Week note - v
This notes comes belatedly for a couple reasons. Last week was the first (full) week of our annual Sierras roadtrip. Things did not go quite according to plan. At first it seemed like my sleeping pad had triggered some old back issues. A dull pain that started during our time in Coos Bay quickly became a throbbing, sharp twinge while in Lassen Volcanic National Park. This twinge got worse, seemingly exacerbated by my days spent working out of my van.
I was committed to pushing through, though declined to do much hiking while in the Park to try and give my body time to heal from what I thought was only a sore or pulled back muscles. On Wednesday, we started our drive down to our next stop, Tahoe City, and that’s when things started to take a turn. I could barely stand the 4ish hour ride and found I couldn’t manage my portion of the driving. My partner had to take the wheel and we listened to podcasts the whole way to make up for my acute lack of conversational skill.1
Once we got there and I had some time to lay down and stretch I was feeling more optimistic. I even took us out for a nice dinner at Christy Hill2, both as a thank you for all the extra effort she was taking on for us and to (hopefully) mark a change in the tenor of the currently strained vibes of our trip. The meal was fantastic. When we got back to our room for the night I was certain that a night sleeping on a real bed would set things right. We popped on a movie and I took a muscle relaxer determined to put a finger on the scale of good fortune.
About an hour after falling asleep I woke up in the (confusing) throws of pain. The dull throbbing I had attributed to the spasms of my unhappy back muscles had transformed into a sharp, repetitive stabbing pain that left me in tears. I woke my partner and told her we might need to make the drive back to Portland tomorrow. She held my hand, offered kind words, and then popped in her ear plugs. She solemnly let me know that if she were to be able to do the drive she’d need these so she could sleep through my sniffling and moaning.
-
My contributions to our chat were mostly insightful additions like “oh fuck” and some longer (though ultimately not moving) exposition on why it would be okay to kill me. ↩︎
-
We had venison tartare, scallops & pork, and some ravioli that was incredible. The view from this place is the main selling point and if you find yourself in Tahoe City you should check it out. ↩︎
Week note - iv
This week was the lead up to and start of our road trip. I enjoy road trips a lot. Driving through Oregon and Northern California is a delight. It’s. been just about 7 years since I’e moved here from Connecticut and I will never stop being awed by the natural beauty it has: volcanic mountains, misty rainy forests, the powerful forces of coast, and the starkness of the high desert.
Our trip takes has taken us, first, to the southern Oregon coast. I love it’s small towns and long lonely stretches. I really enjoyed seeing In A Landscape once again.
Since I am working from the van this week, my note is a bit shorter. This counts as my last post for Blaugust.
Week note - iii
I love baked ziti. Growing up in Connecticut every event called for a baked ziti. It is the east coast equivalent of the midwestern hot dish. Your neighbors invited you to a backyard barbecue? You can count on a tinfoil tray of ziti next to the burgers. Going to a pot-luck with your coworkers? Phil from accounting got that zeet.1 Italian-American food is my comfort food and ziti is, among them, uniquely nostalgic for me. It is simple to make and beloved by almost everyone.
Over the past few weeks my partner has been making lasagnas for Lasagna Love, a program where folks volunteer to (as you might imagine) make a lasagna for a neighbor in need. Consequently, I’ve spent a lot of time hovering around the kitchen as she makes delicious found I can’t have. This sparked a conversation about our shared love for baked ziti. Meaghan grew up on Long Island immersed in the same cultural ziti-geist in her childhood.
Driven by nostalgia we decided to make each other a baked ziti, inspired by our experiences back home. She made hers last week and it was fantastic, just what I’d expect from a chef’s daughter. As I write this, my own ziti is baking in the oven. I tried to recreate it the way that my mom made her’s when I was growing up. She was a single parent with limited income and two boys who ate staggering amounts of food, so cheap and simple meals that made a large quantity were a staple in house.
My mom’s approach didn’t have a recipe from grandma or begin with hours prepping a sauce from scratch. Most of the time it started with a jarred sauce she’d zhuzh up with ground beef (or whatever was on sale), pinches of dried spices from the cabinet, and some sautéd garlic & onions. A typical Sunday meant cooking up a huge pot of sauce, and rolling meatballs, eventually assembling a baked ziti and a pile of spaghetti that my brother and I would eat for the rest of the week.2
Sometimes it’s nice to have a taste of the past.
Next week my partner and I start our roadtrip. For the last three years now, at the end of the summer we pack up my old Japanese van and make our way south down to the Sierras. We camp, backpack and stop wherever calls to us and it’s one of my favorite trips each year.