Some golfers will play rain or shine

Some golfers will play rain or shine

By TAMMY MALGESINI The East Oregonian

When I first started golfing, the two words I used the most were "fore" and, well, the other one isn't suitable for print.

I was late hitting the links for the first time, because I was appalled that players on TV wore slacks and collared shirts. How could that be a sport? I played softball, basketball, field hockey and ran hurdles - real sports where you sweat and get dirty.

I picked up my first club as a freshman in college. I figured it would be a fluff class and I could work on my tan.

Ah, but soon I found chasing a little white ball around was harder than it looked. But it quickly became a social activity for me, as I often visited other fairways on my quest to hit my ball to the right green.

So when I recently worked on a story about women and golf, it was painful to hang out on the course, drive a golf cart and watch others tee off, chip and putt. I desperately wanted to take a few swings.

Anyway, last Tuesday I hung out with women from the Big River Golf Course ladies league - the weather was pretty decent. But I gotta tell you, my hat's off to Carol Neely, Sharon Edgerly and Lisa Hagerman - those three ladies hit the links Wednesday at Echo Hills Golf Course. The wind was blowing and it was downright cold.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not necessarily a fair- weather golfer. Just ask Bonnie Gracia. I insisted on plodding forward to "get our money's worth" while golfing one time at Kinzua Hills Golf Club.

The quaint little course near Fossil is played on the "honor system." The whole honor thing and golf cracks me up. The little scorecard pencils don't even have erasers. Anyway, it was $5 for each time around the six-hole course. Yes, for five bucks I risked life and limb as the sky became foreboding.

It began to sprinkle as we played the first hole, but I was ok with that. By the time we got to the second hole, I would describe the precipitation as raining lightly. Bonnie, who looked disturbed that I would forge on, interpreted the weather on the second hole as a torrential downpour. Not even - that was to come later.

As we headed towards the third hole I thought I heard thunder, but I didn't see any lightning, so I figured it was no problem.

By the time we had teed off, I was delusional in thinking the sky looked like it was clearing up. The deer - who were munching on a hole earlier - were heading for cover.

As it started to rain again, I acted like I couldn't hear Bonnie as she made an observation about the weather.

Leaving my bag behind, I made my way to the fourth tee box with a couple of clubs. And just as I was about to address the ball there was a thunderous boom. Since I didn't see any lightning, I re-addressed my ball and hit my best shot of the day.

As I headed down from the tee box I met Bonnie, who was hunkered down in a crevice. And then there was a loud crackle and I saw it - the biggest, baddest bolt of lightning. With sheer panic on my face, I yelled, "Do you want to leave now?"

While her mouth merely said, "Yes," her face said, "I wanted to leave a long time ago."

Rather than heading to the clubhouse, I ran the opposite way. Bonnie screamed over the storm, "Where are you going?"

I pointed to my lightning rods, I mean golf clubs.

As we ran dragging our pull carts behind, I thought, "Who says you don't get a cardio work-out while golfing?"

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Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears twice a month. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Varsity letter arrives four decades later

03-26-2010

By TAMMY MALGESINI  East Oregonian

It's been four decades since I've heard the imaginary announcer in my head.

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"Tammy Stockman, a 5-foot-4-inch guard, drives the lane - she scores!"

First of all, I'm not 5-4 by any stretch of the imagination, but that's how I was listed when I played basketball at Marshfield High School. Secondly, there were no announcers at girls' games back in the '70s in Coos Bay.

Even though it's been 32 years since I last donned a purple and gold uniform, I got a big dose of Pirate pride earlier this month when I received my varsity letter.

Back in the day, we received letter certificates that stated, "Marshfield High School Athletic Department awards this 'M' certificate to Tammy Stockman in recognition of his (note: HIS) participation in basketball." However, we didn't actually receive a physical letter.

Basketball wasn't even a Oregon School Activities Association-sanctioned sport for girls until 1976, which might explain why I had to buy a T-shirt when I played junior varsity as a freshman. Not only did the guys have spiffy-looking uniforms, but they also had practice shorts and jerseys. 

That's just the way things were. I remember thinking it wasn't right, but how does a teenager challenge a system that clearly overlooks the achievements of female athletes? 

I ran hurdles and sprints on the varsity track team my freshman year and played three seasons of basketball, "lettering" for two years. I enjoyed the camaraderie of the team. We were doing what we loved - playing a game, but the lack of getting a physical letter nagged at me from time to time. 

When my husband talked about the possibility of awarding letters to his drama students at Umatilla High School this year, I asked him what about last year's group of thespians? The program had been revived after a 12-year hiatus, so don't the drama students of more than a decade ago equally deserve a letter?

The events leading up to my bright gold chenille and felt 'M' with purple outlining arriving in the mail several weeks ago began just before Christmas. 

