Pepsi addict cashes in her can collection

10/6/2009














Pepsi addict cashes in her can collection

By TAMMY MALGESINI
East Oregonian

They were everywhere.

At the end of my kitchen cabinet, under my desk at work, in a corner in the garage and on the floor of my car - empty cans and bottles. As much as I want my deposit back, I detest having to stand on a sticky floor, smell the pungent odor of stale beer and feel the pain in my shoulder as I feed them into the machines.

I typically donate them to Special Olympics, the Umatilla High School cheerleaders or Agape House, but the last few weeks I've eyed the ever-sprawling piles and thought it would be a nice chunk of change to take with me to the coast. But, was it worth it?

It takes forever. And just when you're getting into a rhythm, you hit the daily limit and have to go to another store.

I almost took a friend's offer to help me for half the take - at least it could turn into a social event.

However, when I was cleaning out my computer bag I found several pages from the Oregon Administrative Rule, which outlined the Beverage Container Act. It's not the sort of material you curl up with and read in front of the fire, but I needed information from it when I was doing a story about the Oregon bottle bill.

It would come in handy again. Carefully counted into separate bags of 144 for larger stores and 50 for convenience stores, I embarked on a quest to get my nickels back.

As I entered the first retailer, I announced I had containers to return for deposit. The clerk told me she could take 100 containers. The other place would tell me their policy was to take up to 96.

In both stores, I responded, "According to the Oregon Administrative Rule I can bring in 144." Clerks at both places repeated their policy to me. After I showed them information from the OAR, they had to talk to their supervisor. (Sure, I could have taken the extra 44/48 cans and taken them someplace else, but that meant another stop. The whole idea was to get my deposits back while expending the least amount of energy and be home in time to watch the east coast feed of "The Amazing Race" ).

I went through my song and dance again, showing the supervisor the OAR, which states in part, "Dealers must not use this rule to frustrate the requirement of the Beverage Container Act that dealers accept returns of up to 144 beverage containers ..."

I truly do understand the frustration of retailers - they don't have room to store them before they are picked up and they have to deal with some yucky cans and bottles. I have frustrations too. I've paid a deposit, they stack up around my house and when I'm ready to return them I'd like the transaction to be as simple as when I purchased the container in the first place.

It seems the Oregon Administrative Rule trumps store policy.

I'm sure it's not every day retailers get someone coming in quoting the OAR and even packing a copy. I think one supervisor thought this was some sort of Beverage Container Act enforcement operation - similar to the tobacco enforcement decoys or Oregon Liquor Control Commission minor decoy operations.

No, it was just a Pepsi addict wanting some extra cash.
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Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears every other week. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Melton, Miller provide dose of Round-Up spirit

09/17/2009

Melton, Miller provide dose of Round-Up spirit

By TAMMY MALGESINI

East Oregonian

I got a healthy dose of Round-Up spirit Saturday morning thanks to Tom Melton and Bob Miller, announcers for the Main Street Cowboys Dress-Up Parade.

You know how stores have Christmas things out and it’s not even Thanksgiving yet? Well, the newsroom is the same way. Before the Umatilla County Fair even began, we were already writing copy for the East Oregonian’s Round-Up magazine.

So, by the time the first horse gets ready to buck, my Round-Up spirit is nearly depleted.
Sometimes when looking at the coming events calendar it’s a tough call trying to decide what to cover for the weekend. However, after a quick glance early last week, I knew as the Saturday reporter I’d be hanging out on the streets of Pendleton for the Dress-Up Parade, often called the kick-off event for the Pendleton Round-Up.

Sure, everyone loves a parade, but as the week continued, I pondered how I should approach doing the story. Later in the week, I found out I also needed to take photos. Then on Friday, EO Managing Editor Skip Nichols asked me to take video footage.

It was this juggling act that prompted me to stake out a spot near the announcer’s table.
Having met the M & Ms a couple of years ago, I re-introduced myself to Melton and Miller, and then proceeded to set up my temporary encampment.

Within moments, I knew I was in the right place. I chuckled out loud as the pair bantered back and forth.

Although they had some written information on many of the entries, it was the duo’s spontaneous ad-libbing with each other and many who passed in front of them on the parade route that added to the experience - that and the shower of Tootsie Rolls raining on the stage area, courtesy of the Happy Canyon directors.

For those of you who missed the Dress-Up Parade, there’s another chance to rev up your Round-Up spirit during Friday’s Westward Ho! Parade. I encourage you to sidle up to the announcer’s table for Round 2 of Melton and Miller’s parade tour. However, if you can’t make it to downtown Pendleton, tune in to 1240 KTIX for a live broadcast of the unique non-motorized parade.
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Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears every other week. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Spiders: friend or foe?

9/3/2009

A spider is suspended among a network of webs near the Interstate 82 bridge on the Columbia River.Staff photo by Tammy Malgesini

Spiders: friend or foe?
By TAMMY MALGESINI
East Oregonian

A Web site I recently went to said most spiders are small, inconspicuous and harmless to humans.

Whatever.

Sure, they're small if compared to, let's say, an elephant. But regardless of their size, the creepy, crawly, arachnids make my skin crawl.

And inconspicuous - yeah, right.

My husband and I took our dog to a spot along the Columbia River recently, yet because of hundreds of the "little" web-swingers, we couldn't even make it down the trail to the water.

Jeter, our German shepherd, was oblivious to the situation. He merely headed down the trail, periodically trotting back to nudge us forward.

Feeling the dangling webs as he headed further down the path, John grabbed a piece of brush and waved it in the air as he pressed onward to the river.

As I followed behind I tried to stay focused on the trail, but out of the corner of my eyes I could see hundreds of spiders.

Now just for a frame of reference regarding my disdain for the creepy creatures, just a few days before our excursion to the river I sat on my bed and yelled, "Speeder!" as I pointed to single, solitary spider that was crawling on the wall three feet away from me.

As part of our marriage vows, John promptly responded and the spider met its maker.Now let's look at the definition of harmless: Not intended to harm or offend; inoffensive.

