Reconnecting with la familia Flores

My mom, Theresa, and sisters Cathy (left) and Rosemary

Three weekends ago I flew down to the Bay Area, stayed overnight at my mom's, then drove her and myself down to the sleepy little agricultural town of Gonzales, California. The occasion? The first-ever Flores Family Reunion.

Don't know why it took so long for the Flores family to come together, considering that my dad's side of the family has been meeting annually for 33 years. That it did, and that it came off so well, is a tribute to my niece Bernie and cousin Lisa, who did most of the planning. (I'm cringing as I write that sentence, not wishing to overlook anyone's contribution.)

I didn't plan to write about the reunion immediately, knowing I'd dive back into work and a busy social calendar this month. But with July just about ready to give way to August, it's time to get down to business.

My Aunt Lupe

First, the details.
The reunion was held on Saturday, July 9, at the American Legion Hall, home of Post 81. We had a catered lunch/dinner featuring Mexican food, of course, and played table games and a little bit of music. We took plenty of photographs and mostly just hung out. The event continued with a Sunday Mass and everyone said their goodbyes in the church parking lot.

So, who was there?
Approximately 75 people, more than I anticipated. Most were from California and many of those live within 30 minutes of Gonzales, which is in Monterey County, about 50 miles south of San Jose. There were three of the original nine Flores siblings -- my mom, one aunt, one uncle -- both of my sisters, lots of cousins, plenty of spouses and significant others, and several grandchildren.

Who came the farthest?
My younger sister Cathy flew in from Alaska, my cousin Julie from Chicago and I came down from Portland, as noted. Each of us got a prize..

Cousin Lisa

So, what were the highlights?
It was nice to see my godmother, Lupe, the oldest of the nine siblings at age 88, and my uncle Junior (named after the family patriarch, Julian), the only surviving brother. I looked forward to meeting Bernie's husband, Terrell (as I couldn't attend their wedding a few years ago), and I was not disappointed. He's quieter than I imagined (though I'm told he can get crazy like anyone else) and a real gentleman. Plus, being together with both my sisters was a rare treat. My older sister, Rosemary, lives near San Diego, so we're really spread out along the West Coast.

Any surprises?
Honestly, no. Well, yes. Until I reviewed the details of a family tree that was assembled for the occasion, I didn't realize that my cousin Bobby had produced children, starting at age 14, with four different women, some married and some not. More than one person noted, tongue in cheek, that he could have had his own family reunion.

Niece Bernie and husband Terrell

Any disappointments?
One, that we couldn't have done this sooner. Though three siblings attended, a fourth one, my Aunt Toni, was unable to be there because of health issues. Sadder still, three aunts and two uncles have already passed away. One set of four cousins was entirely unrepresented. Two, that Lori couldn't have been with me. As we considered our summer schedule and household budget, we agreed it made sense for just me to attend. As things turned out, Lori wound up visiting our daughter Simone at the same time in Pittsburgh. If another reunion is held, I would hope the two of us could both attend.

Best thing about the reunion?
Just being around family again. Living in Oregon for 35 (make that 36) years has meant infrequent trips to California, where most of our relatives on both sides live. Getting enough time (it's a two-day car trip each way) and coming up with enough money (hard to do when you have three children) to pay for it all isn't easy.

Being there solo meant I could spend as much time as I liked with everyone, renewing relationships and catching up on family. It also meant I could match names and faces with younger cousins (some of whom, I realized, are 20 years or so younger than me), as well as my older cousins' children and grandchildren and their spouses.

Cousin Ralph, my "twin"

Anything else?
There was a poignant moment when my mom and I were driving down U.S. 101, past the agricultural fields at the north end of the Salinas Valley, a 90-mile stretch that's known as "America's salad bowl." From the passenger's seat, she pointed out the window to where she and her sisters picked strawberries, lettuce and other crops as young girls. She'll be 84 this fall. We've had our ups and downs, like so many other parent-child relationships, but I will never stop admiring how far she and my dad (remarried and living in New Mexico) have come despite never attending high school, and appreciating all they did to give my sisters and me greater opportunities than they had.

Final thoughts?
Sharing a common heritage -- Mexican and proud of it -- and being in a roomful of people who accept you and embrace you without judgment are two wonderful things. I don't take either for granted. At times, I wish I lived closer to many of my relatives. At the same time, I can't say I would change any of the big life decisions which brought me north and have kept me here. California has its attractions, but Oregon is the place where Lori and I have raised our family and sunk our roots.

Que viva la familia Flores!

Marshall's metamorphosis

With three kids in their 20s and (eek) early 30s, Lori and I are at the age where we can take pride in the different paths they've taken to adulthood and the multitude of interests they've pursued along the way.

So it isn't much of a stretch to feel a certain pride in the accomplishments of our friends' children, too, as they hit various milestones on their life's journey. Such was the case Tuesday night when we saw Marshall Baker, one of Jordan's lifelong friends, in a live musical performance at the White Eagle Saloon.

He and his musical partner, Tony Hawes, played a half-hour set of original contemporary folk music under the moniker of Instant Tradition. They're on a tour of the Northwest that continues tomorrow night at Artichoke Music in Southeast Portland. Check out their bios and listen to their songs on their Facebook page.

