Strangely related to the last post is this little movie, courtesy of my friend Ellen's Facebook wall.
If you take the time to watch it, you will LOVE IT!
Go on, SMILE already!
Thursday, July 9, 2009
On Artlessness
I was blessed with another Joshie day today.
I love all of my grandkids.
But there's something about having Josh for the day that tugs my heartstrings.
Bearing in mind that the reason he came over was that Bethany said she couldn't stand him for one more day!
I have decided that I love his artlessness.
Definition: lack of deceit, cunning, or craftiness. Naturalness, simplicity.
He is two, going on three, and you never have to wonder what Josh is thinking or feeling.
When he's mad, he glares at you or throws things or screams.
When he's happy, he grins gleefully, like this....
And when he is here on his own with me, he is happy 100% of the time.
Except for today; he refused to speak to me for the first 30 minutes.
My feelings for Josh and the identification of the reason for them have set me to examining my own attitudes towards emotional honesty.
I like to know what I'm getting.
No false compliments for me, please.
No insincere praise.
Tell it like it is.
Or don't say anything.
The English rarely indulge in gratuitous flattery and are suspicious of those who do. I lived there for my first eleven years, which was apparently long enough to imprint my psyche. It has been a bit of a social impediment for me in these United States, where I have observed that people like to be well thought of and will often say gracious things in order to be so. I, in contrast, find it physically impossible to say one thing while thinking the polar opposite. My facial expression betrays me.
I have been quite righteously proud of this trait in myself.
No hypocrisy here!
But over the years I have learned the value of being subtle.
You don't have to lie in order to be kind.
A few friendships would have suffered less had I learned that principle at an earlier age.
So, while total lack of artifice is still my ideal, it will be tempered with some attempts at delicacy.
Disclaimer:
I hope my American readers won't abandon me for these opinions.
It is my personal experience and may not be universal.
But as I think about it, I tend to surround myself with people who will be direct and honest with me. If you know me at all, I have probably asked you at some time for the unvarnished truth. So, if you're reading this, it probably doesn't apply to you.
I love all of my grandkids.
But there's something about having Josh for the day that tugs my heartstrings.
Bearing in mind that the reason he came over was that Bethany said she couldn't stand him for one more day!
I have decided that I love his artlessness.
Definition: lack of deceit, cunning, or craftiness. Naturalness, simplicity.
He is two, going on three, and you never have to wonder what Josh is thinking or feeling.
When he's mad, he glares at you or throws things or screams.
When he's happy, he grins gleefully, like this....
And when he is here on his own with me, he is happy 100% of the time.
Except for today; he refused to speak to me for the first 30 minutes.
My feelings for Josh and the identification of the reason for them have set me to examining my own attitudes towards emotional honesty.
I like to know what I'm getting.
No false compliments for me, please.
No insincere praise.
Tell it like it is.
Or don't say anything.
The English rarely indulge in gratuitous flattery and are suspicious of those who do. I lived there for my first eleven years, which was apparently long enough to imprint my psyche. It has been a bit of a social impediment for me in these United States, where I have observed that people like to be well thought of and will often say gracious things in order to be so. I, in contrast, find it physically impossible to say one thing while thinking the polar opposite. My facial expression betrays me.
I have been quite righteously proud of this trait in myself.
No hypocrisy here!
But over the years I have learned the value of being subtle.
You don't have to lie in order to be kind.
A few friendships would have suffered less had I learned that principle at an earlier age.
So, while total lack of artifice is still my ideal, it will be tempered with some attempts at delicacy.
Disclaimer:
I hope my American readers won't abandon me for these opinions.
It is my personal experience and may not be universal.
But as I think about it, I tend to surround myself with people who will be direct and honest with me. If you know me at all, I have probably asked you at some time for the unvarnished truth. So, if you're reading this, it probably doesn't apply to you.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
S'Nooz of the day
A random sampling from today's newspaper:
There is no cure for cellulite.
And only women get it, due to their genetic makeup.
I quote: The connective tissue bands under men's skin are crisscrossed like a net, keeping their fat more EVENLY RESTRAINED. Women's tissue bands are organized in vertical columns, so fat may BULGE IRREGULARLY.
Hmmmmf.
That's all I have to say about that.
At least we don't have prostates.
Wheat-gluten intolerance is skyrocketing.
Not just being diagnosed more often.
The incidence of celiac disease has increased from around one in over 600 fifty years ago to about one in 100 today. Some doctor saved over 9,000 blood samples from air force recruits between 1948 and 1954 and the study compared test results from these men with more than 12,000 taken from men recently. The question now is "Why?" Something to do with the immune system, or the food we eat, or other environmental factors?
It's strange that with all of the science and high technology in our lives, so many things are still inexplicable.
This from Dr. Oz:
Cook your fresh (and preferably organic) vegetables in the crock-pot, don't let the steam escape, drink the broth, and it's almost as good as eating them raw. Better in the case of veggies such as carrots, celery, broccoli, tomatoes, and zucchini.
Good news for a raw-veggie-phobe like me.
A travel tip from Ideal Bite (bite-sized ideas for light green living:
Take your own empty drink container on airplanes.
