the fire softly glowing - Ian declares through the contented silence: "Haven't my parents created a wonderful home here?" Everyone murmurs their agreement, too full to form actual sentences.

On First Thursday, I visited the Waterstone Gallery to see an installation titled No Place Like Home in which husband and wife artists, Martha Pfanschmidt and David Kellum, have recreated aspects of their home and showcase the collaborative efforts of their life together.

The reason I was drawn to see this was, of course, the fact that I have just moved from one home to create another elsewhere. I'm wondering, now, what is it that makes a building more than four walls and a bed but a real, true home?

From the 'No Place Like Home' exhibit.

Ian's mother Sheila says a home is "a place you can put your feet up." What struck me most about the gallery installation were the signs on the furniture, objects and paintings, politely asking visitors to please not touch anything, sit on anything or place anything on anything. These conspicuous pieces of paper seemed so incongruous beside the homey textiles, curious handbound books and expertly carved and crafted tables and chairs. Every piece was beautiful and interesting in isolation but added up to very little I'd call a home. Where was the coffee cup precariously balanced on the arm of the couch, the to-do list and half-eaten apple on the kitchen table, the basket of baffling odd-socks, the dehydrated yucca, the drawer of odds and ends you swear you'll sort out one day but never do?

The Reeve's home in Rockaway Beach. Picture Sheila at the piano and Ian humming a lonesome blues on the harmonica beside her (Earl is somewhere putting up sheet rock).

I remember Saturday mornings as a child. My bedroom was above the kitchen and I can recall the muffled tones and vibrations of Bob Dylan, Neil Young and Creedence Clearwater Revival underfoot as my dad made breakfast downstairs. Ella or Billie meant mam was cooking. I remember the smell of fried bread and grilled tomatoes, rashers and eggs, beans, sausages, pudding, sweet milky tea. To me, that is home.

A photograph my Dad took that I love. It was given to me as a Christmas present and now hangs in the loft in Portland.

Arriving back in Portland this evening it was nice, somehow, to greet the mess we'd left behind for the weekend - laundry and dishes, trash to take out, the various bits and pieces I have yet to unpack. "There is time for this", I think. Every picture need not be hung immediately, all will find its place in time. Homes do not come ready-made - at least not the kind of home I want to live in. They evolve and take shape over time. They are more than furniture and fabrics. They are the sounds, smells, shouts, whispers, laughter, cries, spills and breakages, "how was your days?" and "see you laters" that echo and vibrate in the spaces between the bookshelf and the bed, the kettle and the candle, the window and the door, the ceiling and the floor.

Sob. Some of my most loved things were broken on the journey over. My wooden boxes made it intact but some casualties were a mate cup and a mirror from my travels in Argentina and this old, old milk jug that I am really in love with. It can be repaired, of course, and I don't think it's a bad thing to have our little treasures and trinkets we hold dear. Still, it's not so bad to be reminded that things aren't really that important.

Anyone for Feet Soup?

2010-04-03T15:07:00.000-07:00

Those of a squeamish or vegetarian variety, avert thine eyes...

NOW!

I did warn you.

Bit of broth-brewing going down on the Oregon Coast this morning and my ma-n-law is busy de-clawing chicken feet.

Here are some before and after feet:

Hmmm...

A memory crosses my mind briefly and is gone again of the war museum I visited in Ho Chi Minh City. Something too human about their scrawny nail-less fingers, I instantly dismiss the idea and focus on flavours and their eventual, future deliciousness. Hard to believe one thing does become the other.

There is something about the grotesque that is simultaneously horrific and fascinating.

I started making my own stock this past year but nothing requiring this level of preparation and detail. The most flavour and goodness comes from bone and feet are a particularly rich source of gelatin. I liked this little article that provides some methods and tips on stock-making and also details its health and nutritional benefits: Broth is Beautiful.

I know it's pretty disturbing but, honestly, if you could smell the loveliness simmering away that I can, it wouldn't seem quite so bad.

First Thursday Portland.

2010-04-01T19:54:00.000-07:00

Now I know I've been blogging a bit lately but, no, I'm not about to make an anniversary out of every individual day.

First Thursday is when the museums and art galleries of Portland open their doors a little later than usual and for free! Me likey. Many of the galleries serve drinks and food and provide some sort of entertainment too. Me likey more and more...