We've known Marshall literally since he was in diapers, part of a play group that also included Jordan and led to a friendship with his parents, Rebecca and Greg, and little sister Clara. The two boys went to preschool together, joined (and survived) the Cub Scouts, attended each other's birthday parties and attended the same  neighborhood public schools, culminating with their high school graduation in 2005. They played together on sports teams and wrestled at Grant High School, during which time Marshall evolved from tall, scrawny kid to tall, muscular kid.

Jordan joined the Army, got married and lives off base near Fort Lewis in Washington state. Marshall went to Whitman College, got a degree in music composition, and moved to Lawrence, Kansas, to start making music. Marshall's always been scary smart -- the kid who could get straight As with little or no effort -- and a handful at times, but he's also been a talented musician, influenced by his fiddle-playing dad.

Todd Hawes and Marshall Baker: KJHK studios in Lawrence, Kansas

On Tuesday, he played the fiddle and mandolin and sang harmony vocals. At age 23, with his shoulder-length brown hair and baby face, blue denims and long-sleeved white shirt, he resembled a young Johnny Depp. He got called up by the next band to join them for a couple of songs on fiddle and the vocalist couldn't help but notice the fan support.

"You seem to be pretty popular, Marshall."
"Yeah, I grew up here."

Marshall came over between sets, gave us each a hug and signed two copies of his band's debut CD.

Instant Tradition. Pretty cool.

Album cover, photo: www.facebook.com/instanttradition

The cycle of life

Shay & Sasha & baby Francis

With the death of two dear uncles earlier this year, it was a refreshing experience to be in the company of a newborn and his proud parents last night.

We visited my second cousin Shay, her husband Sasha and their baby boy Francis at their home in Southeast Portland. It was a perfect summer night, with a light breeze coming through the living room window and a quiet dinner on the deck overlooking their backyard.

Francis was born June 8, a day before Shay's birthday and two weeks before Sasha's. Throw in Father's Day and it made for a month of celebrations. Not that anyone's complaining, of course.

It's been oh-so-long since I changed a diaper, fetched a bottle or wrestled with a car seat, so it was nice to be a spectator and see the joy that Shay and Sasha exhibit as young parents, nurturing and nuzzling their little guy. Um, make that their not-so little guy. At 21 inches, his height registered in the 93rd percentile of newborns.

Bootleg, master of the house

Francis was snoozing when we arrived just before 6:30 pm. After he woke up, it took him a little while to find his comfort zone -- maybe a diaper change had something to do with it. But by the time we left, just before 9 pm, he had settled into an alert but calm phase, eyes wide open and snuggled in Sasha's arms as we conversed with everyone, including their roommate Aaron.

We brought Otto along and he left having made a new friend in Bootleg.

There's much to appreciate in the cycle of life. As our elders pass away, their places on this planet are taken by shiny, new little people like Francis. One can only hope we leave the Earth in good enough shape that his and future generations can partake of the same opportunities -- educational, economic and environmental -- that we've been privileged to have.

A father's appreciation

Nathan and Jordan / 2007

Four chapters into the book I'm reading, I was stopped in my tracks by this paragraph:

Lou puts his arm around Rolph. If he were an introspective man, he would have understood years ago that his son is the one person in the world with the power to soothe him. And that, while he expects Rolph to be like him, what he most enjoys in his son are the many ways he is different: quiet, reflective, attuned to the natural world and the pain of others.

 -- Jennifer Egan, "A Visit From The Goon Squad"

 

For me, it's beside the point that Lou is a twice-divorced jerk having a fling with a younger woman. Or that Rolph is an earnest 11-year-old boy, not quite at the cusp of adolescence, not yet fully aware of his father's character flaws.

No, the power of that paragraph lies in that it made me stop and ask: What about my own kids? How are they different from me? And what do I enjoy most about them?

With Father's Day nearly upon us, it's a good time to answer those questions.

Nathan is outgoing, comfortable in seemingly any kind of new social situation. I can still be a wallflower at times, but he often (and quite naturally) becomes the center of attention with his storytelling and killer sense of humor. It's been great to see him grow comfortable in his own skin.

Simone in Oaxaca, Mexico / 2006

Simone is self-confident, a trait that's rooted in her academic success and enhanced by working in the trenches with the disadvantaged: alternative high school students, teen parents, gay youth, immigrant kids and their parents. It's one thing to write about the poor and the overlooked, as I've done, and another to work with them directly, as she has. She walks the talk when it comes to social justice.

Jordan is independent-minded, someone who is unafraid to take the path less traveled by his peers, joining the Army at 21, getting married at 22. I enjoy solitary activities like running and swimming  but he takes it to another level, welcoming the mano-a-mano of wrestling and mixed martial arts. I guess you could say he's fearless when it comes to physical challenges.

These were the first things that popped into my head. A good followup question: Are these traits the products of nature or nurture?

And then there were four

In late March, I wrote about the death of my Uncle Paul, the oldest of seven brothers on my dad's side. Now here I am again, writing about the death of my Uncle Manuel, the youngest of those seven Rede boys.

My Uncle Manny died a week ago (June 3) at age 78. He'd suffered strokes in recent years that had left him unable to travel and, in his waning days, unable to talk. Quite a contrast from the image I will carry in my mind of a tall, slim man with a quiet personality, erect posture and wry sense of humor.

