Husband’s retirement brings reflection, projection

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on July 12, 2016 11:01AM

In 1985, my husband and I packed our belongings and headed to Eastern Oregon.

When we drove to Umatilla for John’s interview, neither of us had ever been beyond The Dalles.

“It’s looking a lot like desert,” I told John during the drive.

He said the trees would return but as you know, they did not.

With teaching jobs at a premium, John accepted a job at Clara Brownell Middle School in Umatilla. We planned on staying two years. Nearly 31 years later, we are starting a new chapter in our lives. Well, at least John is as he recently retired.

When he went to the interview I wanted the answers to a couple of questions, including what the weather was like. He was told Umatilla was in a “banana belt.” Whatever, I’ve never seen a banana tree here. And, that first winter it snowed before Thanksgiving, staying on the ground until after the new year because it was so cold.

I continued to work in Portland for a few weeks after we first moved. I rode a bus through the Columbia River Gorge, ending up at home in Umatilla in mid-September.

Eager to explore the area, I suggested we go to Pendleton. Little did we know it was right smack dab in the middle of the 75th annual Pendleton Round-Up.

We soon found out we were Levi’s people living in a Wrangler world. Our friends from the city were amused — especially when we sent them flocked tumbleweeds for Christmas.

Over the years, the slower pace of life in Eastern Oregon grew on us. And, we’ve even owned a few pairs of Wranglers.

We don’t really miss the city life, especially the traffic. But we miss the green trees.

I told friends when Hermiston’s brand was “You Can Grow Here,” it didn’t mean we were going to grow old here.

While we’ve enjoyed the past three decades in Eastern Oregon, we’re hoping to move on to greener pastures. I’m not sure how much longer we’ll call Hermiston home, but one of these days we’re hoping to set out on a new adventure in the Silver Valley of northern Idaho.

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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

Wild ride includes broken bones, bruises and scars

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on June 8, 2016 7:19AM

I didn’t set out in life to represent a quote attributed to gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson:

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!”

I dispute people’s suggestions that I’m accident-prone. However, it seems I’ve had my share of weird medical mishaps.

My husband, John, is amused with how I cracked a bone in my wrist. After showering, I hadn’t put in my contacts yet. Freaking out thinking a spider was crawling up my arm, I swung around and hit my wrist on the door jam. The suspect spider was actually loose strings from my towel.

The second time I broke my nose — the first time I took a line drive in the face while playing softball — was just a freak accident.

During a trip with friends, we stopped at a Goodwill in Portland. While trying to remove something from an upper shelf, a large wooden item came crashing down, striking the bridge of my nose.

My friends were elsewhere in the store when they heard someone asking for help for a woman that was bleeding. Curious about the commotion, they showed up to find me looking bewildered.

After getting home, John took me to the emergency room. I ended up getting stitches. However, that wasn’t the end of the saga. It got infected, requiring two courses of antibiotics, an antibiotic ointment and a steroid cream.

Speaking of infection, one time my thumb swelled up so big I thought it was going to pop. Flying home from Florida, it was red, throbbing and inflamed.

Literally sticking out like a sore thumb, I went to the doctor. The diagnosis: cellulitis. Evidently bacteria entered through my cracked cuticles.

Swollen all the way to my wrist joint, I went back to the doctor. I could hear the nurse talking to him through door. When he said the antibiotics needed time to take effect, the nurse replied, “No, you have to see this, it’s A LOT bigger.” Luckily it responded to additional antibiotics and I didn’t have to get IV medications.

When I broke my femur sliding into home playing softball, I had no idea the severity of the injury. While getting x-rays, I asked the technician if I would be staying overnight. He responded, “Honey, you’re going to be here awhile.”

Then there was the time I broke my humerus — only I wasn’t laughing.

Friends have suggested I need my own personal bubble. Or at the very least, I should have a warning label.

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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.

New phone and narcotics don’t mix

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on May 24, 2016 1:00PM

Here’s a tip for you: Don’t make phone calls, send texts or make social media posts while under the influence — of ANYTHING!

A few days after I had my hand and knee surgery last month, I received a message from Renee Struthers, my co-worker who takes care of community stuff when I’m out.

“Are you on some strong painkillers,” she said through Facebook Messenger. “You left a … sort of rambling message earlier.”

I sat there looking at my shiny new Droid Turbo 2 and thought, “I haven’t made any phone calls.”

However, when I looked in the call log there was irrefutable evidence that suggested otherwise.

I later figured out what happened. I was attempting to respond to Renee in either Messenger or by text through voice-to-post (it was much easier to talk into the phone rather than typing with one hand).

