Dinner and Democracy

I wrote this post for my Patreon subscribers a couple weeks ago. It seems somehow fitting that it appears here on the day after the election seems to be settled. Who I voted for doesn’t really matter; what matters is that I showed up and my voice was heard.

It's no secret here that I am a child of the 50s and 60s. I grew up knowing that I would have to wait until I was 21 to vote. That changed, of course, with the passage of the 26th Amendment in 1970, though by then I was old enough to vote and it didn't affect me directly.

Point is, I have been voting for more than 50 years.

It has always felt like both a civic duty and a privilege; an acknowledgement that I was an adult and could have a say in the way my city, my state, and my country are run, as well as an obligation to participate in selecting the men and women who would carry out my wishes.

In the state of Oregon vote-by-mail began as an experiment in the 1980s. We became the first all vote-by-mail state in 2000. While I believe in the process and appreciate the convenience and accessibility it provides, it loses much of the sense of ritual, of community participation, that we had when we stood in line at our local school, or park, or city hall, to cast our ballots.

So this year, in the midst of the pandemic that made those long-gone lines a scary proposition in other states, my husband and I created our own little ritual.

In years past we have discussed the issues and candidates, filled out our ballots, sealed them in their envelopes and then one of both of us would carry them down our hill to city hall - a distance of a whole three blocks! - and drop them in the ballot box. Usually as part of a trip to the grocery store, or picking up the mail at the post office, or on our way to work, or some other errand. It was just part of our daily activity.

This election, when we have spent so much time confined to the house, we used it as an excuse for an outing. We created our own little ritual, and tried to make it special again.

For one thing, we drove down the coast to the county courthouse to deposit our ballots. It's about 26 miles from our house near our city hall to the county seat, along the spectacular Oregon coast. We stopped and took pictures along the way, allowing ourselves the time to appreciate the beauty and splendor of the coastline. A simple errand had already become an outing.

Properly masked and distanced, I grabbed a couple pictures of the coast. Because who can resist a view like the one below?

The sun came out and gave us spectacular views as we wound along the narrow coastal highway, past pounding surf, dramatic cliff and rock formations, and a section of the lush coastal forest that had been spared the devastation of the September wildfires.

We went first to the courthouse where we pulled into the drop-off lane behind one other car and waited our turn to drop our sealed envelopes into the official ballot box. It is also safe and legal to put out ballots in the mail, but the convenience and reassurance of dropping them directly in the drive-up ballot box gave it an added moment of ritual. Of course we took pictures of putting our ballots in the box-that seems almost de rigueur in the current election cycle.

Convenient drive-up ballot boxes mean we don’t even have to get out of the car. Hubby drops ballots in the box while I commemorate the moment.

We left the courthouse knowing we had fulfilled our obligation, exercised our right to choose, and asserted the privilege of participating in the governing of our community and our country. We didn't get stickers like those who voted "in person," but we still had a feeling of accomplishment.

With our main errand complete, we decided on a little fun to celebrate being out of the house. We each have things we do away from home, but those are few and far between, and usually it's just one or the other of us, so any time we get out together is a special occasion.

Newport, where the courthouse is located, is a fishing town. The harbor is filled with commercial and sport fishing boats, as well as the vessels from the Hatfield Marine Science Center. It is a working harbor, but it also has its share of tourist attractions, shops, bars, and restaurants. (Perhaps we will do a tour of the waterfront one of these days. There's a lot to see!)

One of our favorites is a small fish place on the south end. It's not elegant, but the prices are good and the food is spectacular. They have some of the best fish and chips I have ever had, and (except in the height of the tourist-traffic season) it's worth the drive just for their fish and chips.

A great little joint with fabulous fish and chips. But what’s that thing on the roof?

Yep! The “blades” of that windmill are giant spoons! But wait, there’s another windmill (or weather vane, not sure what to call these things) on the other end of the building. And what is it made of?

Yes! Giant stainless steel bowls, with a few spoons on top for good measure!

We parked in front and considered our options, settling on rockfish and popcorn shrimp so we could share. Both meals came with slaw, and thick-sliced fried potatoes. The slaw is particularly good, good enough that my I-will-never-eat-cole-slaw husband ate all of his. It's a typical shredded cabbage mix, but the dressing is a tart/sweet mix without the creamy look of traditional cole slaw dressing. Whatever it is, it's very tasty!

Coleslaw and popcorn shrimp. Lots of popcorn shrimp!

Fish and chips. You can see tartar sauce and the non-creamy coleslaw-what’s left of it-and between them a potato slice. Yes, that’s cilantro in the slaw, and it is yummy!

My husband went in and placed an order, then came back and waited in the car. In just a few minutes bags of hot, fresh food were delivered directly to our car.

We drove back up the hill from the waterfront a couple blocks, and found a parking space almost under the beautiful bridge that crosses the mouth of the bay.

