Fighting the good fight

A whole year has passed since this post.

Another hot morning in July, another parade, same old field. 

This year, Jenny decided to watch the parade.

Bethany was brave and brought three of her kids and a friend.

Kenzie rode in the truck, throwing candy to the crowds.

The grass is a little greener this year, due to the late rains.

The theory was that the kids would walk.

Theory. 

Here, you can see the beginnings of rebellion, and the parade hadn't even begun yet.

And this was how Josh spent most of the route...

...until he learned that the candy was in the truck.

I am hoping to have to frame this photo some day.

My claim to fame.

Rob and me.

Cornilles for Congress!

This little guy is a staunch supporter.

And he walked on his stubby little legs the whole parade route.

Bikers for a fellow conservative candidate for county commissioner.

Mmm-m.

Rob has a groundswell of support. Over 80 people walked or drove with him this year, the biggest group in the whole parade.

Rob's Green Beans.

Go Rob!

Journeys of the heart

There is a line, when crossed, where blogging becomes too revealing of the writer and uncomfortable for the reader. At least, that is the opinion of this English-born blogger with an enormous latent supply of natural reserve. And yet, if no treacherous waters are ever trodden, a blog can be a superficial and simplistic entity. The danger of revelation is also inherent in a public blog, where such things could be misused or misunderstood.

Obviously, some blogs are created with the intent of keeping family and friends up-to-date with family news.

Mommy blogs.

I'm not dissing Mommy blogs; I love them. But I feel like my life, right now, is full of many and diverse interests, people, happenings, and conflicts, and I want my blogging to reflect that. I like to share new information, my joys, my doings, and my angst. And you, my readers, are kind enough to be interested in them. 

And sometimes you even comment on them.

Did I ever tell you?

I LOVE COMMENTS!

Anyway.

On with the story.
A story that might be better untold but that is uppermost in my mind right now.

My Mum has been here for almost four months. Less than two weeks and she goes home to her little house to be on her own again. 

Here is my sweet Mum, at a concert in the park, just because she wanted to be with me.

Come to think of it, I could have cropped out the Honey Buckets, couldn't I?

My sister and I are at a crossroads.

Our Mum is losing her marbles and 

WE DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS!

We grew up not knowing our grandparents. Most of them were dead before we were cognizant of there being such marvelous things. Our maternal grandfather was still alive when we left England, but we only met him once. Mum was estranged from him,  I think to protect her daughters from the influence of her stepmother. So we never saw any interaction of children and their aging parents. It struck me this morning in a revelatory manner that we have no role models for this difficult time of life. Add to that the intrinsic problems of distance and our dilemma becomes magnified.

All my Mum ever wanted in life was to be with her beloved Tom and her girls. She lost her sweetheart when he was only 49, at the best time of their lives. They had bought land in the country and were in the process of building their dream house. We girls were off and living our own lives. His sudden death was devastating to all of us, but especially to Mum. I don't think she ever really recovered from it. 

Over thirty years of missing him. 

Part of me is impatient with her, wishing she had found meaning in SOMETHING. Taking some of the pressure of responsibility for her happiness from Anne and me. 

But it is what it is.

And now, my heart is breaking, because I am claustrophobic when she lives with me, but when she goes home she deteriorates. Anne carries the whole burden and it is hard for her. 

It is hard for all of us.

Somewhere, there is an answer.

Anne is looking for it in New Zealand.

I am contemplating possibilities in Oregon.

Meanwhile, a friend took Mum to lunch at P.F.Chang's today and then Jon and Jenny took her to see the beautiful temple grounds and then to watch the boys at their tumbling class. 

So, for today, she is happy and pleasantly weary.

We'll see what tomorrow brings.

Old age is the most unexpected of all the things that happen to a man. Leon Trotsky.

Sure I'm for helping the elderly.

I'm going to be old myself someday. Lilian Carter.

