Shite happens

Fresh-cut flowers

A co-worker and I made plans to have lunch Wednesday, so when the noon hour approached yesterday I looked forward to getting some fresh air and strolling down to the farmers market just west of our office.

We followed our noses to Hoda's Middle Eastern booth and ordered garlicky chicken shwarma, then found ourselves a place to sit while the Portland Metro Youth Pipe Band performed a few songs on bagpipes for the lunchtime crowd near the Portland Center for the Performing Arts.

Afterward, I ambled through the labyrinth of booths laden with organic produce and eggs, gourmet cheeses and other good stuff. Bought myself a pound of bing cherries and a bouquet of flowers for Lori, then headed back to the office while my friend Cornelius split off to get a cup of coffee.

Back at my desk, I thought, "What a nice break from the routine." And I settled in to resume my work.

But then...a smell...and not a very good one. Looked down and there it was, a souvenir from the street. Fresh dog doo, filling the crevices of the waffle sole on my left shoe. Yecch.

Grabbed some paper towels and a plastic "spork" from a desk drawer and went to work on it. Unfortunately, no water hose nearby.

Now, I could have been in a sour mood, silently chastising the person who didn't clean up after his pet. But, in the spirit of making lemonade from lemons, I did a quick Facebook status update and took heart from the witty comments from friends far and near:


"It's local, and organic."
"Farm fresh, too."
"Crapola!"
And my favorite: "Shite happens."

Dogfest 2009 and a garden party

I've been pretty wordy lately, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. So today marks an attempt to get back to the spirit of blogging -- short bursts of text, with ample links.

Over the weekend, Lori and I went to one private party (a backyard garden party in North Portland) and one public party (a fundraising, dog-centric event at our neighborhood park in Northeast Portland) .

Every so often, it's nice to have nothing on the weekend agenda -- and that was certainly the case this weekend. Our friend Linda has been staging an end-of-summer potluck party for the last several years in her beautiful backyard -- a brilliant collection of flowers, plants and colored lights -- and each time we've been blessed with perfect weather and a great variety of dishes to share.

There was dancing, but due to a twinge I felt in my lower back after swimming Saturday, I didn't join in. Instead, I hung out with our friend, Colleen, and her charming daughter, Ryeder, an aspiring actress who'll be studying in Bristol, England, for the next year. It was fun talking with both of them and Lori. It was especially amusing hearing them riff about certain guys' behavior -- the cologne-wearing, chest-puffing, touchy-feely dudes whose thoughts and intentions are both transparent and pathetic. When you're an introvert like me, behaving like that doesn't even register as a possibility.

Sunday we went to an early evening event billed as the first annual Summer's End Dog Fest 2009. Hundreds of people (hipsters, grandparents, young families, etc.) came out to Grant Park for live weiner dog racing, face painting, $1 hot dogs, a doggie dress-up photo booth and more. The event was a benefit for Film Action Oregon, which shows independent films at Hollywood Theater, including last night's "Weiner Takes All," a "dogumentary" about the world of competitive dachshund racing.

We took Otto and Quimby (above, with Lori) with us and they both had a good time. We were especially pleased to see that Quimby didn't bark or shy away from people as she normally does. She must have felt the positive vibes of the event. In any case, we'll have a good report to give to Simone and Kyndall when they pick her up today.