During a night of insomnia-driven Web surfing, I happened upon a site chronicling the Feb. 4, 2006, event when female athletes of yesteryear were recognized as Pioneer Women and received their long-awaited letters.

I sent an e-mail to Principal Greg Mulkey, who was the athletic director at the time. The letter stated in part, "I will turn 50 in February and can think of no better gift than a varsity letter for my birthday."

I didn't hear from him and got busy with the holidays and then vacation. When I found out the Marshfield boys team was playing a state playoff game in Pendleton, I headed to Warberg Court with a copy of the e-mail. Just as I headed up the bleachers behind the Pirate bench, I spotted a man wearing a Marshfield jacket.

"Do you know if the Marshfield principal is here?" I asked. 

"I am," he responded.

Since I didn't want take up his time during the game, I handed him the e-mail and said it was about the Pioneer Women. After the game, I ran into him and Bryan Trendell, the school's athletic director. Greg handed my note to Bryan and said, "When you get back to Coos Bay, you need to send her a letter."

Although it came a month after I turned 50, it truly is a gift I cherish - probably even more than if I had received it when I actually earned it.
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Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears twice a month. You can reach her attmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Florida sun, frozen fun? You choose

Florida sun, frozen fun? You choose

By TAMMY MALGESINI
East Oregonian

OK, hands on your buzzer. I have a question for you. Where would you rather celebrate your 50th birthday - go to a festival and gambling in the Colorado Rockies or a trip to Florida and a cruise to the Bahamas?

Before you answer, let me give you a little information about Frozen Dead Guy Days, a festival in Nederland, Colo. At the center of the multiple- day event is Bredo Morstoel, a dead Norwegian, packed in dry ice.

In 2005, Mark Briley and I took his wife, Teri, to celebrate her 50th birthday at the festival, which takes place in early March.

Upon his death in 1989, Grandpa, as he's affectionately called, was cryogenically frozen in Norway. Sometime later, the grand-popsicle was shipped to Los Angeles before taking up residence in a Tuff Shed high in the Rockies.

The permafrost dead guy was "discovered" by the small town of Nederland during a town hall meeting when a relative was denied a certificate of occupancy and would soon be deported back to Norway.

As the story goes, she turned to the person next to her and asked, "Who will take care of the bodies?"

Bodies? Yes there were two; however, since that time Grandpa's refrigerated roomie was cremated. Nothing like extremes - fire and ice.

Herbert Flack, a Belgian actor, knocked 'em dead while filming for a Belgium reality show, "TV De Wereld," during Grandpa's Blue Ball in 2005. Seizing the moment, Mark and I stuck close to Flack for a chance of fame.

People at the International Cryonics Institute and Center for Life Extension (or ICICLE) take the whole cryonics things pretty seriously. During a trip to Grandpa's Tuff Shed I made the faux pas of asking what they expected when they finally thawed the frozen guy. Bo Shaffer, aka the Iceman, corrected me.

"We call it re-animate."

In addition to the frozen ball, the event includes a polar plunge, coffin races, a frozen T-shirt contest, frozen turkey bowling, a grandpa look-alike contest and the crowning of the ice queen.

Yeah, Frozen Dead Guy Days was frigidly fun, but I'm gonna have to go with the cruise to the Bahamas.
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Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears twice a month. If you've gone to an odd festival, contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian. com or 541-564-4539.

Nighttime chocolate feast leads to salt water assault

01/20/2010

Jeter recuperates in the hallway after being treated for eating chocolate.

Nighttime chocolate feast leads to salt water assault

By TAMMY MALGESINI

East Oregonian

He was sicker than a dog.

It all started when Jeter, my German shepherd, decided to get into my cache of chocolate. It ended with him laying with a forlorn look on his face in the hallway at home. Between those two snapshots in time was an adventure I don't want to repeat any time soon.

After getting off work just in time, John and I went to the Umatilla Vikings basketball game, even though I hadn't eaten dinner yet.

By the time we got home, I was very tired and quite hungry. I had just settled onto my daybed with what apparently was a very tasty Healthy Choice roasted turkey breast dinner. After I had eaten a couple of bites, John came upstairs to ask me something.

As he walked into the doorway, Jeter jumped off our bed from the adjacent room wearing a sheepish look on his face. Jeter sleeps on the bed, so it's not unusual for him to lounge around on the waterbed; however, the look on his face said "I've been a bad dog."

When we discovered he had eaten a bunch of Hershey's Kisses and chocolate Santas, tin foil and all, John and I sprung into action. After calling the after-hours number for Oregon Trail Veterinary Clinic, the doggie doc said we could bring him in or try to induce vomiting ourselves.

