Friends and Family

There are 101 posts filed in Friends and Family (this is page 6 of 11).

Touchstones of Success

Kris and I braved the icy roads — which turned out to be not so bad — to drive down to Canby for dinner with Ron and Kara last night. We were joined by Jenn and the kids. It was wonderful.

Kara prepared a meal entirely from Cook’s Country, the new(-ish) companion magazine to Cook’s Illustrated. Among the goodies were a citrus salad (tossed in an Asian dressing that even I liked — and I hate dressing), Italian pot roast, and a decadent chocolate pudding cake for dessert. Kris and I brought a bottle of wine which we’d received from Andrew and Joann at Thanksgiving. It turned out to be a perfect complement to the meal.

Between dinner and dessert, Ron and Kara gave us a tour of their newly-remodeled home. The house was built in 1891, and has been home to Ron’s family ever since. His family, Jeremy’s family, and my family are all founding members of Zion Mennonite Church, and have a long, intertwined history. When our hosts showed us their new kitchen island, they pointed out the butcher-block countertop. “That came from the old kitchen in the Zion basement,” Ron said. It was a lovely piece of wood, scarred through decades of use: circular burn-marks covered the surface.

“Look at that,” I said. “It’s not too hard to imagine my grandmother in the basement canning with the other women. And maybe Ron’s grandmother is there with her. And Jeremy’s, too.” The thing is: this probably did occur, and on more than one occasion. It’s been a long time since I marveled at the connections of community I feel when in the Whiskey Hill neighborhood, but they’re real, and they are strong. (I can imagine forty years from today Harrison and Ellis and Noah standing around a kitchen discussing the same thing.)

After dinner we chatted and let Hank read us trivia questions from his new book (Guinness World Records for Kids 2007, or something like that). Daphne managed to injure herself when leaping from the bannister-less stairs. I browsed Kara’s collection of old books, and in doing so I found a gem: Touchstones of Success by “160 present-day men of achievement”, published in 1920. The book, which is already falling apart, contains advice on success from business leaders of the era.

The within pages tell what the price [of success] is, and as our ambitious young men read in these wonderfully fascinating testimonies of really successful men they will disovered that the making of money was by no means their chief aim. They got that, and they got it because their main purpose in life was to serve, and work. Integrity, courage, a clear conscience, and a real fine character were the most valued and cherished of all their possessions.

Kara allowed me to borrow the book, and I look forward to mining it for gems — both humorous (to my 21st century eyes) and practical. I don’t that I’ve mentioned it here, but reading through “the success literature” has become something of a hobby for me. I enjoy it. The stories are uplifting, and I’ve found that many of the anecdotes and admonishments have real application to my own life.

(Barbara Ehrenreich, in the latest issue of Harper’s, attacks the personal-development field as purveyors of false hope, as scammers and charlatans. This makes my blood boil, so much so that I’ve not yet been able to set down a suitable well-reasoned response. All I can think to do is call her a disillusioned old bitch, but that’s hardly rational, hardly fair, and just plain stupid. Yet it’s where I am in my response. Maybe by next week I’ll have calmed down enough to craft some sort of rebuttal. (My biggest complaint about Ehrenreich is that “personal responsibility” seems to be a foreign concept to her.))

Totally Tomatoes

Kris is crazy. She’s crazy for tomatoes. Here we are, in the coldest darkest corner of the year, and she’s conspiring with her cronies to order tomatoes. She’s itching to get them planted. She feels like she’s running late.

With Craig and Amy Jo, she buys specialty seeds from an outfit called Totally Tomatoes. This year the three of them ordered:

  • Black From Tula
  • Aunt Ruby’s German Green
  • Bloody Butcher
  • San Marzano
  • Dr. Wyches Yellow
  • Box Car Willie
  • Red Star
  • Rutgers VFASt

Kris just spent $25 on tomato seeds (which will work out to less than $1.50/plant between the three). She also spent $60 for a set of five super-deluxe tomato ladders. “If they work, I’ll get five more,” she told me. “I’m hoping that these will prevent some of the tomato crises we had last year.” (I’m hoping they will, too. Tomato crises are, well, crises. And of major proportions.)

