The last weekend in May

As I sit down to write, with 90 minutes left in the month of May, I find myself pulled in a dozen directions. Funny, when I started this blog three months ago, I wondered if I'd find enough fodder to sustain this little enterprise of mine.

Short answer: Yes.

Not everything has to be weighty and serious -- though I try sometimes to make a point that I hope resonates with those of you who are so kind as to give Rough and Rede any attention at all.

Nor does everything have to be funny -- though I sometimes wish I wrote with a lighter, breezier touch.

And by no means does it have to be about family -- if it were, I suspect it would come across as too insular.

So, with those caveats, I'll just give myself permission to roam here, there and everywhere my thoughts take me at this hour.

Good intentions. Way back in April, I wrote about the environmentalist David Suzuki and his passionate urging that all of us find ways to reduce our carbon footprint NOW in hopes of reversing the global warming trend. I vowed then I would do little things that were in sync with that message. I know it sounds trivial, but since then I've been taking the stairs a lot more at work and using the elevator a lot less; I've been more diligent about taking those canvas bags to the grocery store instead of using a new paper or plastic bag every time; and tomorrow morning, I'm going to start taking an insulated mug with me so I can avoid using a disposable cup every time I buy coffee. Small steps, I know, but things I should have been doing long ago.

Pushing myself. Yesterday, during the hottest part of the day -- high 80s -- I went down to the Springwater Corridor, just south of OMSI, and ran for nearly 50 minutes. Nearly everyone else on the paved path was on a bicycle (and, yes, it looked like fun), but I wanted to challenge myself a little -- not in a stupid way where I'd invite heat stroke, but in a good way where I'd take it steady, running alongside the river (above, a view from the east bank of the
Willamette River), occasionally passing into the shade and otherwise enjoying the sun beating down. When I was a kid, there was nothing better than playing a team sport. I'm no longer quick or agile enough for that, so I treasure the freedom and solitude that define running.

The pleasure of spontaneity. Today was the day I set aside to catch up on all I needed to do to send out information packets for the Rede family reunion in early July. At mid-morning, though, we got a call from our daughter and her partner, inviting us to come over for barbecued burgers and play time with our dogs -- their little rascal, Quimby, a Chihuahua/Pug mix, and our scamp, Otto, a Jack Russell terrier.

Otto wasn't feeling too good today (probably a combination of the heat and something he ate), so he was rather subdued. I could have stayed home and worked on the reunion stuff, but it was great to just spend a few unscripted hours with Simone and Kyndall and Kyndall's mom, Rena, who we'd met just the night before. (A great lady.)

After dinner, I could have dived in (no pun intended, as you'll see...). But, no...Instead, Lori and I watched the movie "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly," an amazing documentary-style movie about a French magazine editor who suffers a stroke and, after emerging from a coma mute and completely paralyzed, learns to communicate solely by blinking his eye. It is, as the Netflix capsule says, a "poignant film about the strength of the human spirit" and one which earned Julian Schnabel the Golden Globes' best director award.

So here I am, 45 minutes later. Normally, I'd be plowing through The New York Times at this hour. Instead, duty calls me to the Rede reunion details. We'll see how far I get...

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

The Golden Child wins Paris-Roubaix Espoirs(U-23).

At only eighteen years old, he is the real deal and the future of American cycling.

(Photo:Claeys Liesje/VeloNews)

Buh-Buh Baah Baah

All the work has been done...All the sweat has been sweated...All the doping has been doped...It's Hammerfest time!

Monday, June 1st, 2009...at 6:30 pm.

Let's get it on!!!

Russkie Mammal Toe

Denis Menchov wins the 2009 Giro d'Italia...Good on ya, mate! What else did we learn?

1. Levi will never be anything but a super-domestique.

2. Mellow Johnny did okay...but Yaroslav Popovych was better.

3. Danilo Di Luca is a one race pony.

4. Ivan Basso and Liquigas will be a factor at the Tour.

5. Damiano Cunego forgot to show up.

6. Garmin-Slipstream need to work on their TTT.

7. Nobody is faster than Mark Cavendish.

8. Don't bet against Carlos Sastre at the Tour with the Cervelo A-Team.

(Photo:VeloNews)

By the Sea: Lanikai Lifestyle Photography

Military family had a lifestyle portrait session at Lanikai Beach a few days before they left Hawaii for their next post on the Mainland. We hope these photos will bring back fond memories of their time at Kaneohe Marine Corps Base Oahu. 

