I remembered to check the oil but forgot one other important thing

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on September 28, 2016 7:52AM

Reminiscent of the familiar line “This one time, at band camp ... ” in the 1999 film “American Pie,” my husband, John, doesn’t let me forget about this one time I added oil to my pickup.

My first vehicle, a 1973 Ford Courier pickup, ran like a champ. The only problem is it burned oil.

I had just graduated from college and struck a deal with the youth pastor of the Free Methodist Church. I gave him my 100 Honda motorcycle and a couple hundred dollars and he handed over the keys to the baby-poop brown colored pick-up.

I loved that truck. It gave me the freedom to throw gear in the back and hit the road. Since I wasn’t able to afford to get it fixed, I bought a case of oil and always carried a couple of quarts with me.

When I first met John, he had an old 1971 Volkswagen Beetle. To start the VW Bug, you often had to be on a hill to get a rolling start and then pop the clutch.

So, when we were taking a trip to Seattle, we decided to take my truck. In preparation for the long drive, I checked the oil level and topped it off.

I was proud of the fact that I was an independent woman with a college degree and could take care of my own rig. I made a point of telling John that I added oil for the trip.

After packing, I went to John’s apartment to pick him up. He tossed his bags in and then slid behind the steering wheel. I figured he had driven that rode numerous times and could deal with city traffic better than me.

We also picked up another George Fox student, who hitched a ride with us. We laughed and talked as we cruised up the road. Everything was going smoothly until we dropped the gal off in Tacoma.

Stopping at a mall just off the freeway, John turned off the engine while we waited for her ride to pick her up. All hell broke loose with black smoke pouring out of the engine compartment.

John opened the hood — that’s when he noticed that the oil cap wasn’t on (and the inside of the hood was covered in oil). Evidently in my excitement about the trip, I forgot to put it back on. By some stroke of luck — after driving 150 miles — the cap was still sitting in the engine compartment where I put it while adding the oil.

To this day, John grins and shakes his head whenever we recall this story. And, if I add any fluids to vehicles, he double-checks to make sure all the caps are secure.

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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life and appears every other week in the Hermiston Herald. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539. Her car care tips are something of a cautionary tale of how not to best care for your vehicle.

The game of life features friends, connections

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on September 13, 2016 10:17AM

It seems that I’m getting to that age where I meet up with old friends at formal gatherings. And, such was the case during a recent weekend when I attended a celebration of life service and a marriage ceremony.

Although I had only met mama Briley a few times, I went to the service out of respect for several of her children — including her youngest son, Mark.

My friendship with Marko began when we started working together. With an adventurous spirit and a sarcastic sense of humor that often came out in made-up songs, Marko and I hit it off right away. Acting as Mark’s seeing-eye person, we’ve skied some of the best powder in the Rocky Mountains and swam in the warmest waters in the Gulf of Mexico.

When we discovered we were born two days apart, we started telling people we were twins. While it’s a medical oddity, it is possible for twins to be born on different days. However, it’s generally not possible for twins to have different fathers and mothers.

Also, John and I, along with Marko and Teri, have taken many family vacations together. We’ve flown in a helicopter over the Grand Canyon, ended up in total darkness in Carlsbad Caverns when the electricity malfunctioned and egged Mark on to share a fabricated abduction story at the UFO Festival in Roswell, New Mexico. We’ve also gone to more baseball games than I can count. And, Mark’s love for the game, I learned, was passed down from his mother.

As far as the wedding, it was special to be there when Isaac Williams tied the knot with Tonieshia Rich. I met Isaac’s mother, Matilda Ritter, shortly after we moved to Hermiston.

When she found out she was pregnant, Matilda invited me to be present when she gave birth. Knowing that John and I weren’t going to have children, she wanted to share the wonder of childbirth.

I’m still not too sure how thrilled her then husband was about the whole thing, but Bruce did call me in the wee hours of the morning on July 6, 1987. I had fingernail indentations that lasted for hours from Matilda gripping my hand so hard while she was in labor.