Soon our parlor will be a mass of growlights, potting soil, and plants. Nosey law-enforcement could be forgiven for suspecting she was growing pot. She’s not. It’s just tomatoes.

She’s totally tomatoes.

But so are her friends. Witness Amy Jo:

I finally opened one of the jars of roasted Black Tula tomato sauce last week…oh, my, yum. Paul isn’t much of fan of typical tomato sauces but this one is meaty and smoky, perfect for hearty pasta dishes…

And Craig:

Mmmmmm, tomatoes.

You can count me out of the Raad Red, my tomato roster is full, full, full. I’ll try any pepper though, I actually had some success with them last year.

Mmmmmm, tomatoes.

Albert and I have been spending 1/2 hour each evening in the attic setting up the grow lights and plant shelves. The urge to grow stuff is hitting me early this year.

Mmmmmm, tomatoes.

These e-mails were intercepted and used without permission, which may get me into trouble with the tomato fanatics. I’ll take my chances. Lisa’s aware of the madness, too. When I smiled knowingly at these poor souls via e-mail, she replied:

There’s a long list of tomato varieties on our kitchen counter even
as I type.

She snapped this photo of Craig and Albert planting early seeds:

Good man, Craig — it looks like you’re using Territorial.

This morning I was razzing Kris again about her tomato fixation. She became indignant. “You don’t know,” she said. “People are jealous of our tomatoes.”

I laughed. “That’s going in the entry, too,” I told her.

“Don’t you dare,” she said. “Remember: I have veto privileges. If you post that you may lose your rights to write about me.” I laughed again, but she was serious. (I’m taking a risk by posting this, obviously — I believe it’s for the greater good.)

We talked some more about tomatoes and her exclusive tomato club. “How come Rhonda’s not in it?” I asked. She buys starts. “And Jenn?” Starts again. Plus kids. “Pam?” More starts. And a kid (with another coming). And too far away.

Kris turned to me. “Tomatoes are not toys,” she said, in a tone that indicated children precluded sensible parents from growing tomatoes from seed. (Except for Craig, apparently. But then Craig is Craig, and he could grow tomatoes from seed even if he had a dozen children.)

Maybe she should start a tomato blog.

Bonus: Maybe Kris needs this?

Dutch Treat

The MNF group got together last week for our annual holiday dinner and white elephant gift exchange. Some lovely items made the rounds. For example, Ron and I went home with matching garden ornaments, which Kristin and Roger had decided to purge from their yard.

Actually, I went home with the pair. While Kris was distracted, we stashed both statues on the trunk. “This is perfect,” I said. “I can hide them in the shrubbery around the border of our property. It will be a game for visiting children: find the little Dutch kids.”

I posted the photo of us holding the statues at Get Rich Slowly in an article about frugal Christmas traditions. One commenter (‘peewee’) wrote:

My family is the manufacturer of those statues!! I am from the Netherlands and we are exporting those figures all over the world. The are wearing old dutch clothing from the 19th century. We also have the correponding windmills and Amsterdam houses.

On Saturday, Kris and I attended book group at Andrew and Courtney‘s. We discussed José Saramago‘s strange Blindness. (Bookworms: there’s a sequel, Seeing.) After the discussion, as we were loading the car to leave, Kris spied the statues in the trunk. “I don’t want those,” she said. And then she got a sly grin on her face. “Let’s leave them for Andrew and Courtney.”

I snuck back up the driveway and planted the statues in a flower bed, taking care to pose them so that they kissing.

Who knows where they’ll end up next?

You Win Some, You Lose Some

The extended holiday weekend gave me an opportunity to catch up with old friends.