Amber waves...in Oregon

The Willamette Valley in Oregon has long been known as the grass seed capital of the world. This is a dubious distinction for those of us with pollen allergies, who suffer mightily in the late spring and early summer, especially on the days when the seed is harvested.

Research began at OSU in 1909 and grass seed was introduced to the Valley in 1920. Production increased  steadily over the next ninety years, with improved technology and demand pushing for ever-increasing yields. In 2008, Oregon produced 725 million tons of grass seed and exported 800,000 tons of grass straw for livestock seed.

It used to be that autumn saw a smoky haze hanging low over our valleys as the farmers burned off the fields, but legislation put an end to that and alternatives to the practice were quickly found.

Well, this year as I drove and biked around country roads, I noticed less fields planted in grass and more in wheat.

Hallelujah! I thought.

But I wondered about it.

I don't like unanswered riddles.

Then, one day in the newspaper, I found the answer.

Oregon farmers have a big stash of grass seed in the warehouses, thanks to a dip in demand.

The economy, don't you know?

Apparently, golf courses and resorts and the like are not as willing to spend all that money on their lawns.

And, of course, the price of wheat has risen, thanks to all the corn and soy taking over farms in the Midwest.

Government subsidies and bio-fuel.

Not sure if this is the free market in action, but whatever it is, I enjoyed the shorter allergy season this year.

And I love seeing the amber waves of grain.

Which match the tow heads of my grandchildren almost exactly.

The triathlon...

...in which I did NOT compete.

It started out as an activity for the young men at church.

And it grew.

But not very big.

Technically, or so I am told, a sprint triathlon.

Eight lengths in the pool, 13 miles on a bike, and 3 miles running.

I was tempted.

I hemmed and hawed for weeks. But in the end I admitted to myself that I am not quite up to it yet. I could have done any of the events alone, but all three might just have killed me. Or crippled me. Or turned me into a sobbing heap of misery and woe. Any of which would not be a good thing.

So this morning I prepared the refreshments for the animalistic types who competed.

More up my alley anyway.

This is Jerry, who rode safety patrol for the biking and running routes.

I keep telling Jeff:

I love a man on a motorbike.

In leather.

But he doesn't listen to me.

Here are the animals.

Ready on three.

One, two, snap!

I caught Evan doing...something.

Ha!

Next year, they'll need to find another refreshment girl.

'Cause I'm going to be one of the animals.

Now, I know you were all drooling over the bundt cake in the lower left corner.

Admit it, you know you were!

So, in honour of blueberry season, here is the recipe.

Slightly amended by moi.

Because I just can't help myself.

Blueberry Cake

1/2c butter

1/2c sugar

1/3c brown sugar

2 eggs

1c blueberry yogurt (I substituted kefir, which resulted in a slightly less sweet cake)

1 1/2c blueberries, drained if frozen

3c flour (I used half wheat flour from soft white wheat)

1/2 tsp B. soda

4 (yes, 4!) tsp baking powder

3/4c milk

1 tsp vanilla

Cream butter and sugars, add yogurt, vanilla, and eggs, then blueberries. Add dry ingredients alternately with milk. Place in a greased and floured (Pam, the magic helper) bundt pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 mins to an hour. Sprinkle with powdered sugar if you want to gussy it up a bit.

Berries, spuds, kefir and chia

This time of year, for an Oregonian such as myself, is filled with bounty. Berries have just hit their stride, which means picking and freezing time. The grandchildren ate all of our raspberries, which is a fine thing because it saves me from having to be creative with them.

Blueberries are begging to be plucked from their bushes, so I have been obliging.

I went out Tuesday morning and picked 8 pounds with my friend Lori, for $1 a pound. Then I got word of a harvesting organization in Salem that donates half of the pick to food pantries and shelters. So another friend, Kathy, and I drove down last night and picked some more. I picked 18 pounds, a personal record, so I got another 9 pounds out of it and also the satisfaction of donating to others in need.

Golly, maybe that sainthood is pending, ya think?

