Sibling Assignment #18: Poppyseed Pancakes, Strong Coffee, and Red Flags Flying

The sibling assignment this week was An Oregon Coast memory. Raymond Pert's will be found here and Silver Valley Girl's will be found here. We all picked entirely different memories to write about. That is the fun thing about the sibling assignments. The Sunday Scribbling assingment this week is ocean here.

August often found our family gathering at the Oregon coast. One year my siblings Silver Valley Girl and Raymond Pert joined my parents and myself for a visit to Yachats located on the central coast by Newport. We stayed at the Adobe hotel and Silver Valley Girl was also joined by her husband and daughter. The time we went on this trip the internet wasn’t readily available yet. I would rely on Best Places books, travel magazines, and word of mouth to assist in suggesting places to eat and tour.

My dad grew up as a meat and potato kind of guy. At that point in his life he wasn’t up for experimenting with “weird food”. I should have known that my breakfast restaurant choice would not go over well for the whole family as we took off for Newport to The Whale’s Tale.

In my research this restaurant had been given 5 stars and I had read things like “ the Whale’s Tale is yet another Newport tradition, considered a kind of shrine to 1960’s hippie restaurants” ( first red flag). “ You can’t beat its location on the waterfront or its cozily exaggerated maritime motif” (second red flag). “At Whale's Tale Restaurant along the bay front, specialties include Eden's Garden, a homemade poppyseed pancake topped with seasonal fruit, yogurt, sweetened coconut and sliced almonds. The Fisherman's Omelet features sautÈed mushrooms, zucchini, tomatoes, onions, bell peppers and two cheeses, topped with local grilled oysters.” (third red flag). This restaurant is also known for its strong coffee often coined the Fogcutter’s blend. (fourth red flag).

The rest of us were excited even before we arrived at the restaurant. As we entered the dark, wood beam place we could smell the strong coffee brewing and were eager to study the menu. We were seated at a big round table right by the door and could enjoy the sights and smells of Newport Bay.

The menu was an eclectic ( I think Dad hated eclectic) mix of breakfast dishes that included the poppyseed pancakes, the omelet above and other items not usually found on the café menus Dad was used to ordering from.

Things began to go downhill when Dad drank his coffee. “ Why can’t you just get a plain cup of coffee instead of this weird stuff?” Next,as other patrons arrived and the doors were open often Dad made another classic statement. “ Geeeeez…..why does everything smell like fish here?” We all took deep breaths and didn’t dare look at one another knowing we were ready to explode into laughter. “ Let’s see Dad… Newport Bay, fishing, docks across the street, people carrying fish… that all connects to fish in our book,” one of my siblings replied.

Then came the ordering. Dad had this habit of mumbling when he placed an order. Half the time we couldn’t understand him, let alone a waitress. I don’t even remember what he ordered, but it wasn’t quite right. The waitress probably didn't understand him.With Dad you never knew what wasn’t quite right, but his silence and body language were clear signs.

The rest of us were adventurous. Poppyseed pancakes, vegetarian omelets, and other eclectic dishes were brought to the table. We asked for more of the great coffee and laughed and visited through the whole meal as Dad sat quiet. As we left the restaurant Dad gave us another one of his classic lines. “ Which one of you jugheads picked this restaurant? I couldn’t even get a good cup of coffee and everything tastes like fish. How can you ruin eggs over easy, bacon, and toast?”

As he walked off toward the car I took full responsibility. It was reassuring to know that the other six people in the group loved the place. I guess I thought since Dad was on vacation perhaps he would want to experience new foods and beverages. I should have read between the lines and watched for those red flags.

The upside? It has been one of the top five classic stories we have told over and over since and laughed our heads off, especially if anyone brews "good coffee" from fresh beans or makes a strong, robust brew. We all like “ the weird stuff.”

Spring Bouquet #4: Tulip Time

National Poetry Month #29

What the Living Do

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil
probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty
dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we
spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep headstrong blue, and the sunlight
pours through

the open living room windows because the heat's on too high in here,
and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street,
the bag breaking,

I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying
along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my
wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush:
This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called
that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter
to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss -- we want more and more
and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself
in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a
cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm
speechless:
I am living, I remember you.
-Marie Howe

Sunday Scribblings: Mating for Life

The Sunday Scribblings topic this week is wings.
Wings connect me to birds. Today I returned to mountain bluebirds. I grew up in Kellogg, Idaho and because of the Bunker Hill Smelter I was surrounded by toxic pollution. I don’t remember seeing many birds in our yard. Maybe robins were there in the spring, but other bird sightings were rare. As a child I would study colored pictures of bird species in the encyclopedia. I never observed any of these birds light on a lilac bush or peck a hole in our tree at our house.

The state bird of Idaho is the mountain bluebird. When we learned Idaho facts in school I loved seeing pictures of the mountain bluebird. I felt proud to have such a beautiful choice as a representative as our state bird. When we colored the mountain bluebird sheets I wanted to find just the right shade of crayon for that state bird as I outlined and filled in the blue wings.
During those childhood years I never saw a mountain bluebird. I would check the trees in the spring, hoping that year our state bird would appear. It never happened. When I moved to the home I live in now in Washington state I was able to birdwatch each day and see many species that were a part of those pages in the encyclopedia I remembered as a child. We set up birdhouses the second year of living in the house. That spring we were introduced to mountain bluebirds. In a birdhouse made for our wedding garden, the bluebirds took up residence and built a nest.

The part I love about mountain bluebirds is that they mate for life. When the bluebirds returned the next year to the wedding garden, we had to believe they were the same “couple”. How fitting that these mates returned to that garden to make a nest and have babies again. We had something in common. Like the bluebirds, my husband and I have mated for life.

The pictures in the encyclopedia were accurate. The crayon I used to color the state bird was right. Mountain bluebirds have the most spectacular color on their wings. What a joy to have a couple take up residence at your house.