My Dirty Little Secret

Yes, I suspect we all have dirty little secrets; mine is about what I watch on TV. I'd love to say that I only watch PBS - all their wonderful series and their thoughtful news programs but, alas, it is not true. Although I do watch them occasionally, the shows I never miss NO MATTER WHAT are (here goes) Survivor, Project Runway and So You Think You Can Dance. The last is the newest on my list. My cousin Pattie got me interested. I had told her I watched Dancing With The Stars. She suggested I try SYTYCD. One viewing and I was hooked. I recognize that in many areas of modern culture I am completely out of it and this is certainly the case when it comes to modern dance - but no more. I am now completely in it, right there, on top of what is happening and am thrilled when these amazing young people throw themselves all over the dance floor in the most incredible moves.

This past season, here at the OFH (Old Folks Home), I was having lunch with a new friend, Jackie, when she asked about my favorite TV fare. When I sheepishly admitted to my trilogy, she sighed with contentment, "Isn't So You Think You Can Dance wonderful?" And thus a friendship was solidified. We now watch it together.

Each week I happily agreed with or vehemently denounced the voting public who had decided which dancer was eliminated and I quickly chose favorites. Last season it was Melanie, this time Jasmine. I groaned when Jasmine didn't win but at least she came in second. As the season drew to a close, each episode would include ads for the upcoming tour of the 10 finalists (the tour commenced right after the season ended and the winners had been announced). I am not sure which one of us first said, "Why don't we go?" I went home and did the research - the closest show was in Seattle, a mere 3 hours away. Within hours we had tickets, a hotel (thank you, Groupon) and train tickets.

The show was last Tuesday and what stunned me is that, right before God and the public, I turned into a groupie. No one was more surprised than I was. Me? At age 65? But when Jasmine and Aaron and Amy and Fikshun and the others ran down the aisles I was up on my feet waving and, yes, I admit, screaming a bit. Thankfully our seats were not next to each other (we went online way too late) so I couldn't embarrass Jackie with my antics. Strangers surrounded me at the Paramount Theater so I let my enthusiasm rip. I whooped and hollered when they preformed favorite dances from the past season, groaned when intermission arrived, shot up to applaud at the end hoping for an encore (no, drat!). I was in heaven the entire show. It could not have been more fun or more satisfying.

The whole trip was lovely - I do like train rides, especially through scenic areas. Our hotel was in a great location, central to where we wanted to go (we could walk to the theater, just around the corner) and we enjoyed the sights of Seattle. We wandered for 90 minutes in my favorite map store, Metzker's, strolled through Pike Place Market, had a wonderful fish lunch and found some Christmas gifts for friends and my grandsons. What more could one ask?

It was a quick trip - up Monday morning, home Wednesday afternoon, but so much fun. Now we are wondering if we should escalate our groupie-ness and try for the actual show next season? LA isn't that far - we could do it. But, ssshhhh, I am trying to keep this addiction on the QT. I have a reputation to maintain. Yeah, right.

Exploring Oregon FINALLY

I have not done well touring my new home state. Although I now know Portland fairly well I can't say the same for the rest of the state. In fact it is rather pathetic how little I have seen. Well, to give me some credit, I visited bits and pieces prior to moving here but not so much since my permanent arrival.

One of my earliest visits was in 1988, I think. We took an overnight train from Salinas. I know it was St Patrick's Day because I dyed the mayonnaise green for the sandwiches I packed for the overnight train trip. What I remember most of that one-week trip is not the beautiful Oregon coast we toured once we arrived but that train ride north. Let's see, Gary was using a walker for his MS, Steph had a brace on her leg from slipping in the kitchen, Lee had a cast on his arm from a skateboard incident - so I was the only one without some medical device attached to my body and predicted that anyone watching us awkwardly board the train thought, "Probably a car accident. I bet she was driving. She was probably drunk - they are always the ones who don't get hurt."

At one point Lee fell and thought he re-broke his arm inside the cast. I called the conductor who got to make the classic call over the P.A. , "Is there a doctor on the train?" About 10 minutes later a scruffy, taciturn man appeared and mumbled, "Has anyone shown up?" When I asked if he was a doctor, he didn't answer, just looked unblinkingly at me. I decided not to push it, grateful that anyone stopped by. He examined Lee's arm, cut back the cast a bit around his wrist, told him to quit running on the train (clever man to figure out the probable cause of the incident) and then quietly melted away. I still have no idea who or what he was.

