Days of The Last Hurrah lives

When Rindy Ross played the familiar opening strains of "Harden My Heart" Friday night at Pendleton Center for the Arts, I was frozen in time. For a brief moment I closed my eyes and remembered hearing Rindy and her husband, Marv, playing with Quarterflash in the subterranean Portland club - The Last Hurrah.

I turned 21 during my junior year in college in 1981 and remember entering the nearly obscured doorway to the club on numerous occasions, heading down the stairs and listening to some great music.

Marv and Rindy performed a medley of old Quarterflash tunes - that was great too. But, they also played some new songs - songs not even on an album yet. "Kites," I think was the name of one. Wow, it really showcased Rindy's strong voice and vocal range.

And then there was the last song. Marv had this box thing that looked like a jack-in-the-box, but instead of some puppet popping its head out when he turned the crank, it played several accordion notes. I don't recall the name of the song, but the Portland natives sang about Tonya Harding. It was quite amusing.

I'm amazed. My husband and I paid 12 bucks each for tickets to the show and there's not a bad seat in the house. How cool is that?

By the way, the couple will return for the upcoming Hermiston Desert Arts Council season with The Trail Band. Definitely worth going to.

Hit the trail

That's my husband, John. We hit the highway to find a place to ride our ATV last weekend.

We got a map from the visitor's center and attempted to follow it, but in small print it said, "This map was designed to show general locations of OHV recreation sites in Oregon."

So, when we get stopped for riding illegally, my defense is, "I'm riding in the general location."

We had a great time, but I can't help but become irritated as we drove for miles and miles through public lands that we have to drive so far to ride.

We were the only people riding where we were - although we did see some people on our way out in a meadow. It was peaceful. I deal with people and traffic (yeah we have traffic in Hermiston) all week long, I don't want to deal with a bottleneck of ATVs at some destination riding area.

Recycling rant

In the wake of legislators looking to revamp Oregon's bottle bill, ("Two sides of the nickel," May 3 East Oregonian) some people don't really understand what recycling is. Taking empty cans and bottles back to the store isn't about the environment - it's purely driven by economics and getting a nickel back.

Recycling is smashing the soup or refried bean cans, throwing them into a bucket in the corner of our kitchen; flattening cardboard boxes and tossing them to one side of the garage; putting newspapers in grocery bags stacked on the dog's crate; and putting glass jars in a bag in our shed. Then when the bucket is full of cans or the cardboard starts getting in the way or the stack of newspapers builds, John or I fill the Bronco or truck and drive to the recycling trailers a half mile from our house and put the items in the corresponding bin.

To me, this type of recycling is an inconvenience. I don't get paid for it, I don't get a pat on the back for it, I just get the satisfaction in knowing it's the right thing to do.

And about my pop cans and bottles, I can't remember the last time I fed machines to get my nickels back. Instead, they collect in the garage (the opposite side from the cardboard) and when they start to overflow, I donate them to can and bottle drives held by Special Olympics or other worthy organizations.

Then there's the cans I collect at work. I have a box under my desk ... which quickly began overflowing with cans and bottles, so I poured them into a bit plastic bag. It seems, though, it never went from under my desk to anywhere else.

Then when I was working on the bottle bill story I met a woman who was taking cans and bottles back to the store so she could get enough money to purchase her medication. I told her she could come to the newsroom and I'd give her the bag. It wasn't a big act of charity on my part - I don't know how many nickles it represented, but she was very appreciative. However, I was just as appreciative to get the bag out from under my desk.

Chchch changes

I thought this whole blog thing was my random thoughts, but Daniel Wattenburger, news editor for the East Oregonian, wanted us to write about things we'd like to get rid of most in the world (evidently someone is writing an editorial about spring cleaning).

Anyway, Yoko Ono would be at the top of my list. Her primal wailing IS NOT music. While my husband has some very eclectic taste in music - some of it I enjoy, some of it I tolerate and then there's Yoko. We have an agreement, I don't play Amy Grant when he's home and he doesn't play Yoko Ono when I'm home.

Please note, the name of the album is, "Yes I'm a Witch." No kidding.

Another thing I detest is when I get e-mails and someone thinks it's fun to use a rainbow of colors to write their message. USE BLACK FOR BUSINESS PURPOSES!!! It's easier to read.

I don't want this to turn into a big rant, so the last thing I'll mention is, I wish people would include the address of places when they send public service announcements for events, rather than just the name of the place. If I ever get to negotiate a contract for my work as the community editor of the East Oregonian, I would have it include an additional clause for me to get paid for how many addresses I have to look up.

The capital's a chatting place

As part of my Leadership Hermiston class, we went to Salem to tour the capital and learn more about the legislative process. While there we met with Rep. Bob Jensen, R-Pendleton, and Sen. David Nelson, R- Pendleton.

Above is a pic David "snuck" out of session to pose with us. (you can barely see my head to the right and behind facilitator Brenda Turner).

Anyway, it's been a while since I've been in our state capital and I was struck at how much talking and walking around goes on while sessions are going on. If this were a classroom, many of the legislators would be sent to the principal's office. 

Cuckoo's Nest comes crashing down

(It seems the first photo I had on here self-destructed, so here's another depicting the walls as they come tumbling down)

I was reading some information about the Oregon State Hospital - particularly the historic Building J (which any movie buff should recognize in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest).

Anyway I was appalled to find out that the entire campus of the sprawling former insane asylum was added to the National Register of Historic Places last year.

Yeah, granted the building is old and the architecture is unique, but the human warehouse it became was disdainful.

Although demolition of parts of the building began earlier this month, the tower is being salvaged and will be part of the Oregon State Hospital Replacement Project. I'm sorry, but it's going to take a lot more than new digs for the state of Oregon to redeem itself when it comes to care for the mentally ill.

For some interesting reading, check out this Pulitzer Prize winning series about the hospital http://www.oregonlive.com/special/oregonian/hospital/

Cynical on the surface

Sometimes I'm jaded. (Jaded, adjective, made dull, apathetic or cynical by experience.) But then other times I meet people and I'm just amazed by human tenacity.

I recently told the story of a young woman who lost her infant daughter in December. (Death leads to March for Babies, East Oregonian, April 3, 2009).

Our office manager came in and told me a lady was here and wanted to talk about the March of Dimes fundraiser. My initial thought was I had just written up a brief about the fundraising walks planned for Pendleton and Hermiston, but I grabbed my pad and a pen and headed into the lobby area.

"I lost my infant daughter and to avenge her death, I want to do something for the March of Dimes," 25-year-old Becky Macki said to me before she even told me her name.

Stories like this typically don't just fall in your lap. I truly believe fundraising for various organizations is important, but to put a face to the cause is incredibly powerful.

As I talked to Becky, who lives with her sister, Debbie Knarr, I found out they lost their father in 2001 and their mother in 2007.

"We're just two little orphan adults," Debbie said.

As I talked with them I felt somewhat like a voyeur - asking deep, personal and penetrating questions ... stuff normal people don't ask others the first time they meet them. I apologized for being intrusive.

I guess I'm not so jaded.