He lived in Irvine, California, the epitome of an Orange County suburb, and is survived by his angelic wife of 55 years, Linda, who provided 24/7 care in the final stage of his life; four children (my cousins Michael, Laura, Bobby and Stephanie); and seven grandchildren. The online obituary that appeared in southern California newspapers dutifully noted that he was a graduate of California State University at Fullerton; a U.S. Navy veteran; and that he had a long history in public service, working in local government as a personnel director, deputy city manager and city manager, and later for the Immigration and Naturalization Service. (No, he wasn't an enforcement agent; he was a property manager for the federal agency.)

What the obit didn't say was that he was the only one in a family of nine siblings who had made it to college (a bachelor's degree in political science and a masters in public administration). My dad often told me that he and his brothers, most of whom didn't graduate high school, worked hard in very physical jobs so their littlest brother could have a shot at higher education. They weren't resentful of him; they were proud.

Uncle Manny's passing hit my younger sister, Cathy, particularly hard as he and my Aunt Linda were her baptismal godparents. Though separated by thousands of miles -- she lives in Alaska -- they were very close and she visited them every chance she got. She was able to find a cheap redeye flight this week and is headed down today for the memorial service Saturday.

When I spoke with my dad earlier this week to express my condolences, he seemed subdued. And with good reason. His oldest brother, Paul, died one day before my dad's birthday. A little over 10 weeks later, his youngest brother, Manny, died, just two days before the anniversary of their sister Mary's death.

This leaves just four of the original nine siblings: Valentina, the oldest, now in her 90s; my dad, Catarino; and two brothers, Joe and Luciano.

On my mother's side, there are also four surviving siblings out of the original nine: sisters Lupe, Theresa (my mom) and Antonia, and their youngest brother, Julian.

With each passing year, I'm more appreciative of each chance to visit with them, and I'm reminded of the considerable obstacles they've overcome as working class Mexican Americans to create better opportunities for their spouses and children. Uncle Manny was a living, breathing example of someone whose accomplishments reflected his family's aspirations for a better life and who, in turn, served as a role model for nieces and nephews like me.

Dinner and two little Ewoks

Smidgen & Lori

After considerable driving Saturday and Sunday on our round-trip to Central Oregon, it was a luxury to have dinner across town Monday night at the home of Nathan and Sara.

They live in Southeast Portland in a modest two-bedroom home with a cozy kitchen, a huge fenced  backyard and a covered patio. It was our first time visiting them there, as Nathan just moved in a month ago with his girlfriend.

The dinner was delicious. Nathan slow-grilled some chicken with paprika and other spices until it was falling off the bone. Sara prepared a wonderful watercress, endive and radish salad with a lemon vinaigrette dressing and goat cheese crostini.

Uni talks to the hand

We also got the chance to meet their "roommates." Sara has two adorable Yorkshire Terriers -- a female named Uni and a male named Smidgen. They're about the same size as little bunnies and super friendly. If I didn't know better, I'd think the two little Ewoks were part of the cast in "Star Wars."

It's nice to see such a cute couple in their element. Hope to see 'em again this summer on their turf.

Lori and the three amigos

Jordan, Lori & Nathan

A year ago, Lori and I went over to Simone and Kyndall's place in North Portland to celebrate Mother's Day with a backyard brunch on a warm, sunny day. Nathan joined us but Jordan and Jamie weren't able to, as they were stationed in El Paso then.

Today it was a different lineup, but one that I think we'll remember for a long time: Lori, our two sons and me. The three amigos.

I'd invited Nathan and his girlfriend over to our place for brunch but she understandably declined in order to spend time with her mom, who also lives in the area. Then, on Friday we got confirmation that Jordan was going to be able to drive down from Olympia, where he and Jamie now live, although she was going to have to miss the gathering in order to work Sunday (today).

Jordan arrived in time Saturday for us to walk to dinner for one of his favorite meals: a chicken burrito from Chipotle. (What can I say? The guy knows what he likes.) He went out that night to see Nathan at Holocene, the night club where he works the door and sometimes DJs, so it was good they had Bro Time, considering how seldom they're able to see each other.

Around noon we sat down to a delicious brunch: spinach/sun-dried tomato frittata; wild mushroom mix with butter lettuce and pine nuts; mixed greens with orange wedges and a citrus dressing.

On a day when we honor the women who give us life and raise us, it was wonderful to see Lori positively beaming. We absolutely missed Simone and Kyndall (though we did talk to our daughter this morning), as well as Sara and Jamie. But seeing a mom with her two sons was pretty special. Throw in the ol' hubby and there was a lot of testosterone at the table. And a burp or two.

Nathan, George & Jordan

Lori and I always marvel at how wildly different our three children are. (And, come to think of it, how wildly different their significant others are from each other, too. But I suppose that makes sense.

All I know is that as a husband and father, nothing makes me happier than seeing my wife bask in the love and attention of our children. As the saying goes, she'd take a bullet for any of them.

No. 31 for Nate

Red Velvet cupcakes

Today marks Birthday No. 31 for our first-born child, Nathan.

We had him and his girlfriend Sara over for dinner last night, as it was just about our only opportunity around his special day. Sara's taking him to dinner tonight at a fine restaurant and they're hosting a big bash at their house next Sunday. (Yes, it's Mother's Day but it's also an extended celebration for him.)

Lori prepared pozole, the same dish I wrote about recently and which we served to our good friends, Bob and Deb, when they visited last month. It's been a big hit every time so why mess with success? Throw in some red velvet cupcakes for dessert and you've got one great meal.

For the last 10 months, Nathan has been the only one of our three kids living in Portland. Yet it's not uncommon for us to go two or three weeks without seeing him and Sara owing to conflicting work schedules and social calendars.

