I Like You

Z Musikmakers (last year)

[This one goes out to my brother, who reminded me that this blog is supposed to be more about the things (and people) I like than the things and people I don't.]

Every September I make a pilgrimage to the informal Zollner clan reunion otherwise known as the Mt. Angel Oktoberfest. My dad grew up as part of a huge German Catholic farming family in this little community that was settled in the 1860s; the first of the Germans to settle there was named Robert Zollner, my great-great-(great-? Somebody help me out here) grandfather. And so begins the long history of Z-folk in Mt. Angel.

The first year after settling, good old one-armed Bob Z. and his friends got together to give thanks and celebrate their first harvest – the first unofficial “Oktoberfest” (which means harvest festival) in the town. Most of a century later, in 1966, the official Mt. Angel Oktoberfest was born, which has become the largest folk festival in Oregon.

The O’fest is a good place to get your annual fill of lederhosen, dirndls, wurst, kraut, streudel, bier, wein, polkas and alpine horns. Or, just a good place to kick back with some friends and get sawdust in your shoes.

The highlight, of course, for any good Zollner is Z Musikmakers family band – a sort of modern day Von Trapp affair, only much more entertaining. My dad’s brother Paul and his lovely wife Pat started playing music at O’fest 30 years ago, and while Pat “retired” from the band this year, Paul and three of their four ridiculously talented daughters continue to delight the masses in the Weingarten each year, with a set list majoring on polkas and German folk music and minoring in non sequitir favorites like wartime Andrews Sisters hits (“Bei Mir Bist Du Schon,” “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy”) and “Celebrate” by Kool & the Gang. It wouldn’t be Z Musikmakers without a barn-burner of a violin performance (first from Katie, and now Christi). When it comes to “Orange Blossom Special,” I’m surprised the fiddle bow didn’t spontaneously combust. These are some serious chops, friends.

After consuming my O’fest trifecta (a good sausage on a dark grain bun, corn on the cob from the Keizer Fire Fighters booth, and a piece of the dreamiest apple streudel in the world), narrowly avoiding doing the Chicken Dance, and witnessing my umpteenth standing ovation at a Z Musikmakers show, it was time to head back to the Big City.

Or was it? My friends and I were feeling happy and relaxed – maybe we’d stay for the Original Donaumusikanten, a German band that was headlining the Weingarten. Fifteen minutes later, after deciding that those Donau guys are kind of the German cross between Bon Jovi and The Wiggles, we were headed back to the car and our bland, un-folksy urban lives.

I’m not comforted by the idea of being led by people who don’t blink.

From an editorial in the New York Times:

Ms. Palin talked repeatedly about never blinking. When Mr. McCain asked her to run for vice president? “You have to be wired in a way of being so committed to the mission,” she said, that “you can’t blink.”

Fighting terrorism? “We must do whatever it takes, and we must not blink, Charlie, in making those tough decisions of where we go and even who we target.”

Really? I wonder how parents of soldiers would feel, knowing that our leaders would decide to send young men and women into combat without blinking. I want a leader who blinks.

Some sort of sound had woken me up. I rolled over in bed and looked at the glowing numbers: 425. I blinked, and thought for a moment. Those numbers don’t sound familiar at all. Wait – oh yes, I think that’s the temperature for baking biscuits. Was there something I was supposed to put in the oven? No, that’s not it…

Oh yes, that’s an alarm clock, and it’s almost half past four in the morning. Now I remember. I’m pulling on a sweatshirt over my pjs and slipping into a pair of flip flops, ignoring the bed head and moving zombie-like toward the front door. It’s time to take Scott and Glad to the airport, and even though it only takes one of us to drive the car (or fifteen bucks to pay a cab driver), the Arteest and I are both climbing into the van for this one.

The McGriebs are part of our tribe, and they are headed off to do some good, good stuff in other parts of the world for a while. We are sad they are leaving, proud of them for going, and determined to be the best four thirty AM cheering committee we can possibly be. So…we load up the hippie van, drive to PDX and send them off with sleepy hugs and some fruit and yogurt for breakfast. Fifteen minutes later we’re stumbling back upstairs to resume our sleep.

[Disclaimer: Brief political comment to follow.]

In last night’s speeches, people kept touting McCain as an “independent maverick.” As if that was a good thing. Well as far as I’m concerned, I’ve had about enough cowboy for a while – an independent maverick is exactly what we DON’T need. We need a bridge builder – someone who will rebuild our relationships with our allies, cross party lines to find workable solutions to the political stand-offs of the last eight years, surround himself with others who can challenge and inform him, and lead us forward.

…is a pudgy three year old running toward you full tilt, face full of delight, because you are his friend.

