A Trek in the Park: the land of make-believe

It's 4 pm and I'm an hour early and the best spots are already taken.  I squeezed into a grassy patch front row stage left at Woodlawn Park's 2nd annual Trek in the Park, essentially a Star Trek play.  Today's episode: Space Seed.

Let me start by saying *gulp* I'm not exactly a fan of Star Trek.  But I 've always liked Spock's style and was curious, so I went.  This is what I found:

A gal who belts an impressive theme song. 

Spock and Captain Kirk.  Kirk seated in a chair very similar to these.  Other inventive props (enhancement via audience imagination) included a door frame establishing 'the Bridge' and painted retro kitchen chairs carried onstage by the actors.  Teleportation is apparently very simple process requiring standing very still and a request to Scotty to cue shimmering music, y voila arrival to your distant planet.

The scene was festively summer.  In the crowd, some sported homemade Starfleet uniforms, others munched on tamales and pasta salads.  I sat next to McCoy's dad a we chatted about the turn out and  the well trained agility dog running through the park.  Later a roller girl with rainbow-striped tights would climb a tree to get a better seat.   We all came for one purpose— to watch adults pretend they were on a mission in space.  I'm sure we did Mr. Rogers proud.

Oh Canada! Recap

We played Canucks last weekend and drove to visit Eddy's friend Bunmi who recently moved to Vancouver, B.C. from London.

We began in typical roadtrip fashion with a search for McDonald's and a Filet-O-Fish but with the sun setting and no double-arches to be found, we settled for Arby's.

Sadly, even gobs of Horsey Sauce couldn't rescue my limp sandwich

and in a cruel act of imagined maniacal-villian-laughter the Arches greeted us at the next exit. 

We continued northward, bellies protesting, into the sunset to arriving in Vancouver in darkness and an odd familiarity.  We slowed puzzled at a blinking green traffic signal?  After interpreting our convoluted Google map directions we thankfully arrived at Bunmi's.

The next day a ride on the impeccably clean SkyTrain brought us into the heart of the city

to meet the Love Boat and giant horses.

Later Granville Island which like Rhode Island, is not an island at all.

Charming house boats, silly rainbow-hued ferries, and sailboats in da harbour.

I liked Vancouver.  It's a diverse euro-vibe city sandwiched between the mountains and the sea, full of folks that confirmed my assumptions of Canadians as amiable hockey-loving folks.

Other trip highlights included a botched attempt to play at Playland, and long winded debates over pints about the Queen of England, colonization, and the "pussyfooting" that comes with chasing tail.  All and all a lovely time, in a lovely place.

Nearly forgot to mention Vancouver has excellent eats. Here's a shot of #36 curry beef noodle soup at Au Petite, a modest Vietnamese restaurant with a rose-hued walls and a menu to match.
Highly recommended.

Sunday Drive: a picnic, snow, and skunk cabbage the arbiter of spring

Here's a tardy Sunday-drive post, a drive that took us along the Columbia River Gorge in search of a place to picnic.  Unfortunately for us agoraphobes the gorge was crawling with goobers eager for sunshine and picnics of their own so we ate quickly in the company of Steller's jays and high-tailed it towards Mt. Hood.

I took a bunch of photos of the mountain as we approached but yet again with no wide-angle lens at hand, the resulting photos feel comparitively dumb.  I didn't let that stop me from taking photos of Mr. Magestic-Bob-Rossian-Mountain, in fact I'm embracing failure and am determined to amass a collection of inadequate Mt. Hood shots. 

Up top we stopped to trudge in some old snow

and in the boggy snow melt we spotted beacons of alpen spring: skunk cabbage.

For the sake of over emphasis one more shot of the mountain.

Mussels Part Deux

New shellfish licenses in hand Eddy and I headed to the beach for another round of musseling.  A missed turn lead us further north to a new spit of coast.  We stopped near the town of Garibaldi where we sited a few promising rocks.  Tidepoolers were also out gingerly negotiating spillery rocks, recalling my first tide pool encounter.

I was five when Mrs. Masouline's kindergarten class took a fieldtrip to the beach.  I don't remember much beyond the wind and the idea of clambering over rocks to spot a lone anenome felt like a bother. 

Things have brightened, the years have brought a new zeal for tromping, long jaunts, and general messiness thanks for my love of good eats 

and Eddy too.

I'll even sport enormous waders

but only if there are mussels.

Bagby Hot Springs

A year later Eddy and I are again seeking hot water.  Luckily for us, like Montana, Oregon has its own supply of geothermal goodness.  Welcome to Bagby Hotsprings, a well known soak tucked in the Mt. Hood National Forest a 70-mile drive southeast of Portland.   The hike-in takes you on a 1.5 mile stroll through
loamy greenness,

and svelt trees,

over a couple of bridges,

to this:

a bathhouse.  The main structures houses 5 private rooms and an open deck area with more tubs.  Each tub, in dugout canoe fashion, is carved from a single cedar log fitted with wooden plug to allow water to drain out after each use.  Hot spring water is supplied via an ingeniously simple system of gravity fed troughs stoppered with sticks.