Well, the spiders may not have intended to offend, but they did. I found it upsetting that they had overtaken an area I've enjoyed bringing my dog to during past summers, not to mention raising my blood pressure and causing sweat to pour from my brow.

In wrestling with the question of whether spiders are friend or foe, I recognize they are a food source for numerous animals - birds, mammals and amphibians. So if you see some starving or vagrant-looking animal, tell them there's an all-you-can-eat spider buffet available below the Interstate 82 bridge on the Washington side of the Columbia River.
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Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside My shoes, appears every other week. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Corn salad takes its toll on reporter's tooth

8/18/2009

Corn salad takes its toll on reporter's tooth
By TAMMY MALGESINI
East Oregonian

Even though I laid tilted back in the chair, my legs crossed at the ankles, I was anything but relaxed.

I used to think having to do laundry on vacation was totally wrong; however, as I sat in the dentist's chair last month in Moab, Utah, I decided I would rather wash my clothes by beating it across the area's signature red rocks than have my mouth wide open while Dr. Norman Barber drilled away.

John and I had just returned to the hotel on the night of our arrival in Moab when it happened. While eating some southwestern corn and black bean salad there was a crunch - I broke a tooth. And then my tongue just couldn't stay away from the suspect tooth - resulting in a twinge of pain each time it pushed the jagged edge into my gums.

While I should have been focused on an outdoor itinerary of which trail we were going to explore on our all-terrain vehicle, instead I was perusing the Web sites of Moab dentists. And how does one choose a dentist far away from home? Do I choose a solo dentist whose practice merely goes by the dentist's name or how about clinics that incorporate the geography of southeastern Utah in their name like Red Rock Dental or Arches Dental Clinic?

I finally decided to get input from the hotel desk clerk. After explaining my situation, she wished me luck, saying it's difficult to get into a dentist on short notice - even if you're an established patient. So I resorted to looking for any indication on the Web sites that the dentist would take kindly to my plight. When I saw the word "emergencies," I figured Barber's practice was my best bet.

When I called, the receptionist asked me which tooth it was. Although I now know it's tooth number 29, at the time all I knew is it was the one digging into my gums each time my tongue wandered. After I sufficiently described which tooth was bothersome to me, she granted me an appointment time.

When I asked where their office was located, she said, "380 North 500 West." Despite what I'm told is a simple address coordinate system based on grids, I don't understand when people give me an address that includes two sets of numbers. And after following the directions from Mapquest, I found comfort in knowing I'm not the only one it confuses.

I wouldn't say it was a painless experience, because, well, it was a trip to the dentist, but after sitting there with my mouth open for what seemed like an eternity, I finally was patched up and ready to enjoy the rest of my vacation.

While hiking, climbing and riding through the beautiful red rock region, I had no further mishaps; however, I didn't eat anymore of the suspect southwestern salad.
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Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears every other week. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Road trips provide chances to reconnect

7/29/2009

Road trips provide chances to reconnect
By TAMMY MALGESINI
East Oregonian

Climbing into the seat next to my husband as we set out for vacation brought as much giddiness and excitement as the old E-Ticket rides at Disneyland when I was a kid. Sure there was the anticipation of the trip in general, but I was looking forward to actually riding with John. In an effort to stretch my vacation days as much as possible, the last couple of years John would hit the road with our toys and utilizing my SkyMiles, I'd fly to an airport near our destination.

Well, the excitement of being in the truck lasted until about ... Cabbage Hill.

In the four years since I last took an extended road trip, I forgot how confining the cab of the pickup is. To help pass the time (and refrain from critiquing John's driving), I read several newspapers, some chapters from Rolf Potts' book, "Marco Polo Didn't Go There," and the atlas. Note to self: Get more reading material for the drive home.

Although the atlas will never make a list of best sellers or a Pulitzer Prize, it did provide information for a little travel trivia. (Name the states that are larger than Oregon, identify the capital of each state and list the three least populated states in order.) On a side note - I'm amazed that the entire state of Wyoming has less people than the city of Portland.

And what trip would be complete without the periodic query of, "Are we there yet?"

As we drove through Salt Lake City, the sky darkened, the wind kicked up and it started to pour down rain. I suddenly became quite worried about my golf clubs, which were standing straight up in the bed of the truck, wedged between the ATV and the back wheel well. I pressed my nose against the window and peered into the darkness - trying to see how they were holding up.

As the storm continued, I verbalized my concerns with a running commentary, which alternated between the booming thunder and jagged lightning, other drivers on the road, the decreased visibility and my golf clubs.

Later as the weather subsided, I said to John: "Haven't you missed having me ride with you on vacation?"

"It really is a different experience," he responded.
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Tammy Malgesini is the EO's community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, will appear every other week. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com of 541-564-4539.

Off-road riding results in addiction

7/14/2009

Tammy Malgesini rides an all-terrain vehicle last month at the Winom-Frazier Off-Highway Complex, located east of Ukiah. Photo contributed by John Malgesini

Off-road riding results in addiction
By TAMMY MALGESINI
East Oregonian

My name is Tammy and I'm an ATV addict.It started out innocently enough. My need to wander off the beaten path was satisfied by some mellow off-road excursions in my husband's truck and renting all-terrain vehicles while on vacation.

However, a mishap a couple of years ago near Moab, Utah fed my need to get off-road.

John and I grabbed a brochure from the visitor's center and headed to several locations with Indian petroglyphs. As we followed the directions, we had little difficulty finding the panels - that is until John tried to kill me.

I admit I'm an adrenaline junkie, but I'm also a little bit chicken. I like to think it's what keeps me from totally going off the edge.

John had been driving quite conservatively as we headed to the last site, which also included an arch. I made the mistake of challenging his manhood.

"You don't have to drive like a grandma, we have four-wheel drive," I said to him.

This statement came back to haunt me as it fueled his hell-bent determination to forge on.

My nearly hysterical response as the road got more and more treacherous finally convinced John to turn around.

Because of that nail-biting experience, I wanted to get an ATV before heading to Moab last summer. I figured the smaller rig could maneuver more easily on the ledge roads.

I became obsessed.

