Column: Move over Weird Al, Tone-Deaf Tammy is here

Community editor has a voice best heard through newsprint, so if she starts singing, stuff some in your ears. Fa la la la la, la la la la.

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By TAMMY MALGESINI

Community Editor

Published on December 22, 2015 2:06PM

I can’t sing. I take the Bible literally where it says, “Make a joyful noise.”

And my co-workers can attest to this fact. I presented a short stand-up comedy routine for our office Christmas party, which included a couple of parody songs. I twisted — twisted is the key — the words to “The Little Drummer Boy” and “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer” in a way that was truly amusing to “all of the other Heralds.” I’m pretty sure my co-workers were laughing with me, not at me ... .

As I’m typing this I’m hearing the off-key words in my head,

“Write they told me

Pa rum pum pum pum

A new story to file

Pa rum pum pum pum

Our finest words we bring

Pa rum pum pum pum

To lay out the paper

Pa rum pum pum pum

Rum pum pum pum

Rum pum pum pum.”

Maybe, that’s why I like Bob Dylan so much. A brilliant songwriter, but with his raspy baritone voice his rendition of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” is more like a funeral march than the joyous song it’s meant to be.

Also, it took several times of listening to “O’ Come All Ye Faithful” before I realized Dylan wasn’t singing the opening stanza in English.

Despite my singing handicap, I enjoy music and I like to make up parody songs.

When I ran residential programs for adults with developmental disabilities, I teamed up with Suzy Tosten, one of the group home managers. As The House Mommies, we co-wrote and recorded a Christmas CD for our boss, Candy Lukens. She played it during their family Christmas gathering, which included Jim Stearns, a former Hermiston fire chief.

After hearing the songs, Jim expressed amazement at how well Suzy and I harmonized our off-key voices together.

“They can’t really sing, but they are funny,” he said.

Weird Al Yankovic ain’t got nothing on me — well, except of course, he can carry a tune.

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.

The 12 days of post-op, my true love asked of me ...

It's easy to take for granted a spouse's contributions until they aren't able to help around the house.

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By TAMMY MALGESINI

Inside my Shoes

Published on December 8, 2015 11:27AM

After many years of marriage, sometimes you don’t recognize all the things your spouse does in contributing to the management of the household.

Well, I got a recent reminder as John was laid up after having foot surgery. Overall, he was a good patient, focusing on his recovery and staying down.

However, at times he’d feel bad that he was asking me to do too much and I’d catch him hobbling around. To further complicate matters, we have a split-level house, which isn’t very conducive to someone who is non-weight bearing with a surgically repaired foot.

A couple of times, I swear John’s dog, Lucifer, knew his papa shouldn’t be puttering around and would trot upstairs to get my attention.

I had to start anticipating what things John might do before I got a chance, like the night he told me we were low on toilet paper. I figured I could get some from downstairs in the morning — nope, too late. And then there was the time the garbage was “over-flowing.” From that point forward, I took the garbage out when it was three-quarters full.

One thing that posed a slight problem is that I’m not a morning person and John is. I like to wake up and melt into the morning. As soon as John would hear me stirring, he’d call out for assistance — usually with his morning cup of coffee.

Also, neither of us are big breakfast eaters. However, because John doesn’t do well with pain medication, I became a short-order breakfast cook. This enabled him to take his medication, which was a good thing because I don’t really like cleaning up barf.

Prior to this past month, I can’t remember the last time I made a cup of coffee for John. Also, I did more dishes in November than in the entire year and the multiple trips to Wal-Mart have resulted in Post Traumatic Shopping Disorder.

To summarize the experience, I’ve written this ditty (feel free to sing it to the tune of “The 12 Days of Christmas”):

On the long days of post-op

My husband asked of me:

12 Loads of dishes

11 Leftover foods

10 Check the mailbox

9 Jugs of water

8 Library books

7 Trips to Wal-Mart

6 Scoop the dog poop

5 Take-out meals

4 Bags of ice

3 Pancakes

2 Vicodins

And a big cup of black coffee.

———

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.

I’m not Scrooge, four presents are fine

No need to go overboard on the holiday gifts.

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By TAMMY MALGESINI

Inside my Shoes

Published on November 23, 2015 11:47AM

I’ve always loved the holiday season.

However, I don’t know if I’m just jaded, but it seems society has turned Christmas into a big gift grab. Honestly, I’m no Scrooge — ask any of my friends. I love to give.

Of course, like any kid, I enjoyed getting Christmas presents. Although, I admit requesting a big ticket item one year.

