Oasis

 It was the type of event that sounded so appealing--free dance performances, bands, and art--wandering around grazing from food trucks. It was a culture fest. We would feel like we were doing something truly fun rather than sitting with FOMO. But we ordered pizza first, and made salad, and
sat in my friend's jewel of a tiny back yard. And started to talk. And just kept talking as the air cooled. As her tiny solar lights began to glow here and there, like fireflies. 

Her wee back yard was an oasis of friendship, comfort, news of old friends and forgotten professors, stories of trips taken and men left behind or picked up along the way. Who needs a culture fest?

Retirement

I tell people I'm retired, and they congratulate me, and then I say I was laid off, and they say they're sorry. Of course, I was laid off at the start of May, and got 14 weeks of severance, enough to hold me until September or October, if I'm careful. And truth be told, I was counting the weeks until mid-September when I was going to retire anyway. 

So why tell people about the layoff? I
guess it means I don't have to fully own the status of being retired--at least not yet, at least not until I've come back from my first big trip in retirement on September 13. And sometimes it feels like owning the status means meeting so many expectations--making every day joyful and meaningful, spending the money I've saved effectively and wisely, making a difference in the world, taking on adventures, having a clean and tidy house. So much.

One of the activities was to write more, and I looked into staring a blog. I didn't imagine this green mailbox would still be here so many years later. I looked at Wordpress, but with the free plan I couldn't figure out how to get a theme. But then this morning, I was playing around with the Google widget, and lo and behold, Google has purchased Blogger and this ancient, rusty green mailbox is STILL here. So be it--here is where i will mail my letters to myself, and perhaps at some point, to others. (By the way, green mailboxes do exist.)

Kitchen Miss Adventure

I am not a skilled cook. So I usually make easy, spartan meals--salads, rice & beans, roast chicken (the store actually makes that), sandwiches, crockpot soup. But occasionally I get an urge to do something more, preferably something healthy. I was inspired by eating with my friends this weekend on their sailboat out on Bear Lake. (The sailboat is another story, but it was lovely being out on the water, and I did the flailing-arms-I'm-halfway-on-the-dock-halfway-in-the-boat thing just once.)

My friends are both on Weight Watchers and becoming vegetarians to boot, so everything we ate was strictly good for us. And for the most part delicious, with the exception of the fat-free cheese in the quesadillas--I think they replaced the fat with polymer. My friend Elizabeth made a particularly tasty black bean and yam filling for tortillas, topped with fat-free sour cream. I wanted more than one, but following their lead, I stopped at just-full-enough.

When I got home tonight I decided I wanted to replicate that supper for myself, partly because I had started the day with a Kuoing Aman from Les Madeleines. If you haven't tried one, you must do it at least once. It's the most delicious pastry on earth--buttery, crunchy, caramelized on the outside and soft on the inside. I was bringing some to my coworkers, but I opened the box and ate mine in the five short blocks from the bakery to the office. To be fair, my health-conscious boss ate hers in about five minutes.

So when I got home, I wanted to eat healthy. I proceeded by my vague memory of what Elizabeth did--sauteeing onions and garlic in one pan, cubing yams to boil in another, smashing up some beans in the sautee pan and adding spices. Since I had run out of black beans, I substituted red and white beans. Then I decided to use tomatoes instead of vegetable broth. When the yams were finished cooking, I decided that rather than leave them cubed as she had (we assembled our own with the beans and cubed yams, etc.), I would just go ahead and mash the yams up with the beans.

I come by this haphazardness honestly. Many days when we would ask mom what was for dinner, she would waggle her spoon around in the air and say, "Oh...a mixture." This could mean either vegetables stir-fried with an ingenious sauce, or leaden grey leftovers stirred together and microwaved. (It wasn't too often the second; my mom was a pretty good cook.) She never attempted to give any of these "mixtures" a specific name, and never attempted a repeat performance. A mixture was a mixture.

