Stories

I'll never forget my first trip to Maine. My husband (then boyfriend) spent his boyhood summer's at his family's camp on a lake. Driving from Chicago to Bangor every August with his dad, they'd meet up with his older brothers along the way to this sweet spot right at the water's edge. It's nothing fancy. Hasn't been updated or changed in any major way since they bought it over 35 years ago, but it satisfies my basic requirements for "camping." It has real beds (no sleeping bag on an air mattress or cot for me) and indoor plumbing (you can't drink the water but that's a small price to pay for being able to pee inside). Electricity is also key, but up until a few years ago and the invention of wireless HD receivers there was no phone service or television. This was and is a place to get away from it all and reconnect with nature 24/7…whether you want to or not. We spent our first few days hanging about on the dock, reading and listening to the baseball game, occasionally taking a dip in the clear, shallow water. Nothing too strenuous. We were here to relax.

That he was bringing me to this place 6 months into our relationship was important. He had family who lived up there I was meeting for the first time. His Aunt Dot and Uncle George also had a house on the lake, about a 1/2 mile down the dirt road. Their place is much larger than ours and is more house than camp. It's two stories with several bathrooms, laundry facilities and cable TV. So when they asked us to dinner, after a few days of "roughing it", we were thrilled, though I was a bit nervous. He'd never brought a girl to the lake before. I wanted to seem cool and interesting and fun. So I suggested we take the canoe over to their place instead of walking. I thought it would be nice to get a little exercise and a funny story to tell our friends back home that we canoed to dinner. Fueled by a few beers, the lovely view and gross naivety, we got a better story than we bargained for.

I am at That Age. The age when once every couple of weeks, you check your post mail and instead of a bill (yes, I still use the United States Postal Service to pay my bills) or the 1,000th solicitation from Doctors Without Borders you've received that week, you have a real letter. Or, at least what looks like a letter - it's got a handwritten, maybe even calligraphied address and a return label with the name of your friend or... wait... the name of the parents of your friend...

I am at The Wedding Invitation Age.

Full disclosure, I'm actually a little behind the times. I'm among that "Creative Class" where people are either too poor, too career-focused, too gay, or too anti-establishment to marry in the "typical" mid-20s. But, at 30, I have finally arrived.

Two weeks ago, I swallowed my shock at spending over six dollars for a newspaper, and bought a  Sunday New York Times. It was a revelation, a joy and so completely absorbing that I periodically had to remind myself to stop reading, and do something useful. Comparisons are odious and all, but since I started reading the Times, I am feeling the pain and guilt of finding a new love and leaving the old one with great relief and not much of a parting glance. Our local paper, despite being the only offering in this state’s capital, has lost all of its charm. It was purchased by some national publishing conglomerate which clearly labors under the impression that, because we live in Flyover,  even the goings-on under the Capital dome do not require an experienced and intelligent writing staff. Wire service reports are good enough for us, sometimes about events that occur within 50 miles of our circulation area.

Aside from the odd story about local high school sports heroes or a 1 – inch report on a local crime, the vast majority of our paper is compiled from wire stories, and many of the photographs are either file photos or pictures of folks in some other state getting ready to storm Wal-Mart or protesting taxes. Sometimes, a story about, say, preparations for Hanukkah will be written by a local reporter,  and feature one photograph from a nearby temple and one photograph of Jewish families in Rye or Austin spinning their dreidls.  Nice people, I have no doubt, but part of the joy of a local paper is finding a friend or neighbor captured on newsprint. There is no cutting out and saving these photos of strangers, or attaching them to the refrigerator with magnets.

Blueberries really are the #1 Super Food. Let's face it, naturally blue food is quite scarce on this planet and is one of the reasons blueberries are so unique. It has been found that blueberries contain one of the highest levels of antioxidant activity in comparison to all other fruits and vegetables. It's truly a food we should eat more often.

Blueberries dark, blue color comes from a pigment called anthocyanin, which are full of polyphenols. The darker blue color means the polyphenol count is higher, making the antioxidant more powerful. Blueberries have been found to slow aging, fight disease, protect against bladder infections, have anti-inflammatory effects in regards to heart disease and cancer and can help improve brain-function. Do you really need anymore convincing?

I am so lucky to live here in the Willamette Valley of Oregon, where the cool climate allows these berries to grow so beautifully and prolifically.  We love going to the u-pick farms and spending the morning picking the plump little guys off the bushes.  They are nothing like what you find in the stores, these berries are humongous! And we love them.  Love them!!