Skip to main content

Barack rocks!

Ron has a cold. The poor guy is miserable. This his morning, he called in sick - to himself, of course - and chose to stay in bed. Abby and I have taken over his office. We're blogging, getting chin scratches and watching our local morning show rather than streaming stock prices and CNBC. Abby sits on the desk blocking about half my view of the screen. I don't mind. He's a sweet boy.

So it seems the local boy will be democratic nominee for president. He's over-the-top popular here, and there are plenty of testimonials from people who say they always knew he was destined for greatness. I wonder if he speaks any pidgin. Anybody born and raised here should. It would be totally cool if, instead of addressing a crowd as "fellow Americans," he would come out with an enthusiastic, "Howzit! How you stay? Da polls goin' be choke fo vote da local boy, yeah?"

I've been called in to work a bunch more hours at the winery this week and next and I'm not all that happy about it. As fun as it is most of the time, after two days in a row I'm pretty sick of giving the shpeel. Or is that schpeal? Schpeil? Ah, found it. It's from Yiddish. Spelled schpeel or schpiel. Oy vey!

Speaking of spelling, did you catch the Scripps' National Spelling Bee this week? Talk about high drama. I think it's more exciting than the Superbowl. Seriously.

It's day two in a row of rain. Of course, that's nothing here. No worries yet. Still, the long grass must wait now to get mowed. With no sun, however, it should grow more slowly.

A hui hou. Aloha
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mom

This is my beautiful mom. She died last Sunday. For those who knew her, my heart breaks with you. For those who did not, here's an introduction to the best confidante, role model and mother a girl could hope for in life. This is the obituary I'd planned to submit to the local paper, but have opted instead to publish here. Obituary: Beverly Todd Bev -- my mom -- was a longtime caregiver, advocate, and dear friend to countless elderly in South Salem. Hers was a kind and generous spirit. She devoted much of her life to the welfare of others, giving wholly of herself and doing so always with great affection and humor. She was born Beverly Marie Steinberger in Silverton, July 23, 1938, the first child and only daughter of Art and Marie Steinberger. Her brothers called her Bevvy Buns, a nickname she grew fond of and wore proudly within the family circle as an adult. Bev attended St. Paul’s Elementary School in Silverton, Silverton High School and Marylhurst Co...
2 comments
Read more

Back at it

It's been some time since I've written. My mom died in February, and I haven't had the gumption to write much, other than a couple of feature stories for the paper and the occasional pithy email to a friend. Tonight, sitting in my favorite burger joint with a pile of fries in front of me, I dunk them into a deep pool of ketchup mixed with a hot sauce. That's how Mom liked 'em. My burger? The Spicy Hawaiian, a nod to my 808 connections. It's a brilliant combination of peppers and pineapple, a favorite on the Power Stop menu. I'm sure she'd have loved it, too. There's a bubbly beer with a lime in it. That's not a homage to anything. I just like beer. These past months, I've done little but work, search and apply for jobs. Two rejection letters have landed in my email this week. Search-and-apply has become a futile obsession. It's time for a break, at least until I hear back from all those applications still floating around out there. I am...
Post a Comment
Read more

Small town observations

Every day at noon, a siren blares from atop the city government building in Gunnison. Each time I hear it, I want to shout, “Yabba dabba doo!” even though it’s nowhere near happy hour. I’ve blurted this once or twice, only to elicit blank stares in response. Am I that old? Doesn’t anyone remember the The Flintstones? I hear that horn and imagine Fred sliding down the long neck of his gravel-quarry dino-dozer (which, thanks to Jurassic Park and the miracle of Google we all recognize now as riojasaurus). Quitting time! Fred flees, his fleet feet slapping toward a rack o’ ribs and a night of good times with Wilma, Barney, Betty and Dino. That’s Dino the dino, pronounced Deeno the dyno. Think that’s delusional? Another day, walking downtown near the source of the noontime wale, it struck me, a revelation it was, that the ramp up to full blast sounds just like the introduction to Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, only this is a mega-air-raid, civil-defense siren solo rather than a clarinet, whic...
3 comments
Read more