Unbeknownst to John, I began looking at advertisements for ATVs. Next, I was going to stores and sitting on them - with eyes closed, my mind transported itself to the switchback shelf road on the way to the elusive arch.

Then when one of my friends told me her husband purchased a new ATV and was selling his old one, I told her I wanted to buy it but I had to sell John on the idea.

That simple purchase changed me. I went from being perfectly happy with periodic off-road excursions to being totally obsessed.

I've straddled the ATV and spun cookies in the back yard. I've opened the gate and cruised from our mailbox on the street to our back fence line. And I even cruised a couple of blocks down the snow-covered sidewalk to my dog sitter's house this past winter.

When the spring weather finally got nicer, John and I made trips to Winom-Frazier Off-Highway Complex and Morrow-Grant OHV Park. Also, while working on a story for the outdoor page, we headed to The Bike Pit Pilot Rock Motocross & OHV Park.

As a child I struggled to stay within the lines when I colored - as an adult riding an ATV, boundaries have merely become a starting point.
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Tammy Malgesini is the EO's community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, will appear every other week. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com of 541-564-4539.

Jai's last ride

3/29/2009

Despite his size, Jai always wanted to be a lap dog.

Jai's last ride
By TAMMY MALGESINI
The East Oregonian

The day Barack Obama was inaugurated as the 44th president of the United States always will be a memorable day for me. It's the same day we had to put down Jai, our 141⁄2-year-old Airedale terrier.

Jai took his last ride to the vet in the Bronco - very fitting since it's the vehicle John and I bought specifically for our canine kids.

The difference this time is he wasn't bouncing from the back seat to the rear with slobber flapping in the wind - anticipating a romp along the river.

Or was he? I'd like to think there's a special place for dogs and one day the Malgesini pack will be reunited.

As we walked into Oregon Trail Vet Clinic I chuckled to myself, remembering a past time I took Jai when he was, well, sicker than a dog. He hadn't been eating or drinking, so I loaded him into the car and took him to the doggie doc.

As I drove down the street he laid still in the back seat, which was very uncharacteristic. He sauntered slowly into the vet clinic, but then out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Perched on a short dividing wall was a large stuffed dog. He lurched at it and, before I could react, he pounced on it. In the ensuing melee, he bit his tongue.

When we entered the examination room, he was panting profusely with slobber and blood pouring from his mouth. The doggie doc looked at him and asked how long he'd been like that.

"He had a fight with your stuffed dog in the waiting room and lost," I said with a laugh.

Losing a canine kid is tough, even though you know from the outset you're going to outlive them. John and I stayed in the room as Dr. Mark Sargent put the needle into Jai's leg. Only a few moments had passed when he told us Jai was gone and then he slipped out the door so we could say our final good-byes. Over the years, John didn't cut the hair on Jai's head, which resulted in dreadlocks - very fitting for his middle name of Rastafari. I told John I wanted one of the dreads. When I got home, I taped it to the bathroom mirror.

The next day, I sat on the floor with a bunch of photo albums. John and I laughed as we flipped through the pages - remembering how Jai used to lay under the coffee table, but had to move to the kitchen table as he got bigger, how he learned to go up the stairs several weeks before he mastered descending them and he'd stand at the top whining for us to rescue him, how he'd balk at opening Christmas presents because the rest of the year we'd chastise him for "getting into things" and how he innately knew when John put on a certain pair of shoes it meant he was going to go for a walk.

We have a three-page "manifesto" plastered on the kitchen cupboard on how to care for the dogs when we're out of town. When we've needed a new dog sitter, it was Jai and Jeter, our German shepherd, who screened potential candidates.

We've always been a two-dog family and with the loss of Jai, there's a hole in our family. I know Jai will never be replaced, but when it's time we'll find another canine kid to join the Malgesini pack.
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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor for the East Oregonian. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com.

Still looking for fresh powder

2/7/2009

Still looking for fresh powder
Tammy Malgesini
Inside My Shoes

Last month I headed up to Spout Springs Ski Area and hit the slopes for the first time in three seasons.

The night before I was scheduled to do a story on a couple of local Special Olympics athletes training for the 2009 World Winter Games, I was like a giddy school girl waiting for her first date to show up.

For anyone who's a skier, the time between seasons seems like an eternity - so after missing three winters on the white stuff, I was philosophically opposed to missing another.

As I trudged up the hill to get my lift ticket I watched a small group of people huddling with a ski instructor. I laughed to myself as I thought about my first experience on skis.

I was employed as the residential manager of group homes for adults with developmental disabilities. Several of the clients had expressed interest in participating is Special Olympics skiing. The only problem was one of the clients required 24-hour supervision and we were short staffed.

Suzy Tosten, one of the group home managers, and I decided we'd go to Spout for the coaches' training the week before training started for the athletes. I arrogantly figured if I took a lesson and spent a day on the slopes, I'd be one step up on my clients and would be just fine.

As I tried to remain upright with these two long boards strapped beneath me, I wanted to watch my feet. Buzz Fulton, our ski instructor, kept a watchful eye on me.

"Look up, a picture's worth a thousand words," he kept saying to me.

Then he told us to fall down, so we could learn how to get up on our own. At the time I thought it was ridiculous that I should purposely splay myself all over the mountain - something I was desperately trying to avoid.

After we ventured up on the chair lift for the first time and began to slide down a real slope, I suddenly realized I needed more instruction in stopping. As I was headed straight for a tree, Buzz and my classmates were all directing me to wedge my skis. However, above the dull roar of instructions, I heard Suzy say, "Fall down."

Suzy wasn't only a co-worker, she was a trusted friend. I didn't know at the time Buzz was a long-time ski instructor - I just figured he did his duties at instructing as a way to get a free ski pass. I listened to Suzy and gracefully shifted my weight and toppled in a heap.

As I laid there in the snow, I suddenly realized Buzz probably knew what he was doing when he had us purposely falling earlier in the lesson so we could learn to get up. I still have the ski pole, which bears a distinct bend from being used to pull myself up more than once during my bunny slope days.

After my close friends Mark and Teri Briley moved to Denver, I finally experienced ski nirvana during my yearly birthday trips to Winter Park. The ski resort actually sent me a T-shirt and other goodies the first season I missed after having my left knee replaced.