When I was done mashing, unfortunately this mixture had the unfortunate look of a large pan of vomit. (I've spared you the photo.) But I was committed now, so I soldiered on and got out the tortillas. Loaded one up, sprinkled it with cheese and some greens, and rolled it up. Just about then my dog was begging for some (bless her), so I was distracted for a minute. And then realized that I had set down the plastic bag of tortillas on one of the burners, turned off but just recently.

Oh well. I took a bite. It was actually quite good. Needed some salt, but doesn't everything? Thanks, mom. Good mixture.

Red Stripe, Blue Moon

The sweat dripped down the cold pint glasses. They had the perfect amount of foam--delicate white bubbles that he wanted to dive into. But first the photo. The world leader, the semi-famous scholar, the bewildered cop. Not the way he wanted to become semi-famous, not the way he wanted to meet his president.

The next morning in a board room in New Jersey, they spread out the proofs. "Was it worth it, boss?" someone asked. "The jammed door, the arrest, the apology?"

"You're kidding, aren't you?" he said. "A hundred times over, it was worth it. The leader of the free world drinks Bud Light. Product placement, baby, product placement."

Hard Times

I'm fortunate to have a job with a very stable employer in the healthcare industry, so I haven't been affected much by the downturn. But as I walk my dog around the neighborhood, I see the signs of hard times everywhere.

The man with the scythe
Next door to our little condo complex is a large lot that used to have an abandoned house -- the neighborhood kids would dare each other to go in its back yard. After the lot finally sold last fall, we were excited to see the bulldozer raze the house and garage (these were no historic beauties) and hear that an assisted living place would be built there. I've always liked oldsters, and figured they would be good neighbors. But then nothing happened. The snow fell on the pile of dirt, drifted into the hole. The neighborhood kids dared themselves to go down "in the pit." This spring, after the weeds had gotten about knee-high, I saw a man on a large riding mower attempting to chew through them. (I lied; he didn't actually have a scythe--but he should have. It probably would have done a better job.) He stopped for a break as I walked by and we talked for a minute. Three guys had invested savings in this project, and then lost their funding for the building. I hope they find another bank or investor soon.

The lawn with the clocks
A bit further down that same block is a house I used to envy--with a gardener's dream yard, beautiful blue tile on the porch, lovely dark stucco. Now, not so much. I'm not sure who bought it, but now there's trash and sometimes seemingly random objects in the yard and a general hangdog look about the place. The other morning as I walked, I heard an odd beeping and wondered whether someone's alarm hadn't been shut off. But instead, it was a clock radio sitting on the lawn, amongst several other old plastic models from the 1970s. Clock radios like cars with fins, with tiny upholstered speakers and round knobs. Actually, the entire yard was filled with stuff. No one was there to take any money, but jigsaw puzzles were stacked in one spot, books lined up on another, a few clothes hung on a thin rope tied between a tree and the fence, and other piles of flotsam and jetsam covered the lawn. It made me sad. But it was even worse when I saw the same sight the next day, with even more jigsaw puzzles this time. And this morning? A tarp covered some of the stuff, and there was a neon posterboard sign on the fence that said "Sorry, no yard sale today" in magic marker. I wonder if the yard sale is perpetual now, so they have to apologize when they take a day off. Hard times.

Couch in the rain
People leave free stuff out by the street a lot more now. You've probably already guessed that I don't live in the most fancy-pants of neighborhoods, so items left out with a free sign are not so unusual. But there have been a lot more lately. A few weeks ago someone left a couch and loveseat out and the rain got to it before anyone else could. The next morning it was soaked, its stuffing hanging out.

Now Leasing
Main Street in Midvale (700 West) is one of the streets I walk, and down from the Maverik and my church there's an apartment complex that was bought a couple of years ago by someone who wanted the Hispanics out of there, apparently. He set rules that forced several friends to move--people who sent their kids to our church and were gracious and friendly despite the language barrier. Stuff like no more than 4 people in a 2-bedroom apartment (which leaves out even 3 young kids sharing a bedroom, or someone sleeping on the couch). He renovated the units a bit, jacked up the rent, and put out flimsy white signs announcing all the benefits of the revamped (and in his mind, rewhitened) development. Washer-Dryer Hookups! New Kitchen! Now Leasing! Remodeled! I don't think he's filled very many of the places. The signs have started looking dingy. He deserves some hard times.

