I so enjoyed fitday.com doing my average cycling milage for me. And then they went and “updated” their format. Where are the averages I so loved? Clearly I am riding less lately, but that doesn’t mean I only deserve a bar graph! {grumbles}

It lasted ever so briefly. It was here in a flash, came to early, before I had access to things like stoves and ingredients. It was splendid while it was here. And now it is gone. I call it my domestic phase. It’s a little-known phase of the Amanda. Apparently home cooking is beginning to become a bit of dying art. I see it in the ratio of grocery stores to eateries. But it sure is great when you are in the mood!

Friend-grown squash with a sweet lemon reduction. Steamed broccoli and hand-made herbed chicken sausage

Hot red coconut curry srir-fry with shrimp and extra-thin rice noodles

Egg scramble with friend-grown greens

sweet potato with friend-grown steamed greens and a sauce that seems to have skipped my mind

3-cheese nachos with homeads salsa and homemade fruit smoothie

Southwestern scramble with potatoes and cilantro
(wow. You can really tell I took this last photo with a better camera!)

Ohhhh a water wheel! And look, my car!

Bob’s Red Mill has a soft spot in my heart for Portland places. I first went to their factory store on a job in 1999. I was hooked by the old-thyme charms of this place. In a world full of twisted money-hungry corporate conglomerates, Bob’s
stood out to me as a fine comfort, a place that valued it’s workers, it’s products and it’s policies.
I went back recently to find they have moved! They are now across the street! The factory is bigger, flashier, and while the store holds more products, I have to say the addition of flash and flair (there’s even an espresso stand! And public tours!) took away some of the quaint and quiet loveliness that made it special. I loved parking in their empty lot, and watching the geese frolic in the pond behind the building. There was a special peacefulness to it, a peace one should feel when buying bulk whole grains. Bob’s still has it, and I still covet the oh-so-hard-to-find Teff meal
(I had to get it special ordered in Colorado) it’s just different now. Dave’s Killer Bread
is across the street at Bob’s old lot, and sadly, their facility wasn’t set up so that you could easily walk around the mills and see the workers doing their thing. Come to think of it, Bob’s isn’t that way now, either. But I’d like to believe that both companies still employ happy workers, especially at this time of mass financial hardship.

I haven’t seen September in the states in 4 years! It seems like nothing when I write it, but that is not so. We live in a strange world, yes we do. Wheeeeee!

I am not fond of the visuals on this video, but this song grabbed me the first time I heard and now I can’t stop thinking about it! Just wanted to spread it around….

The girls and I have been enjoying some mighty fine drinks around town. I have to say, even after all these years, Portland makes the best lemon drop. There is simply no comparison.
Drinks these days are so expensive, I figured I should photograph them and keep a memory of them for all eternity to add to thier value. You may view this picture until you feel you have viewed $8 worth. Now, if you consider the price of going into an art gallery, or getting a drink on your own for that matter, you are getting quite a deal! Enjoy! And, you are welcome!

A large, boxy car drives up a dirt road, muted brown by endless dust. It comes to a stop. A door opens. Out steps a red leather high heel shoe followed by an endless leg. As she slowly steps out of the car, the woman’s whole comes into focus. She is wearing a tight, black miniskirt. A simple white blouse is unbuttoned enough to show a hint of cleavage. She wears a long trench coat over the outfit. In her hand, delicately positioned, is a long, slender and white cigarette. She has long, black hair, shiny and strait, cut bluntly at the back and bangs. She wears a wide-brimmed hat that matches the trench coat. Her creamy-smooth, porcelain-pale skin is set off by the bloodiest of blood red lips, pursed in a strong, strait pout. She has a mole between her nose and her lips, just like I do. She wears sunglasses, but underneath them, you can see she has exotic and mysterious eyes, completely black, that are framed by high-arching black eyebrows.
She meets up with a man. They begin to talk. She is tall, cool, calm and collected. Her poise is strong and confident, yet endlessly sexy. She controls the conversation. She makes the deal. Her name is Octavia.
And that’s all I remember. The year was 1980, or maybe 1981. I was at my cousin Sara’s house in Salem (I actually have several other cousins by the same family, but at the time, they were not born yet. Davy was in diapers.) Unlike at my house, we got to stay up late. And unlike at my house, we got to watch TV. I don’t remember if it was Miami Vice or Dallas or maybe even Falcon Crest we were watching, but we were ecstatic to see any show late at night. The above scene was all I really caught before my parents arrived and I went home. Yet, somehow, that single scene stuck with me my entire life.
I must have drawn hundreds of pictures of Octavia. Most of the time she wore her classic outfit, but as I grew older, Octavia became my main model to show off all off the most classy, sophisticated, and sexy outfits that I pretended to design. I made books about Octavia, wrote stories around her, and, on some level, tried to be her. To this day, I dream of having smooth, pale skin. Over the years I must have had 5 or 6 wide-brimmed hats, just like Octavia’s. I bought a black leather mini-skirt. I had a long-time obsession with trench coats and high heels, neither of which could ever be satisfied (my stocky body makes trench coats look like bathrobes and my wide feet ache in heels).
When I look back at the drawings over the years, Octavia’s constant presence amazes me. In my early drawings, she was simple, smiley much like that classic 80’s-style window decal you see at cheap hair salons. She then moved on to be more sophisticated and severe. Her mole would switch from the left side to the right side as I could never decide on whether she should mirror me or copy me. When I look at my fashion sense today, the painted nails, the large costume-esque jewelry, it was all shaped by Octavia.
(Originally written 8/07)