Tuesday, December 18, 2018

'Tis the season of giving (and receiving)

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Bill Belichick is the National Football League’s version of the Grinch. The head coach of the New England Patriots recently said Christmas is very inconvenient — coming in the middle of the football season.
Whatever. I enjoy the Christmas season — the festive music, holiday parties, tasty treats and the approaching NFL postseason.
But mostly, I like to give. I love finding the perfect gift for those that are special in my life. I enjoy seeing people open a gift I chose especially for them or hearing them share about what it means to them.
One thing I purchased/created for my mom this year was a special Christmas ornament. Since John and I only have canine kids, my mommy is gram-mama to Lucifer and the General.
I found an ornament that had a picture frame opening and underneath is written, “Grandkids.” I decided to alter it to say, “Granddogs.”
I decided it would be best to sand down the raised letters before writing “dogs.” How appropriate that I ended up using our doggie pedicure nail grinder — it worked perfectly. I can only imagine the look on gram-mama’s face when she opened it.
In addition to giving, I also like to receive. When the package came from my parents last week, I rifled through the box. My mom had hinted about sending money as one of our gifts.
I look at monetary presents as an opportunity to purchase something that I may not otherwise buy. Since I still had some shopping to do on Amazon, I wanted to know how much I might have in case something caught my eye.
I found two identical gifts in the box. I told John I suspected they contained checks for each of us and suggested that we open them. He was more than happy to take a peek.
My parents enjoy knowing what we buy with our present money. The first year, we pooled our money and bought a flat screen TV. Last year, we spent half of it on heavy-duty dog harnesses (and I also purchased some titanium earrings and John got some vinyl records).
While I have yet to spend this year’s gift money, John ordered a really nice Hamilton Beach electric countertop stand mixer. I don’t think my folks will be too upset that he already spent the money. He promptly used it to make several dozen cookies, which were shipped off to them the next morning.
Despite Grinch Belichick’s sentiments about the holiday season, I’m looking forward to the regular season wrapping up. While my friends that are Seahawks fans are still on the edge of their seats, my Rams and Saints have already punched their tickets to the postseason.
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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Tuesday, October 23, 2018

Scary movies, popcorn and Halloween, oh my

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     Hermiston Herald, Community Editor

Tuesday, September 25, 2018

Pirate pride — 40 years in the making

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I recently returned after embarking on a round-trip encompassing more than 800 miles and 40 years.
Even after getting Round-Up week off, I almost didn’t go to my 40-year high school reunion. I woke up the morning of Sept. 12 with a hitch in my giddy-up.
With my back aching, I just couldn’t see climbing behind the wheel of my Jeep and driving more than seven hours to visit with people I hadn’t seen since my 20-year reunion. However, the tides of Coos Bay were pulling me to my high school home. After soaking in a hot bath, I leisurely packed throughout the day.
The next morning, I zipped up my suitcases and rolled them down the stairs. While preparing for trips in recent years, the bags flying down in a heap has become a sort of tradition. It gets them closer to the door with less effort.
The commotion always gains the attention of the General, my 6-year-old German shepherd. From that point on, he’s my shadow — longing to know if he’s going to be riding shotgun.
One of the benefits of going to Coos Bay was getting to visit with my folks. My mom dotes on me and my pops refuses to let me pay for anything. Also, my mom loves playing gram-mama to the General, feeding him all kinds of treats — and he eats it up.
My husband — AKA Johnny Crocker — continues to endear himself with my parents. Even though he didn’t come on the trip, John sent several of his culinary creations. Dozens of cookies and two pies sufficiently covered morning, afternoon and midnight snacks.
I proudly donned the purple and gold colors of Marshfield High School before heading to the Friday night mixer. I recognized a number of faces, including Kathy, my graduation walking partner; Sally, who doesn’t remember imbibing during “Dimer Nights” when I visited her at Oregon State University; and Marcia, who recently came out as a transgender woman.
A couple of standouts — literally, they were like the Twin Towers — were Dean, a Harvard-trained retired Air Force colonel, looking quite stately; and Les, who, well, was just hot. I got a kink in my neck when talking to them, but it was worth every twinge of pain.
While catching up with fellow Pirates, I made observations to incorporate into my stand-up comedy routine for Saturday night’s gathering. It fueled a “Remember When” set, including taking note of Randy’s diminished hairline, Roger’s former profession in the mortuary business, Ernie’s booming radio voice and Marcia being a shoo-in for “most changed.”
The continuing camaraderie of the class of 1978 was amazing. After my stand-up set, Pam and Julie asked for a moment of silence for Jo, who couldn’t attend because her son was in a horrible wreck a few days before. Brian called the gesture “beautiful.” And, it was.
BJ, who served on the reunion committee, summed it up, “This reunion was everything I wanted it to be. Everyone embracing each other with love, hugs and friendship. No, cliques or drama. Just a lot of respect.”
#onceapiratealwaysapirate