Save a plastic cup or two.
Brilliance in small ideas.
A photo of Mum and Natalie, who is in a rare state of cleanliness.
Natalie, not Mum.
Missing Mum a little.
Although I do love an empty house.
Jeff and I get along better.
There is no cure for cellulite.
And only women get it, due to their genetic makeup.
I quote: The connective tissue bands under men's skin are crisscrossed like a net, keeping their fat more EVENLY RESTRAINED. Women's tissue bands are organized in vertical columns, so fat may BULGE IRREGULARLY.
Hmmmmf.
That's all I have to say about that.
At least we don't have prostates.
Wheat-gluten intolerance is skyrocketing.
Not just being diagnosed more often.
The incidence of celiac disease has increased from around one in over 600 fifty years ago to about one in 100 today. Some doctor saved over 9,000 blood samples from air force recruits between 1948 and 1954 and the study compared test results from these men with more than 12,000 taken from men recently. The question now is "Why?" Something to do with the immune system, or the food we eat, or other environmental factors?
It's strange that with all of the science and high technology in our lives, so many things are still inexplicable.
This from Dr. Oz:
Cook your fresh (and preferably organic) vegetables in the crock-pot, don't let the steam escape, drink the broth, and it's almost as good as eating them raw. Better in the case of veggies such as carrots, celery, broccoli, tomatoes, and zucchini.
Good news for a raw-veggie-phobe like me.
A travel tip from Ideal Bite (bite-sized ideas for light green living:
Take your own empty drink container on airplanes.
Save a plastic cup or two.
Brilliance in small ideas.
A photo of Mum and Natalie, who is in a rare state of cleanliness.
Natalie, not Mum.
Missing Mum a little.
Although I do love an empty house.
Jeff and I get along better.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Friday Night Patriots
I love old theatres.
The Cameo in Newberg is my favourite venue for movie-watching.
Chilly in the winter, hot in the summer.
But full of character and wonderful ornate details in the decorating.
Gotta love these light fixtures.
It is worth the extra dollar to sit in the loges.
Kick back and put your feet up.
We won't mention the archaic toilets.
Plus, you ALWAYS see someone you know.
On Friday night we went to a free 4th of July concert at the historic Liberty Theatre in downtown Astoria, courtesy of the North Coast Symphonic Band.
Do you get the feeling that EVERYTHING in Astoria is historic?
The Liberty is almost 100 years old and, like everything else in Astoria, has been the subject of restoration. The moldings inside are incredible. I'm not sure that these photos do it justice.
One of the best numbers of the evening was a medley of all of the songs of the armed forces. The announcer asked the families of members of each branch to stand as the anthem was played.
We stood for Edwin...Army Airborne.
Shout out to Edwin!
Then we stood for Charlie...Proud Marines!
And stayed standing for Jeff and the Coastguard.
Proud to be American and grateful to all those who made it possible.
The Cameo in Newberg is my favourite venue for movie-watching.
Chilly in the winter, hot in the summer.
But full of character and wonderful ornate details in the decorating.
Gotta love these light fixtures.
It is worth the extra dollar to sit in the loges.
Kick back and put your feet up.
We won't mention the archaic toilets.
Plus, you ALWAYS see someone you know.
On Friday night we went to a free 4th of July concert at the historic Liberty Theatre in downtown Astoria, courtesy of the North Coast Symphonic Band.
Do you get the feeling that EVERYTHING in Astoria is historic?
The Liberty is almost 100 years old and, like everything else in Astoria, has been the subject of restoration. The moldings inside are incredible. I'm not sure that these photos do it justice.
One of the best numbers of the evening was a medley of all of the songs of the armed forces. The announcer asked the families of members of each branch to stand as the anthem was played.
We stood for Edwin...Army Airborne.
Shout out to Edwin!
Then we stood for Charlie...Proud Marines!
And stayed standing for Jeff and the Coastguard.
Proud to be American and grateful to all those who made it possible.
A New Boy in Town
Move over, John Grisham.
I have seen the future and his name is Robert Rotenberg.
His FIRST fiction book, seen above, is a terrific read.
I can't believe it is his first.
His second had better be on its way, because he left some plot lines unresolved.
A dirty trick, that.
If you're a Grisham fan, or like a good forensic mystery, this the book for you.
For my squeamish readers, leave it alone.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
A Walking (yawn) Tour of Astoria
WARNING: If Victorian houses bore you, you will find this post SERIOUSLY tedious.
On Saturday, we awoke feeling severely-not-up-to-climbing-the-hill to the Astoria Column, which had been MY plan of the day.
So we had to resort to Plan #2 (Jeff's) to do the walking tour of historic Astoria.
There were, get this, 67 historic sites in the pamphlet.
All of which Jeff wanted to see.
Really.
That's a lot of walking and READING ALOUD FROM THE PAMPHLET.
Astoria is VERY HILLY.
In case you didn't know.
So off we went.
I have to admit that I was gradually won over.
How can you not love this....
...or this?
Most of these houses are 150 years old or more. They have been lovingly restored and DO NOT have double-glazed windows. Beautiful they might be, but you couldn't pay me to live there in Astoria's chilly winters.