So, it was fun to see him two days in a row. On Sunday, he joined our team at a bowling fundraiser/pizza party for Big Brothers Big Sisters. Then, last night, it was dinner and birthday gifts. It's good to see him and his sweetie so much at ease with each other around us.

Reconnecting

Sasha & Shay

The last time I saw Shay was four years ago, at the funeral of her mother, my cousin Mary Lou. She was 20 or 21 then. And the time before that? Probably when she was about 7, at a family gathering of some type in California. I remember a photo of her seated at a booth in a restaurant with our kids, her long black hair and dark skin making her a younger, smaller version of her beautiful mother.

So it was quite an experience this weekend when we renewed family ties with Shay and her fiance Sasha, first at dinner at our house Saturday night and then at brunch at their place on Sunday.

She's 25 now, seven months pregnant and less than two weeks from her wedding date. In other words, she's all grown up. Like her mom, she's artistic, well-spoken and beautiful. And what a delight to know she and Sasha are just a couple miles away, having bought a home in Southeast Portland's Buckman neighborhood just last month.

Mary Lou and I were born the same week in 1952, she on Christmas Eve and me three days later. Our mothers were sisters. Mary Lou was the middle child, born between two brothers. I, too, am a  middle child, with two sisters. She and my younger sister, Cathy, became like sisters as we all grew up and they maintained a super-tight bond as adults. When Mary Lou died of cancer, I flew down from Portland for the funeral and that's the last time I was around my aunt, my cousins and their wives and kids, and Shay. I guess that's the drawback of living 600 to 700 miles from most of your relatives.

Happily, we were able to catch up some this weekend. Turns out that Shay twice has set out by herself on extended solo walking excursions from California to various points east. She lives a minimalist lifestyle and simply wanted to purge herself of material things while placing her faith in the goodwill and generosity of friends and strangers during her treks. During her second excursion, she met Sasha as she was passing through Tucson and, well, one thing led to another. They'll be married April 23 and they're due to become parents in June.

Near Bastrop, Texas, about 30 miles southeast of Austin

She's got a marvelous blog, The Adventure Hobo, that chronicles her 2009 and 2010 trips. There are oodles of photographs, nearly daily entries and a couple of blurbs where small-town newspapers published feature stories about her cashless odyssey. I'm amazed that she had no real issues, other than tired feet and honkin' blisters, but then I guess that's the lesson for the rest of us. People, especially off the beaten path, are basically good.

Shay and Sasha exude all the hope and optimism you like to see in a young couple. It will be nice to be close by as they move through life's milestones.

Photograph by Shay Emmons

Another fork in the road?

We went to see Jake Gyllenhaal's new movie ("Source Code") this weekend -- and, oddly enough, this futuristic flick echoed the key question at the heart of an Anne Tyler novel that I just finished:  If  you had the chance, would you go back and take another fork in the road, knowing you would lead an entirely different life?

"Source Code" is one of those mind-bending films that is best enjoyed when you suspend belief. In other words, forget about the plausibility of the plot. Ignore the confusion over past, present and future. IMDb (Internet Movie Database) summarizes it as "An action thriller centered on a soldier who wakes up in the body of an unknown man and discovers he's part of a mission to find the bomber of a Chicago commuter train."

Yeah, right.

In any case, there comes a point where Colter Stevens (Gyllenhaal) ponders the fork-in-the-road question. With rising urgency, he asks his future love interest: "What would you do if you knew you only had one minute to live?"

In that moment, it made me think of "Back When We Were Grownups," Tyler's 15th novel (published in 2001), and its main character, Rebecca Davitch. She is a 53-year-old grandmother who became a widow six years into her marriage and suddenly was faced with the challenge of raising three stepdaughters along with her own biological daughter. Later, the brother of her late father-in-law also moves in after the death of his wife and, nearing his 100th birthday, he's probably the biggest burden of all.

Rebecca is the sun around which all the other family members orbit, taking care of everyone's needs, running the family business, constantly trying to smooth over tensions and misunderstandings, rarely stopping to think about how she came to lead the life she is living.

The novel begins: "Once upon a time, there was a woman who discovered she had turned into the wrong person."

And the first chapter ends, "How on earth did I get like this? How? How did I ever become this person who's not really me?"

As the story unfolds, Rebecca is given a second chance. Her high school boyfriend, Will, the one she expected to marry until she met and married Joe Davitch, is living nearby and is divorced. She looks him up and calls him one night. They meet at a restaurant. They eventually start seeing each other again. She invites him over to meet her extended family. He invites her to dinner to meet his teenage daughter. She's known him since childhood.

Is this the man she was meant to be with? How different would life have turned out had she chosen Will over Joe? With all four daughters grown, is there anything stopping her from belatedly taking another fork in the road?

They are intriguing questions and Lori and I talked about them over dinner -- homemade fish tacos, enjoyed in the quiet of an early evening, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window from the second floor of our condo. No, we agreed, we have no regrets about the path we chose to travel together after we met as college students in the mid-70s. Yes, we realized, we have friends and relatives who essentially gave themselves a second chance when they remarried. It's worked out for most, but not all.

Interestingly, I had a similar reaction to the movie and the book. Both were OK, but hardly stellar.   "Source Code" is pure Hollywood: lots of explosions and special effects, tense moments and a happy ending. "Back When We Were Grownups" took a while to get into, mainly because there were so many characters to keep track of, including Rebecca's daughters (nicknamed Biddy, Patch, NoNo, MinFoo), their husbands and children. Rebecca's epiphany comes late in the novel, though, and more or less makes up for any weaknesses in the storytelling.

