Feb. 18: Pitchers and catchers report to Spring Training.
Feb. 23: All other players report to Spring Training.
I have to admit that if I read a similar post regarding football in August or whenever they all report, I'd think "what a loser." But hey, it's my blog, so it's cool.
I ran across this cool book while searching for a new calendar, and was reminded of an incident from my not-so-distant past.
My BigBro lives in Austin, Texas (don't get him started, please), and a few years ago sent me a calendar from his local diner that featured an illustration of a buxom Mexican beauty with straps of bullets across her chest and a gun slung on her back.
I thought it was lovely and generously thought it would be a great gift for my boyfriend at the time. (Yes, that one.) I gave it to him for Christmas and waited for the appreciative response. He opened it, looked at me blankly and said: "Why would you think I'd want this cheesy calendar?"
I should have sensed at that point that we weren't made for each other. What I saw as an ironic, iconic, folk-artsy hip piece of Tex-Mex Americana, he saw as a cheesy calendar. Which, to be fair, it was. But that wasn't the point.
Well, never mind. I wish I'd kept it. So, hey, Steve, send me another one!
Emergency! Emergency! Should we call the police? The sheriff?
No, wait! Let's check the conditions!
I can pinpoint the moment birthdays ceased to be exciting. November 13, 2007, when I turned 51.
My fiftieth was fantastic, actually: an all-nighter at a club in San Francisco followed by a tour of the wine country from a little inn in Calistoga. My (younger) boyfriend didn't freak out about my turning fifty (at least not that weekend) and my gal pals took me out for a wonderful dinner and celebration.
51 was unmemorable - I think Henry and I went to Red Robin. And last year on my 52nd I had a migraine and went to bed.
That brings us to this year. It started with an argument and tears about homework (Henry cried too). My eye is blood-filled (sorry), swollen and bruised and I'm spending the rest of the day in bed. Don't worry, I'm not alone: my cats and dog are happily lying on top of me.
But it's really not all bad. A friend came by with flowers, and she and other friends are bringing over dinner tonight. My facebook wall and blog comments are filled with best wishes, another compelling example of the power of social media. And best of all, the entire nursing and office staff at my eye doctor's entered the exam room this morning, sang Happy Birthday and presented me with a brownie and candle.
As my sweet doc said: "We feel like you're part of the family." Hmmm... Is that a good thing?
Ooo - a bit of suburban debauchery last night and the headache this morning to show for it. Plus I seem to have collected more boys - at this point seven of them, who I've cleverly locked out of the house. They keep pleading to be let in so I'm staying away from the doors.
Here's the yeti costume - the only photo I could get before the pillaging began.
The scary clown is his sidekick Gavin, mentioned occasionally in this blog.
My friend Amy as the Porcelain Goddess, with her golden toilet brush:
Bob with he-who-should-not-wear-an-afro:
Though the orange stretch polyester disco suit is quite fetching.
That's all I could get before things started getting out of hand.
Miss Kitty vamping for the camera
I had to do that thing with today's paper like kidnappers do in ransom photos so those of you outside Central Oregon would believe me.
Autumn is for sissies, I guess.
I'm really looking forward to flag football tonight at 7 pm.
Local alert: Richard's Produce Stand is closing down for the season Oct.15. (I asked Adam what I'm going to do all winter without him, and he said: "Eat citrus." It's going to be a long winter.)
I'm already anticipating the produce withdrawal and it won't be pretty. So meanwhile I'm overbuying and it's a great time to do it as everything is at the peak of ripeness. I'm putting up sauteed tomato chunks and garlic, freezing peach slices, jarring peeled garlic cloves in olive oil* and making parsley salsa. And last night I roasted beets.
I've never cooked beets before due to memories of their canned weirdness, but they looked really cool at the produce stand and I felt adventurous. Plus, the New York Times decreed "Beets: the New Spinach" so I had to jump on the trendwagon.
I fired up the gas grill (with soaked wood chips for a nice smoky touch), tossed slices of unpeeled beets with olive oil/salt and slow-grilled them for 40 minutes or so, turning once. I also threw thick slices of onion and a head of garlic in foil on there just to be efficient. They all came out caramelized and smoky and really transformative.
Beets pair well with goat cheese to cut their sweetness and add a creamy tang, so I'm making a beet/arugula/chevre salad with vinaigrette to serve with crusty bread and pinot gris. Dinner's at seven.
the beetness of beets
*Note: storing garlic cloves in olive oil at room temperature is a perfect recipe for botulism. Refrigerate.
This post was written last Sunday.
Henry is 10, going on 16. He's a true night-owl and can sleep in til 11 am easily. So reentry into the school routine makes for a living hell over here.
I decided to wake them (Gavin here still) at 8 am this morning to get them slowly acclimated to an early wake-up and hopefully an earlier bedtime.
"Thanks for ruining my summer!" Henry said as he dragged himself into the bathroom.
Then I made him clean up his room big-time, which was quite painful and included yelling.
"This is the worst summer ever!" he complained as he pulled out filthy, dusty socks from under the bed.
Then I pushed onward, going through his clothes drawers to see what still fit. I made him hold a few things up (no chance of getting him to try them on) as the discard pile grew.
"I hate clothes!" he cried.
Then I showed him that I had sorted all underwear and matched all matchable socks.
"You're the best mom ever!" he said as he flung his arms around me.
I'm really looking forward to the teen years...
[Note that I used the word "city" in the title of this post. I've been informed that Bend does indeed have an escalator; therefore by my own definition it is a city.]
I love farmers' markets. Who doesn't love farmers' markets? However, I'm very happy these days that I don't need to go to the Bend Farmers' Market any more. (correct possessive apostrophe of a plural noun there.) There's the small matter of parking, for one thing; getting there on time, waiting in lines, dodging the shiny happy families and so forth. Just saying.
The reason I don't have to go you-know-where is that a farm stand has opened two blocks from the house.
And it's a great farm stand.
Tomatoes that taste like my dad's eaten right there in his garden.
Big fat and little donut peaches.
Local berries, herbs, beans, potatoes, onions, beets, corn delivered daily right from the field. etc. It's thrilling.
And it's really local.
The best part? I can send Henry down with a backpack and a grocery list. I'm telling you, after nine years of doing it all myself, I'm finally reaping some payback. And it's character-building too.
I've never really liked August. It's too damn hot, summer is as tired as three-day-old macaroni salad, and all those things you planned hopefully to accomplish aren't done and are mocking you.
My August was supposed to start with invasive eye surgery - fun! However, due to a lurking sinus infection, it's been indefinitely postponed, complete with last minute phone calls, faxes to doctors' offices, canceling airline tickets and general frustration. Not to mention the accompanying sinus infection. Meanwhile, Henry woke up with pinkeye, or eyes. So we're in an upbeat mood this lovely August first.
It's going to be another scorcher here in the (high) desert, so we have to batten down the hatches to keep the house cool. So we begin the slow sticky slide into the school year.
Don't say school!! Henry begs. He has five more weeks of various camps left, so school feels like it's years away. Labor Day being late this year has caused parents to scramble to fill one more week. I've been handing Henry off to whoever drives up, to go to the Fair, the lakes, baseball games and campouts. All things I usually enjoy but don't feel the urge to do right now. Meanwhile, all the Facebook families of the town are having wonderful laugh-filled, joyous, adventuresome summers (and even have time to post their photos and updates).
Hmmm. Mood getting ugly. I think H and I are going to hit the movies and stay out of the heat.
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