Stephanie says

I live in a Rustic Gothic house built between 1904 and 1906; records conflict. The ceilings, a lofty 10 ft. high, are wide-planked red oak; the floors oak; and the walls are thick, thick knotty pine logged from the once vast pine forests of Central Oregon. It’s a dark house. Those wood surfaces and predominantly black furniture create a lodge-like atmosphere; it’s marvelously cozy to stretch out on the couch in front of a roaring fire with a box of bonbons and a low-brow mystery, (my plan for New Year’s Eve.) Gray and green are the colors on view here at the edge of the Oregon Coast Range. Glowering rainclouds dimming the sky float away for a moment of breathtaking splendor of vibrant green Douglas fir forests. Meanwhile back in my house, it is consistently dark or dusk. Porches on two sides keep the house cool in summer but are another factor that contributes to the winter gloaming inside. I’m considering painting those knotty pine walls. I’m an avid viewer of “Thi...

These are a Christmas favorite, a very delicate cookie that melts on the tongue.  This is an adaption from Martha Stewart using almonds and apricot jam rather than pecans and raspberry jam.  The combination of almonds and apricot is sublime.  I broke out the last jar of apricot jam, my favorite in the whole wide world for its intense apricot bite.  Makes 5 Dozen 1 1/2 cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter 1 cup packed light brown sugar 2 large eggs, separated 2 teaspoons vanilla extract 1/2 teaspoon salt 2 2/3 cups sifted all-purpose flour 2 cups finely chopped almonds 1 cup apricot jam - use the best you can find Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Line baking sheets with parchment paper. Cream the butter and sugar.  Beat in the egg yolks, vanilla, and salt, then the flour.  Shape dough into 1-inch balls.  (I refrigerated the dough overnight) Brush each dough ball with beaten egg whites and then roll in the chopped almonds and place 2 t...

Yeah, I’m an admitted foodie. Good food anyway. This poem written in 3rd grade affirms a lifetime love of bacon. If there’d been a second verse it surely would have addressed the tantalizing smell of cooking bacon. Bacon in the frying pan Turning to a golden tan Crisply singing its own song Till it’s picked up by the tongs. Bacon with caramelized onions and garlic is gustatory heaven. Umm umm umm. Here’s the link for the recipe I followed with a few modifications. I upped the bacon to 4 lbs. because it was on-hand, and substituted blackberry vinegar from last season’s harvest. Perhaps there will be a nuance of berry flavor in the final product. http://tastykitchen.com/blog/2012/07/bacon-jam-ooh-mommy/ I’ll pressure-can the jars for gift giving (for a lucky few.) Visualize a thick slice of very good bread, spread with bacon jam, topped with a poached egg. Hollandaise anyone? Yield:  8 half pints

G. Willow Wilson 431 pages This is a tale of Alif whose brilliance in computer hacking attracts the notice of a totalitarian Muslim government determined to capture and/or kill him. Wilson weaves a fast paced story around cultural mores, gender roles, modern technology, unseen worlds, and fabulous folklore creatures within the framework of a thoughtful exploration of Muslim beliefs. Sound somber? It’s not. It was an enjoyable,action-packed adventure that I read in two days. I love it when I find a book I just can’t put down. A definite thumbs up from this audience.

In an act of genius computering I installed my printer wirelessly just now. This printers been tethered to my laptop for years due to my reluctance to first find the manual, and then follow install directions. I’d planned to work on a photo archival project, but suddenly it was absolutely necessary to have that wireless printer connection. Not that I’m printing any images. But I could if I wanted. Wirelessly. Segueing way out there:  Image is an actual roadsign in New Mexico.  I so love it.

After reading about the healthful benefits of eating sprouts I decided to incorporate some into my diet.   Buckwheat was on hand and therefor my sprout of choice.   The process:   soak some seeds for a few hours, rinse and drain, then rinse and drain, rinse and drain some more a few times daily until desired sprouting size is achieved.   Couldn’t be simpler.     I followed the proscribed method – and nothing.   The seeds didn’t swell; there was no sign of little green shoots.   I kept at it for a few more days.   Still nothing.   I figured the seeds must be too old and tossed the little buggers.   A couple days later I happened across my stash of buckwheat seeds - in the fruit bowl. The seeds I’d used were from the spice drawer.   Weird.   Then it clicked.   I'd used black pepper berries in error.   Obviously wasn't wearing my glasses – I discern a pattern here – maybe I should bow to the in...

Hot damn, that's a beautiful car.  I've got a passion for English sportscars.  Wish I still owned this baby.  Photo:  Eastern Oregon camping trip circa 1973. Yes, I'm photo archieving - boxes and boxes of them.

(Click on photos to enlarge)                                                                                   Grand Canyon - brutally cold day, my favorite part was sipping hot chocolate... Acoma Pueblo - still occupied - our guide gave a colorful tour.  An egalitarian society with property handed down through the youngest daughter - loved that! Hiked down from the top - the pueblo sits at 7000 ft. - hand holds carved in the rock - it was envigorating - and left me with sore quads.    Truly beautiful country which left me wanting to see more.  Get...