Near the railing in the photo below, you can see the a tub of icey spring water scooped buckets at a time to cool the piping 125-135 degree water. 

Up further on the trail is another bathhouse with just one large tub and deck.

We lucked out and had this beauty all to ourselves.

We earned it.
Our last visit began as a whimsical post-midnight spree with hopes to catch Bagby asleep but we sadly we arrived find it overrun by drunken hillbillies – it sucked. 

So this time 'round we relished the privacy and soaked happily.  Merry Spring!

An Urban Iditarod Drive-by

As we headed east on Burnside on Saturday we caught a glimpse of the 9th annual Portland Urban Iditarod, where 100 teams of mushers pushed shopping cart/sleds on a 4-mile pub crawl through town. A couple of mushers in action:

Team Ghostbusters complete with proton packs and a bespectacled Spengler.

Blurry nuns, gilded shopping carts, fish nets and knee pads

Team Centurion

Aw shucks, but shooting from a moving vehicle makes for poor picture taking so that's about all I have of this year's Iditarod.

Earlier in the day we had lunch a Kenny and Zuke's a Jewish deli place downtown. Dee-lish-us.

On the left, I had classic pastrami on rye and Edo had a P.L.T as evidenced by crumbs and a tangy shmear of potato salad. This place had the loveliest burnished blue-black pumpernickel bagels. Problem is, I don't remember ever liking pumper. Maybe next time.

Fieldtrip to The Zoo

Memories of my last zoo visit remain a blur but I do recall a forlorn hippopotamus in cramped cement enclosure and that was enough to keep me away from zoological gardens for awhile. At any rate, Eddy and I needed to collect images for a project we're working on and decided to make a trip of it, so we hit the Oregon Zoo here in town. In comparison to my last zoo visit, this menagerie seemed better funded and well maintained, but having lived in Montana, Land of Big Sky, I've acquired a new perspective of both "nature" and space, leaving exhibits feeling like emphatic dioramas. Now this isn't meant to be a rant against zoos, I understand their educational purpose, it's just an observation namely in the shape of an animated gif. made of a gal-chimp I saw yesterday. She's seated with her back turned to gawkers, snacking on a tomato placed near the viewing glass to entice her into view. In a blatant act of anthropomorphizing, I like to think our chimp was aware of our stares and chose to offer us her best side. Bravo

Belated T-day

Turkey is overrated. I'm sure millions would argue differently but to me it's the poster child for term poultry. Don't get me wrong I love turkey's fowl brethren, duck, pigeony squab, cornish game hens, and the ubiquitous chicken but beside it's iconic presentation turkey just doesn't measure up. So what to do on the day of giving-thanks if tradition doesn't suit?

Go to the beach.
Thanks to an announcement on the radio declaring the lifting of the coastal quarantine for mussel hunting I knew what Eddy and I be doing come Thursday. A night of Internet research revealed hunting spots and videos of shellfish collecting techniques (clamming's next). Printed directions in hand we drove through a rainstorm to the coast to gather our bearded friends. We arrived an hour behind the scheduled low tide suited up and relatively waterproofed. Or so we thought...In the end we were entirely drenched sweaters wet, boots filled with the squish of seawater, triumphant with plastered grins and a bucket of shellfish.

As it turns out collecting these buggers can be treacherous work, negotiating slippery rocks and gambling with mondo-giant waves. At one point we stood collecting behind a boulder when a sneaker wave hit and nearly sucked me out to sea. Luckily our boulder shored me up and I managed to hold onto my mussels. Exhilarating.

We returned home welcoming hot showers and dry clothes later to feast on our quarry and we were thankful.

Old Farts, Sunday Drives, & Demonstrating Near and Far

You should see us on Sundays. We transform into twinkly-eyed geriatric farts complete with snacks, a basket, and public radio; out for a leisurely country drive. Last week took us to Sauvie Island, a bucolic wildlife sanctuary 25 miles north of town where we met some cattle.

It's funny, how prior to living in Montana I would've called these guys cows but the West has taught me a bit of animal husbandry namely, that cow is a gender specific term. And this fellow was certainly not a girl, thus the proud moniker of steer: castrated male.

As we walked along the trail, these wee little frogs hopped into the nearby grasses to avoid being trampled beneath feet. How stinking cute.

This Sunday we headed to the beach. Yes, I said beach. As a native West coaster I've always referred to the combination of sand and ocean as such, but stood corrected upon moving to the other coast, where the term is apparently the shore. Right. At any rate our return to the beach reminded me of Eddy's days in Santa Cruz.*Cue Peaches & Herb* Here he is (unintentionally) doing his version of my favorite Grover lesson Near and Far.



I leave you with this.

Happy Sunday!