Among A Million Same

"A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesman and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do."

(Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Cadel Who?

Philippe Gilbert wins Stage 20 and puts Silence-Lotto on the board.

It's all over tomorrow with the final TT stage.

LETLE VIWIN !!!

(Photo:Graham Watson/VeloNews)

She'll Take This Seriously

I'm Back!!!...Mongo was without the Internet for 48 hours*. It was quite an unpleasant experience. I don't have an i-Phone or a Blackberry, I just have a phone, so I rely on my Commodore Vic 20 and my enhanced dial-up modem to keep me linked to the web.

(*...Somebody not named Mongo cut the DSL line with a string trimmer)

Majestic Feathers Tag Swap

Got my tags in the mail today. Is this just one of the most wonderful things about blogging???? i have gotten such pleasure out of these doggone swaps.

I love this one from Angela with the vintage earring.
And Tammy has a bird who couldn't be more regal in her crown and silk & tulle skirt (with a feather tail sticking out!).
Marian incorporated fabric and sewing — MY INITIALS!!!!! — in hers, and included a list, on the back of the tag, of the origin of the materials that went into the crafting. (Think I'll use this idea next time I do a swap; I think it's rather special!).

She did it!

Harleigh passed a vigorous week of training and is now ready for a full summer of lifeguard work. She'll be lifeguarding at the church camp that she went to for 11 years, then worked at (on the high school servant team) for the past 2. This year she decided that she wanted to lifeguard. I couldn't be more proud. The lifesaving tests that they took were beyond what I could have ever tackled as a teen. It's serious stuff, and I'm glad that she has a summer filled with kids, sunshine, a beautiful pool, all with a Christian focus. She already has three private parties scheduled as well; a perk to the job.

She got her two swimsuits (one red and one blue), and is already adept at the lifeguard whistle finger twirl.
Here's her "charge" this summer.

Tommy? Is that you?

The e-mail arrived 10 days ago with a mysterious subject line: an old, old friend?

you may not remember me....esp. if you aren't the george rede from decoto (union city), calif.

but if you are, we were good (best?) friends in kindergarten/1st at decoto elementary....

i lived on 7th street....think you lived on 5th/6th....who knows now....

anyway, am enjoying your blog and just wanted to say hey....

And just like that, I was transported back to a time when Tommy Nunez and I were indeed best friends. A time when I was 6 or 7 years old, missing a tooth or two and loving things like playground kickball, the corner grocery store where I bought candy, the freedom to ride my bike or walk anywhere in our neighborhood of working-class Chicano families. (It would be another three years before my first kiss -- a quick peck on the cheek of the 4th-grade bronze goddess Stella Gonzales).

Tommy and I parted ways when one of us moved away from Union City. I was in 5th grade when we moved to Fremont (I honestly can't remember if his family moved before or after mine) but I do remember feeling crushed at the loss of my best friend. In any case, we never saw each other again, though I do remember a time as a prep sports writer for my hometown newspaper when I noticed a familiar name on the soccer team at a rival high school -- and, yes, it was Tommy. I ran cross country and track, so we never competed in the same sport.

After all these years, how did he track me down?

Simple, he wrote: "the all-powerful google....was feeling nostalgic the other day, when i do, i run
old friends thru google, if i can remember their names at this point....one of the entries was for 'rough and rede', and there is a picture, and the picture kinda looked like you...so there ya go. "

These days, Reunion.com, MyLife.com and Facebook are among the many social networking sites that make it easy to get in touch with long-lost friends, classmates -- even relatives. I've never been attracted to either of the first two; unlike my social butterfly wife, who still gets together with lifelong friends from San Francisco, I've maintained only two strong friendships from high school.

So it was gratifying to hear from Tommy and appreciate the amazing reach of Google. Like anything else, the combination of a few keystrokes and mouse clicks can transport you anywhere in the virtual world, from the workplace to the blogosphere, from familiar to the never-been-there, from the present to your past. (Decoto Elementary, by the way, is now the home of New Haven Adult School and Union City itself is celebrating its 50th anniversary this year.)

