News and Opinion from Sisters, Oregon
News and Opinion from Sisters, Oregon
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Real Soup On the business of being We have a large cat. Inclusive of tail, he is over four feet in length. He has the bearing of a small fluffy horse when he gallops across the clover. He is not especially cattish. He is friendly, for example, and he does not insinuate himself: if he wishes to sit on your lap, then he will bestow himself upon you largely, as an honor you may or may not deserve, but no matter. If you toss him off, he will land with a loud thump and, with the lovely, lordly, looseness of the feline, he will... Full story
Things change. Little everyday pictures Pets go to heaven. Odd moments of silence occur. All the bearded irises suddenly multiply. The old cat catches and delivers to the door a very small, tired field mouse. A woman on horseback gallops straight and fast along the pasture's edge in the late afternoon light. Finally, I have put the birdbath in place on a tall post in amidst the flowers and shrubs and friendly grasses. I have been meaning to do this for weeks. Its first visitor, predictably, skulking up, full of masculine... Full story
I have known three saints in my life. Two of them were dishwashers. Saint number three, in order of meeting, had nothing to do with this subject. Saint number two was a purist-idealist named Marcott, whom my husband and I ran across in a fantastic coincidence while we were roaming through Oregon, searching for a home with good water and clean air. Tired and discouraged, draggy from the west-side rain, we had ducked into a small restaurant in Eugene, ready to put our quest on hold, dry our feet, and return to California.... Full story
Real Soup I have known three saints in my life. Two of them were dishwashers. Saint number three, in order of meeting, had nothing to do with this subject. Saint number two was a purist-idealist named Marcott, whom my husband and I ran across in a fantastic coincidence while we were roaming through Oregon, searching for a home with good water and clean air. Tired and discouraged, draggy from the west-side rain, we had ducked into a small restaurant in Eugene, ready to put our quest on hold, dry our feet, and return to... Full story
Perhaps I have been behaving myself too much lately. My head aches a little and I'm tired. It might be that I am being too nice. Too acquiescing. Overly accommodating. My cheeks are stiff from smiling. Luckily St. Paddy's day approaches and the great remedy of celebration is at hand. Three hundred and sixty-four days of the year, my Irish heritage takes the fall for most of my weaknesses -- I am bossy, I have thick ankles and a wild intolerance of even minute forms of oppression. I tend to quick assertions of opinion, I'm... Full story
The peerless beet. Rotund without an ounce of fat. Loaded with color and minerals, little missionaries of iron and vitamin C, the colorists, the ruddy spades, the bassoons of the vegetable section, the cadence, the red ringed roots of power, drawing their goods efficiently, gracefully, patiently from the earth to our tables. Yet I know people who shun them. Who have never bought one of those vivacious bunches with the roaring green tops still on, freshly dug, banded and brought to the market with bits of authentic dirt still... Full story
When the usual things stop working, when the constellations configure snarls and burdens in your sky, when you and your kindred are weary or sad, when your usual enthusiasms become bland and distant, neglected, useless, colorless, dry, perhaps it behooves you to call on a friend. Someone who knows you. Someone whose voice cheers and comforts you, who laughs easily in your presence, who talks straight to you always, who accepts your quirks and has some interesting ones in exchange. These key relationships have a seed, an... Full story
I learned from my mother the art of getting lost gracefully. She would position my sister in the front seat of our wonderful, teetering A Model Ford and head out for anywhere because my sister had what is known as a sense of direction. I was allowed to loll across the back seat, humming at the sky or to send my piercing stare into the houses, front yards, parked cars, alert and interpreting the human drama as it was revealed according to the predilections of the day. Once I saw a man with no feet planting flowers. He was... Full story
Settlers we are, most of us, seekers of niche, routine, a core of reassuring sameness around which may pivot the rest of real life with its bedlam and asymmetries. Some of us, the unusually punctual perhaps, are more ingrained with habits and customs than others, preferring for example, to lay out a particular breakfast cereal (bran twigs ) at night with not one but two paper napkins ( edges square to the table ' s edge ) covering a certain bowl which has, over the years, proven to be just the right size and weight, with a... Full story
How little in life is predictable. If we do not know the precise initiating action, say the science folk, we cannot, technically, consider a system to be other than chaotic. We proceed, in fact, toward confusion. How true for the household. What an axiom for the weekend outing. A canon, as well, for the weatherman, beset with brides. And what a broad and lovely technical term is this brand of uproar. So warm and friendly toward distractible people. Chaos has no obvious intent. No agenda, as we might say in corporate terms.... Full story
Sisters Area Weather ReportCourtesy of the Sisters Ranger District of the US Forest ServiceFor current weather click here DateSunriseSunsetHighLowPrecip.Jan 14 7:38 4:50 20 0 0.0 Jan 15 7:37 4:51 34 4 0.0 Jan 16 7:37 4:53 34 3 0.0 Jan 17 7:36 4:54 33 24 0.19 Jan 18 7:35 4:55 54 34 0.0 Jan 19 7:35 4:56 53 34 0.0 Jan 20 7:34 4:58 47 33 0.0 Mentally I am prone. On my back with all feet and hands in the air, in an attitude of abjectness and relief as one would if one had just scaled a pivotal peak, or rowed the Pacific with one... Full story
Bustling around the kitchen between tall towers of teenagers, slipping between various witty and congenial males gathered around the kitchen island, lounging against the sink for a little beer and conversation, hovering over the menagerie of cats, preening and newsy, presiding over a brisk telephone, moderating checkers and other debates, the cook at my house must be agile and quick, must have good balance and a firm plan for occasional reference. Usually it means dancing two or so dances at once, making them into a single... Full story