Between being confused with my new phone and being under the influence of narcotics, I evidently called her desk line. While attempting to voice-to-post, I was talking into my phone but the words weren’t coming up on the screen. So, I would pause and repeat what I was trying to convey in the message — thus the “rambling.” In addition, there was likely some extra commentary such as, “Why the #$%@ isn’t it working? Stupid &^%$@ phone.”

Honestly, I don’t even know why they call them smartphones. Mine is dumb.

I’m sure others have had similar situations. We all know there’s a learning curve whenever getting a new smartphone.

I remember when new cell phones came with a small book that provided the ins and outs of the new device. Those days are gone. It seems a bit odd that the more complicated devices have become, the less information they provide with it.

I guess you’re supposed to conduct a Google search to figure things out — that is, if you can get on the Internet. That was the initial issue with my husband’s new phone.

The tech support person I talked to said John needed a Gmail account. I suggested he could just use mine. Without providing an explanation, the tech dude said that wasn’t recommended.

Whatever!

Well, turns out he was right — it wasn’t a good idea. When my hundreds of work-related contacts showed up on John’s phone, he was none too pleased.

And, don’t even get me started about auto-correct. Most of the time, it ends up being auto-wrong.

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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.

Two-for-one specials not always the best deal

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on May 10, 2016 11:11AM

I’m a bargain shopper. I mean, who doesn’t like two-for-one specials?

In spite of how practical it may sound to have two surgical procedures done at the same time — think twice before doing it.

I figured since I was being knocked out last month, I might as well get my hand and knee fixed at the same time. When I told my friends about my upcoming surgery, they responded with dismay.

“I figured why not take care of both at the same time,” I told them. “Heck, if I could get another surgeon in there I’d have a colonoscopy, too.”

As patient number eight at Dr. Richard Carpenter’s office, I’ve had my share of orthopedic procedures over the years — including a right hand carpal tunnel and several knee procedures.

What I forgot to factor into the equation was that I’m a few years older, which results in a longer healing process. Also, without the use of one hand, it makes it rather difficult to use crutches.

However, before I even attempted to become ambulatory, I came to the realization that having both procedures done at the same time wasn’t my best decision in recent years.

All bandaged up, my left hand was rendered useless. And, I couldn’t bend my right arm because of the placement of the IV.

My generally jovial post-op personality was nowhere to be found. There was no singing of songs or laughter — I was miserable.

As I came to in the recovery area, my nose itched, my hat wasn’t quite right on my head, I was hungry and I was thirsty. And I was a pain in the ….

The nurses in the Good Shepherd Medical Center day surgery area were great. Despite my less-than-pleasant demeanor, they maintained their professionalism. For that, I’m very grateful.

With my healing process in full swing, I can now tip my hat to them and say thanks. And, in recognition of National Nurses Week (May 6-12), I encourage you to thank a nurse for all they do.

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.

Elephants provide support for women in herd

Simple gift became a meaningful symbol and a precious reminder of a friend.

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on April 5, 2016 12:01PM

I don’t drink coffee, but I’m part of an informal coffee klatch that meets periodically to socialize and offer support to one another.

Known as “The Herd,” people might notice most of the women in our group have an affinity for elephants — sporting elephant tattoos, owning elephant jewelry or possessing elephant art or stuffed animals. The name came about when some friends and I learned about the behavior of female elephants in the wild.

As described by the World Wildlife Fund, female elephants are part of a complex social structure. While adult male elephants live mostly in isolation, the females share in the rearing and protection of the youngest or most vulnerable members of the herd. They take special care in knowing each member’s whereabouts when the herd is traveling or approaching danger.

We grabbed onto that and over the years it has grown. It’s hard to even say how many belong to The Herd. But, I know if I called one of them, they’d show up — and probably with a few more in tow.

Shopping for gifts is pretty easy with others in The Herd — whenever a special occasion comes up, an elephant is always an appropriate present. Such was the case during a Christmas gathering with four friends back in 2010.

I found four ceramic marble elephant statues at T.J. Maxx. The one I gave Judy Hayes was purple, which turned out to be quite appropriate — about 18 months later, she was diagnosed with cancer. Purple is the color of hope for Relay for Life.

That was the first elephant Judy had received. It, and the “Elephant Story,” as she called it, became a source of strength for her as she battled cancer.

Right before starting chemotherapy, Judy got an elephant tattoo with a little red heart. A number of her family members followed suit — joining her herd.

“You will always be the loved one who taught me about the strength of the herd. I will always love you for that,” she sent in a text several years ago. “The herd continues to surround me & I am very blessed.”

During the last year of her life, Judy sent two cards with similar thanks about introducing her to the “Elephant Story.” She shared what it meant to her and how it spread to former co-workers at Two Rivers Correctional Institution, churches and prayer chains, as her friends and extended family shared the story across the country.

