Poem of the Week

August 19, 2008

I carry an unfinished poem in my pocket,
an unsigned agreement with the universe:
She promises to continue producing wonders,
and I promise to pay attention.

Two More Bag Nights - Three Stories From Camping

3:15:15

Every once in a while - okay, about four times a week - I'll catch a glimpse of the clock and declare, "Hey, it's the coolest time of the day!" For me, that happens to be 12:17. Other folks like 11:11, or 12:34. Some people might not even have a coolest time of the day. I know it sounds weird, but it's true.

On Thursday, the first night of the last camping trip of summer vacation (sigh), while poking amongst the rocks along the Clackamas River, I found an abandoned watch. I have no use for a broken watch (I have little use for a functioning watch, actually), so I let Wrig know about the availability of treasure. She picked it up, checked it out, and announced that it worked. Turns out she was right, so we spent the rest of the weekend administering state mandated homeschooling tests about reading watches. In the middle of one hike, she said the time was 3:15. As we looked at the watch together, the second hand swept past. She was delighted to see all three hands lined up. 3:15:15. Certainly not the coolest time of day, but pretty cool nonetheless.

1:15

Before Friday, the longest conversation I'd ever had with a naked man probably clocked in at around 90 seconds while changing out of my swimsuit at Mt. Scott. Well, as they like to say in Olympic parlance, I smashed that record this weekend. On Friday at Bagby Hot Springs, we easily spent an hour or an hour and fifteen minutes (both can be and are accurate, according to Christie) sharing a hot tub with a very friendly, very unclothed man from Damascus.

For those who don't know (translation: our parents), Bagby is a natural hot spring. Some friendly folks working for a nonprofit built two bath houses with a variety of public and private bathing options, all clothing optional. I'd heard about Bagby before but we'd never gone because a) I thought it was too far, which it wasn't; b) I thought it was expensive, but it turned out to be free; and c) it's (ew!) clothing optional, which turned out to be only mildly ew.

The place is really amazing. The lodges are all built from rough cut wood, worn smooth over time. The group tub looks exactly like you'd expect a hot tub to look, but the individual tubs are made from hollowed out trees, like old canoes. They (yes, the ubiquitous they) have engineered a nifty system that uses gravity, flumes, wooden wedges, and cork stoppers to keep the hot water flowing to 10 different tubs.

The water comes in at a toasty 136 degrees, so you have to add plenty of cool water. Wrig overheated much more quickly than the three adults in the tub, so she regularly hopped out of the tub and dumped a bucket of 50 degree river water over her head. She loved it and we stayed warm. Everybody wins!

S'morevolution

A few years back, my buddy and chef extraordinaire Jeff went all Cooks Illustrated and experimented with variations on the s'more. He tried adding peanut butter, I recall, and maybe pretzel sticks or a few other things. In the end, his verdict was in favor of the traditional s'more. However, he didn't blog about it, and if hasn't been blogged about it hasn't actually happened, so I will be using Re:Wrigley to update our faithful readership about great leaps in s'morevolution.

Our most faithful readers will recall that, last summer, Wrigley thought it might be tasty to cram a square of chocolate into the marshmallow and roast them together, thereby saving time and increasing gooeyness. While this technique requires no small amount of skill, the results were quite excellent.

So what could be next?

Recently, Wrigley was introduced to the candy called Hot Tamales. She's not a big fan of spicy food so I didn't think she'd like them, but the power of the High Fructose Corn Syrup cannot be questioned. She thought they were yummy (her eyes pretty much lit up when she tried her first one) and thought they might be even yummier if she crammed one of them into a marshmallow and roasted it. I thought the results of that experiment were pretty meh, but Wrig was a big fan.

And next?

On Friday at lunch, I was cramming some potato chips into my sandwich and I said to myself, "Hey, Self, you love sweet and salty, don't you? Why not put some potato chips on your s'more tonight?" There's only one possible response to such a question: why not? Unfortunately, the chips we brought this trip turned out to be pretty bland, so the verdict is still out on the potato chip s'more.

And what's next?

Coming this October to a campfire near me, sweet and spicy and salty join together as one when I try a s'more with a salt and pepper potato chip. Commence salivating now!