Last year I was set to return to the slopes, but then I did something to my right knee. Although some people might give up, not me. I'm addicted to snow. Although my joints are creaking, I've always said, "Age is a state of mind. Someone just forgot to tell my body that."
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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor for the East Oregonian. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com

Bring on the Kleenex

1/3/2009
inside my shoes
Bring on the Kleenex
By TAMMY MALGESINI
The East Oregonian

I did it again. I insisted my husband take me to a movie where I'd end up crying. Sure, sometimes it's hard to know what will move me to tears. I'm probably the only person in America who cried at the end of Terminator 2: Judgment Day. But the thing is I knew it was coming with "Marley & Me," as I had already read the book.

Luckily, before we left the house, I stuffed my pockets with tissues.

Dogs are part of our family. When people ask if we have children, I always respond, "We have two canine kids." Currently there's Jeter, my 9-year-old German shepherd and Jai, John's 14-year-old Airedale terrier.

The movie really touched me because we previously experienced the full life cycle of my last German shepherd, Gastineau, and are now dealing with the twilight years of Jai's life.

I had hoped to take a mini-vacation over New Year's, but as Jai has edged ever closer to taking up permanent residence next to the cremated remains of Gastineau, John just didn't feel comfortable in leaving his best buddy in the care of our 16-year-old dog sitter, Sean Estabrook.

Sure, Sean says he doesn't mind caring for our aging alpha dog; however, the duty of cleaning up regular mislaid poo really should remain with those who love him the most.

As I watched the movie about mishaps of "the world's worst dog," I compared some of the miscues we've had with Jai.

After a fairly uneventful introduction, Jai brought new meaning to the "terrible twos." Having never really been a chewer, I was aghast when he suddenly developed a hankering for anything made of plastic.

He destroyed part of my stadium cup collection before moving on to VCR tapes and cassette tape cases.

Next, he began chewing the carpet, holes in the bedroom door and the sheetrock by the back door.

It was at this point we decided a crate was in order. However, being a larger Oorang Airedale, finding one big enough wasn't easy.

After finding extra large wire cages in a dog supply magazine, I asked John if he wanted the silver-colored Houdini-proof cage or the regular black one. Evidently John determined it would become an accessory in our living room and opted for the black one.

John had gone to Seattle for the weekend and as I left for the Farm-City Pro Rodeo with some friends, I coaxed Jai into the cage, which was strategically placed near the front door.

"We'll never raise another dog without a crate," John now says.

Mistake number one: not crate-training him from the time he was a puppy.

When I returned home, I found Jai had somehow gotten his snout through part of the wire cage and had proceeded to chew a hole in the wall.

That was it - he and his cage were being relegated to the garage.

Mistake number two: forgetting Jai is quite social and putting him in the dark garage away from Gastineau and the ability to hear the sounds from the outside world tore him up.

We should have gotten the Houdini-proof cage. After Jai found a way to escape, we secured the perimeter with an interlocking link. However, our punishment was having to unscrew the drool-covered link when we got home.

Next, the dog with such a high tolerance for pain he didn't even flinch the time John cut his ear while grooming him, jammed his head through the wire door.

With blood streaming down his face and matted in his hair, we finally released him from the cage. It was at that time he seemed to go beyond the "terrible twos" and we merely sent him under the kitchen table when he needed a time out.

When we noticed sores building up between his toes after romping in the snow, we bought him doggie shoes. When he whined outside the two-man tent while camping, we relented and let him in. When he calls out with a singular bark at the back door, we obediently open it. When he began showing signs of arthritis, we bought him doggie glucosamine. And when he began dropping turds on the carpet, we made sure we had toilet paper, plastic bags and doggie odor spray nearby.

I don't know how much longer Jai will be with us, but one thing's for sure - when his time comes, I'll need a box of tissues.
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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor for the EO. She can be reached at 564-4539 or tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com.

Still writing, changing hats

12/3/2008

Inside My Shoes

Still writing, changing hats

By TAMMY MALGESINI

The Hermiston Herald

Being part of a smaller news team at The Hermiston Herald has provided me opportunities to expand my horizons, including regularly writing columns, taking more photos, taking video footage, doing radio and even pinch-hitting in sports.

Sarah Britain, our former photojournalist, was great to work with. She was encouraging and I gained a lot of skills and insight - assisting me in honing my photography skills. Although, I took no offense when she said, "Even a monkey can take mug shots," I reminded her of it every chance I got.

However, one of the best parts of the job has been working with fellow reporter Karen Hutchinson-Talaski.

When the East Oregonian Publishing Company announced the purchase of the Herald from Western Communications, I was told I was being designated as arts and entertainment editor/reporter. My beat also included community, religion and Hermiston and Echo school districts; however, the first thing I worked on was convincing Karen to apply for a job.

Karen had worked for the Herald under the old company for five years and I ran into her often covering the same stories while I was with the East Oregonian. During these encounters we often stood or sat side-by-side.

Such was the case when covering a particular court hearing last October. I didn't want Karen to hear me as I quietly whispered to the mother of one of the defendants to see if she was willing to talk to me after the hearing.

Sure, I respected Karen as a reporter, but face it; she was writing for "the other paper."

I called her several hours after the sale had been announced. I knew it had to be tough news to receive. I called her as a friend and then encouraged her to apply for a position, saying, "You are The Hermiston Herald."

I told her she'd be working with me - evidently that didn't send her running the other way.

As you read this, I'm still sitting at my same desk, with the same phone number, however, I'm back writing for the EO - where I got my start in journalism. I think I knew someday I'd return to the EO, because I kept my shirts and hats.

The funny thing is Terry Murry, the EO's former community editor, had encouraged me to apply for her job when she turned in her notice. I told her I wasn't interested. If the truth be known, I honestly didn't think I could fill her shoes.

Three days later I had a meeting with EO Editor George Murdock and Herald Editor Dean Brickey. It was at that time they told me I was going to the Herald.

For the last seven months, being responsible for What's Up? (and the now defunct A&E) is what I needed to gain the experience and confidence I needed. I appreciate Dean for affording me that opportunity.