Tammy Malgesini, back center, is pictured with several classmates from Marshfield High School during their 40-year reunion, held Sept. 14-16 in Coos Bay
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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Tuesday, August 28, 2018

High school memories ‘stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive’

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I finally decided to attend my 40-year high school reunion.
I’ve been hesitant because it’s a long drive to Coos Bay and gas is a far cry from the 63 cents a gallon it was in 1978. Also, it’s nearly impossible to take time off in the newsroom during Round-Up week.
A couple of years ago, I inquired about time off around my wedding anniversary, which also falls during Round-Up week. I think editor Daniel Wattenburger thought I was kidding. In retrospect, a September wedding wasn’t the best idea — John was studying to be a teacher and would always be back in school when our anniversary rolled around — and who knew “Let’er Buck” would compete with “I do” in the years to come?
But I digress — the class reunion committee used much forethought in planning for our stroll down memory lane. Last August, organizers urged fellow Pirates to “save the date” for the weekend of Sept. 14-16, 2018. Evidently, not everyone in the Marshfield High School class of 1978 are procrastinators.
When I finally embraced my inner Pirate and decided I would attend, I went all-in. I offered to do a stand-up comedy routine before the band plays. In preparation, I’ve been immersing myself with all things from the late-1970s.
From foods to fashion — I’ve been recalling the nightmares that were bell bottoms, hip huggers and platform shoes. And, who would name a line of formal/semi-formal wear Gunne Sax? Heavy-duty burlap bags don’t sound very fancy. Although, I admit to wearing a Gunne Sax wedding dress.
The Saturday night gathering is at a sports bar — so I’m sure the drinks will be flowing. I wonder if they’ll serve Boone’s Farm, Annie Green Springs or T.J. Swann — remember Easy Nights, Mellow Days and Stepping Out? According to a quick Google search, they were popular back in the day due to their “inexpensive price and great taste.” Seriously — bottom shelf wines with the lovely screw top — no thanks!
Recently, my husband has been spinning some old records — songs I listened to in my high school days. While disco was popular with the release of “Saturday Night Fever,” I preferred the likes of Billy Joel’s “Only the Good Die Young,” Bob Seger’s “Night Moves,” Queen’s “We are the Champions” and “Hotel California” by the Eagles.
Speaking of hotel, the event is being held the same weekend as the Bay Area Fun Festival and the 39th annual Steve Prefontaine Run. Rooms are booking up fast, but my mom and pops still reside in Coos Bay — in the very house that I lived in my last few years of high school. Luckily, my old bedroom no longer features dreadful wallpaper. It was quite obnoxious with yellow, orange and pink smiley faces everywhere.
I enjoyed my high school days, but wouldn’t want to go back to things like minimum wage at $2.30 an hour, a basic Montgomery Wards microwave oven for just under $500 and disco topping the music charts. As for the memories, thanks to the Bee Gees, they are “stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive, ah, ha, ha, ha.”
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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Tuesday, June 12, 2018

