Jackpot: 46, PJ: 0

Alas, foiled again for another year (see previous post). One of my nephews found it. Somehow, the camera didn't make it to the hunt with me, so this has to be a photo-free post. For the record, though, it turned out to be a gorgeous afternoon: mid-60's...sunny, blue skies...ahhh...

And now, I'm off to devil the dozen I did manage to find. I always think of deviled eggs as such a "retro" dish, but I have to admit I love them. Any favorite recipes out there? Here's mine:

To six mashed egg yolks, add:

1/2 tsp. dry mustard
1/8 tsp. salt
Dash pepper
3 tbsp. mayonnaise or sour cream (I prefer mayo here, even though I'm not a mayo fan)
1/2 tsp. white wine vinegar
1/2 tsp. Worcestershire sauce

Mix together, refill the egg whites and dust with paprika and chopped parsley. I think it's the Worcestershire that makes the difference. Mmmm...

On Tradition (warning: long post)

I love a good tradition. I find great peace in knowing that no matter what else changes in my life, there is something I can count on to remain constant through the years. It helps me mark time, reflect on my past and shape the future. It ensures a real-life, non-electronic connection in a world that now relates largely via facebook, twitter, and email. While those are fabulous tools, and I use them, they're no substitute for the real thing.

My favorite tradition comes this weekend. Every year for the past 85 or so--rain, shine, or snow--my Dad's side of the family has gathered on Easter Sunday. Not for brunch. Not for dinner. No fancy Easter dresses. This is not your average Easter tradition. It goes something like this:

Sometime around noon, after attending various Easter services we all converge on the home of one of my cousins, several miles outside an already remote town in far northern California. We number around 80-100 people most years, ranging in age from newborn to 90. I travel four hours to be there; others travel twice that. While waiting for everyone to arrive, baseballs and Frisbees are tossed; others pass around new babies or give hugs to a great-aunt or -uncle. Eventually, we head for the food.

Ah, the food. Each family brings a main dish plus a salad or dessert. There are at least a dozen iterations of fried chicken, plus lasagnas, baked beans, green salads, bean salads, brownies, deviled eggs, cakes, pies, cookies... This is not a day for counting calories or fat content. You won't find a nutritional label for miles in any direction.

The food line snakes through the house, out the door and around the yard as everyone fills a plate and finds a place on the lawn to sit and catch up with someone they haven't seen for a year or more. In addition to our roles as parents, children, brothers and sisters, we are cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, grandchildren. We are second cousins, first cousins-once-removed, and other relationships we've yet to figure out.

Oh yes, the eggs. Usually about 70-80 dozen of them, for the hunt. Each family brings one or two dozen depending upon the size of their crew. One of my older cousins is currently responsible for creating the Jackpot Egg...the holy grail of the hunt...elusive to me for the past 45 years. Judging from the way we all talk about this egg, you'd think the prize for finding it must be an all-expense-paid trip to Hawaii. No...it's a bag of chocolates and bragging rights until next year.

Being selected as a hider is a big honor, usually bestowed on four or five of the uncles and older cousins who are most immune to bribery from those wanting the jackpot egg. The hiders gather up the dozens of cartons and head for the hills a mile or so from the picnic. They have about an hour to hide nearly 1,000 eggs before the rest of us arrive.

Easter Egg Hill is divided into two sections, separated by an irrigation ditch. To the east is gently sloping pasture, set aside for the kids aged 8 and under. There, eggs are resting on tufts of new grass, easily visible to the 2'- and 3'-tall set. West of the ditch is for the big kids aged 9...to 90. It's a hill covered with chaparral, wild celery (icknish), oak and ponderosa pine trees. On this side, the eggs are harder to spot: tucked into the bushes and plants, down squirrel holes, in the crook of a tree branch.

The little ones go first, so everyone can watch them run aimlessly over the pasture, tripping over their baskets and walking directly over top of several eggs.
Then, it's a sight to behold when the starter turns toward the hill and yells "3...2...1...go!", and 60 adult bodies launch themselves across the ditch and up the hill, risking twisted ankles and scraped knees.
The race is on for the prizes that will be awarded to Finder of the Most Eggs and Finder of the Jackpot Egg. It's a tough crowd and competition is fierce. As I mentioned earlier (and I'm not bitter...really...), I've yet to find the jackpot egg. My totals are always respectable, but never prize-winning. No matter how I change my route up the hill and try new strategies each year, my totals always seem to be around 13 eggs and not one of them bears the word 'JACKPOT'.