And while I look forward to the challenge before me, I'll always cherish the memories of working for the hometown paper of the place I've lived for nearly half my life.
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Tammy Malgesini worked for the Hermiston Herald for the past seven months. She can be reached at (541) 564-4539 or tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com.

'Sign, sign everywhere a sign'

Herds of elk grazed in the Dean Creek Elk Viewing Area off Highway 38 near Reedsport.Tammy Malgesini/The Hermiston Herald

11/26/2008

Inside My Shoes' Sign, sign everywhere a sign'
By TAMMY MALGESINI
The Hermiston Herald

I think too much - really!

I think about things that aren't important, but they occupy my mind. I want answers to things that don't really have answers. And because I seem to be in my car a lot, I think about the signs along the road.

As I drove home from Coos Bay after covering the Umatilla-Gold Beach playoff game, I traveled through the Dean Creek Elk Viewing Area, just east of Reedsport on Highway 38. Because my parents live in Coos Bay, I've driven this route many times over the years, and each time I have a couple of thoughts. First, how do the elk know to tarry in the "safe zone?" And secondly, it has to leave hunters salivating.

I can just imagine a young elk listening closely to instructions from its mother and father - just as I listened to words of wisdom from my parents. However, in the case of this highly-sought-after animal, it's a matter of life and death whether they choose to hang out in the viewing area or mosey on to higher ground where ultimately they'll end up as a trophy on some hunter's wall.

Another sign that causes deep thought-provoking intrigue is one that says "Fog Zone" on the Fremont Bridge spanning the Willamette River in Portland. It seems a terrible waste of tax dollars. Because, pretty much if it's a bright, sunny day - who cares if it's a fog zone.

When I lived in Newberg, I drove over the bridge on my way to work in north Portland. I can tell you from personal experience, when it was foggy I knew it and I couldn't even see the sign.

Then there's the "Slippery when Wet" traffic signs. You've seen them - the car with the swerving lines. The only problem with this sign is it's not representative of what happens if you actually hydroplane or hit black ice. The sign makes it look like the car swerves, but then ends up back on the road in the direction it was originally traveling.

A more realistic sign would be to have the lines swerve and the car ending up in a ditch, facing the other direction, crashed into another car or smashed into a snow bank. Honestly, I think I'd heed the warning more if the sign suggested I might get really messed up if I didn't slow down and drive according to the conditions.

And finally, am I the only one who wants to know the names of the two figures in the school crossing pedestrian signs? Wonder no more - I named them: Pedestri-Anne and Pedestri-Andy.

The Five Man Electrical Band summed up my thoughts with its song "Signs."

"Sign, sign. Everywhere a sign. Blockin' out the scenery. Breakin' my mind. Do this. Don't do that. Can't you read the sign?"
---
Tammy Malgesini is a reporter for The Hermiston Herald. Readers may call her at (541) 564-4539 or e-mail tmalgesini@hermistonherald.com.

I'm just not quite right

10/1/2008

Inside My Shoes: I'm just not quite right
Humor really is the best medicine
By TAMMY MALGESINI
The Hermiston Herald

As a journalist, not all the stories are fun and fluff. I've been face-to-face with gang bangers - angry because I was doing a story on a shooting. I've talked to families who have lost a soldier at war. I've gone to houses engulfed in flames, not knowing if the people got out. I've been at the scene of accidents where people are one shallow breath away from the afterlife and I've sat in memorial services - trying to detach my emotions and refrain from focusing on why this person was taken way too early by cancer or drowning.

I have found over the years - both as a journalist and in previous careers, including as a drug and alcohol therapist, residential provider for adults with developmental disabilities and a counselor for at-risk adolescent girls - that I use humor as a way to deal with the stress of human situations.

I'm not normal. There I said it. For those of you who know me, that's not some big revelation. For those who are getting to know me, heed the warning. Although in my defense, I do put the skates on when needed.

Several years ago I was visiting with a group of women. One lady was sharing about her current medical situation. She said, "I don't know if it's terminal ... we won't know until after the autopsy."

I bit my tongue, but my head was exploding ... I wanted to say, "Well, if they're doing an autopsy, it's pretty much a done deal."

In that situation, I knew it would be more sensitive to keep the thoughts in my head.

Several years ago after reading "Sick Jokes, Healthy Workers" in Psychology Today, I felt comfort in knowing that my twisted sense of humor served to save my sanity.

I had told my boss at the time, Charlie Carnes, who was then head of the Umatilla County's Alcohol and Drug Program, about what studies showed about people with dark humor like mine.

"The sicker the wit, the better," the article said.

Charlie responded, "You must be the healthiest of all of us then."

I'll never forget that and I wear it as a badge of honor.

So when a recent cover story in Psychology Today was titled, "Typically Twisted" I had to quickly turn the pages to find out if I'm still healthy. A psychologist at South Florida University confirmed I'm still right on track.

"Having a laugh in the face of death or extreme hardship can certainly have a place in healthy coping," the psychologist was quoted as saying.

So, although my sense of humor may seem to be a little on the dark side - it serves me well. Reading such articles confirms that my twisted - and sometimes morbid - sense of humor is what helps me maintain focus and sanity when faced with human tragedy.
---
Tammy Malgesini maintains her sick sense of humor at The Hermiston Herald. Readers can contact her by calling (541) 564-4539 or via e-mail, tmalgesini@hermistonherald.com.

Seed-spitting proves side-splitting fun

Tammy Malgesini competes in the Watermelon Seed Spiting Contest at the Umatilla County Fair. Sarah Britain/The Hermiston Herald

8/20/2008

Seed-spitting proves side-splitting fun
By TAMMY MALGESINI
Inside My Shoes

I am the spit queen. OK, so maybe spitting isn't that lady-like, but growing up, I preferred my brother's Hot Wheels over dolls and my first major purchase as a child was a baseball glove.

After attending fairs in Umatilla, Morrow, Sherman and Gilliam counties last year, I've seen my share of watermelon seed spitting contests. After hearing about this year's contest sponsored by the Hermiston Watermelon Growers at the Umatilla County Fair, I embarked on a rigorous training routine.