Even if you never see the movie or the book, it's an interesting exercise to imagine the alternative life you might have led by following another fork in the road.

Photograph: thriveable.com

The long life of a good man

Tio Pablo

How do you sum up the life of a man? Especially one whose warmth and gregariousness made everyone around him feel loved and appreciated.

All I know is that the standard newspaper obituary -- in this case, a single paragraph with a mere eight sentences -- doesn't do justice to Paul A. Rede, who died last week at age 89.

Uncle Paul was the second-oldest of nine children -- seven brothers and two sisters -- on my dad's side. His wife and daughter preceded him in death, leaving three sons, six grandchildren and two great-grandchildren, along with four surviving brothers and a sister.

Born into a poor family in rural New Mexico, he never attended high school. Like each of his brothers, he served in the U.S. Navy, seeing action during World War II and Korea. After the service, he settled in Gilroy, California, where he worked as an auto mechanic and later opened a florist shop -- and developed a love for golf.

As the oldest of the boys, he occupied a special place among the Rede siblings and within the extended family. No one was more enthusiastic than him when it came to planning and perpetuating the annual Rede reunion that typically drew 100 or more relatives. He and Oralia, his wife of 42 years, must have hosted it at least two or three times in Gilroy, known as the Garlic Capital of the World. As a widower, he nudged two of his sons to co-host last year's reunion in San Francisco.

Two years ago, at age 87, he and my Uncle Luciano came up to Portland for the annual summer gathering of Redes. No one was surprised that Uncle Paul did all the driving -- both ways.

My dear uncle will be buried today in Gilroy. I won't be able to attend. But I'll always carry fond memories of him warmly greeting Lori and me at the few reunions we were able to attend in recent years, of him making the rounds to socialize with nephews, nieces and cousins, and of him playing cards and dominoes with his brothers.

An inky surprise (times two)

Jamie and Lori

Leave it to my daring daughter-in-law and fashionable wife to render me speechless...in a good way.

Jamie had a couple of days off last week while Jordan, our son, was out in the field with the Army so she came down to spend some time with us. She and Lori went out and did the usual things -- walked the dogs, had lunch out, indulged in a little bit of shopping. Still, it was a surprise when I met them after work Thursday at a Thai restaurant that's become one of Jamie's favorite restaurants in Portland.

"Guess what we did today?" she asked, grinning from ear to ear.
"Um...shopped?"
"Yep. Want to see what we got?"
"Sure."

I'm expecting them to pull out a shopping bag or two. Instead, Jamie gets up, sits next to me, whips out her phone and shows me a photo of an eagle feather tattooed on her right hip. Whoa!! This is the conservative country girl who I would have thought would have been one of the last two people on Earth (me being the other one) to get a tattoo?? Evidently, she'd been thinking about it for a while. And the eagle has special meaning because it one was flying overhead when Jordan proposed to her in the great outdoors of Southern Oregon.

I'm trying to process this when I notice Lori is still smiling. Sure enough, she got another tattoo -- not a tattoo, but another tattoo.

She already has one on her lower back. This one is on her left forearm. In bold script it reads: mi la famiglia. (My family.) Could there be a better representation of what my wife considers most important in her life?

***

The following day, Nathan came over for a brief visit and got the news. He was equally surprised at Jamie's tat and totally impressed at Lori's. So much so that he went down to the computer and fired off a Facebook post declaring "My mom's cooler than yours."

Can't argue with that.

Grown-up Austin

Austin watches the Blazers lose.

This past week we were blessed with the presence of my younger sister's son, Austin. He lives in Palmer, Alaska, a suburb of Anchorage, with his wife Starr and their three children. Justice and Jada just might be the cutest little girls on the planet. (Judge for yourself below.) Their little brother, Ashton, is a spittin' image of their dad, who in turn is a Mini Me version of his dad, Kevin.

Austin is an animal control officer in Palmer, the seat of Matunuska-Susitna Borough (borough = county), about 40 miles northeast of Anchorage. It's right next to Wasilla, the little town made famous by its former mayor. (You know who I'm talkin' about.)

Anyway, the borough sent him down to Portland for a week of professional training offered by the National Animal Control Association. He joined 30 other officers from around the country for workshops at a local community college and, fortunately, had a little time to explore Portland on his own before and just after the conference ended. He was pretty resourceful, riding the light-train from near the airport to downtown and back.

I met up with him on Tuesday night for what I hoped would be a real treat -- the Trail Blazers vs. Houston Rockets game at the Rose Garden. Argh! The Blazers played horribly and lost by 16 points. In fact, I think they trailed from start to finish.

It was fun being with Austin because he's so knowledgeable about the NBA and its players. I overlooked the fact that he's a lifelong Lakers fan and a big Kobe Bryant supporter.

On Friday, Lori and I picked him up from the mall near our house and treated him to dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant in our neighborhood. What a delightful evening. He loved the food, which we anticipated. But we had such a great talk over dinner and then back at our place.