So, accepting that another year will pass with me in the middle of the pack, I turn to my personal tradition. Once I've found the majority of my eggs, I wander the hill, breathing the fresh air, listening to the birds, and taking in the new spring growth around me.
I remember my dad and aunts and uncles who have wandered this hill before me...the way they made their families top priority through their actions, words and traditions. I say a silent "thank you" for them having been such strong, positive influences on my life. I miss them, and I recommit to paying forward the gifts they gave me.

Within an hour, we're all gathered back together, reporting our totals to the counter and waiting for the prizes to be awarded. Invariably, we learn there are still 97 eggs out there somewhere. We agree to leave them for the squirrels, deer, and other residents of the Hill and we all head home, another Easter complete and a week of deviled eggs on the horizon.

In our Monday-to-Friday lives, we are business owners, lawyers, veterinarians, engineers, ranchers, artists, judges, homemakers, teachers, etc. But on this day we're just Bray kids, doing what we've done every Easter for as long as we can remember, because the generations before us did it, and we've learned from them the importance of continuity. And we know we can count on each other to show up. And isn't that really what life's about? Learning from the old and teaching the young. Being present for those who matter. Showing up.

I think so. It's tradition.

Happy Easter.

They missed the memo

Back from our road trip to Idaho/Wyoming/Montana, where it appears--as evidenced here--word has not yet reached them that Spring has begun. We traveled some absolutely gorgeous country, from Jackson, Wyoming through West Yellowstone and Bozeman, Montana. If you've never been to that part of the world, I highly recommend putting it on your list. And if you're not a winter person, I highly recommend it sometime June through October.

A small fraction of the elk currently on the National Elk Refuge at Jackson, Wyoming.

Along the Gros Ventre River, just outside Jackson.

Limited visibility (no kidding!) on our way through Island Park, Idaho. Consequently, I have no idea what Island Park looks like...

Rolling clouds along the rolling hills in Northeastern Idaho, during our one day of blue sky. Loved this shot.

Lucky for me, I have a husband who likes to drive so I was able to spend the better part of 2,00o miles doing this:

Beginning stages of the Cables and O's Cardigan.

I wish I were a faster knitter, but I have to sacrifice speed for accuracy at this point. My goal is to get this done by end of April...I'll keep you posted.

I think I'll take up crochet...

...because DH's birthday is coming up and I just know he'd jump at the chance to wear one of these. I mean really, who wouldn't, when something can make you so obviously happy?


Just one of my finds from the Great Upstairs Clean-out of 2009 while I was down at Mom's last week. I have a prize for the reader who can guess the year this pattern was published. I won't tell you what it is yet. But I can promise you it will be knitted.

In freak of nature, 45-year-old turns 13

You'd think I'd be past it by now...this business of feeling like an adolescent, expecting to break out in bouts of acne and attitude at any moment.

I'm off to spend a week with my Mom, working on projects around the house that she can no longer see to do. Each time I make these trips back to the ranch solo, I feel as though I immediately revert back to that awkward teenager. The "ahh, to be a kid again" sentiment doesn't apply to me, I guess. It's a strange phenomenon, vaulting back through the years. Things are certainly different now: Dad's gone (has been for almost 25 years), the animals are gone, and Mom's the one who needs care now; not the child. And yet, she still manages to wield that Mom-ness that has me flipping between "it's good to be back home" and a bad burst of back-talk.

I doubt I'm unique. I suspect most women go through this at one time or another. You tell me. I'm just saying it's weird, and I'm not wild about the feeling. On the flip side, though:

• I'll get a few days of digging through the old fabric stash. Who knows? Maybe I'll find some "vintage" stuff from my high school days. Ouch.

• I'll get to run Sophie all over the ranch (one of her favorite things on the planet).
• And I'll get to stare at this out the front window (one of my favorite things on the planet).
  

Maybe it will be good to be a kid again. I'll let you know.

Waste not, want not...or not

From Stephanie Pearl-McPhee's "Never Not Knitting" Page-a-Day calendar.