The part of Portland I've moved to is The Pearl District and from the looks of things it seems to be a real hub for art and culturey coolness - every second building seems to be some kind of gallery space or studio and there are many enticing bars, cafes, boutiques and antique stores for me to gaze longingly into.

Seen as how I'm supposed to be looking but not touching these days, Free Thursday as I'm now calling it was a really wonderful way to spend the evening and get to know the streets and spaces of my new hometown a little bit better.

I wandered a lot but these were some things I especially loved:

Anthea Black's clever use of print for queer commentary at the Museum of Contemporary Craft.

This was the only photograph I managed to take before being told I wasn't allowed to. I don't think the irony was lost on the poor girl who enacted the prohibition considering the exhibition was entitled Acts of Resistance. I'm afraid I'm a good girl though and always do as I am told.

Black's act of resistance is to engage with the queer youth of Portland, deploying them in a campaign to distribute her poster prints across the city. She reappropriates familiar and nostalgiac images, altering slogans and catchphrases to subvert their original meanings.

A favourite slogan was: Not Gay is in Happy but Queer as In Fuck You.

I also liked her seemingly sweet and old-fashioned Floriography: Flowers Code. In this piece she tampers with the Victorian-era means of communicating in code through flowers - the Peach Blossom signifying 'long life', the Olive 'peace', the White Lilac 'youthful innocence' etc. In Black's symbiology, Red Carnations mean 'My Place', Pink ones 'Yours' and White means 'Bath-house.' I wonder what the pink tulips on my table now suggest...

Another interesting piece was from Cat Mazza whose microRevolt projects investigate sweatshops and the feminization of labour. The Nike Blanket Petition saw an international collaboration among knitters and people who crochet to campaign for fair labour policies. People from forty different countries each produced a square that would eventually become the Nike logo. Pretty interesting stuff. Again, I love the fact that a craft like knitting or crochet that is typically seen as domestic and quaint is being used for political and subversive purposes.

I also loved this quote on a design store window I passed by. It's so true!

I didn't stray too far from the streets immediately surrounding Ian's place, I'll make it to some more museums another afternoon. I love the fact that everything is so nearby, it's great to live in a city again - the suburbs don't do well with me. I also loved that I found some stimulating works that speak directly to what I know and am interested in. I think Portland is going to be good for me.

One ring to rule them all...

2010-04-01T14:50:00.000-07:00

Just ordered our wedding rings for anyone who cares about such things! If only they did bring supreme, merciless power to whoever wears them... alas they may look beautiful but won't make Ian bring me breakfast in bed...

They're from Minter & Richter Designs on Etsy and will be just a little bit different from the rings pictured above.

Made from Golden Box Elderwood, they will have a slightly thinner titanium 'lip' so that as much wood is visible as possible. I had a few conversations with the designers to make sure that purchasing a wooden ring is a wise choice and I'm completely satisfied (and they're completely over me already!).

I love the combination of metal and wood and am really happy there are more options for wedding rings out there than the usual gold and diamond bands. I'll be wearing it for a really long time (or until March Madness does us part) so I wanted it to be something that feels like me. Was excited when Ian loved them too.

Also looked at some wooden rings from Portland's Crow Creek Designs. It would have been great to support a local designer. They're also really beautiful and I may return sometime but we felt that Minter and Richter's rings appeared stronger and longer lasting. And that's what I'm after!

Day Dream

2010-03-31T15:26:00.000-07:00

Walking hand in hand with my man through the streets. He knows where he is going, he zips and darts, walks confidently into traffic. I look right and left and all about me, looking forward to the day when I can give some out-of-towners a tip on a good place to eat. Later in the morning, I find a thing I recognise, a scene familiar to me: Cherry Blossoms. They lined the streets all around where my nana lived and their falling is one of my favourite things in this life. I look up. Familiar in a sense, yes, but like most things this week they seem as though part of a dream....

Having My Finger Sized

2010-03-31T15:03:00.000-07:00

First Flowers

2010-03-31T09:04:00.000-07:00

my first flowers from ian (who likes his cases lower)

pink tulips, so sweet, so fresh, so wide-open and full of praise for the day.