I headed to Walmart to find some syrup of ipecac. I figured it would be easier to get a little of that down him, rather than a whole lot of salt water.

I started to panic when I couldn't find the spew syrup - the window of opportunity to get the pooch to puke was closing in and I really didn't want to pony up the extra cash to take him to the vet clinic at that late hour.

While frantically searching the aisles, I called Shawn Carvalho. Since she was asleep, I asked her husband if they had any syrup of ipecac - explaining it's used to make people throw up.

They didn't, however, within moments Shawn called me back. I told her what was going on as I continued to search for the elusive elixir.

Hearing the panic in my voice, she stayed on the phone with me - even as I headed to Fiesta Foods.

When a store employee offered assistance, rather than risking a language barrier or unfamiliarity with ipecac, I asked for Pepto Bismol. I figured if I got to the right aisle, I could find it. When she led me directly to the pink stuff, I told her I didn't need it. I could hear Shawn laughing over the phone as I explained what I really needed.

She said they didn't have it, but rather than giving up, I attempted to read the labels. Meanwhile, Shawn had gone to an English-Spanish translation Web site and helped me decipher items on the shelf. After finally determining my quest for ipecac was fruitless, I bought a large container of salt and drove home.

John mixed some up and I proceeded to suck the solution into a bulb syringe and squeezed it into Jeter's mouth.

After several cups worth he coughed and sputtered and produced a very small amount of vomit.

That would never do.

After adding more salt, I continued to assault my dog with the briney solution. All of a sudden he broke lose from John's grasp, took a few steps and hurled a pile. He took a few more steps and barfed again.

With a headlamp shining from his forehead, John followed the heaving hound around the yard - picking up the puke so Jeter or Lucifer, our German shepherd puppy, wouldn't eat it later.

The salt water was so successful, John couldn't keep up. I followed Jeter around the lawn, tossing a paper towel on each pile. When John started to gag, he reminded me Jeter was my dog, so I took over pick-up duty.

As I continued puke patrol, I soon discovered chunks of turkey, stuffing and carrots intermixed with the chocolate and tin foil wrappers - evidently the chocolate was merely an appetizer.

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Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears twice a month. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Reflections: Inside my shoes the past year

12-31-2009

Reflections: Inside my shoes the past year

By TAMMY MALGESINI
East Oregonian

I get no respect.

OK, that's a little strong, but I just finished up my first full year as the community editor of the East Oregonian and some of my co-workers don't always view the community page as real news.

These are the same people who readily read (if not write in) the cop log, which certainly isn't Pulitzer Prize writing.

This past fall during a newsroom meeting, Samantha Bates asked if I was writing a precede story on the new exhibit at Crow's Shadow Institute of the Arts.

"Are you talking about the one with Adnan Charara?" I asked.

She didn't remember the name but knew the artist did some brightly colored monoprints.

"That was in Friday's paper - thanks for reading," I said with a laugh.

Photographer E.J. Harris then said, "Oh yeah, I saw that."

Surprised, I said at least a photographer read my story.

"I didn't read it, I just saw the photos in Daily Photos," he responded.

On another recent occasion, Erin Mills, who sits across the room from me in the Hermiston Bureau, opened the paper and exclaimed, "Oh my god, there's no page 3A."

For those of you not familiar with the layout of the EO, page 3A is typically reserved for local news. However, on this particular day the community page graced that space.

"Yeah, it skips from page two and goes directly to page four," I responded in a monotone voice.

"You know what I mean," Erin stammered.

Despite sometimes being dissed by co-workers, there are people out there who respect the community page.

Shortly after I became the community editor, I was talking to EO Publishing Co. Board Chairman Mike Forrester at the company Christmas party.

"The community page is very important - years ago it was called the society page," he said.

And there's a host of people who make my job easier. Near the top of the list is Roberta Lavadour, director of Pendleton Center for the Arts.

She's great about sending press releases. And what earns her a gold star is the accompanying photos are high resolution. So on the rare occasion when I'm twiddling my thumbs pondering how I'm going to fill some space, I'll shoot off an e-mail to see if she has anything she wants to get in.

Another invaluable contributor is Robert Luke of Lukes Photos. There's good reason he received the Community Service Award from the Hermiston Chamber of Commerce in January.

Additionally, people like Erin Heideman of Ione and Carol Michael of Boardman are among the regular contributors to Your EO News. Thanks to their submissions, I rarely have to send out YEON alerts to the rest of the news team.

News Assistant Renee Struthers-Hogge is awesome in putting together the various calendars and forwarding e-mails I may not have. She also keeps me entertained by throwing in an occasional image of me with a moose - thanks to the magic of Photoshop.

And last, but certainly not least, there's Terry Murry, the former community editor who took me under her wing.

Early in my days at the EO, she would call me as deadline loomed with what I called, "Tips from Terry."