In moments of solitude, when my feet are warm and my stomach is empty, when I have foresworn coffee and kept my temper and the cats have been polite and the children amiable, I allow myself to slip into a quiet reverie about the nature of things. Out of the moment's tableau and into the interior, my appearance changes; it goes down to essences, to the image behind my face, nameless, wordless, slow-moving, reverent, quiet, clear. There is a landscape of low rolling hills all around me, with ripe grasses and a few bushes before... Full story
Aaahh, the perfect medley, the sublime coalition, the peerless improvisation, the feasible feast: the humble potluck. Surely one of the oldest of social phenomena, the casual "bring some and join us" dinner resolves many of the delicate challenges presenting themselves to the intrepid hosts calling a mix of people into their home. Of course many people are fed with less effort and expense than a formal dinner party, but the more tantalizing reason to designate an occasion as a potluck is the invitation to chance. Some of the... Full story
I have buried my husband dozens of times, retrieved my dismembered children from fire, kidnappers, wild horses, dragged them out of lakes and pools and dens of iniquity, and pulled them -- brainless and toothless -- off of baseball diamonds all around the county. I have been eaten by lions, fallen from cliffs, gone both blind and deaf, lost all my hair, been relegated to the poorhouse, and exploded in car wrecks ad nauseam. According to Eudora Welty, one of my personal heroines, this confirms me as an optimist. Firmly rooted... Full story
Dry leaves and petals have collected in the low corners of the bedroom where my houseplants have tidied themselves and carry on overhead. A dome tent has been sitting in full bloom in the living room for three and one half weeks stuffed with animals and bedding and usually children of all descriptions. Enormous white high heels lounge with odd incongruity on top of the outdoor gear. They are perfect for stream wading I'm told; they grip the bank resolutely and look dressy, too. In the midst of this, as emblems to one of my pe... Full story
There are days when I am invisible. This is not a project but a condition, occasionally. Good friends drive past me without waving. Perhaps they don't recognize my car. Old chatting acquaintances turn down the aisle in the market before our eyes meet. They are in a hurry most likely. So am I. People are out when I call them about serious matters. The mail is lifeless. My children might have started off the day saying something like, did you put lemon zest in these pancakes again? in the sort of accusing tone that implies an... Full story
With no particular flair for money management, no accounting books that often see daylight, no schemes or scams, no fixed or clever plans, I stow any excess capital in the pockets of my jackets and coats at random and carry on, reliably forgetting this careless, habitual gesture, losing it altogether in the spritely current of the rest of life. My little treasure is then liberated according to the weather and my color and fashion propensities, leaping back into the arena out of the past, a gift, a surprise. I developed this... Full story
Wrapped in their shiny jackets, streaked with gold, blushing red, wine-pungent, tart or dead sweet, so crisp and sturdy with their tantalizing horse race names piled high in their bins in the markets these afternoons, the new bounty of lovely, fresh picked apples is ready. Surrounded by the glamour fruits of late summer, the common apple is demure. It is the humble representative of virtue and health, faithful all winter, sensibly suited for long storage, resilient in the lunchbox, wildly versatile in the kitchen, easily... Full story
Amongst all the ballyhoo of year's end, year beginning, there are a few reflections roiling around that are worthy of sober consideration. It is, in a way, the planet's birthday; we are, as a species, another year older. Our replacements, more advanced beings, hopefully, are being born every minute while we watch our own legacy forming. The river of life passes another identifiable milestone and, despite the gravity of our earthly problems, we do find ourselves carrying on. Persistence is our temporal nobility. We are, all... Full story
End of day. We look forward to it as we make our way through work and studies and all the in-between things that occupy us. Families reunite, gathering from the four winds, leaving personal spheres to rejoin the nucleus, the hub. If there is a best and worst time of day, I think it is the hour just before dinner, that hour of exquisite irony wherein our needs to meet and restore one another often collide with the reality of fatigue and low blood sugar. Often the members of our little teams are coming in with their landing... Full story
The sky is golden-blue but a disturbing brown scrim of smoke hangs like a veil over the earth. Most of us have warm, comfortable homes, but how many more have no shelter at all this year? Our little community is lively and productive, but we can hear sabres being polished in the distance. The temperature is rising. Despite the somber overtones, joining our neighbors from sea to shining sea in the task of preserving a positive sense of humanity and culture in this troubled world, enjoying a celebration mood, the rapturous smel... Full story
My kitchen has been full. In order to dump cold coffee or to refill glasses with cold water, it has been necessary to sidle to the sink with tiny, mincing excusing steps, arms raised high. Fresh fruit in extravagant quantities spilled out of a long basket on the expanded table. The refrigerator has been crammed with home-made dainties, ready to bake. Extra children have been introduced around and absorbed, put to work along with the regulars tidying, teaching us their tricks, cutting out breadsticks, cookies, candies,... Full story
Intersecting two lines on a map, we locate ourselves. Knotting equal strings forms a strong cord. Authentic response shows us who we are. We pair up, usually, and not just to share the workload or to produce offspring. We search for a mate--most likely in a state of denial--until someone happens along who challenges us sufficiently, who can make us laugh, who is willing to tell us we have spinach in our teeth, who can impress us now and again with, for example, a stirring, in-depth knowledge of classical music, or by their... Full story
There are days when I watch our old cat, playing with a ball, leaping across the kitchen in tall goofy arcs, hind feet kicking up like a kitten's, her blotchy ears perked forward. She is intent, girlish, forgetting herself, noisy and heavy-footed now, but slipping handily into the early flinging energy of her bygone youth. If I sit down, she will soon join me, because she is a social creature with a full agenda. Pushing on me, shedding, kneading, drooling copiously, she has been boss cat around our house for many years.... Full story