Isaac Alvin Williams made his appearance at 5:15 a.m. A few days later, he wore his first Yankees jersey that I had gotten him.

Before he started kindergarten, John gave Isaac a cool haircut in our bathroom. And, even though John hadn’t stepped foot inside a church for some time, we both attended Isaac’s baptism a handful of years later.

Through life’s transitions, we grew apart for several years. However, I met up with Isaac again when he was a senior in high school. Catching up, I asked about his interests and activities. He shared about skateboarding, playing guitar and watching the Yankees play baseball. “I got that from you,” he said with a smile.

At the wedding reception, I overheard Isaac introducing his wife to John. He proudly told her that I was in the room when he was born.

That weekend reminded me that the connections we have with people is what really matters in life.

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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

Chance encounters: colorful character slings fish in Hermiston

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on August 30, 2016 12:01AM

Through my work as a journalist, I get to meet all types of unique and colorful characters. And recently, I came to know Captain Jonny.

My first contact with Captain Jonny Rush was this past April as he was getting ready to come to Eastern Oregon for a Cinco de Mayo Seafood Circus in Milton-Freewater.

The first thing I learned about Captain Jonny is that he’s quite the talker. Rush, AKA Carl Trentadue, is an eccentric fishmonger.

He sells salmon, halibut, sea bass, ling, shrimp and whatever else is biting out of a bus named Red Dog. More than a fish market on wheels, the 1974 GMC Thomas bus also serves as a traveling billboard and catch-all for artwork, souvenirs and memorabilia from Rush’s music career.

I heard the captain’s familiar voice last week when he called to tell me he was coming to Hermiston. Parked next to C&C Secondhand, 30654 Baggett Lane, which is located off Highway 395 between Hermiston and Umatilla, Rush is hawking fish in the area as long as he can stand the heat.

Rush says he moves with the tide.

“The freeway is my ocean and the beaches are my rest area,” he said.

The captain isn’t exactly sure how long he’ll be in Hermiston during this trip, but likely at least through Sept. 10. It depends on how quickly the fish moves, he said. However, he’s offering a Red, White and Blue Labor Day special during his entire stay. He plans on giving away samples of salmon to people that stop in. If you have a few minutes to chat, you can call him at 503-860-1851 to make sure he hasn’t drifted with the tide.

Rush began slinging fish nearly 20 years ago. An opportunity to make some money fell into the longtime Washington resident’s lap when he was in Rapid City, South Dakota.

“Captain Jonny had a van and one freezer. Broke and didn’t have a dime, he sold 15 cases of shrimp and that’s how he learned how to do it,” Rush said, referring to himself in the third person.

For some photo opportunities and interesting conversation — and maybe pick up some fish — drive along Highway 395 and look for the red bus. You can’t miss it with the flashing lights. Also, it’s covered with everything from masks and flags to statues, corks and nets. In addition, there are signs advertising a variety of fish.

“It’s a sight to see,” Captain Jonny said.

Indeed it is.

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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.

Stay-cation results in home-grown fun

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on August 16, 2016 7:09PM

I recently took a couple of days off and hung around Hermiston for a long weekend.

I rarely do stay-cations. However, that may change in the future — it’s a great way to get away from work for a bit without your pocketbook taking a major hit. I got to spend time with some of my favorite people (and canines) doing fun things.

Thanks to a lucky draw at work, I won tickets to Thursday night’s Farm-City Pro Rodeo. My husband, John, and I even got hospitality tent passes for a free dinner.

I’ve been to a number of rodeos over the years, including that one in Pendleton. And, all I gotta say is Farm-City is the best — hands down! There’s nothing quite like being in a box seat so close to the action that dirt from the arena flies into your lap.

John and I took our German shepherds, Lucifer and the General, to the river Friday morning. We had great fun taking a dip in the water and pretty much had the beach to ourselves.

I do have a shiner below my left eye. In his exuberance, the General rammed my sunglasses into my face. I think the goofy guy thought I was hiding from him (we often play hide-and-seek) and ran smack dab into me.

