LISTENING CLOSELY

Gary has heard this story too many times: It’s from years ago at one of our holiday Open House events to which we invited neighbors and co-workers and hosted forty or so. I was teaching, so for a few weeks before, I came home from school and made small savory pastries and baked cakes and cookies and stashed them in the freezer. We cleaned the house, me down on my hands and knees to scrub the floors. The party began at 2pm and ended two hours later. It was a great deal of work, but cleanup after the party took only minutes, not hours, no messes, no fights. We served only sparkling non-alcoholic apple juice. That might be why people only chatted, ate, and then went home without hard feelings.

One year, a co-worker went off on me about people who claimed everything was a matter of opinion. “You English teachers want everything to be a matter of opinion. Some things are not opinion. There are such things as facts!” He raised his voice, not quite yelling, went on for a bit, the closest to an argument we ever experienced at our parties. He was also talking at me.

For the record, I have never claimed that everything was subject to opinion. Nevertheless, I heard what he said. That uncomfortable moment impacted me and my teaching. I was careful to make that distinction with my students: fact and opinion are not the same thing. Some accepted truths are subject to interpretation and opinion. Some facts are indisputable. Know the difference.

The rewards of listening closely to someone who is not you.

—Scott Korb in his craft talk at the Pacific University MFA residency in Seaside, Oregon on 7 January 2023
Our window in Portland with Gary’s dinosaur. We have suffered power outages and internet outages at the coast, avoided ice storms in Portland, and walked in the rain and terrific winds. The beach house shook from 75mph wind gusts, and I have learned to make better use of my cell phone. The cell phone itself is an accomplishment I failed to note in my review of 2022. Ian helped get us started.
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BALANCE CONTROL

I can stand on one leg long enough to put each sock on the other foot. I cannot stand on one leg for long with my eyes closed so I stopped trying to do that. I keep reading that my ability to balance on one foot is an indication of longevity.

This morning I read about the 30-second test, balanced on one foot, and with one eye closed. I can sort-of do that with my right foot and right eye closed. (I am left-eye dominant—cross dominance is more common among women than men—right handed and left eye dominant. It’s why I had to aim off-center when I had archery in high school, though I did not understand this at the time.)

The goals I set and the accomplishments I am proud of… a little planning and some realism.

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END-OF-YEAR

We were careful this year. The condo is a new expense and the beach house needs a new roof.

Our goals were modest. We would walk, pay our bills, do our best to avoid covid, and stay in touch with family and friends. We covered over a thousand miles, mostly on the beach. I ran nearly a quarter of those miles in 2022, a 10k in October, and have two fiction stories due for publication. Together we visited family, took the train to Seattle, and drove back and forth most weeks between Portland and the coast. Gary spent a lot of time in the garden and taking care of his wife, who is lucky to know him, not to mention to love him.

Sandstone at the headland north of our beach home.
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BARGAINING IRL

Years ago I taught a short story by Michael Cunningham in which a teenager runs through a sliding glass door during a party. (This was before building codes required tempered glass in such doors—a change triggered by a real life incident of a child bleeding out from cuts sustained by running through such a door.) In the story, the boy stands in the middle of broken glass and pulls a shard of glass from his neck. Moments later he bleeds out in the arms of his girlfriend. Every year students would bargain with that: What if he hadn’t pulled out the glass? What if someone had put more pressure on the wound? What if…? Just as in real life, we sometimes bargain with outcomes we cannot bear. Even in fiction.

In Iceland, a monstrous cat, Jólakötturinn, eats people who have failed to provide themselves with new clothing for the New Year. Not to mention the Troll brothers and other monsters. In Finland there is a magical goat character who takes away gifts instead of giving them like Santa Claus. The straw goats in my picture are miniatures of Sweden’s giant straw “Gävlebocken” that has been erected since 1966 and is often burned to the ground. So far, this year, it’s still standing. That 13-meter goat is not a bad being at all and you can see it in real time.
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COLD

We’re in Portland just now, and it’s in the 20s outside. I ran three miles here yesterday and walked a couple more, up and down NW Portland streets. I planned to walk three miles this morning, but maybe not in this cold.

We tested negative again yesterday. This means I have not been sick (with anything) for at least three years. Well, there is an issue with the blue cheese… But no cold or flu or covid. We are fully vaccinated and boosted and hopeful we will be able to see family next weekend.

Eagles, hummingbirds, teaching writing, childbirth, and life expectancy. What we saw a few days ago on the coast:

This crawfish did not belong on the sand early the other morning. I have caught, cooked, and eaten crawfish in my youth. We could have eaten him. But no. We think he’s not the invasive species, just a local critter washed down after the rain, and Gary put him back in Asbury creek.
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LOVE ACTUALLY

I know, I know, some of us love that movie and some hate it. I’m not going to write about the film. The 20-year anniversary documentary is playing, but either way, you are safe to read on.

Truth, fact, history. Lies, fiction, invention. Racism. Yes, I went down a rabbit hole of investigation and research.

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THE MEAL

My baking began on Monday with four loaves of cranberry bread and a chevré cheesecake (that last only because the goat cheese needed to be used and I wanted to strain Greek yogurt for whey to use in pie crusts. On Tuesday, I roasted Delicata squash for Gary’s “pumpkin” pie. (I have made pies with canned pumpkin, fresh sugar pumpkin, acorn, and other squashes. I find actual pumpkin to be nearly tasteless. Roasted Delicata has flavor.) I also roasted and mashed sweet potatoes—which are the exact same thing as what Americans call “yams.” (Actual yams are huge vegetables, a traditional Nigerian staple, and not sweet at all.) Yesterday, I made bread-free dressing, applesauce, cranberry/chili sauce, and two kinds of twice-baked potatoes, including without dairy. Today I hope to caramelize a honey, turmeric, and seed topping for the sweet potatoes, and roast acorn squash for Friday.

An unplanned flight, my adventures eating a Home Ec Thanksgiving dinner, and best wishes…

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HOMELESS

No answers, but some observations.

I’ve been irritated since the other day when Apartment Therapy did a feature on a perfectly serviceable walk-in closet remodel for a mere $4500 (wallpaper, paint, cabinets), plus the two chandeliers that a commenter found cost $2k, each. Yes, the newly redone closet looks very nice, but it’s a closet and not even one of those bedrooms redone as a closet with space in the middle to sit down, just a fair-sized walk-in closet. Some people become creative in divesting themselves of too much money.

I bought art. Because artists need support.

So do others.

“Homeless” people and encampments are all over Portland, and Seattle is rumored to be worse. I had no idea Los Angeles considered itself the epicenter. “Sam Quinones traces the recent epidemic of homelessness in western states, the one marked by meth abuse and tents, to LA’s Skid Row.“

Gary took this photo of a seagull poop because he thought it looked like an egg, sunny side up.
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CALM DOWN

Maybe I should keep it to myself. But no, that would not do. I read most of it aloud to Gary. Then I composed an email, but kept adding to the Bcc. So here. Here it is. It’s unlikely that any (none?) of my family will read it, but sending it as a link in an email probably wouldn’t change that.*

I am calm in desperate situations, sometimes passionate in discussion, but quiet at my core under stress. Pressing down fear, anger, frustration, and other emotion in fraught situations is almost automatic. (Most people who think they have seen me angry have no idea.*) I learned to suppress those emotions when I was being teased, bullied, and otherwise harassed in childhood and adolescence. It is a skill I have fallen back on throughout my life when dealing with mentally ill relatives and grief. And injustice every darned day.

All my life I have vowed to fight the good fight. And if I have had little impact on my world, it is not from lack of trying.
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