Even more gratifying? To hear that Tommy -- he's Tom now -- is doing well, living in the Bay Area and working from home for a high-tech company. He and his Significant Other have three kids, one married, and are expecting their first grandchild in October.

Turns out his S.O. has relatives in Oregon, and they've been up here a few times. Needless to say, I hope their next trip up here -- or our next trip down there -- allows us to get together. Trading childhood memories and catching up on everything since then would be so cool.

Until then: "take care, dude."

A Giveaway

Stop on over at Cynthia's Cottage Design for her one-year-anniversary giveaway. She's giving away some really pretty things!

Patriotic Cozies

What with our hectic schedules this past week and all the house caca going on, I've not had many chances to post or visit much in blogland. But I'll try to make up for it this weekend!

Here are the cozies I sported for Memorial Day weekend which will carry me through 4th of July. As most of my headrest cozies, these are dinner napkins I found at Hobby Lobby that I just folded and pinned. Luckily I have cloth headrests, and so I can push the pins directly into the headrest (sorta like when we'd put hats on our Barbies, holding the hat in place by pushing a straight pin straight into her head).

Quick Takes

It's Friday -- production day for the Sunday Opinion section -- so I suppose it's only appropriate that I borrow a concept for today's post.

We run a regular feature called "Short Takes," in which readers are challenged to offer an editorial comment in 35 words or less. By now, I'm pretty lukewarm about it; seems there are 20 to 30 folks who regularly submit and some of them try way too hard to be clever or sarcastic. At the same time, I recognize that some readers really do like the feature and will call or write when it doesn't appear.

So here's my first whack at George's Quick Takes, with no 35-word limitation. (Hey, I'm the editor here...)

1. Something I'd rather not see in the men's locker room: Fat guys who insist on bellying up to the sink and shaving in the nude. Happened again today at my gym. Yecch!
2. Something that drives me nuts: Excessively courteous drivers who stop for pedestrians, even though there's no crosswalk, no stop sign, no traffic signal and no frickin' reason these people on foot can't wait for the car to pass before they cross the street. Believe me, it happens only in Portland. And when you're not expecting this show of politeness, you've got to react quickly to avoid a rear-end collision.
3. Something I didn't know: Jon and Kate are having marital troubles. I wouldn't know them if they sat down next to me, but according to the tabloids and the network morning talk shows, this is a big deal. A couple with a reality TV show are rumored to have cheated on each other, prompting speculation about the effect on their eight (8!) kids and their contractual obligations with whichever network is broadcasting their lives to the public. Am I supposed to care?
4. Something beautiful: I was running in the late afternoon on a path around a small pond in the woods during my last trip to Orcas Island. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted movement: A great horned owl, flapping its wings powerfully as it flew from one end of the pond to the other. Total silence. Total majesty.

Two faces of Portland

If ever a single day could capture the extremes of daily life in Portland, today would be a worthy contender.

The city enjoys a national reputation, well deserved, for the vibrancy of its neighborhoods. I won't argue that. But what a non-resident might not realize -- or, for that matter, a resident who spends too much time in his or her corner of town -- is just how extremely different one part of town can be from another.

That sounds trite, but let me try to explain.

I began my day at a 7 a.m. meeting of Business Networking International (BNI). A group of small-business owners, including my wife, is trying to establish a chapter for the purpose of creating referral business opportunities for each other -- especially important in the weakened economy.

We met in the nondescript conference room of a local appliance dealer in Southeast Portland, at the intersection of much-disparaged 82nd Avenue and Foster Road. 82nd is one of those major arterials that runs for miles and miles, with used car lots, fast-food restaurants, mini-malls, discount stores of all varieties and, at night, a persistent prostitution scene.

It's easy to dismiss the area and its residents as unimportant -- and most of the Portland media does just that. (The nearby Lents neighborhood, often called Felony Flats, is currently in the news as the potential site for a new minor league baseball stadium.) But within the BNI group, there's no mistaking a business work ethic and civic pride that reminds you of Jimmy Stewart.