Although the reason for the event was a somber one, Ron’s Pink Memorial Party was one crazy gathering. Held Friday night in the Let ‘er Buck Room, it celebrated the life of a guy I knew through my previous job with Umatilla County.

Ron Fisher died Aug. 4 in a freak car wreck in Baker City. The shindig was pretty wild with most everyone wearing pink. In addition, the officiant was a drag queen — with great legs, I might add.

The thing that struck me is how cool it was that his family and close friends threw the type of party Ron would have loved to attend. Ron wasn’t a stuffed shirt type of guy — neither was the farewell gathering held in his honor.

On Saturday, John and I enjoyed looking at exhibits at the Umatilla County Fair. Oh, and sampling some fine huckleberry desserts.

In the evening, we headed to Hermiston Super Oval for the School Bus Trailer Races. I even got to ride in one of the buses. It was before the actual bus races and was supposed to be for kids (and their accompanying parents). I sort of nonchalantly got in line and climbed aboard. I’m a kid at heart.

After watching the hornets and legends race, the grand finale featured full-sized school buses dragging trailers and racing through the figure-8.

Seriously, take a moment and visualize that. Sparks flew and trailers were destroyed! The last bus with a trailer still attached was declared the winner. I laughed. I laughed a lot.

Sunday provided some much-needed girlfriend time. I went golfing with my besties, Carol Greene and Deana Cordell.

With our busy schedules, it’s been awhile since the three of us have shared face-to-face time together. In addition to taking selfies, posting on Facebook and making plans for our annual fall trip to the coast, we also swung our clubs a few times.

I returned to work Monday morning — reading emails, making phone calls and typing some words. I think I need another stay-cation.

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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.

Tour de Oregon provides connection with family

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on August 3, 2016 10:42AM

I recently completed what my mom called a “mission of love and mercy.”

Encompassing more than 1,300 miles, my Tour de Oregon came as a result of my aunt Willamae Holt’s death at the end of May.

I knew lots of people would be around to comfort my uncle Jim, my cousins and my mom during the memorial service. Instead of making a quick trip to Medford, I decided to spend quality time with family in the weeks afterward.

“You don’t know how special that trip was,” my mom recently told me on the phone. “It was perfect timing because there were lots of family and friends after Willie died. After awhile, people don’t reach out as much but we’re still grieving.”

The first leg of the trip took me to Coos Bay to see my folks. We didn’t do anything extraordinary — thrift store shopping, a drive to the beach and out to eat a few times. But the moments were special.

My mom seems to become a night owl when I’m in town. She laughed and cried while reminiscing about her big sis. Sharing about their special bond, she again apologized for not giving me a sister.

I always tell her I have a couple of close friends that are like sisters. And, even if time passes between our visits, the connection with my cousins is special.

Many people say cousins are our first friends as children. That certainly is the case with Laura and Lynda. Growing up, family vacations often included trips to visit them.

We shared lots of fun times and childhood diseases — one summer I exposed everyone to the mumps. When we moved to Jackson County, I had the advantage of instant friends when starting a new school.

With Coos Bay in the rear view mirror, I headed to Medford to visit Lynda and uncle Jim. The Fourth of July weekend provided opportunities to spend time with Lynda’s son, grandson, oldest daughter and niece.

Quite the character, uncle Jim suggested we should become “blood brothers” since we aren’t actually blood relatives. Even at 81 years old, he was game for our adventures. He said he needed to keep a close watch on Lynda and I to make sure we didn’t end up in jail.

I came home long enough to work a few days, do some laundry and re-pack my bags before heading to Joseph. Laura and her husband, James, live in a beautiful slice of paradise above Wallowa Lake.

We enjoyed the outdoors and savored our share of good food. And, I learned my cousin was a bit of an Annie Oakley — picking off some of the pesky varmints that destroy the trees from her deck.

An added bonus, I got to see Laura’s son, Matt, and survived as a wedding crasher even though the officiant was armed with a six-shooter.

I embarked on this journey without specific plans, other than to connect with family. Mission accomplished!

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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.

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.