Just before the fair, when Mayor Bob Severson brought a watermelon into the newsroom, I dug a dozen seeds out and practiced different techniques in the hallway.

Later after telling advertising consultant Shannon Paxton that I planned to enter the contest, we went outside and I practiced more. Spitting alongside Shannon pushed me to look for ways to perfect my technique.

Then Friday night of fair week, I decided I needed to get one more workout under my belt. Since I didn't have a watermelon, I initially practiced with sunflower seeds. However, I soon realized I needed watermelon seeds to get a real feel.

After driving to Safeway, I could only find seedless melons, so I headed down the highway, only to find Bellinger Farms closed.

I de­cided to drive out Loop Road toward Hermiston Melon Co. After knocking on a couple of doors, I decided I would go ahead a get a melon and pay the Walchlis later.

Arriving at the Coke Stage Saturday morning, I quickly filled out my slip and then sat back and sized up the other women. I figured Susie Stuvland and Linda Morgan would be my stiffest competition.

I then picked six seeds. Even though the contest included just three attempts, I wanted a couple of extra in case I dropped one. I periodically popped them in my mouth to keep them moist.

As luck would have it, I was the last woman to step to the line. Linda (16 feet) and Susie (18 feet) were within my range, so I knew I would have to dig deep to out spit them to win a hat or T-shirt and bragging rights.

After using my asthma inhaler, I turned my baseball hat backwards and stepped up to the line. I began rocking back and forth several times. I took a deep breath, rocked forward and upward and launched my first seed 20 feet - enough to clinch the victory.

When co-worker Karen Hutchinson-Talaski asked where I was going, instead of responding, Disneyland, I said, "I'm going to the Morrow County Fair."

But my first stop is the Walchli's place.
---

Tammy Malgesini is a reporter for The Hermiston Herald. Readers may e-mail her at tmalgesini@hermistonherald.com.

On this trip, I'll be doing the driving

8/5/2008

On this trip, I'll be doing the driving
inside my shoes
By TAMMY MALGESINI
The Hermiston Herald

I don't want to die in Moab. That's what I told my husband, John, last year as he continued to drive on a treacherous road while exploring some of the back country outside the southeastern Utah town.

Now I must admit I may have contributed to John's hell-bent determination to forge on.

Shortly after we got off the main road he was driving very conservatively.

"You don't have to drive like a grandma, we have four-wheel drive," I said.

These words would come back to haunt me as the road conditions worsened and he was determined to find the Anasazi petroglyphs and hidden arch we were searching for.

We stumbled upon the town in the midst of red rock and desert 11 years ago. Our good friends, Mark and Teri Briley, had moved to Denver and we planned to visit them.

I routed our trip through Moab because I had matured enough to appreciate the beauty of our national parks. Arches and Canyonlands national parks are each within a stone's throw of the town situated in the midst of red rock country and desert.

As I was growing up, my family didn't have much money, so our family vacations consisted of piling into the car and camping - many times near one of the national parks in California.

After serving with the military police, my dad, Robert Stockman, was told he was too short to join the California Highway Patrol. After a stint as a truck driver, he went back to college to become a social studies teacher. At the time it felt like vacations were Stockman's Summer School.

As I was planning this summer's vacation, I pondered where we should go. John and I trade off as to who decides the destination and this year it was my turn.

After our second trip to the area, I recognized the negotiating power of the promise of a trip to Moab.

"This is a place I would be perfectly fine dying in," John proclaimed.

In order to save my precious vacation time, John is more than agreeable to packing up the truck with our luggage and equipment and driving - picking me up at a nearby airport.

I must admit, Moab and the surrounding area have grown on me. It's a virtual nirvana for outdoor enthusiasts with bicycling, off-highway vehicle exploration, white-water rafting, hiking, golfing, rock-climbing and rappelling.

Adding an ATV to our cache of toys, we set out to find the petroglyphs. Although they remained elusive, we did find a hidden arch and I didn't drive like a grandma getting there.
---
Tammy Malgesini is a reporter for The Hermiston Herald. Readers may e-mail her at mailto:tmalgesini@hermistonherald.com

Letting my fingers do the walking

7/3/2008

Letting my fingers do the walking

By TAMMY MALGESINI
The Hermiston Herald
Inside My Shoes

Next to a pen and paper, the telephone is one of the most essential tools of a journalist.

But, I must admit I dial wrong numbers regularly. So often, in fact, it's almost a sport. And it doesn't matter if it's local or long-distance. Really, what's four more numbers - other than additional charges on the bill?

Before you start thinking, "Oh, she must be dyslexic," I must tell you I PURPOSELY dial every wrong number I call. I can't help it if the person at the other end of the fiber optics (or whatever it is these days that connects me with another human being after punching in a sequence of numbers) isn't the person I wanted to talk to.

I'm not easily deterred either. If you think you're safe because you have an unlisted number, think again. I've surprised many people - leaving them wondering how I got their phone number.

Several of my friends have said I'm like a dog after a bone when it comes to following up on news leads.

And, like I said earlier, I'm not philosophically opposed to calling wrong numbers. If the person I'm looking for has a common name, I merely begin systematically calling numbers listed under that name - either until I can reach the person or I've exhausted all known resources.

During some of the recent remodeling of our office space, Photojournalist Sarah Britain's phone didn't ring when people called her direct-dial number. After she tried futilely to call her cell phone from her desk phone, only to get the generic office numbers, she gave up.

I saw this as a challenge. Unbeknownst to General Manager Jeanne Hoffman, I began dialing all numbers that weren't assigned to someone else in the office. Jeanne was warmed up and ready to play softball after going from one ringing phone to the next throughout the newsroom and office only to hear a dial tone or the sound of someone hanging up.

I've had various responses when I call people - everything from being immediately hung-up on to not being able to hang up.

Most of the time I identify myself to whomever answers, while other times I merely ask for the person I want to talk to.

Recently when I called Kurt Bendixsen, I thought his wife, Susie, recognized my voice, so I merely asked, "Is Kurt available?

"When she said no, I said, "This is Tammy Malgesini from The Hermiston Herald."

