chef george, the father of our country?

wordless wednesday no. 29

the whole world's going to hell, and I forgot my handbasket

Do you ever feel as if your dream life makes more sense than your real life? After reading the newspaper in the morning, do you just want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over your head?
I present, for your amusement and/or horror, the following headlines. I dare you to click the links and read all about it:

1. FDA To Review Inhalable Caffeine Over Safety Concerns
2. Santorum Targets President's Christianity
3. Why Do Mammals Go to Coffee Farms?
4. Has Romney Lost His Way?
5. For Space Mess, Scientists Seek Celestial Broom

So, after my morning "news" consumption, (and several cups of coffee, none of it inhaled) here's my take on what's happening in the world:

  Lots of people would rather not take the time to enjoy a nice warm beverage to give them a little boost in the morning...they'd simply rather suck on a plastic tube and get an instant high, and hey! The Food and Drug Administration suddenly decides that it should investigate if this is a healthful thing. Did you know that the FDA doesn't have to evaluate a product if it's labeled a "supplement"? 

  

  In politics, Republican presidential contender Rick Santorum seems to have run out of issues, and has taken to questioning President Obama's religious beliefs. It appears that  Mr. Santorum,  a well known  ill-advised nut job  religious scholar has concluded after extensive research, that Mr. Obama's theology is phony, and not actually based on the Bible. (My nice warm bed is looking pretty good right about now.)

  And while we're on the subject of coffee, scientists come up with the most interesting questions, like: "Why do mammals go to coffee farms?" It seems a much more interesting subject to ponder than whether or not someone's religious beliefs are based on the Bible or not...And at the very least, answering that question (about the mammals, not religion) may very well help us to save the planet in the long run.

   Meanwhile, back on the Presidential campaign trail, it seems that Mitt Romney, another Republican running for President, has lost his confidence. He's been pandering to the masses, trying to get them to like him. Last week in Michigan, for instance, he mentioned that "The trees are the right height", and then told a business group, "I love you". I guess he feels it necessary, after ABC News uncovered a story about him making Seamus, the family dog, ride on top of the car during a family road trip in the 1980s. Good old Mitt  said at the time that the dog actually liked riding in his crate on top of the vehicle (hurtling down the road at 60 mph?). And the fact that Seamus pooped all over the top of the car during that trip? I'm sure it was simply something he ate, right? Dogs will be dogs. Unfortunately, Seamus is no longer available for an interview.
Do you smell a cover up?

  Then there's the problem of space junk. We humans have been very, very bad about cleaning up after ourselves for millennia, but now that we've moved into space, the problem has gotten much worse. So much crap is now zipping around the earth at something like 17,000 miles per hour and colliding, then smashing into millions of pieces, that live, working satellites are threatened with destruction at every orbit of the planet.The U.S. Air Force currently tracks over 20,000 pieces of space junk like old rocket parts and broken satellites.
  According to the article, the Swiss, who have only two satellites, both smaller than a breadbox (apparently a universal standard of measuring satellites) are concerned about what will happen to them when they stop working. Anton Ivanov, a scientist at a top Swiss university said, "We want to clean up after ourselves. That's very Swiss, isn't it?" They're currently designing a kind of giant vacuum cleaner (perhaps it's a Dyson) to help clean up the mess.
Other ideas involve lasers, high altitude balloons, and machines that shoot puffs of air in the path of the debris. Then there's the ElectroDynamic Debris Eliminator -- Edde for short, it is apparently powered by a 6 mile long extension cord (they call it a "space tether"). Edde will sidle up to a piece of space junk and whip out a disposable net, catch the object and coax it to re-enter the atmosphere. The president of the company that designed this one says it would only take a few years and a few hundred million dollars to clean up the "near-Earth neighborhood".
Personally, I think we ought to leave it all up there. It could eliminate the alien invasion scenario...I mean, what self-respecting space alien would want to live in such a junky neighborhood, right?

I think from now on, I'll just stick to reading the comics. They're so normal.

word week, day four

Portland is a literary town, and anyone who's spent even a few hours here can't help but notice that Portlanders love the written word. Powell's City of Books is a beloved institution, and even has a satellite store at the airport. The Multnomah County Library has for years had the distinction of having the highest circulation in the nation among libraries serving less than 1 million residents, and its materials are checked out at twice the rate of the national average.

So it's no surprise that we have what I think is a uniquely Northwest way of celebrating literature: Poetry Posts. These mostly handcrafted boxes range from elegantly designed masterpieces utilizing clear cedar, copper and stained glass, to the most humble works cobbled together from recycled materials, but they all share a common theme: poetry.

Here are a few of the posts around my neighborhood:
(click on images to zoom in)

 In Portland, poetry thrives in driveways,

  nestles amongst the vegetables,

 draws passers-by with the written word

and slows the pace of pedestrians. 

Not all poetry is verbal.

 This one has a solar-powered light on top.

This one is beautiful to look at as well as a pleasure to read what's posted inside.

April is National Poetry Month.

Finish

I rub my shoulder

against a doorframe’s wood,

getting the feel of this creature

felled and transformed.

My fingers curve to knead blood

toward a muscle’s hurt, lotion

into an elbow roughened by neglect.

Snubbing shoes, I let bare soles

reacquaint themselves

with the wear of pavement’s grit.

Clothes serve the modest task

of long, soft friction.

