grrlpup

More vegetables, more library books, more square dancing — and the weirdly mild weather continues.

in January!

The avgolemono turned out delicious. Whole wheat orzo is slightly chewier than regular, but very suitable for the soup. A note for next time: the tempering of the egg and lemon with the hot broth worked fine, but the egg itself needs to be very well beaten first– a few scraps of unmixed egg white became apparent when they cooked. I might try it with leek broth, as we have leek tops more often than chicken bones to make broth with… maybe with a little less lemon because there’s less fat to mellow it out?

Yesterday I attended two, count ’em two, social events. Evening was the Black and White Ball edition of our club’s monthly square dance. I was more like “stagehand” in all black and not-at-all-dressy, but that’s what I got. This is the one month when I make a concerted effort to follow the theme– unlike the several rainbow months, it really stands out if I don’t.

And before that, in the afternoon I caught the bus to a New Year’s party for Oregon Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. I joined SCBWI before retiring (in the final burst of spending down my professional development funds) but this was my first in-person event. Kidlit people are so nice, you guys! Everybody was happy to talk and there were library-themed table decorations and name tags and plenty of snacks. I ducked out early to catch the bus home again, but life seemed brighter after going than it had before. Is this how extroverts feel? Now I’m thinking I’ll go to the one-day conference in May, in Hillsboro.

A routine is finally settling in with my own work. I’m more viscerally aware that it’s up to me to decide on and generate that work, and no one else particularly cares. It’s both freeing and unnerving.

Thursday I’m signed up for a bird walk down at the rhododendron gardens by the college. I’m a lackadaisical birder at best, but it’s a nice chance to see the gardens for free– I haven’t been there in years and will be curious to see if anything’s blooming early.
 

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It’s the liminal days. I’m catching up on holiday correspondence and visits, restarting non-holiday things that got dropped (e.g. going to the gym), and eating a lot of delicious leftovers and improvised meals.

Sang and I watched Carol, and keep meaning to rewatch The Lion in Winter but also keep diverting or downgrading, twice to sample the gay Hallmark Christmas movies (The Holiday Sitter and Friends and Family Christmas so far), which are better than anticipated.

I’m working on a fic and a risograph print (they are not related to each other). There are many other things– piano, getting more flexible, drawing– that I’d like to practice steadily, but haven’t yet found where to work them in. I also browse rescue dogs on the internet.

I’m reading Philip Pullman’s The Rose Field and deeply happy that it’s 650 pages long so I get to read it for a long time. Conversely, all my favorite books of 2025 are picture books.

2025 has been a lot. My father died in February and was buried in a military cemetery; we also held a public memorial service for him in June. I retired from the university in September. Sang and I traveled to Japan for several weeks after that. My youngest aunt, energetic and vivacious as always in June, was taken down by pancreatic cancer and died on Thanksgiving. A less eventful 2026 would be just fine. I could find a lot of joys in homebody life with outdoor walks.

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Other sustained silent reading that has sustained me recently: two picture books that absolutely lived up to their buzz, Paka Paka con la Papa (gave me field-scientist feels, would pair with Lab Girl) and Every Monday Mabel (an observation not original to me: Mabel is in a fandom and her intense feelings about it are shared by many! just not by those immediately around her. Her fandom is the garbage truck). And a Cynthia Kadohata middle-grade novel about international adoption that I somehow missed for ten years, Half a World Away.

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This morning Sang and I were down at the college campus, listening to her former music prof David Schiff, who will be 80 this year, talk about his life as a composer. The program started with a performance of a piece he wrote for solo viola; continued with a conversation between Schiff and a longtime announcer from the classical radio station; and finished with a second performance of the same viola piece. I loved this format, and also the inclusion of coffee and pastries.

David Schiff grew up in New York in a not-especially-musical family that nevertheless met his request for piano lessons when he was four. Not long after, they subscribed to an offshoot of the Book of the Month Club that sent them a record each month. (Schiff’s parents had just acquired a state of the art Magnavox– AM! FM! three-speed turntable! –and needed to get some music for it.) The third or so record to arrive was Debussy’s La Mer, and David Schiff listened to it over and over and over, for years. As he began to compose, he was interested in music that somehow followed from La Mer, a new sound, whether classical or jazz. Public schools in the Bronx had good music programs then, and he kept going.

To follow the idiosyncratic loves that arrive in your life, follow them through decades, let them bring you together with fellow-travelers… making space for that for everyone feels to me like the opposite of fascism. And that is something I’m feeling for these days,–where to point my nose in the current moment when small and interstitial resistance is what seems possible. (Or maybe not that small: the hefty tasks of supporting public schools and libraries are part of it.)

Anyway, it was a beautiful sunny morning and the bathroom graffiti was wholesome as usual:

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Today I re-started bike commuting. I love taking the bus and listening to audiobooks and podcasts, but now public schools are in session and the first half of my commute features a tightly-packed crowd of high-schoolers. And our covid rates are high right now.

I was #418 across Tilikum Crossing this morning, a higher count than I’ve seen for awhile. The last hill up to campus is steep for me, so I was walking my bike up the sidewalk when a guy yelled, “Nice helmet!” and pulled up wearing the same model I was– Nutcase, navy with white polka dots, and the first exact match I’ve seen in the wild.

