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Cannon Beach, Oregon

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Wooden Shoe Tulip Farm in Woodburn, Oregon.

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Helvetia Tavern. If you are ever in the area, you just gotta stop. Google 'em. I'd give you a link to their website if they had one. Great burgers. Great. Burgers.

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Ahhhh....Maggie's Buns. A visual delight as well as yummy food!

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I Hate Math

That’s what it really is. It’s not the taxes. I’m grateful that we are making enough money to be paying taxes. Really. Seriously. What I hate is math. It doesn’t matter if I’m using a CPA or Turbotax, there’s still math involved. I’ve heard it said that math is like music; it is a language. Well, I like music. Heck. I LOVE music. But, I can’t read music. When I was 10 my parents bought a used piano and I got piano lessons. The best part about piano lessons was it got me out of answering any music questions in school because the teacher figured I knew music. HAH! Fooled her. (Sorry, Mrs. Hair) My poor piano teacher could never teach me to read music. I was a hopeless case. My parents traded the piano in for a sweet ride...a Stingray bicycle, complete with a happening banana seat. You remember, you know you do. My first anxiety attack? First grade....a test with 2+3=___ and I couldn’t remember learning 2+3 and was too stressed to think about using my fingers. Freshman Algebra? I was in the back of the class writing poetry. In my own defense, I did get one of my algebra poems published in the newspaper. You see, my dad was working in Taiwan at the time...never mind. That’s another story. Math. I filled out one of those half-page 1040’s once when I was single and made less than $12,000 a year. By the time I was done it said I owed thousands. Math. Hate it. As far as languages go there are so many I would rather learn. Right now if I had a piano I’d be playing the blues, if I knew how to play. And I’d be singin’ something like “Ain’t got no money, Ain’t got no time, Can’t you hear me Uncle Saaaaam, I ain’t got a dime”. Wait...lyrics...math...I feel a poem coming on......excuse me...

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Jack Jack - my four-legged grandchild.

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Two Pieces of Bread

This was one incredible sandwich. It had the yummiest bread, creme brie, walnuts, red bell pepper, greens and sweet mustard. Can anyone answer why a sandwich always tastes better if someone else makes it? Like salads. They always taste better when they are made by someone else. And cookies. Brownies. Okay...back to sandwiches. I guess not all sandwiches are better when they’re made by someone else. Let’s face it. Some sandwiches should never be made, let alone get eaten. When I was in second grade at Lakenheath Elementary School (an American school on base when my dad was stationed at Lakenheath AFB in England) my mom would make my lunches and I would have a cold lunch at school. Sometimes I would also have a big thermos of tomato soup to go with my sandwich. I still love tomato soup. Campbells...made with water, not milk. Most of the time my sandwich was cheese, with something called sandwich spread. It was kind of like mayo with 1000 Island dressing in it. I always liked it when I unwrapped that waxed paper and found a cheese sandwich waiting there for me. And then there were the other times. The times when I would unwrap...wait for it...a cold Spam sandwich. You heard me. Cold. Spam. Complete with that gelatin stuff that covers it when you open the can with that little key. A friend of mine and I made up a list a few years ago...100 Things You Can Do With Spam. Eating it was not on the list. And it was a pretty inclusive list. Everything from birth control to plugging a radiator leak. But, eating it...cold...complete with that stuff that must have failed the What I Want to Be When I Grow Up Is Vaseline test? No. I would try to scrape it off with a spoon, but in my head it was still there. It didn’t do any lasting damage apparently. I went on to later eat it fried (with Rice-A-Roni and corn it was a complete meal). I understand that when you are a kid, some things you just don’t like. It’s either the flavor, or the texture, or the fact that the other kids think it’s gross, so you do, too. And then as an adult you often grow to like it, or admit that you did all along. Not happening. So, look for a book someday named 100 Things You Can Do With Spam. It will be by marjimae and cnewby. Wow. Cool to think that maybe because my mom made me cold Spam sandwiches as a child it actually helped fund my retirement. Thanks, Mom. Let me buy you a sandwich. I know this place...

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