And very quietly she would say things like:

"When you're including a quote, put it in a new paragraph."

"Only in very rare circumstances is it appropriate to start a sentence with a number."

"You need to remember to put your story in the right style."

And my personal favorite, "Remember to set off nonessential phrases with commas."

Growing up with ADHD and the bulk of my professional career consisting of clinical writing - all commas were nonessential.

Even though Terry's a Red Sox fan and still owes me a case of Pepsi, some pizza and a feral cat, I truly appreciate her mentorship, which prepared me to step inside her shoes.
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Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears twice a month. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Dog to mom: brrrr, it's cold

12/17/2009 Dog to mom: brrrr, it's cold By TAMMY MALGESINI East Oregonian When it's cold enough to freeze my liquid laundry detergent, then I say it's way too cold. OK, well, it didn't exactly freeze, but it gelled up to the point it wouldn't come out of the spout when I pushed the button. I opened the cap and tilted the Costco-sized container - peering up inside, the blue conglomerated, would-be cleaning agent wasn't gonna budge from the bright orange jug. By the way, why is it laundry detergent always comes in brightly-colored containers? Is this some sort of subliminal marketing message that my clothes can be as bright as a box of Crayola Crayons? But I digress - the point is, it's been cold. In fact it's been downright frighteningly freezing to our nearly 4-month-old German shepherd. Lucifer approaches each new weather trend with trepidation. The first time it rained he peered from beneath the porch and retreated to the sliding glass door when a drop hit him smack in the eye. When I responded with laughter, he puffed out his little puppy chest and marched into the yard. When Jack Frost nipped the air, you would have thought it was personified as Jack Nicholson in "The Shining." Lucifer bravely stepped to the edge of the back porch, took one step onto the frost-covered grass and bolted back for the door. So, when it snowed over the weekend, I wondered how he responded. As I lay snuggled in bed, I soon found out as I could hear the gleeful sounds of Lucifer and Jeter playing in the backyard. John later told me when Lucifer first went outside, his eyes darted back and forth - looking at the white, cottony blanket in our backyard. As soon as Jeter romped into the winter wonderland, Lucifer joyfully joined him. Call me sick if you want, but you know many of you do the same thing - the funniest reaction to the weather, which really isn't a reaction at all, but merely some law of physics and gravity or whatever. When everything was coated with a sheet of ice from the freezing rain, Lucifer's legs splayed every which way when he tried to walk. But the clincher was when he somehow got his footing enough to make his daring escape from wintry nightmare - after dashing several steps, he hit the sleet-covered sidewalk and slid head first, crashing into the door. He stood up, shook off the excess moisture and bounded through the door with all the confidence of a young German shepherd, wearing a look on his face that said, "I meant to do that." --- Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears twice a month. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Rockin' on down the road to Christmas

11/27/2009                  Rockin' on down the road to Christmas By TAMMY MALGESINI East Oregonian I can't sing. In the Bible where is says, "May a joyful noise unto the Lord," well, I take that literally. Other than the time I was delving into a story on karaoke and was cajoled into singing at The Hut Restaurant and Lounge, I try to confine my singing to private environments. For the past month, Christmas tunes have been my mainstay while in the shower and my car. I even announced earlier this month to those within earshot of my desk that rather than using the radio to drown out extra sound in the Hermiston Bureau, I'd be playing Christmas music for the next 10 weeks. Although Thanksgiving, for most people, seems to be the unofficial beginning of when it's acceptable to play Christmas music, I start at Halloween. There are just too many good holiday tunes to cram in between Thanksgiving and Christmas. So, I've been rocking down the road with the likes of "Happy Holidays" by Billy Idol, "A Twisted Christmas" by Twisted Sister, as well as playing the majestic sounds of Mannheim Steamroller and the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. And I even get a little Motown with "Christmas Here with You" by The Four Tops. My husband, John, is always on the lookout for new albums - so when I noticed on Amazon.com that Bob Dylan was coming out with "Christmas in the Heart," John told me he had already pre-ordered it. After listening to it several times, I commented to John that maybe traditional Christmas music wasn't where it was at for Dylan. John was appalled. "You know what the money's going for, don't you?" he said incensed. Proceeds from the album are going to Feeding America. The program will provide more than 4 million meals to people in need during the holiday season. In addition, future royalties will continue to feed the program. Sure it's a noble cause, but "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" was designed to be a joyous song, but with Dylan's raspy baritone, it sounds more like a funeral march. Don't get me wrong, I'm as big a Dylan fan as they come, but a large part of my enjoyment of him is based on his message and not as much on his sound. "Do You Hear What I Hear." No offense, but yes, Zimmy I do, and it sounds like you're "Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door." —— Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears twice a month. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.