Susie then told me he was there; she just thought I was a telemarketer. So when Kurt picked up the line I asked him if he wanted to buy something.

Just when you thought it was safe to answer the phone ...
---
Tammy Malgesini is a reporter at The Hermiston Herald. Readers may call her at (541) 564-4539, but don't be surprised if she asks a lot of questions.

Mr. Bracher's Wild Ride, and other musings of a green reporter

4/30/2008

Inside My Shoes: Mr. Bracher's Wild Ride, and other musings of a green reporter
By TAMMY MALGESINI
The East Oregonian

For just over two years, I've driven all over and beyond "Les Schwab Country," covering Morrow and Gilliam counties and even venturing into Sherman and Wheeler counties while working for the East Oregonian.

After learning my beat was going to substantially shrink as I join the new Hermiston Herald team, following the announcement that the East Oregonian Publishing Co. was purchasing The Herald from Western Communications, Inc., I began to reflect on my time with the EO.

Since Chief Photographer E.J. Harris said it was his goal to be mentioned in each of my columns, I must say the most memorable story I've covered was a fire on Cliff Bracher's property, near Juniper Canyon last September.

When Cliff came down in one of his farm rigs to get extra supplies, E.J. asked if we could gain access to do a story.

"Not in that," Cliff responded after looking at E.J.'s car.

Cliff offered to take us in his rig.

I coined the adventure, "Mr. Bracher's Wild Ride." It was insane! Cliff drove over scrub brush taller than me.

Periodically, Cliff stopped to give instructions, food and water to his crew fighting the fire.

We'd scramble out of the truck - E.J. snapping photos and me talking to whoever was there.

And quicker than a hot ember in scrub brush, Cliff would climb back into his truck - a cue it was time to move on.

As soon as the passenger door closed, Cliff hit the gas, while E.J. and I frantically tried to fasten our seat belts. It was one wild ride!

Being a Saturday reporter, I've enjoy traveling all over our circulation area, covering events.

Senior Reporter Kathy Aney once said she'd have a hard time doing some of the "fluff" stories I've been assigned.

That's OK; I often received positive feedback from those so-called fluff stories.

Publisher George Murdock said it most eloquently or at least the easiest to understand, "You have a wonderful ability to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear."

Not bad for someone who, until the Pendleton Cattle Baron's weekend, didn't know the difference between a gelding and stallion and once asked someone what "dress age" was during a 4-H equestrian competition.

And last, but not least one of my favorite parts of the job has been getting out into the communities in my beat.

When my husband and I first moved here, we only planned on staying for two years. I figured I could endure Wranglers and rodeos that long, while John gained teaching experience.

Mike Royer, who I graduated with at George Fox College, was teaching and coaching at Heppner.

I told John, "Well at least we didn't end up in Heppner."

My attitude changed, as I've grown to love Morrow County and its residents and public officials.

As mundane and boring as some public meetings can be, the folks of Morrow County have an innate ability to get business done, while still providing material for my stand-up comedy routines.

I've had the privilege to work with one of the finest news teams a rookie reporter could ask for. They provided me guidance - sometimes with a "we've told you before" sound in their voice, but always in an effort to assist in honing my skills.

And while I'll always cherish the memories during my tenure with the EO, I'm looking forward to working for the hometown paper in the place I've lived nearly half my life.

*****
When I asked Deputy Managing Editor what the difference between a gelding and stallion, he so eloquently said one still has his "junk" and the other doesn't. Dave had done a column about not being married and asked others why they thought that was. Well, I reminded him of this and told him my husband (who's obviously married) refers to his anatomy as "the family jewels." And Dave (who's not married) referred to it as junk. Hmmmm

Delta Dawn I ain't

2/17/2008

Inside my shoes: Delta Dawn I ain't
By TAMMY MALGESINI
The East Oregonian

Despite the fact I can't carry a tune and typically only sing in the privacy of my car or the shower, the East Oregonian's Chief Photographer E.J. Harris talked me into performing karaoke at The Hut Restaurant & Lounge in Pendleton.

He told me to truly delve into my story, I really needed to experience it.

Before I knew it, I was signed up to sing Helen Reddy's hit, "Delta Dawn."

Even though I wasn't too keen on the idea, I kept wondering when my turn would come up. It seemed like an eternity passed before Barb Bonson called my name.

"They're back, are you ready?" she asked.

I turned to see not only E.J., but also Dave Sager, EO deputy managing editor. Little did I know, as I continued to conduct interviews, E.J. slipped out and picked up Dave and asked Barb to hold off calling my name until they arrived for my debut.

As I walked up to the control panel, I began to have second (and third) thoughts, but figured at the very least this made E.J. and I even for a previous prank I pulled on him.

I knew I was in trouble when DeeAnna Dickinson told me they had three rules. As she began to rattle off the expectations, I suddenly panicked. With attention deficit hyperactive disorder, I have a difficult time with multiple directions.

"Number one, don't touch the buttons: Barb has all the power - she will turn you on. Two, don't put your hand above the rubber," DeeAnna said as she motioned to a rim at the base of the mic. "And three ... blah, blah blah."

My capacity for new information was maxed and I had no idea what rule number three was. Thinking it might be relevant, I asked her to repeat it.

"It's a directional mic, so sing from the top and not the side," she said.

In retrospect, it may have served me well to have ignored that one - then people couldn't have heard me.

Afterwards, as I walked back to the table, people politely clapped.

I asked E.J. what he thought.

"You were right," he said regarding my singing inability.

I then asked Dave, who politely said, "You got a very big applause."

However, this was none too comforting since I had already been told people clap either because you're good or they're glad it's over.

I looked Dave squarely in the eyes and said, "Remember when I was brutally honest with you about why you're not married yet when you were doing that column? I want you to be honest with me."

"Voice lessons wouldn't hurt," he said.

Based on this experience, I have no idea what possessed me to try another song.

However, the other patrons encouraged me and Barb said now that she knew what key to use, it would be better. Yeah, that was comforting - I knew it couldn't be worse.

After an hour I found myself singing "Dark Lady," by Cher.

