Eating

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Off for a long weekend retreat, planned when I thought a lack of sun would be weighing down on us. Happy to be wrong, we left sunny Portland for sunny Bend.

Mount Hood

Three Fingered Jack

Mount Jefferson

Fishermen on the Deschutes

Warm Springs

Railroad Bridge over the Crooked River at Peter Skene Ogden Viewpoint

Juniper Country

Gotta love a palindrome!

In Bend now, at the Old Mill District

The Hubster’s favorite.

Margarita and super fabulous Relleno at Hola!

We stayed at Brasada Ranch. Lovely and picturesque, it was everything we could have asked for. This was the awe-inspiring view from our room, with me waking early to watch the sun light the Sisters each morning.

South

I have never seen so many Robins! They are VERY keen on juniper berries.

gnarled old juniper

Fake smile and, quite possibly, the best pimento cheese ever at Drake. They have pretty snazzy cocktails, tip-top service, and a bad-ass roasted trout, too.

 

Homeward bound through fog-laden Prineville.

Mount Hood, again – jiggity-jig!

How cute is our little Schmoo? I think that is nick name no. 100 for him, by the way. Funny how that goes.

My favorite four-year-old is now FIVE! It was a fun filled afternoon of picking him up from school (where he is rather handily learning and singing Chinese), choosing and reading books from the library, watching a movie, making pizza, puzzles, and colossal block towers. Squee!

We hosted a cocktail party with some of our best pals, with much imbibing, laughing, eating, and reminiscing after one GIGANTIC glitch. I went to the store to get ice and those last minute items one always seems to need, and on the way home the poor little Mini went kaput. On Powell Boulevard! During rush hour! Thankfully, I was rescued by Kate and Kimberly, two lovely ladies in a Volkswagen with Montana plates (Are you reading? Please let me buy you that beer!). They stopped to help while others zoomed and honked, even though my hazards were madly blinking. Then, the nice TriMet driver instructed a passel of burly teens to push my car to the safety of the Wendy’s parking lot. The cherry on top? Kate and Kimberly loaded the wagon of all my party goods without a second thought and whisked me home. Oh, fantastically marvelous helping hands of the universe, I LOVE YOU!

As for the Mini, it was the transmission, and it could not be salvaged. Apparently it was a problem particular to 2003, and one that we forestalled by babying it and only driving some 55,000 miles. So now, a bit ahead of schedule, we are getting a new Mini, and our mechanic is getting a gently used one in fine condition, save one minor (ahem) detail. It all works out in the end, doesn’t it?

Banana Cardamom Ginger Smoothie

We bought a Vitamix, and it is ON, peeps, ON!

Sometimes I forget what a looker the hubster is.

This photo reminded me in a BIG way.

 Her tights had sparkles on them!

 A million thanks to Veterans and their families, for all you have given, for all you continue to give.

 

Long day, as in the kind one wishes to  s t r e t c h, the body on tip-toe, to see, do, and be more, more, more. My dear friend Rob was in town on business and we had three hours at lunch time, our first stop at Broder and then Roman Candle, two very Portland places, as per his request. The Swedish meatballs and lefse as fabulous as ever, and our adorable server, with his playful winks the cherry on top.

The beautiful pastry is the Kouign Amann (the first word pronounced like queen) and the very last in the case. An elderly woman stepped in front of me in line for a moment to eye it, and I wondered if I could go Seinfeld on her like that episode with the marbled rye. Friends, I love this pastry, and I am glad I didn’t have to find out. It is buttery with a delicate crisp to it, topped with a crunchy layer of sweet and fleur de sel, happiness!

We had just enough time to wander and take photos, as is our nature when together, and so very much fun, too.

I had an hour in between my time with Rob and picking up the hubster for date night, and decided to stop in at Lone Fir Cemetery to pass the time. It is Portland’s oldest, with its first burial dating to 1846.

Picturesque and precisely what I imagine when daydreaming about cemeteries, towering trees and a gentle undulation of the land, with nary a sound to be heard. Squirrels hopped and scurried, lucky to live in this wondrous place of eternal sleep. I shed a tear over more than one stone; the pastor and his missionary wife, ceramic portrait in their Sunday best; the long-time companions taken by AIDS in the nineties, lighthouse showing the way; too many children who failed to live to double-digits; and WHITE, surname of one of my nearest and dearest friends, may his remaining time be  l o n g.

Happy Hour at Park Kitchen, the best salt cod fritters ever with a drink that tasted like chai, and more wandering in the Pearl. Then we headed to Powell’s to buy a book. The hubster made this face when I read a kind of creepy title to him. Of course I laughed until I nearly cried and made him do it again for the sake of the photo. That man is the B E S T.

 

At the lovingly restored Hollywood Theatre to watch Enough Said a week ago this evening. For those not in the know, it was James Gandolfini’s final role, as a divorced father finding love again with Julia Louis Dreyfus. It’s one fantastic fil-um, mostly for the fact that it feels so real. These are flawed characters laid bare, beautiful, and funny, hoping for more than a glimpse of lasting love. See it!

The following day we gamboled around downtown, in eager anticipation of that evening’s show at the Crystal Ballroom. We enjoyed a super supper at Ristorante Roma, a postage stamp of a place lifted straight from twenty year old honeymoon memories, sweet sigh. Sadly no pictures were taken, as we wandered off the street and they squeezed us in between reservations. It was our job to eat, and so we did, the highlight a shaved fennel and orange salad. My gosh, FENNEL!

So that we might linger a bit and try another new-to-us place, we had dessert at Cheryl’s on 12th. For Denverites, it is highly reminiscent of The Market on Larimer, a tad smaller and lacking the patina of age. With cakes, candy, coffee, and deli cases chockablock with every manner of delicious looking food, it is a gem. We chose a Las Vegas Tuxedo cake and steaming lattes and were not disappointed, not at all.

That’s Laura Mvula singing in the second photo, and our initial reason for wanting to see the show. I discovered her this summer (this is the song that really did it for me), singing my praises to just about anyone that would listen. Then, when we looked to see if she would be traveling to our neck of the woods, I was beyond delighted to learn that she would be touring with Iron & Wine! Kismet!

And now, a blog intermission for a “Parent of the Year” award. Not only did this sweet boy get to hear Laura and Sam sing without ear protection at high decibels well past any reasonable bed time, he also got a contact high from the cute kids smoking pot right next to him. Huzzah!

And then there was Sam. Funny and genuine and so marvelously talented, the man blows my mind. He had this terrific rapport with the audience, too, asking us what we’d like to hear, chatting about beards and laziness and life. I think he spied the cute boy, too, because he recommended ears be covered during a song with more than one fuck in it. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said.

Iron & Wine is generally known for a pared down sound, but for his latest album and tour, he went big, complete with this very tall trumpeter and a couple more on the saxophone. He did completely new arrangements to old favorites, too, which was a lot of fun. Gosh, I think I am gushing. It’s what I do when excited.

And then it was good night, and we went home happy.

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