My eyes filled with tears this past weekend as several members of The Herd met for coffee at Starbucks. As part of her final will and testament, Judy directed that the purple elephant be returned to me.

A simple gift — costing maybe $15 — is now priceless because of what it did for my friend while she battled cancer. Rest in peace Judy Hayes.

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.

DIY: To paint or not to paint

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on April 12, 2016 12:01AM

Enthusiastic first-time homeowners back in the early 1990s, my husband and I decided we wanted to paint our house.

I say “we” rather loosely — John is a teacher, so he was off for the summer and the bulk of the job was left to him and our friends Dave and Chris Alteneder.

We wanted to put our personal fingerprint on the house by choosing new colors. John envisioned a black house with red trim. Dave suggested black may not be the best color, so we went with gray.

The Alteneders, friends we met back in our college days, traveled from Newberg to help us. Dave, who also was an educator, supplemented the family income by painting houses during the summer months, so he had spraying gear and other supplies.

We discovered that the tiny paint strips that show the color doesn’t always translate the same once it’s up on the siding or trim. Unfortunately, we learned this too late. Geranium, the trim color, was hot pink rather than a deeper red. I guess we could have re-painted it, but by that time everyone was pretty much spent on the project.

Fast forward 15 years later when John thought the house needed to be painted again. He suggested we forgo our regular summer vacation plans and use the time and money to paint the house. I quickly put the brakes on that silly talk — I look forward to our summer trips together and wasn’t up for painting in the sweltering heat.

Because of the way vacation accrued when I started at the East Oregonian in April 2006, I wasn’t eligible to take time off for an entire year. That meant no summer vacation that year — so I revived John’s idea about painting the house that summer. Well, that didn’t happen — instead, John packed up and hit the road without me.

As the years went on, it became clear the house needed a new coat. In 2013, I became motivated to take action after a crew knocked on the door and asked if we wanted an estimate to have our house painted.

I figured we would save money if we just did it ourselves. So, I pitched the idea to John and off to the store we went to get paint. We chose “deep space,” which is pretty close to black, for the main part of the house. In addition, we got gray for the trim and red (NOT pink this time) for the shutters and doors.

We started the project in late July and I finished the front door on August 31. Yup, the hottest time of year in Hermiston and we were out there painting. I’m not a morning person, so I truly was painting in the heat of the day. I sported a “Karate Kid” headband that I kept dipping in water. In addition, I finally talked John into a little pool. Those two things probably saved me from heatstroke.

Although, John used a sprayer when climbing on scaffolding to get the highest part of the split-level, we used brushes and paint pads for most of the project.

In retrospect, I wish I had said yes when the paint crew asked if I wanted an estimate.

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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.

Scalper strikes out while swinging for the cheap seats

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on April 19, 2016 1:56PM

A pair of $20 bills were pulsating in my pocket as a young man demanded his money back.

The 20-something guy was a ticket scalper outside Turner Field in Atlanta — and I had just played him.

My frustration with scalpers had been brewing within. A longtime baseball fan, I was looking forward to attending the 1998 All-Star Game in Denver. However, due to the antics of ticket scalpers, my husband and I couldn’t get decent-priced tickets. Evidently, that disappointment gave me the resolve to put one over on the unsuspecting Atlanta scalper a few years later.

Scalpers obtain tickets — or even make counterfeit ones — with the purpose of making a profit by selling them for ridiculous prices. At the time, they tried not to draw attention to themselves because Georgia state law made it illegal to sell tickets for more than face value. They often held signs that said, “Need tickets.”

Part of the perk of purchasing reserved tickets on the official Atlanta Braves website was receiving a couple of cheap seat tickets for any game. They had no cash value printed on them, but I later figured they were worth maybe $5 each.

I told the dude I had tickets, good for any game. He obviously didn’t listen, glanced at them and offered me $20 each. We never stopped walking — the conversation and transaction was on the fly as John and I continued toward the stadium.

I shoved the $40 into my pocket and the guy turned back the other way. Then half a block later I could faintly hear, “Hey lady.” I kept walking — there were lots of ladies on the sidewalk. Then louder, “Hey lady, I don’t want these tickets.”

Soon, the guy caught up to us and said he wanted his money back. He said the tickets weren’t for that day’s game. I reminded him I said upfront they were good for any game and he made the deal.

He quietly protested and continued to follow us. Little did this guy know, I wasn’t easily intimidated. Back in the day, I wouldn’t give up my Pepsi and Pizza Rolls to a knife-wielding dude outside a 7-Eleven in north Portland — but that’s a story for another column.

Holding my hand, John quickened our pace and we soon disappeared into the crowd at the stadium — leaving the guy in our dust.

I had just scammed a scalper — and I didn’t feel bad about it.

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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.