A Rose Is A Rose

   

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The end of September marks the beginning of Fall here in Rose City. Today, Fall is definitely in the air here at Portland's other public rose gardens- Peninsula Park.

Tucked between Humboldt and Piedmont neighborhoods, in NE Portland, this park has served this community for 100 years. It's also home of Portland's "other" Rose Garden. Sure, while the Rose Garden in West Portland gets most of the attention with the Mt. Hood views, the nearby zoo, and Pittock Mansion; Peninsula Park is worth a visit. It's quieter, especially around the reflecting fountain, and much easier to find parking(FREE).

Walking through the Rose gardens, I am reminded of a cliche, in which, as a writer, I try to avoid~~~it is what it is.

Sounds like, A Rose is a Rose, only a rose smells prettier. 

           

My Story

I remember that game we would play while camping, sitting around the campfire. I would whisper to the person next to me a brief, one sentence story. In turn, he would tell the next person what was said, and on to the next person until the short story went around the entire circle. Finally, the last person in the circle would tell the story, as he heard it. Rarely was the story recalled just as it was initially told. Most of the time the story would could come back a totally convoluted mess.

This reminds me of how history is passed on from generation to generation. Imagine the Stone Age man sitting around their fire telling stories or writing on their cave dwellings. In the middle-ages, monks painstakingly documenting events of the time. Or more recently with the Industrial Age, historical events retold through a more verifiable process with better means of communication. Up to today, the Information Age, where information is available in a split second, at the tip of your fingers.

As time goes on, man has adapted to the means in which they recall the past. Current events, current at that moment in time, were passed on. Whether it was a week, a year, or ages later, history was an important way to learn. 

With knowledge of the past, we learn from our failures as well as our success. This is important because as we learn from the past, humanity evolves, hopefully in a positive way. If we honor the past, we honor history.

This is not "his" story, it's MY story-and I'm sticking with it.

Turn Out The Lights...

Woody with his legendary vintage autographed pajama top.

Candlestick Park was built the year I was born. I don't consider myself "old" but as sports stadiums go, in this day and age, Candlestick Park is ancient... and dying. The flame of Candlestick is barely flickering. Last Sunday, I paid my final respects to the "Stick" along with a couple buddies and many lasting memories.

I was taken back to 1974 and my first Monday Night Football game with the iconic broadcasting trio of Frank Gifford, "Dandy" Don Meredith, and Howard Cosell. Those early years, my childhood buddy liked the Cowboys, for me, the Forty-Niners were a chapter of a history lesson in middle school.

Then came the glory years of the 80's~~~ the 49er Dynasty. Yea, we all remember the Super Bowls, Joe, Jerry, Roger, Ronnie, and the Wersching Machine?? But on this glorious day, out on Hunters Point, it was clear, Candlestick had seen better days, and we were reliving them again, with our final tailgate party.

Memories of magical moments, like the time Jennifer Montana's young girls pressed each of the buttons on my shirt and counted down, "red button, red button, red button." Or when Paul jumped over the rail at halftime, grabbed a candle and chorus sheet, and marched mid-field with the local choir. The rest of us, enlightened, in the end zone wearing Santa beards.

Once, Murray was spotlighted with a T-shirt that read, I AM BOB UECKER. Then again, spotted and scolded for breaking a stadium seat.

Although the 49ers enjoyed their decade, the Giants were dismal. Candlestick hosted the 1984 MLB All-Star game. The lone Giants all-star, catcher Bob Brenly. How do I remember this? Well, after failing to score tickets to the game, we settled with sneaking in as parade attendants in the fourth inning. Bob Brenly? He struck out.

I was reminded of the Rolling Stones concert, when Mick Jagger could strut, Start Me Up, like a middle-aged Mick. That day we tailgate partied like it was 1999. Keeping up with Keith Richards? No way! We remembered the show.

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So, with our last good-byes at the "Stick", we will sing the final song "Dandy" Don Meredith made famous, Turn out the lights, the party's over... It's time to go Candlestick Park. We'll miss you, but the grieving process should be pretty easy. Only about a third of the stadium lights still glow, after all these years.