Turning the tassel on old-school ideas

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

Traffic ... driving me crazy

By Tammy Malgesini
Staff Writer
Published on April 17, 2018 6:43PM

I don’t exhibit road rage — my response to driving frustrations is more like traffic-induced Tourette Syndrome.
I wasn’t really aware of this until a recent trip to the coast with Carol and Cassie Greene. Cassie, who was behind the wheel during the sketchy part of the trip through the Portland metro area, didn’t seem to appreciate my backseat driving.
It was more like backseat blurting out. It’s not like I spewed obscenities — just short phrases that aren’t fit for print. I certainly should have budgeted more for the swear jar in the car.
In my defense, cars were darting in and out of traffic, passing on the right, merging inappropriately, not maintaining a safe following distance and generally not following the laws as outlined in the Oregon Driver Manual.
I’m not saying I’m the best driver in the world. However, I don’t weave in and out of traffic, I always use my turn signal when merging, I utilize the 3-second rule to provide appropriate distance and I make sure I can see pavement between my rig and the car in front of me when stopped.
More about turn signals — when used properly, they offer a clue to other drivers regarding where you intend to go. Use them! Really, it doesn’t take that much effort. Oh, and after they have served their purpose — turn it off.
While I’m not as crazy as my bestie Carol “Andretti” Greene, I do admit to some questionable driving habits. With traffic re-routed due to Hermiston’s festival street construction project, I experienced a bit of Olympics fever. Driving to and from work each day, I felt like a skier on a slalom course. Whipping around the cones, I would get as close to them as possible. And, I’m proud to say I never ran over a single one.
Also, pedestrians have laws, too. If I wrote an Oregon Pedestrian Manual, rules would address appropriate attire for nighttime strolls and the use of crosswalks, including a clear definition of what constitutes an unmarked crosswalk. They are NOT merely anywhere you decide to cross the street.
I totally respect that pedestrians have the right of way — just don’t make me plunk quarters in the swear jar on my way home from work.
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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

Flying high with Olympic fever

Community editor Tammy Malgesini muses on the oddities of this year’s Olympics.
By Tammy Malgesini
Staff Writer
Published on February 20, 2018 5:54PM
I’m a Winter Olympics junkie, but several things connected with things happening in PyeongChang have me scratching my head.
Reminiscent of “the artist formerly known as Prince,” the Russian competitors are being referred to as Olympic Athletes from Russia. This is the International Olympic Committee’s way of allowing Russian athletes a chance to compete despite the misdeeds of their fellow countrymen and widespread cheating through a government doping program.
They can’t be referred to as the Russian team, they aren’t allowed to wear their country’s colors, they can’t carry the Russian flag or play the national anthem and medals won won’t go toward the Russian medal count total in history books. But, evidently they can still use banned substances.
Even with the vetting process, an Olympic curler from Russia tested positive in a preliminary test for a banned substance over the weekend. Seriously, though, curling?
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy watching grown men and women slide around on ice while using a Swiffer to clear the way. But I question why a curling athlete would even need a performance-enhancing drug.
Over the weekend, I was impressed with a seemingly profound statement by Cammi Granato regarding the United States women’s hockey team. A former Olympian — she’s a 1998 gold medal and 2002 silver medal winner in hockey — she’s qualified to give an insider’s view. I said seemingly, however, because when a Folgers commercial came on, I realized she pretty much stole the statement from the coffee company.
However, that’s not the biggest theft that has occurred during the 2018 Olympics — that honor (or dishonor) goes to Elizabeth Swaney, a U.S. citizen who represented Hungary in the women’s freeski halfpipe.
It seems she manipulated her way into the Olympics by grabbing onto her grandparent’s Hungarian heritage and then traveling around the world to compete in low-attended competitions. She “earned” an Olympic berth by placing in the top 30 of the required number of competitions, which wasn’t hard since some contests didn’t even draw 15 athletes.
She did all this without so much as performing what competitors consider tricks. The key was to stay upright and finish.
I’m not even bragging when I say I could do better than her. However, I know I don’t possess the skills of an Olympic athlete — that’s why I’m at home watching from my daybed rather than strapping skis on and pretending to be an elite athlete.
My favorite part of the Olympics is short track speed skating. And its relay event — they call it organized chaos — is the bomb. My co-workers seem to think that statement resembles the condition of my desk area.
The thing with short track is I have to wait four years to see it. Unlike many other Olympic events, short track competitions held throughout the year aren’t televised.
When my head felt like it would explode last Tuesday, I decided to stay home. When I discovered that short track was being televised, it made the decision that much easier. I feel a relapse coming on this Thursday.
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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.