I've been to plenty of breakfast meetings where they serve up gourmet coffee, fresh fruit platters and an array of pastries. Here, you had coffee served in plain white cardboard cups, along with sugar and non-dairy creamer that you poured straight out of their 10-inch tall containers. No Starbucks for this crowd. They had networking on their minds -- not a desire to impress with fair trade, organic coffee.

One by one, they rose and spoke for a minute about themselves and their business: real estate brokers, life and conflict-resolution coaches, IT guys, massage therapists, personal bankers and more. Their shared vision of helping themselves and each other provided a welcome -- and refreshing -- glimpse into the mindset of the small-business person: humble, optimistic and self-confident without a trace of arrogance.

In contrast, I ended my day at Last Thursday, a once-a-month street festival on Northeast Portland's uber-hip Alberta Street that's evolved into a circus-like atmosphere way, way different from what the increasingly displaced African American community historically experienced.

You've got folks walking on stilts, wearing tutus (men as well as women), performing old-time vaudeville acts, playing live music of all genres (including hipsters with washboards and accordions) and nearly everyone visibly pierced or tatted -- or both. Folks are lined up on both sides of the street selling T-shirts, jewelry, vegan foods, candles and every type of art imaginable.

Of course, people bring their dogs and bicycles. Most of all, they bring a sense of entitlement.

No doubt they come from all over the city, and some even from the suburbs, but they all walk along Alberta as if they owned it. Now, maybe there's something to be said for someone selling D.I.Y. comic books on one street corner while another person sings (horribly, unfortunately) in hopes of raising money for bus fare. But my overall take is that you've got a bunch of unemployed or underemployed folks drawn like moths to a flame where literally anything goes. And, make no mistake, this is the side of Portland that gets played up in the local and national media.

Writing this, I realize, makes me sound older and more conservative than I think I am. For the most part, I'm one of those who's happy to embrace a live-and-let-live philosophy -- and I do appreciate that I live in a place where Last Thursday is even possible.

But the contrast between Southeast and Northeast, and especially between Lents and Alberta, could not be any starker than when you've experienced them at both ends of a single day. If only the folks who live, work and play in these two Portlands could walk in each other's shoes...

Adios, Luciana

With an alliterative name like Luciana Lopez, it's only fitting that "versatile" and "vivacious" come to mind in describing my colleague.

Make that ex-colleague. Sigh.

A day after saying goodbye to the retiring Frank Ragulsky (see Adios, Frank), today I said goodbye and good luck to Luciana.

After five-plus years at the paper, beginning as a suburban communities and education reporter and, more recently, serving as the paper's pop music critic, Luciana is headed to Sao Paulo on June 8 to cover the Brazilian economy for Reuters news service. Did I say versatile?

Luciana is of Brazilian and Puerto Rican heritage and speaks fluent Portuguese, so she'll be in fine shape linguistically and culturally, having also lived in Brazil for a year as a child and made several trips since then to visit relatives.

We met this morning at Besaw's, a fabulous breakfast joint in Northwest Portland, and covered lots of ground in a little over an hour. Luciana is a total East Coaster -- with a go-go personality, and plenty of ambition and drive to go along with a great educational foundation (University of Virginia, followed by the University of Maryland graduate journalism school). Did I say vivacious?

She came to The Oregonian through a post-graduate minority internship program that brought a rich stream of diverse talent to the paper starting in the early 1990s. Many of the program's graduates continue to work here as photographers and reporters, but we've also seen many others leave as professional opportunities beckon and family ties exert their pull from various regions of the country.

As someone who played a key role in shaping the program and recruiting the most promising candidates from coast to coast, I can say unequivocally that The Oregonian's readers and our newsroom have been exceptionally well served by the level of talent -- and the rich cultural perspectives -- that have informed the journalism done by these people (mostly women) of color. It's been especially important to have their contributions in a city and state whose demographics remain heavily tilted toward whites.

Some of those who launched their careers here in Portland have gone to The New York Times, The Washington Post, Los Angeles Times, The Boston Globe and The Associated Press -- all of them among the mostly highly regarded news organizations in the country.

It will be sad to see Luciana leave -- yet another superbly talented person of color moving on to bigger and better things. At the same time, it's exciting to join her in looking ahead to what comes next. Nothing she accomplishes in journalism will surprise me.