Bit by bit, night by day,

I grow smoother-grained,

ready for light. Let me be

a mirror in which something else

might catch a glimpse of itself—

the burnished stone beneath

a lifetime of water, flowing.

~Paulann Petersen

Oregon's Poet Laureate

unsolicited advice, part three: are you happy now?

A few months ago, a concerned neighbor left a note on my car kvetching about the sorry state of our parking strip. Apparently, she/he was worried about our weeds spreading to surrounding gardens. This anonymous neighbor (and I'm pretty sure I know who you are now), who evidently has a bird's eye view of our property and all the time in the world to critique my gardening skills, somehow missed the countless hours we've spent trying to battle those very same weeds over the course of the almost 20 years we've lived here.

So to make a long story even longer because I know you're just dying to find out what happened, here's the progress that has been made since my last update:

I dug out the dreaded horseradish and Canada thistles once again

and cleared the patch for phase two of what I'm now calling Operation Victory Garden.

Here's the pile of cedar 2x6's we saved from our deck remodel a couple of years ago. I've been planning on building some new raised planters with them. After scaring away about a hundred spiders, I picked through the boards and hauled them out to the sidewalk.

I measured and cut all the boards and waited for Dave to get home,

because assembling those suckers turned out to be a two person job.

While taking a break from screwing assembling the boxes, Dave inspected my weeding job and pointed out I'd missed some horseradish that was growing in the street in a crack between the curb and the asphalt.

He determined it was time to try a new method of eradication.

And discovered it takes a lot of heat to burn horseradish leaves.

In a last-ditch effort to keep the horseradish from coming up again, I decided to line all the planters with 1/4" metal screening and covered that with a layer of weed-blocking fabric. That step took a ridiculously long time, because the screening doesn't come in sizes wide enough to cover the bottom of the bed in one piece, and I figured if I didn't sew all the seams together that horseradish would certainly find its way through any crack.

My friends Iris and Laurie stopped by and helped shovel dirt for awhile.

This entire project has turned into a communal garden of sorts. Dave and I built the beds and provided the land and water, and my friend Laurie bought the dirt and helped fill all the planters in return for the use of the one farthest from the camera. We finally got all the vegetables and seeds planted at the end of June.

Here's what the garden looked like last week:

The corn is well over my head.

Laurie went on vacation, and by the time she got back,

her radishes were the size of torpedoes.

And I thought I was being smart by planting only one zucchini, but I've harvested four in the past week. (Those giant leaves hide the squash until they're the size of baseball bats!)

Anyone got any good zucchini recipes?

unsolicited advice, part two

Last week, after an unidentified neighbor left an anonymous note on the windshield of my car, I wrote a blog post about it. (Click here to read part one of this little saga, and don't forget to read the comments) It seems that in their opinion I have been slacking in my gardening duties, and therefore, by my sloth, have raised the Noxious Weed Threat Level to ORANGE (see chart below)


I received many supportive comments from my friends in the blogging community (I'm truly touched that you're all so pissed off for me!) as well as from my lovely neighbors who assured me they wouldn't hesitate to come over and pull the damn weeds out themselves if they could only identify them.

What the passive aggressive note-writer didn't seem to know is that I have been battling this particular patch of weeds for years. In fact, along with the dreaded Canadian thistles (Cirsium arvense) the parking strip is also overrun with horseradish, for which there seems to be no known enemy. In fact, I'm now convinced that in the event of a nuclear bomb blast, it would just spread bits of roots everywhere and the radioactive horseradish would happily repopulate the earth.

In September of 2008, I finally gave the go ahead to use Roundup to clear the patch, after 17 years of attempting to eradicate the stuff organically. We sprayed it, and left it to die for several weeks, after which we covered it with thick black plastic and let it sit over the entire winter and well into the spring of 2009.

We finally pulled up the plastic in June, only to discover snow white shoots of horseradish growing everywhere, followed several weeks later by sprouts of Canadian thistle. I set to work once again, digging deep craters in an attempt to get out all the roots, then bored holes in the roots that remained and poured undiluted Roundup into them.

This was nearly a year ago, and with the arrival of warm spring weather in 2010, the buggers are back with a vengeance. And now some busybody is giving me crap about slacking.

I have been considering my options for the past few years and have come up with another strategy to thwart the weeds' plans for world domination, but I just haven't had time to implement it yet, as I've been too busy working hard trying to keep the mortgage paid and food on the table. So in the meantime, this will have to do: I posted a discreet sign in the parking strip to ward off any more well-intentioned public diatribes.

january moon

The moon was in my front yard tonight.

(click on the photo to enlarge)

what's in your front yard: odd balls

I've always had a thing for art created with everyday objects used out of context...and a few years ago, I repurposed Matt and Caitie's old bowling balls in the garden. Dave didn't exactly see eye to eye with me on the "sculptural" interpretation I took. I think he thought it was a little weird, but went along with it, although he did firmly institute a ban on bowling pins as sculpture.
Lately, I've been gleefully pointing out examples of this spherical art form popping up in other gardens all over the place:

I'm thinking about stealing the bowling ball as fountain idea.

Dave took this one himself in California.

Here's one from a place in Bend, Oregon called the Funny Farm. (photo by TinaTwice)

This one in our garden seems kinda tame after looking at
a bowling ball tree, doesn't it?