One of my potato patches had died back and I feared that the crop was a goner. Then, a few nights ago, when I found I was a few potatoes short to accompany our teriyaki salmon, I decided to dig in the bed and just check if there were a  few lonely potatoes. Imagine my surprise when I found, not a huge amount, but enough for a couple of dinners anyway. I guess the greens had done their job and were following their natural course.

My new pet, of late, is my kefir grain. Go here if you want to do some extensive reading on kefir. The quick and dirty version is that kefir (pronounced kee-fer, emphasis on the first syllable, or, less commonly, ke-feer, emphasis on the second syllable) is an ancient culture that contains high amounts of good yeast and bacteria.  Another friend gave me a grain a few weeks ago and I've been making my own kefir every day and using it in smoothies and in every other way that I can conjure. Kefir also contains complete proteins, amino acids, calcium, magnesium, B and K vitamins, and phosphorus. It is a step above yogurt, containing more strains of healthy bacteria and actually colonizes the digestive tract, which yogurt is unable to do.

This is my healthy little grain that is gelatinous in nature and looks like a cauliflower floret. I add it to a jar of whole milk and a day later I have a finished product that looks like plain yogurt.

So, tell me, when I say "chia", what image springs to mind? 

One of those disgusting Obama clay heads that were so popular last year, with green grass growing out of the top? 

Am I right?

I know, it's enough to make you want to run, screaming, for the hills.

Me too.

I think I want to wash my eyes out and then my brain.

Here, for your edification, is a whole new twist on chia.

I'll send you here for information, because Wikipedia is about the only website that's not trying to sell the darn stuff. Basically, the seed is chock-a-block with good nutrition, including omega-3 fatty acids, amino acids, antioxidants, and water-soluble fibre. You make a gel out of it by adding water. Keep a jar of this gel in the fridge and then add it to everything. Well, maybe not everything. I add it to smoothies and bread mostly, but I'm sure I will discover other possibilities.

Hoo-kay, did we learn anything today?

You can thank me later.

Chocolate's always good.

Balances out all the healthy stuff I've been ingesting lately.

Horsing around

We have some lovely friends at church who run Michael's Place, a non-profit organization that brings together miniature horses and developmentally disabled adults. Their clients come out to the farm to care for the animals during the week. Marvin and Kash created this place for their son Michael, who has Downs Syndrome. To quote their website, it is a work and recreation programme designed to help individuals grow in self-esteem, confidence, socialization, and acceptance, and become productive individuals recognized for their accomplishments.  Special People with Special Horses. I love it. If you could meet Marv and Kash and Michael, you would feel the love too!

On Monday, I took the local kids, grandkids, and Great Nana out to the farm. Marv and Kash had kindly invited us out to play. 

First we fed the horses a snack of sticky grain. 

A year ago, Kenzie would have freaked out, but she's been taking riding lessons and has become Braveheart.

Miniature horses have inordinately large nostrils for their size.
At least I think so.

Especially when they flare them from being so excited about snack.

Many of them got rambunctious at the sight of the grain bucket.

Little, but fierce.

Brave Kenzie, walking a horse.

The stable and arena are pristine and cool on a hot day.

Lovingly cared for by special people.

Everyone got a chance to lead a horse.

The more timid children were one person removed from the actual animal.

Here's Bethany, looking gorgeous with her newly permed hair and a tan.

With Natalie, who is leery.

Jonnie and Thomy. 

This adorable bundle of fluff is Joey, the resident Pom.

Michael himself, with little Jeff, who is looking delightfully nonchalant.

Natalie and Josh wouldn't ride with Michael.

Marv said I could drive.

Whoopee!

So, after one solitary circuit to prove my mettle, here we go!
The hat kind of completes the picture, don't you think?

Josh and Natalie liked this horse best of all.

I am blown away by the love, time, energy, and resources that Marv and Kash put into Michael's Place. 

If sainthood is contagious, I think I'm half way to  Heaven just by knowing them.

What Natalie and Josh did on his birthday