Jada and Justice

Each of my two sisters has only one kid, so Austin has always had a special place in the family. It's been hard not seeing him as frequently as we'd like, especially during his growing-up years in Dillingham, a small fishing village on Bristol Bay that's 300 miles from Anchorage and very hard to get to. It was natural that he'd develop a love for the outdoors, including fishing and hunting, and not surprising that he would work for some time on a commercial boat. He'll turn 30 in November and it's wonderful to see he's blossomed into a solid, stand-up guy: self-confident without being cocky and a young man who clearly loves his wife and cherishes his family life.

I attribute a lot of this to his service in the U.S. Navy, which appears to have instilled in him a nice balance of self-discipline, tolerance and patience. At dinner, he told us of his travels to Singapore, Ghana, Senegal, Spain and Portugal. For the last few years, he lived in Port Hueneme, just outside Santa Barbara. He used his military benefits to buy his family a home in Palmer and he seems just really comfortable with himself and his situation.

My sister Cathy raised him mostly as a single mother, following Kevin's death in an auto accident when Austin was still a young boy. He and his family stayed with us overnight last summer when they were en route from California to Alaska following his discharge from the Navy. We hadn't seen him since, so it was a real treat. Cathy has every reason to feel proud. Austin is a great young man and someone I'm proud to call my nephew.

64 hours in Silver City

Son and father

Could there be two places in this country more different than Portland, Oregon, and Silver City, New Mexico?

I suppose so, but the pairing of these polar opposites is something that gives me pause to consider what brings joy and fulfillment to my father and me.

I flew into Phoenix Thursday morning, rented a car and hit the road for the five-hour drive to my dad's home in Silver City, roughly 50 miles from the Arizona border in the southwestern corner of the state. Silver City is a retirement community located in the heart of the Old West, with open-pit mines, an historic downtown with a laid-back vibe and clear blue skies soaring above the surrounding Gila National Forest. The town has 10,000 residents (1/3 of Grant County's total population) and it's situated at an altitude of 5,900 feet, something that became quite apparent when I went for an afternoon run on Friday. Whew!

About half the town is of Latino descent and the Spanish, Mexican and Native American influences are seen everywhere -- from food to architecture to street and geographic names. Walmart is the dominant retailer and, as far as I can tell, there is a single two-screen movie theater and a bowling alley. A billboard on the east end of town proclaimed: "Congress...you betrayed us! Now it's personal. Return freedom to America!" Sure enough, Grant County has a thriving tea party -- much to the consternation of my "union man" dad and his progressive/compassionate wife.

And Portland? No value judgments here, just a recitation of the facts. You've got the nation's No. 1 ranked city for mass transit; an ecofriendly hub for young creatives that's become the darling of East Coast media; a cool, damp climate; and an overwhelmingly white and liberal population. Silver City has green chile, tamales and turquoise; Portland has microbrews, coffeehouses and nose rings.

Historic downtown Silver City

While visiting with my dad, Catarino, and stepmother, Oralia, I attended a Thursday night community concert at Western New Mexico University's fine arts theatre; treated them to a foamy  drink at an internet cafe (Javalina Coffee House) on Friday morning; and accompanied them to an American Legion monthly breakfast on Saturday morning, where I met a few veterans (WWII, Vietnam and Iraq) and their wives.

On Saturday afternoon, we took a drive to Bayard, 10 miles to the east, where we toured Fort Bayard National Cemetery, dropped in on an arts and crafts sale to benefit women and girls living along the U.S.-Mexico border; and devoured a delicious Mexican lunch at a hole in the wall. Sunday morning, we met a friend of theirs for breakfast at Vicki's Eatery, a delightful place that serves great eggs benedict and got a recent mention in The New York Times. I said my goodbyes, gassed up and hit the road.

During my two-plus days in town, I transitioned easily into the take-it-easy pace led by my dad, soon to turn 85, and stepmom. They have a view of the mountains from their place and it's quieter than a morgue. They've got comfortable rocking chairs set up in front of the wood stove, which heats the home quite nicely, and their 14-year-old Chihuahua, Mickey, is their constant companion.

My dad is slowing down but still stays active with the American Legion, the Veterans of Foreign Wars, the Knights of Columbus and the League of United Latin American Citizens, also known as LULAC. Oralia, meanwhile, is engaged in a variety of volunteer organizations and humanitarian causes, plus the church choir, and seems to know everybody in town.

Catarino and Oralia

Clearly, my dad and Oralia have embraced the comfort born of small-town familiarity and peace of mind that comes from clean air, quiet nights and a low level of crime. After a lifetime of physical labor, Dad deserves a less stressful lifestyle like this, in the state where he was born. I suspect that Ora, a registered nurse who once worked the emergency rooms in Oakland, California, could be happy just about anywhere. I'm grateful that she's such a resourceful person and a supportive wife.

As relaxing as it is, I could never see myself living there. Too small, too slow, too isolated. I need -- "want" is probably the more accurate term -- more options when it comes to music, movies, food, shopping and things to do, whether it's visiting a bookstore, catching a lecture or a concert. I'll gladly make the trade-off anytime between urban living, with its sometimes unpleasant aspects, and anonymity because Portland provides all the stimulation I need.

Photograph: www.placeeconomics.com 

Dad and daughter duet

"For some reason," a Rough and Rede follower wrote to me, "I thought of you and your blog when I saw this...it will put a smile on your face!"

I'm flattered by the sentiment. And my cyberspace friend is right -- it did put a smile on my face. Take three minutes to view and enjoy.

Click below to get the proper introduction.

http://shine.yahoo.com/event/momentsofmotherhood/this-week-in-mom-dad-and-daughter-duet-2444229/

Or, if you're in a hurry, just play the YouTube video.  