Another of my March resolutions: de-stash. How is it possible, you wonder, that a person who has only been knitting for little more than a year could even have a stash? Well, it's like this: As a fledgling knitter, I bought stuff that wouldn't break the bank so that I wouldn't feel guilty if it didn't turn into what it was supposed to turn into. The now-more-mature, one-year-old knitter realizes this was a silly idea. I've become fairly proficient at tinking and frogging (more than I care to admit), so have been able to scrap patterns and start on new ones with the same yarn. And, I've learned what a joy it is to work with good yarn.

Noro Kureyon, colorway 95

Then, there's the yarn that my Mom bestowed on me after a massive closet cleaning, overjoyed at the fact that her baby had taken up knitting. She was a crocheter (before her eyes succumbed to macular degeneration)...a frugal crocheter, raised during the depression. While she made beautiful baby blankets, sweaters and wedding afghans, she made nearly all of them from 100% acrylic. Of course, back in the 70's and 80's there wasn't the mind-boggling array of fiber that we enjoy today, so I have to cut her some slack. Thinking I could put it to good use on some charity items (baby hats to hospitals, etc.), I took the stuff. Another silly idea. Oh, I still plan to use a bit of it for baby hats, but for the last year most of it has done nothing more than take up space in my closet. Obviously, when it came time to start a new project, the budding yarn aficionado in me would reach for something else. So, most of it will see charity in a different way...as a donation of yarn.

So this month, I've put a moratorium on buying any new yarn, requiring myself to knit what I have. Except for that little bit of Dream in Color Classy in Beach Fog I picked up on ebay last weekend. Using gift credit doesn't really count as buying, does it?

Unfortunately, Polly isn't a perfect creation...

Because it's Sunday and I lost an hour of sleep last night, I'm being lazy. So, with a nod to Melissa, via Kathi D, via, via, via...

The "unfortunately" meme: go to Google, type your name and the word unfortunately in quotations, and share the results.

Unfortunately, Polly will not be able to make finals.
I always hated finals, so I'm OK with that.

Unfortunately, Polly isn’t planning on writing a sequel.
Kind of difficult to plan on that when the first book has yet to be conceived.

Unfortunately, Polly is not included with this play set but three of her friends are...
You want the big dogs, you have to pony up.

Unfortunately, Polly isn't a perfect creation and she dances faster and faster until she is out of control and ends up off the dance floor.
Well, I never claimed to be perfect. But obviously, someone's been watching at those wedding receptions...

Unfortunately, Polly, who happens to have a problem keeping her clothes on...
Now that's just not true.

Unfortunately, Polly is silly enough to believe them!
My full name does not include anna...

Top five reasons I'm glad it's March

• It's no longer February. February has always been my least favorite month of the year. Dark. Brr.
• Spring Training is underway. Go Giants! Go Red Sox! (Yes, I have dual loyalties. I'm a National League girl at heart, but I also have to root for our hometown--home region?--boy, Jacoby Ellsbury . This drives my dyed-in-the-wool-third-generation-Giants-Fan brothers NUTS.)
  
• Daylight Saving Time begins. More day at the end of the day.
  
• St. Patrick's Day. Hey, 1/4 Irish is still Irish. I actually like corned beef and cabbage.
  
• Spring officially begins on the calendar. Which means only another couple of months until it reaches Central Oregon...but a girl can dream, can't she?

Every 56 days

That's how often you can help save a life. According to the American Red Cross, someone in the U.S. needs blood every 2 seconds. Think about that! Even more amazing to me: just 5% of eligible Americans donate on a regular basis. Until recently, I'd fallen into the other 95%...it had been 19 years since my last donation (the look on the volunteer's face when I handed them my old card was comical...you'd have thought it was in heiroglyphics. "I've never seen one this old."). I can't explain what kept me from donating after that first time in 1989...it wasn't as though I'd made a conscious decision not to donate. I just simply didn't do it.

Thankfully, that has changed, and I made a resolution this year that as long as I'm eligible, I'll give as frequently as allowed. It's painless (this, coming from someone who quakes at needles and the sight of blood), it only takes an hour, it could save someone's life, and you get free cookies. I love cookies.

In stitches

It's been a fabric-and-fiber-filled couple of weeks, and I've been stitching like a madwoman. My knitting group is making a blanket to donate to charity, so I bought a skein of Cascade 220 Heathers (in colorway Kansas) and went to town on some squares.

Our daughter's friend had their first child...last November. How embarrassingly late can I be with a gift? At least she's not walking yet. Thank goodness. This is her Sweet Dreams Pillow.