On Wednesday, Andrew and Joann joined us for dinner. In August, they hosted us for a couple of nights during our trip to San Francisco; we were happy to return the hospitality. We decided to fix them a swell new dish: beef tenderloin stuffed with pine nuts and monterey jack cheese. Unfortunately, the dish was swell only in theory.

That’s right — we committed an entertainment faux pas by attempting to impress company with a meal we’d never tried before. We could have served Caprial’s beef tenderloin with pepper and port sauce, a dish we’ve made many times, a dish that we can nail, a dish that never fails to impress. But we got cocky and went for something new. The results were disastrous. Though we followed directions, the meat was bland and undercooked. I thought the balsamic vinegar clashed terribly with the other ingredients. It was a mess. We should have surrendered and ordered pizza, but we stuck it out, finishing the steaks. Andrew and Joann get gold stars for that.

After dinner, I preached the glory of the Wii. We had fun with Wii Sports, but when it came time to play something else, I realized I don’t have any other good multiplayer games yet. We tried to play the Monkeyball party games, but it was an exercise in frustration. None of them made any sense. And I hadn’t unlocked enough of the Rayman multiplayer games for it to be any fun. My top priority for this machine is to get another fun multiplayer game so that my evangelism can carry more weight.

My weekend food endeavors weren’t all bad. I made some yummy mashed potatoes for family Thanksgiving on Thursday. On Saturday, I surprised myself by mixing up a batch of damn good bean soup. It was easy! Here’s what I did:

J.D.’s Impromptu Bean Soup
Soak 2-1/2 cups Bob’s Red Mill 13-bean blend for six hours. Rinse. Add 2 quarts water. Bring to boil over high heat. While waiting for the boil, add the other ingredients as they become ready: 3 tablespoons Bob’s Red Mill Bean Soup Seasoning, 1 teaspoon hickory smoke salt, 1 yellow onion (diced), 3-5 cloves garlic (minced), 1 can tomato sauce, and about 1 pound of the pork product of your choice. (I used ham because we had some in the freezer. Bacon works. Fresh ham works.) Cook for about two hours, until beans are done to your liking. Remove from heat. For best flavor, store overnight in fridge.

It’s good stuff, I tell you — good stuff!

Yesterday we met up with Nicole Lindroos and her husband, Chris Pramas, for brunch at Wild Abandon in southeast Portland. Paul and Amy Jo joined us. I love to go out for breakfast. It’s a treat I don’t get very often because it’s Kris’ least favorite meal. It was an adjustment for me to order a breakfast with limited sugar. Normally I’d devour a huge stack of pancakes and then slather them in syrup. Yesterday I ordered a ham-and-cheese omelet with fried potatoes. The only real sugar came from ketchup and from a small blueberry scone. Still, the meal was good.

I should join Paul and Amy Jo for breakfast more often.

Recipes from Rosings Park

Kris and I are lucky to have friends who love food, friends who love to cook and share their cooking with others. I’ve often said it would be fun to create a friend cookbook — to collect favorite recipes from everyone we know, and to publish them in one of those cheap spiral-bound fundraiser books.

Kris and I have already begun the process, to some extent, though not in a truly systematized fashion. Whenever we taste something we love — at book group, at a dinner party, and Monday night football gatherings — we ask for the recipe. We’ve been adding these recipes to MacGourmet, an inexpensive recipe database.

I was afraid that MacGourmet would be pointless, but we actually like it. It’s easier than collating piles of recipe cards, or dogearing pages in cookbooks. “The best thing is that you can search,” Kris says. “You can say, ‘I have zucchini. What can I make with zucchini?’ If you have enough recipes, you can get some good answers.” I like that MacGourmet lets you tag recipes with keywords, add photos, and note the source.

