I had my oatmeal this morning, with blueberries and a glass of orange juice, which my father Papa Bob, says is very good for my heart and cholesterol. Then I heard Fireman Al on the radio talking about the same heart healthy things. Fireman Al's Safety Talk on KHNS helped to save my life. He is the one who reminded me, just the week before I was run over by a truck, to keep my head in an emergency. Al said to tell someone specific to call 911, and tell them what to say.
Heather Lende's blog
I lunched with the ladies at Mosey's Mexican Cantina in the Fort yesterday, there were nine of us, between about 40 and about 80, and we sat outside in the sun at the picnic table in the garden by the dahlias and the last of the summer's bolting lettuce, overlooking the dock and Portage Cove. We could smell fall- there were high-bush cranberries in the bushes nearby- and see it, there was fresh dusting of snow across the inlet on the very top of Santa Claus Mountain, but the sun was so warm we didn't need jackets.
I missed the news about Alaskans eating locally for a week, so I'm trying it now. I missed the unplug the TV week too, mainly because I don't watch much TV. It makes me a seasick. (And lately, the news makes me heart sick as well. As my father groans, "where are our founding fathers?" Can you imagine a president today whose home was named Peacefield, as John Adams' was?) Anyway, back to happier thoughts, like the bounty of gardens and salmon. It is fun to eat as much as we can locally, and good for your heart and soul. This time of year it couldn't be easier.
I've had a busy couple of days. Well, not compared to Kelly Hostettler and friends, who ran from Skagway up to the White Pass yesterday, 40 miles in all-- and will keep going at about a marathon a day for the next ten days until they swing back down from the Yukon to Haines, on the 360 mile wilderness road route called the Golden Circle.
There's a moose stew bubbling in the pot, made with garden carrots and my neighbor Betty's apples, for a little added spice. Chip says local apples are to store bought ones what sockeye salmon are to humpies. (Is that how you spell it, or is it humpys?) Either way, I am no fan of humpy pie, no matter that more people eat canned pink salmon than any other kind. I'm icing my knee, and polishing my first Woman's Day column, it will run in November, and what with the stew, fresh sweet peas in the vase, a fire in the stove and a relatively tidy house, I'm feeling very Woman's Day-ey.
Chip was counting the brown bears across the river, and checking for goats on the mountain with his spotting scope and I was on the couch with my knee on ice last night, and telling him about Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma, a great book-- so full of information about what Americans eat and why. (Mostly corn, it seems, although not the kind from the can, rather by-products in everything.
I was hoping to stay awake during the arthroscopy on my torn meniscus-- it's a breeze, they said-- although I was a little surprised that the pre-op involved an EKG, and an IV and questions like "are you an organ donor?" and "do you have a living will?" (Yes to the first, no to the second... and the EKG was fine, except that my low heart rate-- 45 beats a minute or so, --set off the alarm.) Like I said, I was hoping to watch, but with the nerve damage from getting run over by the truck a few years back they decided a good sleep was better than a spinal nerve block.
I'm thinking about Pizza Joe and Holly's wedding, and how nice he looked in a Navy blue blazer, white shirt, tie and khaki pants, with that red flower in his lapel, and how she wore a real white lace wedding dress and white heels in the mud on the bank of the Chilkoot River, and how there was a bear with two cubs right behind them wading in the stream and climbing on the rocks, and how the locals there for the ceremony backed up, but the larger crowd of tourists moved forward for better pictures.
Yesterday we watched the plumber stick his whole arm, up to the shoulder, into a full septic tank and reach around feeling for a clog. Well, actually, I couldn't look, and the backhoe operator turned away and groaned, and my husband covered his face with his hands. Even after such a heroic act, the plumber did not find the simple fix we had all hoped for, and so we are moving to plan B, which requires digging up the driveway. After he delivered that news, the plumber climbed out of the stinky hole, rinsed off with the garden hose, and lit a cigarette.
I never have breaking news, but this evening I do. Usually I'd save it for Duly Noted, but this is important and can't wait for the deadline or you'll miss it. Pizza Joe and Holly are getting married. Tomorrow! (Weds. August 25) at 5:00 pm right in the middle of the bears and tourists next to the Chilkoot River, at Deer Rock. Cake, punch and many happy returns of the day will follow the ceremony, out at the golf course.