And lastly, my nephew/godson and his wife are expecting their first baby in May, and the shower is next weekend. They're expecting a girl. No, seriously.

I'm still scrubbing the rust off where sewing is concerned, but I'm getting back into the groove and it feels good.

The Dinner For Eight Dilemma

A couple of years back, we were invited to join a dinner group. Those who know me know that I'm not a chef. I'm barely a cook. I love to cook, but am only secure when following a recipe. I rarely venture into "I wonder what would happen if I put some _____ in this dish?"...my comfort zone doesn't really reach that far. And, for some reason it seems I can use every pot and utensil in the kitchen to boil water. So, as you can imagine this has been a great learning experience for me. Here's how it works:

Once every three months--give or take--we'll get together at one of our homes, open some wine and see what we've turned out. The host picks out the menu--based on a theme--and assigns a dish to each couple. We've discovered some terrific recipes, and have had themes on:

• Oktoberfest
• Hawaiian
• Breakfast for dinner
• Cranberries (each dish used cranberries in some way)
• A touch of gold (everything on the menu had to have a hint of yellow/gold)

When my turn came around to pick the menu last year, I decided I wanted to learn to cook Thai. Never had, and neither had anyone in the group. It ended up being one of our favorites. Here are the dishes, with links to all recipes (conveniently gathered from the web) in case you'd like to give any of them a try.

Appetizer: Best Spring Rolls, courtesy Darlene Schmidt
Salad: Rick's Thai Cucumber Salad, courtesy Rick Scott
Entree: Thai Red Chicken Curry, courtesy TheKnackeredChef
Dessert: Thai-style Creme Caramel, courtesy Darlene Schmidt

Now for my dilemma: It's my turn again. I need a theme. Anybody?

This time last week...

We were on the Oregon coast. Newport, specifically. Every year in late February, their chamber hosts the Newport Seafood & Wine Festival. This was their 32nd annual, and we finally got around to checking it out. Because we like seafood. And wine. There's a definite Mardi Gras feel to the event...very festive. But then, how can you not be happy when you're sampling fresh crab, crab cakes (heaven on a plate), clam chowder, lobster and shrimp cocktail...along with approximately 80 different wineries from Oregon and beyond. No, I didn't taste from all of them. But, if I had to pick two favorites, I really enjoyed each of the Pinot Gris from Vitis Ridge and Sienna Ridge Estate. Crisp, and fruity without being sweet.

Overall, a very fun event. One hint: If you're claustrophobic, go before noon on Saturday or any time Sunday. I think the entire OSU student body was there Saturday afternoon.

This was also my first trip to Newport in about six years, and it reminded me how much I love the stretch of coastline that runs from Depoe Bay to Yachats. Beautiful.

Cape Foulweather

View of Agate Beach from our rental

Yaquina Head lighthouse. And yes, that is blue sky you see.

Hey, Birthday Girl!

Happy 150th! I've only lived here 27 of them, so I can't really call myself a native. But, I believe that being from the State of Jefferson makes me close to one. In tribute to our beautiful state, here are a few of my favorite places in and around Central and Southern Oregon:

Curiosity seekers along a float trip on the Wood River, Southern Oregon.

Evening in Fort Klamath, one of the most peaceful places on earth.

Our National Park gem

Mill Creek Falls, Southern Oregon

Sunset on East Lake

The Metolius River (Mt. Jefferson in background)

Beautiful, bountiful Hood River Valley

Sunset from the top of Mt. Bachelor

Deschutes River

Morning on East Lake

Smith Rock

While these don't begin to illustrate the diversity of our geography and seasons, I hope they at least have you itching to get out and explore one of the most beautiful states in the union. Happy Birthday, Oregon!

Back in the S(e)wing

I was blessed with the world's best Home Ec teacher in high school, who taught me a love of sewing (and a great affection for seam rippers...possibly the more valuable trait, since I do a lot of it) that I've carried with me ever since. I can lose hours in a fabric store, poring over the fabrics, envisioning what I can make, and knowing that whatever it is it will be uniquely mine. I think for me, that is the beauty of sewing, knitting, and other art/craft forms...the individuality. The knowledge that no one will ever put colors, fabrics, or fiber together in quite the same way.

While years have gone by with me only occasionally feeding my sewing habit, I've always known it was there for me, just waiting to be brought back out, dusted off, and put to creative use. In high school, most of my projects were clothing. I made most of my own clothes and yes, I actually wore them. These days, however, I have an affinity for home decor and accessories.