I also like that MacGourmet lets you publish your recipes to the web. If you’ve ever followed the “eat” link in the sidebar, you’ve discovered Recipes from Rosings Park, which is our ongoing collection of favorite dishes from friends (as collected in MacGourmet). We recently updated the list. Here are some of my favorites:

There are some notable dishes missing here. Paul’s posole, for example, and anything from Kara or Kim. Also, there’s nothing from Craig! Actually, we still have tons more recipes to enter. “I haven’t even put in a quarter of my recipes, so it’s kind of silly to post this now,” Kris told me when she saw what I was writing. I’ll just have to post again later when we have everything in the computer.

How I Spent My Weekend

I had a great weekend, despite being sick as a dog.

On Friday night, Tiff and I went to hear The Revenge Business play at the Dublin Pub. The Revenge Business is Josh and Paul’s new band. They’ve merged with three other musicians, and the results are impressive. Carli, the lead singer, has a fine set of pipes. The group plays a lot of covers, but plays them well. Even their original songs are catchy. (Josh’s performance of “Anarchy in the U.K.” was AWESOME. Seriously, Josh — this is the stuff you’re voice is suited for — you rocked!)

I had a little trouble with the whole “pub experience”. I’m not a bar and pub kind of guy. I don’t understand the etiquette. For example, apparently most drinks are actually ordered by walking up to the bar. I’m used to table service. I ordered hot wings — my standard pub food — and waited 45 minutes for them to arrive. Despite the slow service, I left a hefty tip, but when I checked my bank statement, I was charged for only the food and drinks, not the tip. I don’t get it.

At the end of the evening, I felt like crap. I was sick as a dog.

On Saturday, Kris and I worked in the yard. We raked leaves and tore out tomato plants. I even got to prune the mimosa.

In the afternoon, I zipped up to the convention center to briefly attend the Stumptown Comics Fest. My main goal was to find the Fantagraphics booth, which I did. I picked up the latest volume of Complete Peanuts, the first of their marvelous Popeye compilation, and, on Michael’s recommendation, the lovely bound volume of Castle Waiting.

Afterward, I swung down to the Rose and Raindrop — another pub — to attend a Metafilter meetup. Every so often, denizens of Metafilter, the group weblog I frequent, gather to meet each other: to chat, and drink, and laugh. I’ve never been able to make a meetup before. I was pleased to meet croutonsupafreak, j, matlidaben, jessamyn, and turbodog, among others. It was also good to chat with Matt for a few minutes. (Matt has been very supportive of Get Rich Slowly, which I appreciate.)

At the end of the meetup, I felt like crap. I was sick as a dog.

I had intended to head down to Denise and Lynn’s Halloween party, but I opted out. I tried to watch some Sex and the City with Kris, but instead went to bed early.

On Sunday, we took Tiffany to Ken’s Artisan Bakery for a tasty breakfast. Afterward, I played with my camera for the first time in months. I took photos of Kris, Tiff, and the cats. I felt crummy in the afternoon, so I crawled into bed. Meanwhile, Kris fixed Jenn’s famous BBQ Beef Brisket, and invited Paul and Amy Jo to join us for dinner. The meal was great, as always. That brisket recipe is one of my favorites.

At the end of the evening, I felt like crap. I was sick as a dog.

In all, it was an excellent weekend, despite this lingering crud.

Peking Duck

Important reader poll at the end of this entry. Seriously.

Kris and Tiffany’s Aunt Jenefer and Uncle Bob were in Portland last night (with Bob’s mother Irene), so the six of us gathered at Sungari for a Chinese feast. Dinner was awesome.

Tiffany and I had pre-ordered the Peking Duck. I had never eaten Peking Duck before. The preparation process is so elaborate that the dish must be ordered 48 hours in advance. According to the wikipedia:

Peking Duck requires a duck with its head still attached. First, it is inflated with a pump or other object, separating the skin from the body (this was done by blowing through a straw by someone with a strong lung in ancient times). Then the skin is scalded with boiling water to make it drier and tauter and brushed with molasses so that it acquires a dark, rich color with the slight aroma of caramel during the subsequent cooking process. After drying for half a day, the duck is hung by its neck in a hot oven where it is roasted for an hour or more, during which time the copious fat of the duck melts off and the skin becomes crispy. Because a large oven is required, as well as other complicated preparation techniques, Peking Duck is not usually prepared at home.

