T-Shirt Epiphany

So last week I was riding the MAX home (I know, I know, but I'm sick, and it's cold!) and as I was being thrown back and forth across the bridge, I thought about T-shirts.

I have a large collection of T-shirts. I used to wear them. My mother and my sister gave me a bunch a while back. I've been picking them up from free boxes on the side of the road (if they're kind of neat). T-shirts are made from nice material, and I thought I could use them to make amazing things: blouses, skirts, dresses, blankets, etc.

But I haven't gotten very far.

But last week, I had a T-shirt epiphany. Here's the pattern I drew as soon as I got home:

And it worked! I now have plans to cut down my T-shirt pile somewhat.

Here's my test:



And the back:



Complete with Snow White sleeves.

Instant Thanksgiving Happiness

Happy Thanksgiving!

I woke up early this morning to get us in the spirit for the best holiday of the year.

Before:




After:



On the menu:

Orange Cranberry Sauce
Mashed Punkin/Potatoes
Punkin/Potato/Ginger Soup
Turkey!
Homemade Breads
Apple Onion Dressing
Possibly Spiced Cranberry Cider Wine Punch
and whatever people may bring.

My Letter to Governor-Elect Jerry Brown

Congratulations Governor Elect Jerry Brown!

Although I am no longer a California resident, I continue to have a vested interest in California politics. My family still lives in Northern California. My sister works for the Department of Justice in Redding, and my father is a prisoner of the current Workman's Compensation laws in California.

My father used to be an appliance repair man. As a victim of the recession in the early 80s and a young father, he dropped out of college to rush into this field to support his family and, after 2 decades, ended up with myriad spinal injuries. He began his foray into the Workman's Compensation system in 1999, before the laws changed. The surgery that doctors recommended he get for his injuries didn't work (it would later come to light that the surgery he was given was inappropriate for his type of injury). He has been in agonizing pain for years, with his case still hanging in limbo. He cannot get out of the system to see doctors who will help him because of the laws Governor Schwarzenagger enacted retroactively. GAB Robins, the insurance company, will not pay for the services that do actually relieve his pain, such as massage therapy. Some people on Workman's Comp have committed suicide while waiting for their cases to settle.

I wish I had clearer details of his case to tell you, but whenever I ask him, the stress of this decade long situation comes crashing down on him and his pain gets worse. Please, as Governor of California, make Workman's Compensation a priority, for the thousands of injured Californians who, like my father, are trapped in a corrupt insurance game.

Thank you for your time, and I wish California all the best under your leadership,

Sarah Stroman
Portland, Oregon

A Day at the White Stag Building

I wish I had a camera mounted on my bike - one that clips on like a bike light. That way, I could have had a few images to go with this.

I guess you'll just have to use your imagination.

Today, I attended a workshop on some cataloging program called MARCedit at the White Stag Building in downtown Portland. Which is gorgeous. They managed to blend the original architecture with new-fangled elements without too much disconcerting clash. The element that really had me entranced, though, was the hallway that had clearly originally been an alleyway between two buildings. They kept the original windows (with new glass, I'm sure) and put a skylight at the top of the first floor so one could see the original exteriors stretching out above them.

The workshop itself was less amazing -not that it was bad. It was probably about the same as any other all-day lecture on a piece of software. Many people were fascinated. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't entirely sure how this program could be useful to me and my work - it seems to be designed mainly for editing large batches of records at once, usually records received from book vendors to go with a library's latest purchase of books. Everything I catalog is unique. Not to mention that OHS doesn't buy books in bulk. Oh well.

And the lunch provided was slathered in mayonaisse. Ugh.

Luckily I wasn't particularly hungry, since I'd had 2 large slices of delishus home-made cinnamon bread for breakfast. And I'd been drinking coffee all morning. So I just snacked on the cookie that came with the mayonaisse. The cookie was interesting - it looked, felt, and tasted like a blueberry muffin-top. It made me think of Seinfeld. Sadly, no one sitting near me got the reference.

On the plus side, with all that time on my hands today, I finished another square - this one a knit square with cables. I made one major mistake: see if you can spot it!


On my bike ride downtown this morning I saw:

A homeless man literally peeing off the side of a bridge. Thankfully, he was aiming for the train tracks, and not the pedestrian walkway below.

A sea monster! I swear! I saw it out of the corner of my eye before it dived below the water and it was scary!

On my bike ride home this afternoon I saw:

A crow using cars to crack walnuts. On Interstate Avenue. I thought it was only a small population of crows in Japan that knew this trick - but apparently it's spread here too. Though - these crows haven't yet figured out that a stop-light is the best place for nut-cracking. They were diving into traffic to pick up the nut-meats.

I Bike!

This is my bike:



This is the MAX


Saturday, on my bike ride home, the MAX and I both left the general vicinity of OHS at the same time. Well, actually, the MAX had a slight headstart (it was just leaving a stop before I crossed the street behind it).

Here is the route I take vs. the route the MAX takes:
(you can tell which is which by the handy key I drew)


The MAX costs $4.75 for an all day pass. Almost $1,000 for a whole year.

My bike cost me $200 3 years ago. I bought a bell for it (with a dinosaur), and recently had to replace a tire... so all in all, that averages out to about $80 a year, $.22 a day.