I resisted for so long, because I didn’t relish the idea of pouring water up my nose. But…desperate times call for desperate measures. The onslaught of allergens these past few days has wiped me out, and all the Benadryl, Claritin and Zyrtec in the world (combined with some faux-Sudafed) wasn’t doing the trick. So, on Friday I walked over to Whole Foods and bought myself a rather cute little ceramic pot which I now use to irrigate my sinuses with a warm water/sea salt solution, twice a day. Doesn’t sound too romantic, I know, but the important thing is, IT WORKS! I seem to have narrowly avoided a full-blown sinus infection, and the Neti pot was the lynch pin in my victory.

“You know how rich people have wine cellars? Well I know what you would want – you’d want a cheese cave instead.”

The Arteest nodded, and a faraway look gathered in his eyes. “Yeah…a cheese cave. And wouldn’t it be cool if we had a subterranean tunnel under our house that went all the way across the street to the neighbors’ house, and they could come over for cheese parties?”

“Sure,” says I, “That would be groovy.”

“And then when the fundamentalist Christian militias take over the world, we can take shelter, and hide Brian McLaren down there.”

I haven’t laughed that hard in weeks.

We spent the weekend in Seattle at the Emerald City ComiCon, where the Arteest was exhibiting some of his work on the upcoming graphic novel.  A bunch of folks from Periscope Studios (where the Arteest works during the week) wrote haikus to encapsulate the convention vibe. Here are mine:

Masks, spandex in droves
I laugh, grimace, wonder who
They are underneath.

And:

Your jeans are skinny,
Mister teenage hipster kid,
But your butt isn’t.

So here’s some food for thought…

What do you do when there’s a food crisis throughout the developing world, where simple sustenance like rice and beans have literally doubled in price in the last six months? What do you do when you know children are dying of malnutrition at horrifying rates, and countless babies are lost to dehydration due to unsafe water supplies that cause life-threatening diarrhea?

And then, what do you do when you receive an originally unplanned, largely unnecessary check in the mail for six hundred dollars — a check that the government would like to see you put toward a large discretionary purchase like a flat screen TV or an iPhone?

As difficult as these times are for a lot of Americans, there’s just no comparison between what may or may not be categorized as an economic recession, and the life or death crises happening in dozens of developing countries around the world.

It only takes an hour and a half to get to Haiti from the U.S. — it’s a short plane ride from Miami to Port au Prince — but step off the plane and you are a world away from home, surrounded by abject poverty and conditions that are akin to the worst you’ve seen of Africa.

So here’s my challenge:

If the economic stimulus check you are about to receive is a welcome relief in a very tough financial time in your life, thank God for His provision, and give 20% of it away to an organization that serves people who need it even more than you.

If the check represents “fun money” that you might usually use for a vacation or a gadget, give half of it away. Or better — all of it.

There are many, many organizations that will use your money wisely — but in case you’d like some suggestions, here are some of my favorites:

• Haiti Foundation of Hope - serving the poorest of the poor in northern Haiti
• Medical Teams International - providing medical relief and disaster response all over the developing world
• Heifer International - providing sustainable food to third world villages through donations of livestock and farming education
• Kiva – micro-lending program assisting third world individuals with starting their own businesses

What do you think? What are your favorite organizations serving the third world?

I will never be one of those Yard People — people like our wonderful next door neighbors, who can be found a good number of weekends spending all day Saturday and Sunday weeding, planting, watering, pruning and generally making their own little plot of land look quite spectacular. We pretty much set our sights on not being the worst maintained yard on the block. 

I can handle mowing the lawn, but that’s about it. Historically, watering plants has not been one of my strengths. Weeding is my Achilles heel. But this weekend both sets of parental units gave us a great gift — a whole Saturday of elbow grease in our yard, working to set right a whole season worth of disregard and heavy rain. The weeds in our backyard were thick as my beloved’s hair, the planting schematic non-existent, the visual effect less than appealing.

After one day’s work from six determined laborers, the rambunctious bluebells have been contained, weeds whacked, lawn edged, and suddenly this looks like a place I wouldn’t mind having a picnic! Sunday we shared our neighbor’s rented rototiller and turned the earth in a couple of prime garden beds, and I sauntered off to the store to buy seeds, plants and soil amendments for a small garden patch.

Here’s what’s in the ground:

• Cucumbers – pickling cukes and Straight 8
• Tomatoes – Early Girl, Bonnie Original, Cherry
• Herbs – Sweet Basil, Curled Parsley, Cilantro
• Strawberries – Sequoia
• Greens – Spinach, Organic Lettuce Mix
• Carrots – Teton Hybrid
• Squash – Zucchini
• Flowers – Nasturtiums, Cosmos, Dahlias

The Arteest was inspired to hang the hammock, and last night we ate dinner in the yard. I know I’ll never be one of those Yard People, but hopefully we can at least persevere with this little vegetable garden and enjoy some fresh goodies this summer!