Check out a couple of essays she wrote for the Sunday Opinion section -- "The delight of democracy" and "On being a 'mutt' like Obama".

Also see this beautifully done feature -- "As teen recovers from shooting, two families pull closer togther" -- on an Italian exchange student who was shot outside a downtown Portland night club earlier this year.

There's a going-away party for Luciana early next week. One more chance to say thanks and wish her the best of luck.

Eye Tally Un

Mongo stated over three weeks ago that I had decided to throw my considerable "juice" behind Liquigas. Well...the proof is in the chamois.

Franco Pellizotti wins Stage 17 like a man...with a breakaway. He and Ivan Basso sit third and fourth on GC with four stages left.

In Mongo's Giro Fantasy League, I still have six of my guys in the top ten on GC. We'll have to see how all the points shake out at the end of the week.

(Photo:Graham Watson/VeloNews)

I Am Serious...And Don't Call Me Shirley

Energy decides the fate of sedentary fools

Place the blame before the fall in diplomatic tools

When purpose fades through the weight of progressive flight

Explore the certainty disguised on the face of blinding night

Adios, Frank

I'm headed to Corvallis this afternoon to join the Oregon State University community in saying goodbye and fare-thee-well to Frank Ragulsky, who's toiled selflessly but effectively as director of OSU Student Media for 28 years.

Frank is one of those guys who's too good to be true -- versatile, dedicated, resourceful and relentlessly cheerful. Over the years, I've seen every one of those qualities on display as Frank moved seamlessly from advising the OSU student newspaper to staging an annual summer workshop for high school yearbook editors to coming up with money for a summer journalism camp for minority high school students.

He served as director of Northwest Scholastic Press, an association for high school publications advisers, and organized the annual Fall Press Day, which brought together professionals, teachers and students for a day of workshops and critiques. And he was always there, if not in person then certainly behind the scenes, in steering OSU students to regional writing conferences and skills development workshops.

During my years as The Oregonian's newsroom recruiter and internship coordinator, I grew to admire Frank's bottomless well of enthusiasm and support for students who gravitated to journalism at Corvallis, despite a decided lack of institutional support.

Oregon State eliminated technical journalism in the early 1990s following state budget cuts. Yet a talented stream of students -- including several who interned at The Oregonian -- threw themselves into the learning laboratory that is The Daily Barometer and now work across the country as professional journalists. Their collective success peaked in 2002, when the Society of Professional Journalists named the Barometer the best collegiate daily in the country.

Prior to the cuts, The Daily Barometer was often a regional winner in the SPJ competition but was never named among the national finalists. Since the early '90s, the newspaper has operated without the benefit of an academic major; more recently, it has joined its peers around the country in making the transition to new media.

This afternoon Frank will be the center of attention at the OSU Memorial Union, as colleagues, current and former students all gather to wish him well in retirement in Alaska. Even those whose lives he touched only briefly know what kind of an impact he made at OSU and beyond.

Consider the tribute from Saba Saleem, a student at Portland's Madison High School, following last year's minority journalism camp at OSU:

"[T]he biggest props go to Frank Ragulsky, the guy who held the piñata together like the paste, and all of us were the paper mache strips. He planned everything for us, got up early to get every thing ready, and went to bed late, cleaning up after our mess each and every day. He was this camp's back bone and we really appreciate what he did to get us all here for free."

But,

look at this pretty plate hanger and these lovely plates that I dusted and got back up on the wall. Divert your attention from the wet clothes hanging to dry from every hook and doorway in the ken. These pretties are what I'm concentrating on right now.

Testing 1, 2, 3

Tonite, the dryer broke. I washed a throw that pilled beyond belief. I cleaned out the lint catcher, and went outside to see where the vent vents . . . it looked like a snowstorm. Looks as if all that lint has clogged somewhere. So tomorrow I'm going to unplug the dryer and clean out whatever I can in an attempt to fix, for free, what I think is fixable.

In the meantime . . . remember the clean and livable ken that I revived . . . it has now become a clothesline room.
I have my daughter home. That counts for something.

Getting Dropped=Sexy Time

It's officially over...Levi has no chance of winning the Giro. To make matters worse, he's battling Basso, Pelizotti, and Sastre for third on the podium.