Victory garden
A man on the corner waves at me every morning as he sweeps his sidewalk. He's probably in his late 70s, wears the same overalls every day, and waters his lovely, huge garden in the backyard. An orderly riot of tomatoes, peas, beans. Fruit trees. He's lived through hard times. He doesn't seem surprised or worried. He plants that same garden every year.

Five...No, Seven

I don't suffer from any kind of severe OCD symptoms now, but about 10 years ago I came down with a nasty case of this disorder and had to take meds for awhile. Haven't been bugged by it for a long time. But it creeps up in odd little ways. Here are
five--no, seven--things that aren't so fun about having a slightly OCD brain:

1. Counting. I can't help it...when I do the dishes, I count them. Did 12 dishes last night. Oh, and seven utensils counts as a dish.


2. Special numbers. I love to do things in sevens. Or twelves. Of course, I count things in my head and no one knows but me. (Of course, now YOU know if you're reading this.)


3. Clutter. You'd think with a slightly OCD brain I would have an immaculate house, wouldn't you? Well, you guessed wrong, bub.


4. Tetris. On occasion, I'll get "stuck" doing something, and recently--for a couple of weeks--it was Tetris. I didn't play at work (much), but when I got home I had to play a round of Tetris Friends on facebook, and then I had to play another round, and another one, and another...every time hoping I could stop. One Saturday I played for 3 hours. Thankfully I suck at Tetris and playing more didn't help me improve, so I wasn't stuck in this pattern more than a couple of weeks.


5. Twitter. Now it's twitter. I joined awhile ago (@SherriSLC) because Twitter seemed like the one way to find out what was going on in Iran. Then I signed up to follow healthcare/medical experts (always want to learn what I can about medicine for my job), photographers, Christians, Salt Lake City foodies, funny people, the odd celebrity or two. It's like a constant conversation and it's hard to stop eavesdropping.

I'm going to stop at FIVE. Take that, counting! Ha!

Cabbie Ray

A friend who's had a couple of really bad years decided she had to get out of town, get far away from anyone and everything, for a weekend. She's there now, sitting in a tent in the middle of nowhere. Using a telescope she bought at a pawn shop to look at the stars at night. Her hope is that if she escapes all distraction, all comfort, that she will finally be able to talk with God, feel his presence. I pray that she is safe and that this is happening for her.

She doesn't have a car, and at first she asked me if I could help her find some abandoned dirt road and drive her and her gear out there. I had been worried about this trip ever since she told me about it...she's not in good health, she hasn't camped out, she wanted to go alone, and she didn't even want to take a cell phone. So, since I also didn't want to damage my muffler again on dirt roads (just had a new one installed last week), I said no. I hoped she would find a closer, less extreme way to get alone.

But she called a few days later to say that she had found a cab driver to take her, someone who knew the desert south of Tooele and would help her set up her camp. A cab driver may sound crazy, but she has been taking cabs for decades and this particular cabbie, Ray, has been driving her for over 20 years. He's a good scout.

He picked us up last night after work (my car was load with her camping stuff), loaded everything up in his van, and we took off for the desert. He did find a beautiful and very isolated place, surrounded by junipers, and set up the tent. He also helped us set up the rest of her campsite--fire ring, her little portable john, blowing up her mattress. And then we prayed before we left her.

Ray has a different set of spiritual beliefs than my friend and I do, and I was self-righteously hoping that his theology wouldn't creep in and ruin her weekend. How wrong I was. He spoke words that gave my friend the affirmation and confidence she needed.

On the way back, Ray and I talked about his children, my siblings, how he met his wife, his cabbie adventures, my problems. He said that people open up to cab drivers, tell them things they wouldn't tell anyone else.

Thanks, Ray, for your kindness, gentleness, and for being a good boy scout.