This bridge~ How could you not love this? And the husband who worked so hard to get a picture with the perfect light?

The sun was setting behind us, the light reflecting off the windows of houses on the far side of the bay onto the water. With the windows open we got a soft breeze and we could hear the barks of the sea lions echoing across the bay.

This was our view. It was a little hazy, but I love the way the setting sun (behind us) is reflecting off the windows of the buildings across the harbor. On the right you can see just the edge of a research vessel from the Hatfield Marine Science Center.

After we finished our food we took a detour out to a small mill town a few miles east before heading back to the highway. It was nearly dark as we headed home with our stomachs full of dinner and our hearts full of democracy.

I call that a good day!

A Day Trip to Nowhere

We had an Adventure!

Sure, I have been out of the house since social distancing became a thing. I've gone to the grocery store a few times (Steve does most of the grocery shopping), I've had several doctor appointments for cataract surgery and follow up, two Costco trips, and one carefully distanced dinner with friends at a reopened restaurant.

But that's a far cry from the retirement I had planned when I left my job of 21 years in February. A cross-country road trip, regular yoga classes and gym time, etc. etc. were all cancelled by the pandemic. Instead I have stayed home except for absolutely necessary outings.

I attended a conference immediately after I retired, where I handled admin and logistical tasks. I consulted with my replacement at my old job by (sometimes lengthy) phone calls. I wrote (fewer days than I should), I did yard work and cleaned the house and washed dishes and clothes. I watched way too damned much television, and knitted my way through piles of yarn.

But I didn't take a day and get out of the house just for the sheer escape of it. I didn't see anything outside my tiny bubble, and the lack of connection to the outside world was taking its toll.

So a couple days ago Steve and I took off in the late morning for a drive. We had no plan, no destination, and no limits. We didn't get home until after 8, and it was marvelous! We spent nearly all the time in the car, but it was a beautiful day and we saw things we had never seen.

We drove to McMinnville (about 50 miles) for lunch from Arby's, one of the many chains we don't have in our small town. Then we drove around the local area, stopping at Evergreen Air & Space Museum. The indoor waterpark was closed of course (and I would seriously love to meet the pilot that landed that 747 on top of the building! *G*). Steve took some pictures of outdoor exhibits, but neither one of us was comfortable about going in, even though with masks and only a few people in a building large enough to house the Spruce Goose it was probably safe.

"Probably" safe isn't my jam at the moment. I masked up, walked up to the ticket counter and stuck a few bucks in the donation jar. We figured that were probably hurting as much or more than everyone, and we had benefited from the outside exhibits, so we gave them some love and went on our way.

We drove around back roads east of McMinnville, and ended up in Wheatland, where we decided to take the Wheatland Ferry over to Salem.

For those of you not familiar with Oregon geography, most of the state is defined by its rivers. The mighty Columbia forms the western two-thirds of our northern border, the Deschutes runs through Central Oregon where it powers hydroelectric facilities and eventually joins the Columbia, and the Willamette -well, a large swath of Western Oregon IS named the WIllamette Valley. It was this last one we crossed on the Ferry.

We got in line and as is common around here we were behind a large pickup truck so we couldn't see much. We were speculating about how many cars the boat could carry because we couldn't actually see it around the truck. Steve shrugged and said, "Well, it can't take too many, otherwise it would just be a bridge." For some reason I thought that was hysterical. Even after all these years he still makes me laugh. I think that's a relationship goal right there.

The picture above was taken from the ferry as we made the crossing, one of 8 or 9 vehicles on the boat. The crossing is a whopping 580 feet and took only a couple minutes, but it was just so utterly charming, and we couldn't have asked for better weather for out excursion!

From there we drove toward Salem and continued east into rural areas and small towns we had never really visited. We dawdled along back roads, circled in block in a couple tiny towns in order to see a particular historical artifact or interesting building. We saw field after field of unidentifiable green things growing the the rich soil of the river valley, with the occasional field of flowers - I think one was lavender and the another was golden poppies - providing spots of brilliant color that no camera can do justice to.

For the first time in the 30+ years we've lived in Oregon we visited the Abbey at Mt. Angel, a far larger place than I expected. It sits at the top of a hill overlooking a wide swath of the valley amid tall evergreens, with spectacular views. It was truly beautiful and peaceful. The small town below is the home of a local Oktoberfest, and the entire town is themed around that celebration. Someone I know described it as constructed entirely of sausage and beer.

We circled back into Salem, headed for the highway that would take us back across the river and over the coast range that separates our little town from the Willamette Valley. In the end we drove more than 200 miles, spent several hours just gawking at things, and ended right back where we started.

It finally struck me late in the day that I had not taken a real day off since retirement. I hadn't gone to work, but I hadn't really taken a recreation break either, and I was feeling that far more than I realized. Until I did take a real day off.

It was an Adventure, but it was also a necessary mental health day. I didn't realize how much I needed it!