Let's see what the Li'l Bronze Medalist is made of during the final week of the race.

(Photo:Graham Watson/VeloNews)

Memorial Day weekend winds down

The slipcovers are washed and back on the sofa. The kitchen (cabinets, floor, baseboards, countertops) is clean and back in order. All the living room curtains have been hand washed and are dried and waiting to be hung.
The ken is back to doing what a ken does best . . . being home to my big green chair for reading the newspaper and having my morning cup of coffee.
Gideon is walked and passed out, happy.
A bird is making a nest in our climbing clematis.
Still a ton to do, but I'm calling it quits for the holiday weekend. Will get my weekly groceries this evening and then wait for my girlie to get home from the Lake. Most of the furniture is still out in garage covered in dust. The hallway still needs a second coat of paint. There is always next weekend.

Memorial Day '09: The Remembering

Mongo didn't ride today. In retrospect, I probably should have...but the constant threat of rain plus the five assorted bagels in my stomach convinced me to stay home.

As I watched the many stories on TV about the amazing men and women who gave their lives in service to our country, I was reminded of my own childhood friend who lost his life almost twenty four years ago. I was fortunate and humbled to be able to attend his funeral at Arlington National Cemetery. I will never forget the magnificence of the grounds and the honor and respect bestowed upon the fallen. I wrote a story about the experience when I was in college, and after a little digging around I found a copy of it.

Mongo was only eighteen when he wrote the piece, good or bad, and out of respect for the family I won't use the full name of my friend. God bless you, Bruce!

A Terrible Loss

With its magnificent monuments and rolling green sea of headstones, Arlington National Cemetery is one of the most awe-inspiring landmarks in the United States. Annually, tens of thousands of visitors tour the grounds viewing the resting places of the famous, and not so famous, American veterans. On this particular Friday afternoon in March though, there would be no tour buses. Today...Lt. Bruce would be buried a hero.

Lt. Bruce, along with two hundred and forty seven other members of the 101st Airborne Division of the United States Army, died in a plane crash in Gander, Newfoundland. They were on their way home from a peace-keeping mission in the Middle East. There were no survivors. Lt. Bruce's body was the last to be identified, and today, the last to be buried.

The Honor Guard, in their dress blues, marched with such synchronization it was as if they were marching as one. Behind them, two impeccable white stallions drew the cart containing the flag-draped coffin of Lt. Bruce. The procession of family and friends followed closely behind as stone-faced soldiers led the way down the winding road toward their final destination. If there was ever beauty in death, it was evident on this day.

When the procession reached the grave-site, the coffin was removed from the cart and placed on a stand next to the family. What followed was a touching and powerful eulogy. The flag on the coffin was then folded with razor-sharp precision on the cadence of the officer in charge. In its customary triangular shape, the flag was respectfully given to the mother of Lt. Bruce and the service closed with the traditional, yet moving, twenty-one-gun salute.

A teary-eyed friend in attendance who had known Lt. Bruce for nearly twenty years silently wished he could speak to him just one more time...But then, that was impossible.

Algo's Height

"Every people have gods to suit their circumstances."

(Henry David Thoreau)

Hard Fast And Wet: Pick Any Two

Mother Nature got back at Mongo today...presumably for my vehicular squirrelcide from the other day. I got stormed on like a mofo at the end of my forty miles on Li'l Pony Express.

Riding stretched out and slammed on a flat-bar bike ain't comfortable. After about thirty miles your back/shoulders/neck begin to become pained and aggravated. Add horizontal rain and wet "everything" and...it's time to go home.

Evinrude

Mongo hasn't seen an athlete this ugly and a jersey this cluttered with advertising since I was a regular on the B.A.S.S. circuit in '97.

(Photo:VeloNews)

Always time for thrifting!

Yesterday when I was running errands, one mission took me a little bit out of my hood. And so, like any thrift-loving chickee, I had to stop at whatever thrift store I came upon, even if it meant that my errand-running took me a little longer than I had planned. Got this selection of pillowcases and this lamp, which needs re-wiring and a little TLC (= paint and a shade). If I had left this one behind, I'd be kicking myself today.