As a freshman in college I asked my parents for a car. I really thought they were gonna give me the keys to my mom’s car. A decade old red Toyota Corona, we affectionately called it Little Beep Beep after the Randy Newman song, “Short People.” I figured my mom didn’t need it because my pops drove her around the majority of time.

I wondered how they would present it to me. Would they put a big bow on the car or would they give me a new key chain? Maybe, I thought, they’d make it even more fun by doing a nesting box package with each box opened revealing a slightly smaller box until I got down to the key.

Nope, it was none of those things.

They gave me a wooden car Christmas ornament.

Recently I’ve seen something floating around the Internet called the 4 Gift Christmas Challenge. Some kids might be appalled with only getting four gifts. But if you think about it, that’s one more than the gold, frankincense and myrrh the wise men brought when Jesus was born.

The 4 Gift Christmas Challenge encourages parents to limit gift-giving to four items for their children:

1. Something they want

2. Something they need

3. Something to wear

4. Something to read

Looking back, my parents could have wrapped the 4 Gift Christmas Challenge all into one with handing over the keys to Little Beep Beep. Seriously, I wanted it and needed it — remember I was a college student without wheels. Driving gloves would have covered something to wear. And something to read, well the driver’s manual would sufficiently take care of that.

And, just in case my husband needs some shopping ideas this year:

Want: A Derek Jeter commemorative baseball;

Need: A box of black Pilot G-2 07 gel pens;

Wear: Altra Lone Peak trail shoes;

Read: “Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes Unofficial Guidebook: Rail-Trail & Community Guide” by Estar Holmes (the 2015 version).

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.

Holiday cup: Pranked or punk’d?

Putting the Kutcher back in Christmas.

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By TAMMY MALGESINI

Inside my Shoes

Published on November 10, 2015 12:01AM

Have you caught any of the hullabaloo about the Starbucks red holiday cup?

A former pastor turned social media personality originally announced on Facebook (Nov. 5 at 10:56 a.m.) that Starbucks had lost his business and encouraged others to also boycott the coffee empire.

Joshua Feuerstein’s post also includes a link to a piece — “Starbucks ‘Holiday cups’ No Longer Contain Christmas References” written by Michael Cantrell on theradicals.com — that explains his sudden disdain for Starbucks.

However, it seems Feuerstein’s personal blackballing of Starbucks lasted a little more than an hour. In his follow-up post at 12:15 p.m., Feuerstein encourages people to join him in a movement he’s calling #merrychristmasstarbucks.

“Starbucks REMOVED CHRISTMAS from their cups because they hate Jesus ... SO I PRANKED THEM,” the post says, which includes a video clip shot in front of a Starbucks with Feuerstein clutching a holiday cup.

Feuerstein’s accusation against the coffee kingdom was in response to the company opting to go with “plain red” cups this holiday season. By the way, the cup is red and includes the green Starbucks logo, which, to me, displays the classic colors generally associated with Christmas.

According to the company website, the first Starbucks holiday cup introduced in 1997 featured “... a jazz-themed design in jewel tones of deeper reds, greens and blues.”

To me, this doesn’t exactly scream Christmas — other than the fact it included red and green.

The company website goes on to say, “Every year since, the cup has told a story of the holidays by featuring symbols of the season from vintage ornaments and hand-drawn reindeer to modern vector-illustrated characters.”

Starbucks notes people have been doodling images on their cups for years. This year’s “plain” holiday cup provides a “blank canvas” to further encourage the creativity of its customers, the website states. Starbucks has even held red cup contests with the winners receiving gift cards.

Although three of my Facebook friends “like” Joshua Feuerstein’s Facebook page, I had never heard of him until this whole Starbucks thing went viral. However, after browsing his page and listening to some of his YouTube rants, I have formed an opinion. I believe people like Feuerstein have a tendency to provide partial information and then dogmatically spread their version of “the truth.”

“Starbucks, I tricked you into putting ‘Merry Christmas’ on your cup,” Feuerstein said in the video clip, by telling the barista that was his name.

Personally, I just don’t get Feuerstein’s “prank.” He’s encouraging people to buy Starbucks drinks, then taking selfies with their red holiday cup and posting them on the Internet. So, not only are people supporting Starbucks by making a purchase, but they’re also providing advertisements by plastering the photos all over social media.

I’m just waiting for Ashton Kutcher and the old “Punk’d” crew to pop up any moment.

———

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.

Column: I am the junkin’ queen

It may be junk to you, but it could be a Christmas gift or next week's wardrobe for self-confessed junkin' queen.