E.J. said it was better than my first song and Dave gave me a thumbs up.

"That was your song," Dave said.

Dave suggested I ask EO sports writer Justin Chartrey, who also had dropped by, his thoughts.

"I don't want to be interviewed," Justin said.

Then I asked Lance Zodrow, one of the regulars, what he thought."So, should I keep my day job?"

"You should keep your day job, but keep doing this - you're entertaining," he said.

Ah, yes, I'm part of the family now.

*****
The copy desk edited part of this column due to space in the print edition. When I first asked Justin what he thought I had a hard time hearing him. When I said, "What?" E.J. said, "He said, 'I don't want to be rude.'" Justin quickly disputed E.J.'s interpretation.
*****
This comment was posted on the EO Web site:
Posted: Monday, February 18, 2008 Article comment by: DeeAnna Dickinson
You did a great job Tammy. and it only gets better. we really enjoyed having you there, hope to see you again!
*****
Against my better judgment, I did do it again. In honor of Sager's going away party, I (attempted) to sing, "Bang, Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down" by Cher.

Then the next day when the song came on the CD player in my car I called Dave's desk line and sang on his voice mail. Because nothing is sacred in the newsroom, it was promptly played on speaker phone for all to hear.

False alarm or co-worker prank?

1/27/2008

Inside My Shoes: False alarm or co-worker prank?
By TAMMY MALGESINI
The East Oregonian

Was there really a fire? That question started to pop into my head as I kept hitting dead ends in trying to gain information.

It all started around 7:45 p.m. Jan. 15 when I received a call from Assistant Editor Dean Brickey.

Dean, who obviously was calling it an early night, already was in his pajamas when he received a call from West Sports Editor Daniel Wattenburger.

Daniel had sketchy details, but I was told there was a city hall on fire. Dean asked me to drive to Hermiston City Hall to see if anything was happening there.

As I walked out of the newsroom, I drew in a deep breath, but other than the smell of wood-burning stoves, it didn't smell like fire.

As I sat in the parking lot at City Hall, I called Dean and told him everything was quiet in Hermiston, but I would call Hermiston Fire and Emergency Services because if there was a structure fire surely others would be called for mutual aid.

No one answered at the fire department, so I called the Hermiston Police Department to see if they had received any calls - they hadn't. After assuring them everything was fine at Hermiston City Hall, I started to drive away.

But I couldn't let it go. If there was a city hall on fire, I had to be there.

I then received a call from one of our photojournalists, Nicole Barker. She told me Daniel heard the fire was at a city hall and the roof was collapsing. She then added he heard Irrigon Rural Fire Department was responding, but said they were 25 minutes out.

I may not be that great at geography, but in my mind that narrowed the choices to Hermiston and Boardman. And since I already knew everything in H-town was fine, I thought, "It has to be Boardman."

For a fleeting moment, I thought, "This isn't really happening. It's (Chief Photographer) E.J. (Harris) getting back at me for a prank I pulled on him."

After getting him good with an earlier prank, much to the delight of Deputy Managing Editor Dave Sager, E.J. said he'd get me back. And he told me I wouldn't even know he was doing it.

He said he'd call me sometime in the evening and tell me there was a fire somewhere and to meet him there. I thought, "I wonder if he pulled Daniel into his little prank."

But that thought passed because if there was a fire I needed to be there.I attempted to call Boardman Mayor Ed Glenn to find out if he knew anything about his City Hall. After getting several busy signals, I scrapped that idea - anyone who's familiar with Ed knows he can shoot the breeze for a while.

I then called Utility Clerk Jackie McCauley (my cell phone is a virtual Dex telephone book). I told her my dilemma and she offered to drive to City Hall to see what was happening, so I didn't have to drive all the way there if it was nothing.

I drove back to the newsroom, but I wasn't satisfied to merely sit and wait for Jackie's call. I decided to call Barb Huwe, former owner of Huwe's Has It All, in Irrigon. I've learned that if something's happening in North Morrow County, she usually has information - or at least knows someone who does.

She told me her husband, Wayne, who is a volunteer firefighter, was at a city council meeting, but she had expected him back already. This fueled my suspicions that there must indeed be a fire and I should start heading to Boardman.

About that time, Jackie called me back and said it was a fire training exercise for mutual aid between the Boardman and Irrigon fire departments and Boardman City Hall was the site of the exercise.

I'm grateful Boardman City Hall wasn't on fire. I also appreciate those who helped me discern it wasn't, but I'm still wondering when E.J. will make good on his threat.
-----
Tammy Malgesini is a reporter for the East Oregonian. She can be reached at 564-4539 or tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com.

The beat goes on in Murry's absence

5/15/2007

The beat goes on in Murry's absence
inside my shoes

By TAMMY MALGESINI
The East Oregonian

When EO Community Editor Terry Murry called me a couple of weeks ago and said I was going to "be her" this week, since she's on vacation, my heart skipped a beat.

Although we share a similar sense of humor and probably even wear the same size, her shoes will be hard to fill. However, she assured me things would be fine and she had some stories "in the tank."

Murry, along with Editor Steve Brown, Deputy Managing Editor Dave Sager and Senior Reporter Kathy Aney have helped guide me in honing my journalistic skills since starting with the EO just over a year ago.

Although writing has always been a part of my work, there's a world of difference between writing a drug and alcohol assessment and writing a captivating news story.

Last year Steve told me I needed to get out of the "Dragnet" mentality of Sgt. Joe Friday of "just the facts Ma'am," and add a little "Dukes of Hazzard" flair to some of my articles.

So, enjoy the ride this week as I take the driver's seat in bringing you the community news.

---

I actively look for opportunities to contribute to EO's Sound bites - extracting little snippets of conversations that humanizes even the most stoic professionals and public officials.

I've gotten to know many city and county officials on a personal level, which may come back to haunt me. Morrow County Public Works Director Burke O'Brien has been compiling his own Sound bites, focused on things I've said.

Although Morrow County Judge Terry Tallman recently introduced me at County Court "as our normal person," O'Brien has quotes that may very well dispute that.

---Tammy Malgesini is a general assignment and community reporter in the EO's Hermiston Bureau.