On later trips I saw the Columbia River Gorge, the area surrounding Hood River, Crater Lake and Mt Hood.  I have also been up and down Highway 5 between California and Seattle countless times so know the rest stops and Mc Donald's restrooms on that corridor. And in September my sister-in-law Lynne and her husband took me to see Mt. St Helens, 33 years after its volcanic eruption. It filled me with awe to see the extent of the damage still visible and the areas of regrowth - but that is in Washington, not Oregon. My knowledge of Oregon is so bad that I have not even made it 6 miles south of where I currently live to visit the museum in Oregon City that marks the end of the Oregon Trail. Really? A former U.S. history teacher? All of 6 miles?

I made my first actual planned foray when my friend Emily visited last September. We drove out to Astoria and visited the area where Lewis and Clark spent their first winter on the coast - but that is it. Well, that is until my friend Mary Lou and I spent a weekend in mid-October exploring a portion of central Oregon new to me - and I could not have had a better guide. Mary Lou's father owned and operated the store on the Warm Springs Indian Reservation, maybe 100 miles east of Portland, over the Cascades. She lived and went to school there until she was in third grade. We spent the weekend leisurely exploring her past with no fixed plans, no agenda and credit cards to cover any costs that arose - the perfect way to travel.

Our first stop was Camp Namanu, the Camp Fire Girls camp where Mary Lou was director in her twenties. On this day most buildings were closed for the winter.

I love this view of a cabin over the bridge at the end of the lane.

Canoes put away for the winter

Another classic camp structure

Next we stopped to look at the steepest crossing on the Oregon Trail. I took a photo but, remember, it was me with my phone camera and even I have some pride and won't include it because you cannot tell that this portion of trail went straight up the side of a mountain. To look up at the drop from below and imagine those brave/crazy pioneers lashing conestoga wagons then lowering them, one by one, down this incredibly steep grade - well it makes me wonder how many wives were still speaking to their husbands once they got through the Great Plains, over the Rockies and then down this last drop into Oregon Territory? I could still hear them muttering "What were you THINKING taking us on this God-forsaken-trip?"

Then over the mountain and down into the Warm Spring Indian Reservation and I was shocked by the geography. I expected dry, desolate high desert but no, we plunged into a verdant northwest forest. We spied a dirt road going off to the right and decided to take it. Mary Lou thought it might end at the area where she grew up.

Maybe not our smartest idea. As we drove deeper into the forest, the path grew more rugged. After several miles we came to a stop before a hand-lettered sign "Bridge Down" and a gate that blocked further access. There was no choice other than to ease the car around - not a 3-point but maybe a 7-point turn -  and then try to find our way back out. We had not thought to made notes of "first a right, then a left, then another left" as we drove into the forest. At some point I thought, "Hmmmm, we don't have extra water or food, our cell phones don't work and there is no traffic on these dirt roads. What if the car breaks down?" We eventually made it out, a paved highway never looked so good, and then I saw the notice on my map, "Entry prohibited to non residents of the Reservation." Oops. Would it count that Mary Lou, white as can be, grew up on the reservation many moons ago? She was a former resident, yes?

But then, once again, the geography suddenly changed and I found it hard to believe I was still in Oregon. Gone was the rain-drenched Willamette Valley that I know. Here was the dry side of the mountain and it was gorgeous. So gorgeous that even my photography skills couldn't screw up.

Look at the colors - amazing. This is in Oregon. Who knew???

An abandoned church

An abandoned house near the abandoned church.

The Oregon equivalent of sage brush - Rabbit Weed

By this time we were hungry and stopped, where else on a reservation, but at the casino. It was the original casino that has been replaced by a newer one down the road a bit. This building is now a conference center and hotel - with a restaurant.  I had never had a bison burger or fried Indian bread - both delicious.

Then we drove to the area of the reservation where Mary Lou had grown up. Her house is no longer there but the Indian school and her father's store were still standing although the school was boarded up and it looks like her father's store is soon to be torn down.

The old Indian school.

Her father's store.  She remembers Indians riding up on horseback
 then tossing their reins over a post in front.

We toured the local small Indian museum (excellent) then drove to the neighborhood where she moved in the third grade, not that many miles but a world away from the reservation, right on the Deschutes River.

By this time we were tired and found a motel in Madras to spend the night. The next morning I was to learn more about the diversity of Oregon. We drove about 40 miles south of Madras (to those who know Oregon we were a bit north of Bend) to Smith Rock. I was speechless - and it takes a lot to do that to me.