Life is good

Nathan at Tasty n Sons

Every once in a while, I pause to realize how much I have to appreciate in life. Today is one of those days.

I think it may have to do with the fact that I've been batching it this weekend. Lori flew down to San Francisco early Friday for annual gathering of her childhood friends, followed by a reunion of cousins on her dad's side. The old saying that absence makes the heart grow fonder applies in this case. I think it's healthy for each partner in a marriage to be able to get away like that, free from the routine of home and all that is familiar. She returns late tonight and it will be wonderful to see her again.

Burmese Red Pork Stew with short grain rice & eggs 

I went to a late breakfast today with Nathan. It was another one of those father-son dates where there are no distractions -- just full-on attention for each other while sharing a wonderfully delicious meal. After plowing through two large plates and three small ones at Tasty n Sons on North Williams Avenue, I understand what all the buzz is about. It's shot to my Top 3 list of breakfast joints in Portland. More important, it's great to hear of another job promotion and pay raise for Nathan -- this time at Holocene, where he works as a dance club doorman -- and his happiness with girlfriend Sara.

Meanwhile, I've been texting and talking with Simone to help her polish her resume and application essay for a summer fellowship that would allow her to stay in Pittsburgh for the summer. I appreciate the trust she continues to place in me as someone who can offer a critical eye in a constructive way. She's an amazing young woman, if I don't say so myself.

Also talked to my dad, who's 84 and living in Silver City, New Mexico, not far from the Mexican border. He recently had an accident where he lost his footing and fell getting out of his truck. He was checked out thoroughly at the local hospital and came out of it with nothing more than bumps, bruises, scrapes and skinned knees. Good to hear he's recovering well. Hope to visit him this year.

I passed on trying to get together a poker game this weekend so I could catch up on household chores, the NFL playoffs (Go Steelers! Go Packers!) and more music downloads (everything from '80s R&B to Bruno Mars). I'm heading out now on a long walk with Otto between rainstorms.

Life is good.

P.S. Almost forgot...Today's father-son time had extra meaning because it was a birthday treat. Nathan gave me a "certificate" last month that was good for a one-on-one breakfast anytime. Nice.

Jordan at 23

Jordan and Jamie at the 2009 Rede Reunion in Portland

In the next hour or so I expect to hear the front doorbell ring and there, standing on the porch will be my youngest son and his wife.

As hard as it was for me to come to terms with being 58, it won't be a big deal to have Jordan turn 23. The number seems to fit him. Since getting married in November 2009, he's seen a lot and done a lot, thanks to the military, and done a lot of maturing, thanks to his sweet bride, Jamie.

After they got married, they moved to El Paso and the ironically named Fort Bliss, where life was anything but. Jordan went on training manuevers in the desert mountains north of El Paso and, to the west, the barren terrain of New Mexico. He tried out for the Special Forces (Army Rangers)  in North Carolina and then, earlier this year, he got transferred to Joint Base Lewis-McChord outside Olympia, Washington, about 100 miles north of us.

It doesn't surprise me that Jordan is able to take all the physical training and tedium of the military in stride. He's always loved physical activity and challenges, whether it's skateboarding or wrestling, snowboarding or camping, and he's generally a patient person, although, I'm sure, even he has his limits when asked to inventory the same items he and his fellow grunts accounted for the day before.

Most of all, it seems he has settled nicely into the role of a young husband who's loving toward and supportive of his wife.

It's fun to think back on his different phases and interests, such as ... When he dyed his hair blond and did all kinds of skateboarding tricks in middle school. ... When he took up break dancing, then progressed to mixed martial arts. ... When he lived alone for a few weeks on our Orcas Island cabin, subsisting on part-time summer jobs helping out on a local farm and working in a restaurant kitchen.

Killer Burger baskets

As he's grown older, it's nice to see the bond he has with Nathan and Simone grow ever stronger. I think there is mutual aspect amongst the three of them, who each bring different talents and personalities to the table. They've taken him under their wing in certain ways but there's no doubt that he's flying on his own now: A married man, serving in the all-volunteer Army, and training to be part of a Stryker Brigade at the same time that he remains a kid at heart, laughing out loud at "Elf," guzzling root beer and cuddling his orange-and-white kitten, Mr. Biggs.

If all goes according to plan, we'll take him out to dinner at Killer Burger -- his first time there -- and then come back to tear into his favorite dessert, a chocolate wafer cake with layers of whipped cream.

12-27 and 58

A White Russian in Chicago / 2008

"How does it feel to be 58?" my mom asked.
"Pretty weird," I answered.

58. Fifty-eight. Cincuenta y ocho. No matter how I write it or say it in my head, it's weird to look at it and hear it. But with another birthday in the bank, it's time to get used to it: 59 is only 364 days away.

Actually, I think I'll remember this birthday more than most others. Why? Two things, I suppose. One that brought me face-to-face with a reminder of our mortality. And, two, a celebration here at home that underscored the centrality of family in my life.

The first moment came when I visited a friend in the hospital, a fellow member of the Broken Taco Shells bowling team who's three years younger than me. Late last week, he was in an exercise class when he started to feel some tightness in his chest. He left class to gather himself and after a short rest intended to drive about a mile back to his home. Instead, he trusted his instincts and drove himself to a hospital. Turned out he had 85 percent blockage in his arteries and wound up undergoing a quadruple bypass surgery. He's an exercise buff and eats well, for the most part, so he's recovering quickly and is scheduled to go home today. His positive attitude was great to see and it was nice to spend time with him. But, still, it was a shock to hear of his ordeal and a reminder to never take my good health for granted. Here's to a quick and complete recovery!