Then he asked if my bike was okay. I thanked him and said yeah, I’m just out of shape! He rode away effortlessly up the hill on his acoustic cargo bike. Respect.

Anyway, bike commuting shows me a lot of kindness from people. From drivers too.

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Read last weekend:

Turning 15 on the Road to Freedom, by Lynda Blackmon Lowery as told to Elspeth Leacock and Susan Buckley, illustrated by PJ Loughran, designed by Mina Chung. I’m including the designer because it’s a beautifully laid-out book, 121 pages with generous space around the text, and a mix of photos and illustrations:

The first sentence of the book is, “By the time I was fifteen years old, I had been in jail nine times.” The last sentence is “Who has the right to vote is still being decided today.” And in between, it’s like sitting and listening to an older relative lay out what happened in Selma and Montgomery, but also drop incidental details like what food the kids put in their pockets to eat while sitting in jail, or how it rained hard on day three of the march and everyone got these little orange ponchos to wear.

The book gets across how many children and teenagers were active in the movement, going to sit-ins and marches (and jail) because the adults would lose their jobs if they did those things. It shows some of the trauma– a section at the back commemorates Jimmie Lee Jackson, Viola Liuzzo, and others– and the determination, excitement, and organization too. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

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I track books I read but not movies I see, so I’ll document it here: Sanguinity and I watched Polite Society (by Nida Manzoor, creator of We Are Lady Parts) on Friday and loved it! Bonkers in the best way and tons of little-sister energy.

Note for locals, Multnomah County Library has it on DVD.

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I listen to Spotify only when I’m working at my job (easy to pop earbuds in and out to avoid ads), so Spotify Wrapped doesn’t account for everything I listen to. But my top song this year was:

Recipe for Truth and Lasting Happiness, by the late S.E. Rogie of Sierra Leone. This was a surprise to me because it’s been awhile… but I guess during the busy season in June, I was listening to it every day to set a good mood.

Top artists were Emeli Sandé and Simi, still love them!

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Coming from somewhere where cyclamen are only in pots, during the Christmas season, I continue to be pleased each fall at the ones naturalizing in the yard. They’re spreading along a desire path in the vinca, so maybe I should make more room for them…

I took a couple of days off work last week, mostly because I had promised myself I could in the hectic busy weeks of July, and we had arrived at the time I’d blocked off. On Thursday I continued my very long-term project of riding all the bus lines. Somewhere there’s a one-page zine about line #1, Vermont, and I later rode #4 Division but didn’t write it up. And then the project lay fallow long enough that the routes changed, so now #4 is Fessenden.

• N. Mississippi is a gentrified strip; I drank hot bubble tea and stocked up on greeting cards. Curiously, further down the line I discovered that N. Lombard in St. Johns has now gentrified almost identically. There is always a shop of cute little houseplants (especially succulents), and of course coffee and tea, and chocolate and something magicky. Woodstock and Sellwood are pretty much the same, which makes it so odd that these shops are always listed in travel articles about the neighborhoods as though they are distinctive.
• I went by so many places I’d been repeatedly in years past but not for a long time. PCC Cascade, where I took counseling classes, and Peninsula Park Rose Garden and New Columbia Apartments where I’d done bike rides, and Super Burrito where we used to stop on our way home back when Mexican food was scarcer in Southeast. That was a long time ago. These sites kept popping up in a different orientation than I remembered (I took the 72 when I rode the bus to class) and bringing limited, partial slices of memory with them.
• Spotted the St. Johns Cinema where Charlie hangs out to kill time in Lean on Pete. I reread that book a few months ago and it was still so good. Though I’m more aware now of how artificial Charlie’s character is– he has to be just under the age where he can legally have a job, and his innocence is the heart of the book but wouldn’t be likely in real life–really, for no particular reason he doesn’t drink beer? And the ending, whew, wish fulfillment. But I wouldn’t change any of it, because of the feelings it gives me.

Next, though tbd with no immediate plans, is #6 Martin Luther King Jr Blvd. Also a Frequent Service line (every 15 minutes or so), which makes all the difference in a bus line.

Tonight’s plans: make a bean soup with rosemary and lots of the CSA celery, garlic and carrots for next week’s lunches; continue watching season 1 of Orphan Black. Brace for going back to work tomorrow.

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unreasonably fond of this photo I took during a friend’s recent move:

I found a list of good things, written in purple ink in an old notebook in 2021.

chocolate milk, the way things get still and luminous after sitting in silence somewhere for awhile, freshwater pearls, my iPhone, dirt paths and the way dirt lies at the base of tree roots, the internet, babies laughing uncontrollably, the sound of sprinklers, mohair sweaters, hot tubs, hot springs, dogs, dog smell, wet dog smell, the happy way Stephen said skunk smells like coffee, traffic signals, gladiolas, oxalis and all edible things in the woods, creeks, rivers, my sleeping bag, overalls and pigtails, Animorphs and Baby-Sitters Club, the smell of hose water and mown grass and petrichor, flicker feathers, washing plates and sweeping steps, roller skating, tennis, cross country skiing, audiobooks, chocolate pudding, poppies, puppies, composition books, cushy socks, soft t-shirts, gel pens, bike paths along water with Canada geese, desert mornings, early mornings on vacation, coffee, coffee shops, friends, Ken’s parties, writing numerals, writing algebra, Sanguinity, leg hair, glass jars, glass beads, honey.

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