 

Bring on the demolition TEAM!!

Checking in

Why do I pick these up when I travel?

 I'll be back...

I learned a while ago that when visiting another city it's easy to get lost. When I have one of these in my pocket, I have a point of reference. This comes in handy when trying to get back to my room, in remembering names of my hosts, and as a referral when I'm home.

A few years ago, we took our 17 year old daughter on a three week, four country, European trip. Every other day we were in a new place. As we checked in, I would have my daughter pass on the candy dish and grab the little card with the name of the place we were staying. That way, should she become separated from us, she could show a local the card and get back without wondering all over, perhaps, Venice.

In return, when checking out, we'll leave a hand written Thank You on our hometown postcard. Now, with this little business card tucked into my journal, not only will I know my hosts name but the correct spelling. 

Once, after a wonderful stay in Westport Ireland and hiking Crough Patrick, I would curse St. Patrick as I clambered up and down the stairs of our B&B with my sore muscles. It wasn't until later that I learned our hosts' Gaelic name, Padraig,  also meant Patrick. So on my addressed postcard, I went with Padraig. Interestingly, Padraig was not of Irish descent but Asian Indian.

 

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Yea, it may be old school but it works for me. Besides, a card is a gift. Lightweight and easy to pack.

Thanks again, Padraig.

Voodoo Magic

         

                          

I've been to the Voodoo Museum in New Orleans but it pales in comparison to Portland's voodoo magic.

Every time I go through PDX airport, I see people carrying little pink packages as their carry on. Obviously, it seems, that a visit to Portland is not complete without a stop at the Rose Garden, a brewery, Powell's Books, and Voodoo Doughnuts?

Yes, these pretty pink boxes are filled with wonderfully colorful, cleverly horrific, and mightily tasty doughnuts. Pick up a half dozen or so and just try to get them through airport security. The conversation with the TSA agent may go something like this~"Sorry sir, are these jelly-filled? Well yes, some of them. Is it less than 3.4 ounces? I'm not sure. C'mon man, they're just doughnuts. Well I can't let you through security with more than 3.4 ounces of jelly-filled doughnuts." 

Not to worry, the signature voodoo doll doughnut filled with raspberry jelly and a pretzel stake through the heart has less than 3.4 ounces of jelly. 

Go ahead, pick out a few more. Try the Captain my Captain Crunch cruller. Bring home the voodoo bubble doughnut complete with pink frosting, bubble dust, and a wad of double bubble(unchewed of course). Or my favorite, the maple bar topped with 2 strips of bacon...mmm bacon!

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By the way, if you plan on visiting Voodoo Doughnuts in Portland, be prepared to stand in line, in the rain. Good news is, waiting in line at PDX, you won't need an umbrella.

Voodoo Doughnuts-----> The MAGIC is in the hole.

Island Hopper

Ever been on one of these? You like adventure, right? Sure, you can swim, right? Hey, if Diana Nyad can swim from Cuba to Florida, without a shark cage, you certainly can swim from a gentle "unlikely water landing" to this island a few hundred feet away, right? The water's warm, the surf small, pretend you're auditioning for Survivor. Think like Ozzie.

Once you've made it to land, you can answer that question you've already tried to answer before. If you were stranded on a desert island...?

You have a small waterproof backpack, what's in it?

I'll start. My pen and moleskin journal. Oh yea, and one bottle of beer. Good beer, big bottle.

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What's in your backpack?

                               

                                                 

I Will Never Forget...

I woke up twelve years ago, like I did every day, to the familiar voice of Bob Edwards , host of NPR Morning Edition, "An airplane has hit the South tower of the World Trade Center." My first reaction was, "Boy, someone has made a big mistake."

As the day unfolded, I learned it was not a mistake at all but an act of terrorism.

The the rest of the day was a blur with the exception of visions of fire, smoke, and terror, as news unraveled to those of us on the West Coast.