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By TAMMY MALGESINI

Inside my Shoes

Published on October 27, 2015 9:53AM

During my teenage years, I was mortified if my mom wanted me to go into a thrift shop.

She didn’t find the logic that if I was in the store and someone saw me in the store, then they were in the thrift store, too. Well, as everyone knows adolescence isn’t logical.

Today, we laugh about this because I’ve turned into a junkin’ queen. I love finding good deals — in fact, other than my unmentionables, everything I’m wearing while penning this column was purchased at thrift stores, yard sales or other similar excursions.

They include some funky Chuck Taylors, Old Navy cargo shorts and a Nike T-shirt emblazoned with Hermiston Cross Country. Oh, and my Burton snowboard jacket is hanging on the hook. The grand total of this outfit, jacket included, cost me less than what the sneakers go for retail. Score!!

A twist on junkin’ is what I call Lester Pattoning — the act of obtaining unclaimed, discarded or mislaid items.

I was introduced to this through my husband, John. He gained knowledge and techniques from Les Patton, a man whose family befriended my husband when he was in his late teens. Les, John said, was the king of stopping in the middle of the road to pick up items that had parted ways with their owners.

Over the years, John and I have benefited from Lester Pattoning in the form of several pairs of medical scissors, a dog leash, a thermal hoodie, a rock hammer, a tire pressure gauge, a leveler, softballs, Frisbees, sunglasses, Reebok slides (even in my husband’s size), snow gloves, goggles, baseball hats, a jacket, T-shirts, stocking caps, sweatshirts, two cases of wine coolers (with only three broken bottles), flashlights, a case of English mark darts, a KA-BAR knife and sheath, all kinds of tools, a roll of bubble wrap, a coupon for a free ice cream cake at Dairy Queen, paper money (from $50 to $1 bills) and more loose change than we can count (best find, a 1919 dime).

My parents also have been the recipients of Lester Pattoning — even before it had that name.

Tight on money, my parents still wanted a real tree for Christmas. During the family outing headed to buy a tree, a truck hauling a large utility trailer overloaded with Christmas trees was in front of us. Then it happened, a slight gust of wind lifted a tree up and gently placed it on the fog line.

“Pull over, pull over honey,” my mom exclaimed. “God delivered us a Christmas tree.”

And, an item I obtained via Lester Pattoning found its way under the Christmas tree with my mom’s name on it. During a pit stop for our dogs on a road trip to Idaho, I found a cool rock and beaded necklace.

There is was, laying amongst random items (10 pairs of underwear, a bra, some shirts, a box of rice, a box of crackers, ChapStick, three books of matches from the Coeur d’Alene Casino Resort and a travel cup that said, “I Choose the Road Less Traveled ... Now Where the Heck Am I?”) scattered near a department of transportation rock pile.

Dang,

I should have snagged that travel cup, my mom’s birthday is coming up.

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.

Fall leaves can be fun, even for adults

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By TAMMY MALGESINI

Inside my shoes

Published on October 14, 2015 6:24PM

Growing up. I often was excused from home and garden tasks.

I conveniently used the excuse of my allergies and asthma to get out of doing things I didn’t enjoy. However, as I’ve gotten older I’ve learned that fall leaves can be fun.

So, before you get set to rake ’em and bag ’em, have some fun with the colorful and crisp leaves that are blowing across your lawn like a snowdrift.

A number of years ago, Suzanne Tosten and I felt bad for Terri Dorran because she didn’t have any trees in her yard. Terri was missing out on the joys that fall leaves ultimately bring.

Dressed incognito for a Halloween party as Wayne and Garth of Saturday Night Live, Suzy and I set out to enrich Terri’s life with a blessing of leaves. Oh sure, we could have gone across the street to the park and raked and gathered leaves, but that would have taken too much effort. Instead, we went to then Hermiston Mayor Frank Harkenrider’s house and removed several of his large decorative lawn leaf bags.

Back at Terri’s house we emptied the bags, creating a blizzard of leaves. It was awesome fun.

Terri’s son, Mitch, was thrilled with the colorful blanket in their front lawn.

“Look mom, look at all the leaves,” he exclaimed with the innocence of youth. “They must have blown over from the park.”

Of course, we couldn’t just steal Harkie’s leaves and call it good. So, a few nights later, we collected the leaves from Terri’s place. Then, on the way to Harkie’s house, we had another bright idea — let’s collect additional lawn leaf bags and set them up in a football formation. (Note: I’m sure the statute of limitations has passed regarding the theft of said leaves, but just in case I want to remind you about something called creative license).