The second moment came during the evening, when I found myself once again sitting down to a delicious meal prepared by my wife and two of our kids and consuming it in the warmth of the glow from our faux fireplace. It felt like a cocoon, being there with Lori, Nathan, Simone and their partners Sara and Kyndall, enjoying wine, food, presents and phone calls from my parents and sisters. (Would have been nice to have Jordan and Jamie, too, but they couldn't break away from Olympia.) Throw in six dozen birthday wishes on Facebook from friends and relatives and you can see why I might have felt overwhelmed by people's kindness.

As I set off to go to work this morning, I realize yet again how blessed I am to live this life.

Best of 2010

My bride since 1975

In no particular order...

Movie: "The Social Network" as a mirror of our times -- greed, genius, capitalism, technology, all rolled into one. Honorable mentions: "Winter's Bone" for thrusting me into the Ozarks' meth culture and "Black Swan" for a mesmerizing performance by Natalie Portman.

Book: "The Poisonwood Bible." Yes, I know it's several years old but I didn't read it until this year. Barbara Kingsolver is just a fabulous writer. Honorable mentions: Richard Russo's "Bridge of Sighs" and  Rebecca Skloot's "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks." Superb works of fiction and non-fiction, respectively.

Concert: A tie: Patty Griffin at the Crystal Ballroom, doing material from her new CD, "Downtown Church." Camera Obscura, with their wonderful frontwoman Tracyanne Campbell, at Berbati's Pan.

Vacation: Pittsburgh! Of course, any trip to Orcas Island is soothing for the soul but the few days spent last fall in western Pennsylvani's largest city were a revelation. So much to see and do (and eat) and with similarities to Portland and San Francisco.

Family milestones: The satisfaction of seeing Nathan land and excel in a marketing job while also developing a strong relationship with a lovely young woman, Sara. The pride of seeing Simone enroll in graduate school and thrive at Carnegie Mellon while writing a whole new chapter in her life, far from home, with Kyndall. The comfort of having Jordan and Jamie close to home again after transferring from Texas to Washington state for the next couple years of his Army enlistment.

Marital milestone: 35 years of marriage to Lori. We marked the occasion twice -- on the actual date (Sept. 6) and again over a period of days in Pittsburgh, concluding with a fabulous pan-Asian dinner.

Road trip: Six days and five nights on the interstate system in July with Simone, sharing father-and-daughter time with lots of laughs, each other's music and memorable meals, capped off by a visit to Cleveland's Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Museum.

Fun and games: Nothing beats Tuesday nights, when I join my fellow Broken Taco Shells, for a night of bowling...except for Saturday night poker and pizza with my buddies. Call it a tie. 

Politics: Repeal of  the military's "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy. If this barrier can fall, will we see same-sex marriage legalized in several more states -- if not across the country -- in my lifetime? One can hope.

Photograph: Taken by George on the Portland Tram to OHSU Hospital

Christmas Eve shorts

Stuffed mushrooms

A grab bag of thoughts and observations...

-- Spent two hours this morning at the Peet's coffee store at N.E. 15th and Broadway, helping to raise money for The Dougy Center. Pretty painless. You sit there at a table with some literature, chat with a fellow board member (Diane) and her daughter (Shawna), smile at folks as they walk in the door, and thank those that drop some cash or a check into the glass jar on the table. Peet's is matching donations all week long at that store, up to $1,000.

Bonus: I got to greet my bowling buddy (John) and his family (wife Andrea and son Austen), spend some time chatting with friends (Kay, Lakshmi and Raghu), and say hello to a former Grant Park neighbor I hadn't seen in a while (Sandy) and her older daughter (Julia), who used to babysit our kids.

Double bonus: Diane told me that before I arrived, the scruffy homeless guy sitting outside on the sidewalk came in and approached the table. They tensed up, wondering if he'd make a grab for the money in the jar. Instead, he pulled out a dollar and dropped it in there. Sweet.

-- Came home and helped Lori (in a very small way, to be sure) with preparations for the traditional hors d'oeuvres dinner that we have on Christmas Eve. Our guests tonight: Nathan and Sara, Jordan and Jamie. Simone and Kyndall are in Washington state visiting with Kyndall's relatives, due to return Sunday night. Lori is amazing in terms of her planning, cooking, baking and decorating. I'm a lucky, lucky man, to be married to her. She is, no question, the heart and soul of our family.

-- Got off work last night and plopped down on the couch with a burrito and a beer, all set to enjoy a mindless comedy we ordered off Netflix. Turned out to be, quite possibly, the worst film ever made: "Hot Tub Time Machine." Somewhere along the way I'd heard it was a goofy. sophomoric film, not unlike "Old School" or any other Will Farrell film. Wrong. It was goofy and sophomoric -- but it was badly done goofy and sophomoric.

Lori bailed out after 10 minutes. I hung in there for about 20. It had just about everything not working for it. Gratuitous profanity. Puerile dialogue. A despicable lead character (actually, he was one of the main three). Women as bimbos. And on and on... I could only wonder why John Cusack, a guy with a decent reputation as an actor, would have agreed to be in the film.