Serving is a production, too. At Sungari, the duck is served table-side. The waiter brings two dishes of flaming hoisin sauce (as in, the sauce is on fire), the duck, some scallions, and some mu-shi (flour pancakes) which look like nothing more than homemade Mexican tortillas. The waiter then spreads hoisin sauce on a pancake, fills it with duck and shallots, and then puts them on a platter. A single duck makes about a dozen wraps.

Because I had ordered the most expensive dish on the menu, I decided to order the most expensive drink too: the monkey-picked tea.

“I don’t like it,” Tiffany said, after taking a sip.

“It tastes like grass,” I agreed. But after a few more sips, and after a few bites of Peking Duck and Sesame Beef, I was hooked. I drank a pot-and-a-half. (I’m not ever going to get to sleep.)

It was fun to see Bob, Jenefer, and Irene. Special thanks to Bob for picking up the check. It was a generous gesture, especially after I’d ordered the most expensive stuff in the restaurant!

Dinner was especially fine because:

  • It had been a Day From Hell at work, and
  • I was just beginning to get sick. (I’m very sick now.)

As we were saying our good-byes, Bob and Jenefer voiced their distaste for the new weblog front page. “I hate it,” Jenefer said.

“Well, it’s only temporary,” I said. “I’m moving to new blogging software. In a couple weeks, the new site will look mostly like the old site.”

“What do you mean mostly?” she said. “It had better have the calendar, and it had better have the comments on the main page. I hate all the clicking around I have to do now. It’s terrible.

“And you should write more. I don’t care about comic books or personal finance. I hate all those links you put up. I want more stories.”

Kris smiled. She’s been telling me for weeks that I shouldn’t make my proposed changes. She’s been telling me for weeks that people like foldedspace just the way it is. She’s been telling me for weeks that I spend too much time writing for Get Rich Slowly, and not enough time writing here.

So, dear readers, I put it to you: what are your feelings? What do you like about this site? What do you think needs to change? Should I simply go back to the way things were? I can ratchet up the spam protection to see if it does anything. If I can make the new front page look and operate the same way as the old page, will that keep you happy?

The ball is in your court. Let me know how you feel.

Billions and Billions

The gang got together in Stayton yesterday for Craig and Lisa‘s annual harvest fest. There was a lot of good food. Too much good food.

After the sun set, the stars came out. Stayton is fairly rural, and so even the dimmest stars are visible. Jeremy, Hank, and I spent a few minutes down by the pasture, listening to the Beavers, picking out constellations from the sky. I used to be good at this, but I’m getting rusty.

“Look at that, Harrison,” Jeremy said, sweeping his arm in an arc over our heads. “You see that white, milky glow? That’s our galaxy. We’re just one planet and one star on the edge of a bunch of other stars.”

Harrison is of an age that this can almost impress him. He had lots of questions about galaxies. I remembered that Nick and I found this video last week, and I promised to post it so that Hank could learn more:

Astronomy is fascinating. Nothing makes me feel smaller or more insignificant. And yet nothing makes me feel more awed by the wonders of life.

Family Reunion

Kris and I hosted a family reunion on Saturday. Out of the 80+ possible Roths and Swartzendrubers, about 35 showed up for food, fun, and fellowship. It was great to see everyone, even Tammy.

When I was a boy, my father’s family was quite close. We lived just down the road from my grandparents’ house. Aunts and uncles and cousins made frequent visits. Because we didn’t do a lot with neighbors or friends in town, family gatherings were special. They were the most important social events. We saw each other several times each year.