As the sun set that evening, many of my neighbors gathered at the end of the street for a candlelight vigil. Here we were, neighbors, some I had met for the first time, mourning the loss of all our far-away neighbors. A great diversity of neighbors lost. Futures lost.

Today, I will again reflect on the loss of that tragic day. I will also say hello, smile, and chat with my neighbors in my community and remind myself that, in one way or another, we are ALL global neighbors.

I will never forget September 11, 2001.

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Door County

Opening Day last year at Lambeau Field, and the crowd was filing in by the pack, sporting their favorite team Jerseys. Niners and Packers. NFL Game of the Week.

Donning my 49er hoody, I was outnumbered  by the home team Packer fans 4 to 1. No worries, Packer fans are arguably the best fans in the league and it was apparent at the Brett Favre tailgate party. Fun and games, brats and beer, and just a wee bit of gentle smack talk.

The friendly fan banter between 49er fans and Packer fans lasted all week, as we explored Green Bay and that skinny finger of land jutting between Green Bay and Lake Michigan, Door County. We were thoroughly impressed by the genuine Midwest hospitality.

Door County, Wisconsin is not only a little slice of cherry pie but a huge slice of Americana. As we drove through Egg Harbor, Fish Creek, and all the little villages up to Sister Bay and beyond, we noticed there are no strip malls, fast food, or hotel chains. Instead we were stopping in farmers markets, outdoor theaters, the Piggly~Wiggly, and family run guest houses. 

If you're lucky enough to visit Door County, stop by a cheese-to-go stand, have dinner at a fish boil, or watch the goats atop Al Johnson's roof. Whatever you decide, enjoy this throwback era community. The people here always keep the Door wide open.

So today is the kick-off of the 2013 NFL season. A rematch of last years Opening Day. Only the battle today will be decided on Niner turf - Candlestick Park- my field of dreams, and dreams come true.  The last year my beloved 49ers play at "The Stick" before the wrecking ball becomes the name of the game.

Although I won't be wearing a cheesehead, I will always be a Green Bay fan.

Go Niners!? or Go Pack Go!?

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Can-do Canoe

 

Every summer I am lucky enough to spend a few days camping and canoeing with a group of guys.We choose a river based on the time of year and water flow. Some years require weeks of planning. Other years, on more local trips, we can round up the local boys and make the trip happen within a week. In either case, we need the commitment from each guy that he is "in" so that plans are made accordingly.

Agreeing on the river destination is usually the easy part. This year it was the Cowlitz river between Mt. Rainer and Mt. St. Helens in Washington. Choosing an agreeable weekend is the hard part. With 4-6 guys, all on summer schedules, this can be more challenging the the river itself. But we did manage to get 4 guys to agree on a weekend in August. Yahoo! River Time-->we're on the way!!

Next we figure number of canoes(4 paddlers= 2 canoes), vehicles, camp, gear, and meals. Once we've settled on the essentials, it is the responsibility of each guy to follow through, just like a paddle stroke.

In every canoe we tie on a bailer. On whitewater, when water gets in the boat, it's time to bail.

What I learned this last trip, was that the word bailer had another meaning. Yep, last minute one of the crew bailed. Down to a crew of three(3 paddlers=1 canoe+ 1 kayak).

Not to worry, we're not up the creek without a paddle, just yet.The three of us scramble for a whitewater kayak. Thanks Andre, that kayak showed us the way down that river, as a threesome. All of us were "in". Back on River Time.

Later on, around the campfire, we all agreed, we sure missed Casey's paddle.

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Bend Ale Trail

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September has arrived and I'm exploring the Bend Ale Trail in Central Oregon. As most of the summer beer festivals wind down, The Ale Trail is OPEN all year long. As a matter of fact, I've wandered yonder, off the trail to a nearby dog park with my dog, Carlos.

Dog gone, Carlos just found his new favorite hang out in Bend Oregon. An oasis of a dog park just off the trail, complete with a brewery-->CRUX Fermentation Project.

Two thirsty guys. Atta Boy!!

WOOF!!