I dated this guy; let’s just call him Jim2, for a couple years when we decided to move in together. We’d bought a seven-acre place with an old manufactured home (yeah, a trailer) as a supposed investment, but couldn’t score dependable renters worth a damn. So we decided to move in ourselves. The place was an eyesore but spacious enough for two people, the fine view of snowcapped Cascade mountain range, Bachelor to Hood, its saving grace. Built in 1976, plastic was hot in the mfg home market. The bathrooms had plastic tub and shower surrounds, molded faux-marbled scallops; picture the scallop shell in Botticelli’s “Venus Rising” and you’ll get the visual. I kept expecting an appearance by King Neptune, trident in hand. It was also reminiscent of 1960s hedonistic San Francisco public baths scene, at least in my imagination. Manufactured in two parts, a connecting beam, covered in Naugahyde, ran the length which I promptly dubbed “fine Corinthian leather,” in keeping with the Grecian...

By The Associated Press 8:33 p.m., March 21, 2012 CHEMULT, Ore. — An Amtrak spokeswoman says a train bound from Los Angeles to Seattle hit a tree lying across the tracks in southern Oregon's stormy Cascade Mountains, triggering a mudslide that derailed the baggage car and stalled the 246 passengers for hours. My daughter and BFF each rode the rails yesterday on behemoth double-decker trains: Ty boarded the Starlight in San Francisco headed north, due in Eugene at 13:45; Melissa in Seattle headed south, due in Eugene at 17:30, (this travel coinciding with an abnormally 25-hr long void of the moon. Just saying…) A spring storm debilitated Eugene dumping 7 inches of snow; school and business closures, snowplows out in force, stalled vehicles closing I5 off-ramps, downed power lines. Snow day! By day’s end, a mood of frivolity prevailed throughout town; kids sledded, flurries of snowballs whizzed past, an impressive number and array of snowmen stood sentry in front yards of...

Yes, I do have strange dreams.  Here is a visual for this particularly odd one.  A witch levitating a sluice (for invisible fish) while being observed by cheerfully colored aliens.  Open to any interpretation!

Hey, I'm into dessert... The rider on the left controls the steering wheel.  I rode on the right and it was strange having a non-functional steering wheel. There are beautifully made children's clothes.  Sweet. 

I really am going to write something!  I have a wealth of material but am still recovering from jet lag...  I love Spain!

I installed a “Dog Watch” electronic fence after the March 2011 wind storm fell a 100’ Douglas fir tree down my property line and wiped out the side yard fence in its path. I created a dog-free zone in the front yard to curtail Moose’s habit of lolling in the planting beds playing havoc with flowers and Rosie’s annoying pastime of standing on the porch top rail and barking at passersby. This worked well for nearly a year. Until one day I came home to find Mr. Moose hanging out front. Rosie, who I suspect is smarter or possibly more sensitive to pain, was still in the backyard. Good girl. I went to great lengths searching the boundaries to see if wires were too close together, thereby making a void zone, which I suspected my tenacious big dog of finding. Bear in mind that I personally installed this system so presumably I know how it functions. Presumably… After a couple weeks of Moose greeting me from the front porch I had an “Ah ha” moment (this is embarrassing to admit) and ...

Yellowstone Park Dark of winter, the perfect time to sort through a multitude of cardboard boxes filled with three generations’ photo collections. Treasured finds surface during this process, i.e., this giant postcard from our 1958 Yellowstone Park vacation. The Thompson and Reynolds families motored off on a madcap road trip, a 2,000 plus mile trek across Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, back through Idaho, through Eastern Oregon, to Sitkum, (just about 40 miles shy of the Pacific Ocean,) us in the family station wagon, the Reynolds sedan towing a small camper. Four parents and five children (six year old me, Michael eight, Susie nine, Joe 11, Charmagne 14,) were in on the adventure. Mom mostly drove while Dad played guitar and we all sang any song that came to mind. Whenever the parents’ stamina wilted, Michael and I sang our favorite, “This is the story of 26 men who road the Arizona territory. Ride on, ride on, ride on.” Ride on Ride on Ride on Ride on ...

Lo, 30 years ago: Tuesday 1/5/1982 dawned predictably gray and overcast with the occasional downpour in Salem. The world was smack in the middle of a recession, work scarce, and Jim was home. At 38 weeks along, I was ponderously pregnant, a veritable earth goddess of fecund amplitude, childbirth (please, please) imminent. Tomato soup and sticky cheese for lunch then time for “Perry Mason.” I went to pee during a commercial, (probably at every commercial break by then,) but this time it was an unending stream. An absolute novice at this pregnancy stuff, I thought “I wonder if my water just broke?” It seemed too convenient to have that occur when I’m on the toilet, in the middle of the day. But then again, I’d had the textbook case of an ideal pregnancy, a picture of glowing good health. Unscathed by morning sickness I had a few nauseous moments, in particular when a jellyfish flotilla washed onto the Manzanita shore. Living at the coast at that juncture, I habitually walked the do...