I've been carrying around a pattern for months for a knitting tote, and finally ventured into it yesterday. I was immediately absorbed, lost in the process. As used to be the case, I forgot to eat until 3:00 p.m., and would have probably skipped dinner entirely if it hadn't been for DH asking at 7:30 if I was going to come downstairs at all that night.

It was a very good day.

I never thought I'd be one of "those" knitters

Those who know me know that I'm a fairly methodical person. I tend to do things in a linear fashion, I'm organized (just ask my friend J about my sock drawer...), I see things through. So, how on earth did this happen to me?

When I began knitting a year ago (thanks to M), I would start a project, finish it, and then move on to the next. No buying new yarn for me until the last project was completed, or very near to it. No sirree. I would come home from knit night marveling at all the different projects some of the group had going at once. Did they all have some type of Knitting A.D.D.? A fear of commitment? More needles than they knew what to do with? Was loving a knitting project like loving a good read, where you don't want the book to end? I just couldn't really understand the whole thing.

Then, gradually, I began thinking that it was helpful to have two projects going at once, to vary the stitch patterns that my hands were doing and thereby avoid some type of repetitive motion injury (nice logic, huh?). Yes, two projects was just the right amount. Or so I thought. It was, instead, the beginning of the end.


Now, it appears I've succumbed. Projects are breeding like rabbits in my knitting bag, the majority incomplete, some needing to be frogged, some waiting to begin. I have no logical explanation for this phenomenon. And I don't know whether to be embarrassed, or proud.

Clear as a bell and cold as...

After snowing all day on Sunday, today turned off sunny and beautiful with a balmy high of 23. Which would explain why at 3:00 in the afternoon, these trees in the yard still aren't shedding the white stuff. Look at that blue, blue sky!

I'm committed. Or maybe I should be.

Not even a week. That's how long it took me to decide to do another 1/2 marathon. Am I insane? I don't even know the race course yet...how many hills will I have to trek? Will it be raining? It's Seattle, so most likely the answers are "lots" and "count on it". But hey, what the heck. I seem to have built some momentum with this fitness thing, so maybe I'm just afraid of not having a date out there to work toward...? Truth is, it's also a great chance to spend time with two of my nieces that I don't get to see nearly often enough.

What keeps you motivated to stick with your fitness routine?

Burger with a bite

Had lunch for the first time today at the relatively new Bend Burger Company. As I do with all first-time visits to burger joints, I ordered the basic burger to form my first impression. In this case it was The Bend Burger. A little bit of cayenne (I think) spiced up the burger sauce, but not so much that it hid the taste of the beef itself. Topped with pickles, tomato, red onion, shredded lettuce, and burger sauce, it was IMO a great basic burger...with a generous side of fries. And the price at $6.95 was very fair. Good to see they were busy on this Saturday afternoon, and I hope they continue to succeed. The only things I've found off-putting so far are the typos I saw in the restaurant and on their website (which, in all fairness, appears to still be under construction). Can you be considered authentic Bend if you misspell Deschutes?

Simply Grand

How many times have you heard "the pictures don't do it justice"? Trite, cliched...and true. There just isn't a substitute for standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon to understand its magnitude...unless it's standing down at the bottom...which I wouldn't know about because it was too cold and too short a trip to make the hike. Nonetheless, it was one of those rare times in my life when I've been speechless. Seeing it in winter with snow on some of the canyon walls? Added bonus.


I heard on the Travel Channel last night that you can put 1,500 Central Parks into it. Think about that for a minute.

One Goal Met

I completed my first half marathon on Sunday the 18th. I was one of 21,990 finishers at the P.F. Chang's Rock n Roll Arizona Half Marathon, with a time of 2:49:51. I wasn't competing to place, but to finish, so I was pleased to be able to beat my 3:15 estimated time. I ended up running (jogging) more of the race than I'd planned...probably close to 40% of it, and that put me about in the middle of the females for finish times. I have to say, even though there wasn't anyone to meet me at the finish line, it was exhilarating to cross it and hear hundreds (thousands?) of people I didn't know cheering me on. I found myself a little choked up at the whole experience! You're probably wondering why there wasn't anyone to meet me, right? They were all running, too! Amanda completed her first full marathon, and Anne Blyth her first half. Philip was running his own marathon by chasing after Blake, one very active 1-year-old!