Dig Me!

The blogosphere, we all know, is really just a place to brag (perhaps we should call it the bragosphere). Sometimes we brag about our kids, sometimes we brag about our artisitc/photographic/poetic prowess, and sometimes we brag about how cool our vacations are; even those political pundits are just bragging about how much smarter they are than our elected officials.

So how about some major bragging on my part? Yesterday, I:

1) Sewed a button onto a pair of shorts.
2) Using Christie's spiffy sewing machine.
3) All by myself.
4) Without crying.
5) Without screaming (much).
6) And without stabbing myself.

I now officially consider myself the coolest guy in the blogosphere.

Poem of the Week

The Grace of Awkward Birds
August 17, 2008

long legged
knock kneed,
neck like a lazy snake

short winged
web toed
beak like a sharpened spike

mismatched
mottled bones
wings like crooked knives

and yet

and yet

airborne
at ease
in flight, a gliding rite

I Thought the '50s Were a Time of Innocence

C: (reading from Spiderweb For Two, by Elizabeth Enright, published in 1951) "He came down at 9:15, hungry as a wolf, and indulged in a waffle orgy."
W: What's an orgy?
C: Um ... sort of a wild, uncontrollable party.
W: Oh.


Ed's thoughts:
1) How did kids know which words you least want to define?
2) Wouldn't a waffle orgy be an exceptionally sticky experience?
3) I can't wait to get home and blog about this.

Poem of the Week

The Stones on Indian Beach
August 6, 2008

rocks congregate
jut beyond reach
of the tide,
defiant.
even the slimmest
skipping stone
insists on its
own solidity.

beneath my
restless feet,
they click their
stony code,
ancient language,
patient language,
alien and
unfathomable.

only the hush
of the surf
speaks to me:
you, too,
will turn to sand,
She sings,
you, too,
will return to sea.

14 Ways My Life Would Be Different If I Didn't Marry Christie

1. I wouldn't be married to Christie. Duh.
2. I wouldn't have Wrigley. I might have some other, lesser kid, who doesn't know her mortar from her pestle.
3. I wouldn't own a house. Buying a house was a terrifying experience. Making the decision to even decide to buy a house was awful. I don't know Christie talked me into it.
4. My yard (at the house where I had been a renter for years) would be all grass. I'd water it every day and mow it every weekend. I'd invest heavily in fertilizer, weed 'n' feed, and round up.
5. I wouldn't have a vegetable garden.
6. I wouldn't even eat vegetables. I wouldn't look twice at vegetables. (It's funny, if Christie hadn't married me, she wouldn't eat vegetables either. I don't know two people who didn't like vegetables got together a became a couple of people who love fresh veggies, but sometimes two negatives do make a positive.)
7. I wouldn't own a CSA. I wouldn't know what a CSA is.
8. McDonald's and Coca-Cola would be a regular part of my diet.
9. I would still wear black jeans. I would look very, very cool.
10. I woudn't tuck in my shirt at work.
11. I probably wouldn't have moved to Portland. After graduation, I probably would have hung around Davis for a while. Then I would have retreated someplace "safe" - maybe even Stockton?!?!? - instead of rolling the dice and moving to a strange city where I didn't know a single soul.
12. I would never have hung two bird feeders outside my living room window; I never would have fallen in love with birds.
13. I would still hate and fear camping.
14. I would watch 72 hours of tv a day. I'd have cable, satellite, AND directtv just to be safe.
15. (Because I've never been good at counting) My terrible sense of humor would have languished for 14 years without an endless supply of appreciative moans, groans, and the occasional, inexplicable chuckle.

Happy anniversary, love!

Poem of the Week

An Embarrassment of Riches
July 31, 2008

I carry a walletful of sunshine.
My piggy-bank is stuffed to
overflowing with laughter.

Synonyms and homonyms,
metaphors and puns,
spill from my pockets
like gemstones.

My lips, stained with
the juices of fresh fruit,
smile easily and often.

If I were a better man,
I’d pray. I’d offer thanks
and beg forgiveness.

As I am,
I can only blush
in anticipation of tomorrow.