Anyway, along with the three bags we had snagged from Harkie’s lawn earlier, we gathered an additional eight bags between Hermiston and Highland avenues. Back at Harkie’s place, we set up a basic T formation.

With my husband’s gimpy foot and fall in full swing with the leaves starting to fill our yard, I’m likely going to be the one raking and bagging this year. By the way, can someone tell me where Mayor Dave Drotzmann lives? (Also, for your information, many area cities provide its residents with a card or coupon to dispose of yard debris, including fall leaves, free of charge at local landfills. Contact your city hall for details).

Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life and runs every other week in the Hermiston Herald. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

A rose by any other name (or pronunciation) ...

Columnist has a pretty good command of the English language, but sometimes it’s the pronunciation that gets her.

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By TAMMY MALGESINI

INSIDE MY SHOES

Published on September 30, 2015 5:23PM

I like to think I have a pretty good command of the English language, but sometimes it’s the pronunciation that gets me.

I’m glad I’m in print media, because unlike radio and TV, as long as you spell the words correctly, you’re good to go.

I recently fielded a phone call from a Tri-Cities news station inquiring how to pronounce “the local middle school.” A co-worker had told me a news anchor had completely slaughtered the pronunciation of Armand Larive the night before in a newscast.

Just to mess with the guy, I said rather slowly, “Sandstone Middle School.” There was silence on the other end of the phone and then the guy said, “No, another one.” And then he attempted to pronounce Armand Larive.

Honestly, I felt his pain. I’ve had my share of laughable linguistic moments. However, when I mess up on words my audience is generally a small group or just one person — not thousands of TV viewers.

But, my husband doesn’t soon let me forget my phonetic foibles.

Like the time I was talking about a particularly disturbing part in the latest Stephen King novel. Saying it was quite macabre — only pronouncing it mack-a-bree. Or when I was telling him about talking to someone about an episode of “Intervention” and how the situation quickly went awry — pronouncing it awe-ree. And, of course, there was the time I was obtaining information from the concierge desk at a fancy San Francisco hotel. Yup, I messed that one up too, saying kon-kur-odge.

Evidently my linguistic limitations are especially an issue when dealing with French words. I was covering a 4-H horsemanship competition shortly after starting with the newspaper. I didn’t have a clue what dressage was, much less how to pronounce it. I approached someone who appeared to be affiliated with the competition and asked, “What exactly is dressage?” Only I pronounced is like dress-age: dress as in the article of clothing, and age, like what age is the participant. Put that together and it’s nothing like the actual French pronunciation of druh-sahzh.

Luckily, I can laugh at my faux pas — and at least I know that’s not pronounced fox paws.

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.

Can opener proves perfect gift

Community Editor Tammy Malgesini finds an unconventional anniversary gift is an ideal upgrade.

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By TAMMY MALGESINI

Inside my shoes

Published on September 15, 2015 10:43AM

I’m not normal.

There, I said it — it’s out there. However, for those that know me, this isn’t any big revelation.

The reason I reiterate this now is my husband, John, got me a can opener for our anniversary. Societal standards have suggested women don’t want appliances as gifts. However, I was thrilled!

On the morning of our 32nd anniversary, I was wondering why there wasn’t a card waiting for me in the bathroom. Over the years, our bathroom has become the communication center where John leaves me messages or cards.

Notations on the dry erase board on the mirror let me know everything from John is working late or planning a Costco run to suggestions for our dinner date or it’s time for me to order more Advantix for our canine kids. Cards are generally left in front of the mirror or dangling from a hook in the ceiling.

John always gets me a card for special occasions. When there was no card to be found in the bathroom Sept. 10, I wondered, “What gives?”

I made my way downstairs to get a glass of Pepsi and feed the dogs. And, there on the kitchen counter was a card and wrapped box. I was quite surprised. My first thoughts were, “We haven’t bought each other anniversary gifts for a number of years” (we generally take a trip) and, “What am I going to get him?”

When I opened the box to reveal a funky new-fangled can opener, I smiled and laughed. You see, I never directly told John I wanted one.

The night before while wrestling a can of refried beans with the 32-year-old Rival can opener, I said in exasperation, “I want a new can opener for our anniversary.”

John, who was chillin’ in his chair in the living room, didn’t respond. There was no knight in shining armor to conquer the can, no comment about how much the can opener sucked and no offer to get the “analog” opener out of our travel kit in the garage. Tired from a long day at work, it was just me and the elusive beans.

Come to find out, he went to Wal-Mart before going to work that morning and chose the Hamilton Beach Smooth Touch model.

Yep, a man that listens and a can opener that cleanly removes the top are both pretty special.

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