The early pioneers of Astoria were a hardy bunch, building houses and rebuilding after fires and floods, and sometimes inexplicably moving houses just because they wanted to. I mean, actually MOVING the houses. How did they move houses this big, sometimes several blocks, in the beginning of the 20th century?
These two houses used to be one and were physically split in two by one of the owners. The one on the left holding up quite well. Not so the house on the right, which is dilapidated.
How would you like to have to climb all these stairs at the end of your day?
This one, just because I like it.
I like this solution to sharing the road.
Apparently, when cars came into vogue, the carriage drivers kicked up a fuss at having them on the road. So the city built a brick section down the middle of each road for the horses. The cars went left and right. Some sections are still visible.
Yes, we saw ALL 67 buildings.
And read every description in the pamphlet.
Yawn.
On Saturday, we awoke feeling severely-not-up-to-climbing-the-hill to the Astoria Column, which had been MY plan of the day.
So we had to resort to Plan #2 (Jeff's) to do the walking tour of historic Astoria.
There were, get this, 67 historic sites in the pamphlet.
All of which Jeff wanted to see.
Really.
That's a lot of walking and READING ALOUD FROM THE PAMPHLET.
Astoria is VERY HILLY.
In case you didn't know.
So off we went.
I have to admit that I was gradually won over.
How can you not love this....
...or this?
Most of these houses are 150 years old or more. They have been lovingly restored and DO NOT have double-glazed windows. Beautiful they might be, but you couldn't pay me to live there in Astoria's chilly winters.
The early pioneers of Astoria were a hardy bunch, building houses and rebuilding after fires and floods, and sometimes inexplicably moving houses just because they wanted to. I mean, actually MOVING the houses. How did they move houses this big, sometimes several blocks, in the beginning of the 20th century?
These two houses used to be one and were physically split in two by one of the owners. The one on the left holding up quite well. Not so the house on the right, which is dilapidated.
How would you like to have to climb all these stairs at the end of your day?
This one, just because I like it.
I like this solution to sharing the road.
Apparently, when cars came into vogue, the carriage drivers kicked up a fuss at having them on the road. So the city built a brick section down the middle of each road for the horses. The cars went left and right. Some sections are still visible.
Yes, we saw ALL 67 buildings.
And read every description in the pamphlet.
Yawn.
A Perfect Bowl
One of my perennial quests is the search for the perfect bowl of clam chowder. It has to be New England style, no tomatoes in MY clam chowder, thank you very much. This search can take the form of a restaurant visit or a pot of my own making.
I have fond memories of a bowl at the Riverhouse in Bend, silky smooth and lightly flavoured with sweet red bell peppers.
The Sea Hag in Depot Bay does a fine chowder, as does any Doogers on the Northwest coast.
I even had a bowl in New England itself once, in Boston, but it wasn't any better than any I have eaten on the West Coast.
This bowl was very delicious, almost smoky-tasting, and full of tender fresh clams.
We found it at the Silver Salmon, in Astoria, where we landed on Friday afternoon.
After a slightly slow drive through the woods and mountains with a gazillion other Independence Day revelers.
To our favourite bed-and-breakfast, The Rosebriar.
Which is showing its age, being a historic house and, I suspect, a little neglected of late. Our room smelled of sweaty socks, so I "borrowed" a candle from the lobby and we ran a fan most of the time. The first time we stayed there, about 20 years ago, the landlady assured us that they prided themselves on their immaculate cleanliness. She was right, it was the cleanest place I have ever stayed, before or since. About 10 years ago, we visited again, and it was, sadly, shabbier.
However, they do provide a breakfast to die for.
Fresh fruit and banana pancakes the first day.
Fruit again and strawberry french toast the second.
This is our last stay at the Rosebriar, as it has been bought by a big company for a rehab house of sorts.
Sniff.
More to come.
I have fond memories of a bowl at the Riverhouse in Bend, silky smooth and lightly flavoured with sweet red bell peppers.
The Sea Hag in Depot Bay does a fine chowder, as does any Doogers on the Northwest coast.
I even had a bowl in New England itself once, in Boston, but it wasn't any better than any I have eaten on the West Coast.
This bowl was very delicious, almost smoky-tasting, and full of tender fresh clams.
We found it at the Silver Salmon, in Astoria, where we landed on Friday afternoon.
After a slightly slow drive through the woods and mountains with a gazillion other Independence Day revelers.
To our favourite bed-and-breakfast, The Rosebriar.
Which is showing its age, being a historic house and, I suspect, a little neglected of late. Our room smelled of sweaty socks, so I "borrowed" a candle from the lobby and we ran a fan most of the time. The first time we stayed there, about 20 years ago, the landlady assured us that they prided themselves on their immaculate cleanliness. She was right, it was the cleanest place I have ever stayed, before or since. About 10 years ago, we visited again, and it was, sadly, shabbier.
However, they do provide a breakfast to die for.
Fresh fruit and banana pancakes the first day.
Fruit again and strawberry french toast the second.
This is our last stay at the Rosebriar, as it has been bought by a big company for a rehab house of sorts.
Sniff.
More to come.
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