Yes, I took these photos with my phone.  Even I was amazed at how they turned out.
Nothing can mess up the glory of this land,  filled with rock climbers and hikers. 

We shopped in Bend, drove up the mountain to have lunch in Sisters (and yes, friend Barbara deep in Kazakhstan, I thought of you), meandered through the mountains taking interesting roads and lanes as we found them and then, finally, it was time to head home. But even then Oregon surprised me.

Yes it snowed!

What a two-day trip - lush Willamette Valley, verdant forest, dry high desert, snow in the mountains  - all in Oregon. I have so much more to see. Now I am committed!

Autumn is Here

I am an official HAM!!! Yes, I know, many would suggest that, regardless of my new FCC status, I have always been a ham but this is KG7GNS reporting. Or, in ham speak, "Kilo Golf 7 Golf November Sierra." I did it! 92% on the test and quite proud.

I took the test on Sunday, the day after participating in the 3 hour SET (Simulated Emergency Test) conducted in Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Nevada and Northern California and was quite impressed by the emergency procedure. After my initial cavalier attitude about the importance of ham radio in this age of computers, I saw its worth in action. Hams worked with county governments and emergency agencies in all 5 states. We were asked, here at the OFH (Old Folks Home), to monitor 3 frequencies. The nickname of the SET? Hack Attack. The scenario? A major terrorist attack on the internet has shut it down with resulting difficulties (is that a nice word to describe the possible chaos?). For the exercise we could not use domestic power but only batteries, etc. Who could we hear? Who could we contact? Could we pass messages on?

In our little room up on the 6th floor of the building 12 of us gathered (3 observers from amateur emergency groups plus 9 residents). My role was to copy any messages received on one of the frequencies. I couldn't fully participate because I was not yet FCC-qualified but I did play my very minor role to the hilt. My frequency received stations within maybe 50 miles; the folks across the room were listening in on lower frequencies that could monitor stations in all 5 states. The most amusing moment was when the door flew open for a person from the kitchen staff who rolled in a cart filled with hot coffee and warm cookies. One of the observers mentioned it on the air, how delicious they were, when a Ham up on Mt Hood, begged him to say no more. He said he was cold, standing in snow with no warm coffee and groaned dramatically, "Please, please don't talk about it!" We laughed with him and commiserated (in our nice warm room). By the end of the exercise I had a much better understanding, and respect, of the role amateur radio can play in an emergency. In reality, if an emergency happened, I suspect folks from local governments or agencies might take over our station because we have the highest antenna in the county.

Autumn has been lovely. Halloween here at the OFH? I went as an Egyptian, wearing the gallibaya I bought in Aswan. Of course I couldn't remember how to tie the Arab head dress so went online (You Tube) and watched a demonstration 6 times at a site called Just Muslim before I had it figured out. At dinner that night someone pointed out that the NSA has probably put me on the No Fly list given the combination of 6 visits to Just Muslim AND a new radio license. Will find out when I try to fly to California for Thanksgiving!

Front View of my head dress

Look in the mirror - I did a good job!

The leaves are spectacular!  We had a dry summer and a fairly dry September so the leaves weren't in soggy piles on the ground but stayed on trees and turned brilliant colors. Now, remember this is me photographing with my phone so they are not good but you get the idea:

This is at the OFH, with the river beyond.

On the way to Stephanie's house

My rose garden? Tomorrow I cut off the last blooms. I have been madly weeding to get the beds ready for winter. At this point I have two patches, next to each other, with a total of 19 rose bushes. I look forward to following my plants for the next year's cycle. I think not many are heavily scented - and I want a few of those - so I may have some pulled up and pick replacements. Luckily my cousin Pattie is an expert and can help me find the right ones.

These are some of the blooms from my plants - but from September, not this month.

The grandsons? Perfection, of course. Finn is a bit late in crawling which pleases me no end. He is now starting to either scoot backwards or lean way forward so that he goes onto his hands and knees. Crawling is imminent. Wesley did the same and then was one of the first of his group to walk so suspect the same might be happening here. Therefore I am overindulging in rocking Finn, putting him on my lap to play Patty Cake, or put a blanket over his face for Peek-a-Boo. I suspect he will be crawling next week and then it is ALL OVER. He will start demanding to be put down so that he can explore his new world. DRAT!!! Baby days are fleeting and, quite frankly, I can't stand that this phase is ending. Luckily I know that future days are delightful as well but oh those baby days!

I have been working, working, working on a project that is 2 years late in completion but PHEW it is done and in the mail this afternoon. That means I can get back to writing and have much more to share - so get ready.