Favorites 6.29.16

Leek scapes: Not landscapes, as my computer keeps correcting me to—leek scapes. They're the stems and flowers of the leek plant. You can roast them in oil until the stalks snap like asparagus and the blooms are crispy like something deep fried and delicious. What then? You pick them up with your hands and eat them.

East Glisan Pizza Lounge: I live in a strange, vacuous neighborhood of nothing but grocery stores, so I hold any half-way decent restaurant near my house in high regard. This new pizza spot on Glisan holds up, though. It's a humble place full of beautiful pizza. They're friendly there, an important box to check in my book. And, oh, hey, they hand-make their vegan fennel sausage (!!!).

Moby Grape, "I Am Not Willing": I don't know anything about this band. Do you? What happened was, this song came on Jesse's stereo last Tuesday while a few of us skated the mini ramp. Time slowed down. Everyone relaxed. Nostalgia blew in on the breeze. It was like we were in a scene from a movie, the really good scene—the one where the music kicks in and you know that everything's gonna be alright.

Holiday Observances

Like ghosts—there to be observed or ignored—several important holidays passed through our world in the last few days.

The first was the summer solstice, which marks the longest day of the year and the warm season emerging. A lovely passage. On this day there was, cosmically, a ripe full moon, just as ripe as the many ears of corn that showed up to my house on summer-solstice eve, brought for the grill by all my friends—along with other good fare like bean salad and French onion dip—to celebrate the day and the season.

The second was Go Skateboarding Day. I'm not exactly sure what the origin of this holiday is—maybe just a marketing ploy cooked up by some companies? Still, the intention is nice, and meaning is all I try take away from any holiday, anyway. Last year, Go Skate Day was action packed, but this year, what I did was work all day and then skate one of my favorite ramps in the late sunshine. A few buds. Some beers. It was, as they say, mellow.

Of course, we don't need holidays to eat, drink and do special stuff—life is reason enough. But then again, there's something to be said for ritual and how it grounds you and keeps you present. That's just my opinion, mind you.

*This was not a make, but life ain't all makes, now is it?

Fearless Nothing

Here I sit, on the verge of a couple months' good, hard work. I'll be busy! Busy is good. Harness all that kinetic energy ... But. Right now, while things are normal, I like right now, too.

Basically, I'm trying to get profoundly good at resting, so that when the whirlwind hits, I can be profoundly good at that, too. Make sense? I don't know. It's harder than it should be to find the balance between the doing and the not doing. This weekend I dialed it in, though.

There was skateboarding, there was wandering in the woods, there was hang time in the hammock, there was the stacking of many rocks and the creation of a giant inferno, there was camp wine and camp coffee, there was, in fact, tent camping.

Rest-wise, though, I'm most proud of Sunday afternoon, during which we came home and did nothing. We napped! Also, we basked like cats on the sunny deck, staring up into the void of blue—which, after a few minutes, revealed itself not to be a void at all, but instead a lively expanse of bugs and cottonwood fluff and one lost lone balloon flashing the sunlight back down at us from impossibly high.

I can't get the hang of meditating, but this felt a whole lot like that. I hope to stick this moment in my cap of fine, pure moments and maybe pull it out next month when I'm stressed and really freaking need it.

3 Things: Heat-Wave & Family Themed

100 Degrees: A wave of 100-degree weather came to visit at the same time as my family. Being an Oregonian, I do not possess air conditioning. Being a consummate Portland tour guide, my pride was deeply hurt that my guests were miserable due to the heat. We bickered, sweated, and generally annoyed each other into exhaustion. Many of the activities I'd planned were suddenly a no go. I was stressed. In my mind, things were headed to disastersville—but my big sister talked me down. The weather is the weather and there's nothing to be done about it. Also? The Platonic ideal of a family visit does not need to be achieved. All we really need to do is go sit on a semi-decent beach somewhere—swimming as necessary. And that's what we did.

Berry picking: The heat eventually broke and it was beautifully cool. Thus, we went berry picking on Sauvie Island. What happened was, we wandered around a farm, up and down rows hanging heavy with fruit. Yellow raspberries. Cohos. Tulameens. Early blueberries. Etc. Only about 45% of the berries picked went into the box instead of our mouths. How is this a profit-making business?! We wondered allowed. A few hours later with sunburnt necks and tired feet, we realized—oh, we're doing their work for them! I get it nowwwww.

Pream Pizza: I wanted to bring my out-of-towners somewhere "Portland," so we descended upon a baroque pizza place that started as a hip-hop pop up inside a fancy charcuterie joint. Are you following? This is Portland, guys. Aaaanyway, the menu was on the fancy tip, but pretenses aside, the cooks accommodated our crowd of vegans and picky tweens alike. Once all was said and done, we were full from eating lots of good food, and that's a happy way to be.

Memorial Day Camp Out

What is it about camping? You come home feeling exhausted but refreshed, dirty but clean. Existentially clean, maybe? I dunno.

Anyway, I went camping and swimming in the wilds of Oregon this weekend. "Swimming" is a strong term. I dove into the glacial river water and then immediately scrambled back to shore. The sun was hot by day, and the fire was hot by night. There was zero cell service anywhere. Life, for a minute there, was pretty dialed in.

I believe in the alchemy of a campsite—the fire, with its pine-scented smoke; the tent, with its blustery-thin walls (which keep out the rain but not, thankfully, the sound of babbling brooks!); the dirt; the sunset; the sooty rocks you toast your bagels on; all the pure clean time spent under the great, wide sky. Put together, there's a magic to this stuff that's, well, the province of summer.

The Clackamas River Valley is a site to behold.

Here's to chasing sticks around your own private swimming hole.

Dudes bein' dudes.

As a kid, one of my favorite things about swimming was when I got out of the water all shivery, and then my mommy wrapped me in a big ol' warm towel and dried me off.