Saturday, both the MAX and I reached the Rose Quarter at exactly the same time (represented on above map by where the two routes meet on the east side). I pulled ahead for half a block but then the MAX blasted past me... until I caught up to it again at the Albina/Mississippi stop (a few blocks before the route crosses the freeway marked 30). I managed to keep up for another block, before it lost me again, right around where Interstate Avenue become a 30 degree incline. I reckon the MAX beat me home by about 8 minutes (that's including the amount of time it would take me to walk from the Prescott station to my house).

I've seen other people fly past me up that hill where the MAX lost me - on their fancy 5lb bikes with more than just the one gear and wearing aerodynamic helmets... So, somewhere, out there, are people who can beat the MAX in a race. So why should I take the MAX (aside from the rain)?

Sure, a car would beat us both, but that's kind of like cheating. Plus, you miss all the scenery, like the geese swimming in the Willamette and all the trees turning bright red. You miss the smell of the Widmer Brewery (which kind of smells like Grapenuts soaked in whole milk covered in sugar). You miss the feel of the rain soaking through your stockings, and the incredibly satisfying feeling of trading them for dry jimmie jams as soon as you get home (dry clothes never felt so good!)

Also, you had to buy gas. Sucker!

And there's all that stuff about the environment too, but whatever. Biking is just way funner and infinitely more satisfying. Like finishing a New York Times crossword without looking anything up.

Another Disappointing Halloween

How many of us have fond memories of Halloween, trick-or-treating in packs of 10, with maybe 1 to 2 chaperons, usually teenage siblings, in tow? I remember the excitement of the house a half-mile away that always had a crazy haunted house set-up that you had to go through to get to the witch with the candy (King size Hershey bars, no less). I remember the frustration when a house with lights on wouldn't open the door, and the joy when someone did answer, in an amazing costume or with a crazy party in the background. I remember the mystery of the candy - sometimes money or toys. My favourite was Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, but sometimes you got something new and unusual - like rice candy or home made cookies.

I remember all that, and I feel pity for the children of the last decade.

I think it began when I was in high school with all those urban myths about poison candy. Suddenly, children were advised to not take home-made goodies, because someone might be handing out strychnine laden cookies, without a care of how easy they would be to trace. Then they couldn't eat their candy before getting home, so that their parents could check to make sure the wrappers weren't tampered with - because child-murderers hold in their animus all year to let loose on Halloween!

When I was finally old enough to stay home and hand out candy (at least, that's how I saw it), my mom was grateful to have some help. That first year, I barely got more than 10 minutes to myself between Trick-or-Treaters between 6.30pm and 9pm. We had no candy leftover.

Sometime between then, and now, people became scared of Halloween, and not in the fun way. For years, we kept buying tons of candy, and then we'd be forced to eat it ourselves over the next month.

In 2006, I lived in Van Nuys, California. On Halloween night, my roommate at the time was going to some huge party in West Hollywood, but I declined to go along because his friends seemed like douches. I was all set to spend the evening watching episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer with my giant bowl of fun-size candy, dressed as a zombie. I thought I might get 2 or 3 Trick-or-Treaters, but Oh was I wrong!

That night, I blasted through all the candy reserves (my roommate, having lived there in years past, was prepared). There were teenagers not even in costume! There were young mothers with babies in strollers! And of course, adorable children in fairy and ninja costumes. It was amazing.

Last night, I rushed around, last minute, trying to get some candy. It's the first year since Van Nuys when I have lived in a house. I've always thought that having candy on Halloween was one of the most important responsibilities of home-ownership (or home-rentership). I considered making cookies, to cut down on candy-related trash, but I know how paranoid people are about that now. So I went to Cost Plus and picked up some Botan Rice-Candy and Kinder Chocolates. I got home just as dark fell. Crayon was dressed as Dracula, I was dressed as his victim. I put candles on the front porch, drew scary bats on our punkins, and waited.

Our only visitors were the children from next door.

Someone posted on Facebook last night how when they went out, people answered the door just to say they weren't giving out candy. It's a sad cycle. Children don't come, so people don't have candy ready. So the children who do come get disappointed.

And it makes me wonder, why is Halloween still so alive in Van Nuys? Van Nuys is a predominately Hispanic community, and I wonder if the nature of ethnic communities makes the residents more trusting of each other, more like actual communities. I talk to my neighbours, but not everyone does (I'm looking at you, people across the street who won't even make eye-contact).

I'm also reminded of a few years ago, when I went back to my home town and stopped to look at my childhood home. Boyfriend and I took a picture for my parents, because it had changed so. Then we walked to the park that was my favourite childhood haunt. When we walked back to our car, we were stopped by the police.

Fearful suburbanites had reported hippies taking photographs.

The residents of the house were most abashed when they learned that I, too, was once a middle-class house dweller. Their excuse? A car was broken into a week ago. The neighbourhood had become "dangerous." So, of COURSE they had to assume that we had a nefarious purpose for taking a photograph of a house in broad daylight.

I guess my conclusion is this: talk to your neighbors. Share cake recipes or whatever. We need to remember that we all live on these streets together, and that it is extremely unlikely that the couple down the street will try to murder your children any day of the year, much less Halloween.

Let your children have fun again. I cannot, in my wildest imagination, think that getting candy from minimum wage workers in a fluorescent-lit mall is anywhere near the same experience.