As we grew older, though, we grew apart. Grandma died. Grandpa died. Aunt Janice and Uncle Norman died. My father died. The cousins spread across the country. For ten or fifteen years, we saw little of each other. Then, about five years ago, we gathered at Tammy’s house between Thanksgiving and Christmas. We had a fine little reunion. That’s now become something of a tradition, one that I look forward to, but it seems unfair to always be imposing upon Tammy’s hospitality. (Although it builds character in her.) Now that Kris and I have a large yard, we volunteered to host a summer gathering.

This is a family of story-tellers. Not everyone is a writer (though there are many among us), but everyone loves to tell stories. On Saturday, we clustered in the shade and listened to Mart and Scott. Kris loved Mart’s tale of buying cheap boots, which will lose a lot in translation:

Mart went in to the Wilco farm store in Oregon City. They were having a sale: $50 off all Justin Boots. Since Justin Boots are normally about $150, this sounded like a good deal to him. He rummaged around, looking for bargains. (See? It runs in the family. Mart’s father is Pop from Pop Buys Pop.) He found a pair of custom-order boots that somebody had never picked up. They were marked at $60. When he went to the counter to pay, he pointed out that all Justin Boots were $50 off. The clerk hemmed and hawed, but called her manager, and sure enough, Mart got the boots for $10. They weren’t in his size, though, so he gave them to his brother. A few days later, he decided to go back to look at the boots again. This time he found a pair of custom-order boots marked at $50. Sensing a fantastic bargain, he went to pay for them, fully expecting to get them for free. He found the same clerk who’d helped him before. She recognized him. Mart asked if he could have these boots for free, and the clerk was going to call her manager when an older clerk came forward. Special-order boots weren’t eligible for the $50 discount, she explained. Well then, Mart wasn’t going to buy the boots. The clerks stopped him and asked if he’d take the boots for $25. He would. These boots weren’t in his size, either, so he gave them to another brother.

Sounds pretty dry in a weblog, but it’s quite funny when Mart tells it. I also liked listening to Val’s stories. Valerie was always one of my favorite cousins, but I haven’t seen her much in twenty years. Her little tales of life in Idaho were gems. My favorite dealt with animal intelligence:

One morning on the farm, the cat caught a crow. This was amazing in and of itself, but what was more amazing was that as the captured crow cawed and struggled, other crows descended. Ten, twenty, thirty crows landed in a circle around the cat, raising a terrible din. The cat was frightened, released its victim, and fled from the advancing flock.

Awesome.

As usual, there were family photos to share. Ben brought a treasure trove of large prints of my grandmother from around 1925, when she was working as a file clerk at Montgomery Ward in Portland (working in the building that is now Montgomery Park). I plan to scan these and post these photos soon.

Photography is always a hot topic at these gatherings. This time, my cousin-in-law Ruth brought with her a Mamiya RB67 Pro, a medium-format camera. Ruth used to be a keen amateur, but lately she hasn’t the time. She’s doing her best to convince me that I want this camera, and that I should buy it from her.

The kit she’s offering includes the camera, a prism viewfinder, a 90mm/f3.5 (which I think is equivalent to a 35mm or 50mm lens on a 35mm system), a 180mm/f4.5 lens (which is a portrait lens — this one’s shutter is broken), two film backs, and a polaroid back. “You can put a digital back on it,” she told me. But when I looked up prices for digital backs, I was shocked to see that they’re about $15,000! Ruth is loaning the camera to me. If I like it, I’ll offer her a fair price.

To test it, I made this image of my Aunt Virginia. I used the 90mm lens at f5.6 and 1/60 sec. It’s easy to remember this stuff because it takes a l-o-n-g time to set up a shot with this camera. And each shot is precious. The image is fairly poor, in part because of the outdated Polaroid film that I didn’t know how to use (note that the right-side is a mess from this), and in part because I don’t know how the viewfinder frames things. I cut off poor Virginia’s ankles!

It was a fine reunion. Scott has volunteered to host a gathering next summer, at which he plans to roast one of his pigs. Tammy thinks it’s too far to drive, but the rest of us will have some delicious fresh pork.