Inside my shoes goes inside my head

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on January 11, 2017 10:31AM

Sometimes I think I think too much.

Simple things can get my head twisting and turning — like why aren’t birth control pills dispensed in childproof containers? Or what are the names of the two people in a “Pedestrian Crossing” sign?

But one thing that occupied a lot of space in my mind recently is the packaging of products.

Over the holidays, a box of Gudrun chocolates appeared in the newsroom’s kitchen. The thing that intrigued me was the intricate packaging.

It came in a lovely silver case (box is too simple for the elegant craftsmanship, which even featured a magnetic strip to hold the flap down). Inside were two glorious trays of candies.

A brochure included a three-paragraph description of the process of making chocolates — from choosing the right cocoa beans to the development of recipes. It ended with the simple word, “Enjoy!”

Back in the day, Candyce Lukens, a former boss, would push her fingernail into the bottom of a piece of candy to determine what was inside. Those techniques aren’t required with Gudrun.

The insert featured mouth-watering descriptions of each piece of candy — complete with a color photos.

Each morsel of deliciousness had its own name — including Twinkle (pistachio with hazelnut pieces) Seabreeze (a layered truffle with salted caramel) and Cocorico (milk chocolate with coconut ganache). I’m licking my lips as I type.

Speaking of coconut — I recall the time my good buddy Marko Briley mistakenly started to eat some “flakes” of paper. The error was understandable — he’s legally blind. But, the bigger contributing factor was the packaging.

This, also, was a box of chocolates. The pieces of candy were lying in a bed of what appeared to be gourmet coconut flakes. The paper actually looked like and had the consistency of coconut.

However, Marko said it didn’t taste like coconut. I took his word for it.

It certainly doesn’t make sense to package gourmet chocolates in a bed of paper.

Oh, and by the way, I named the people in the “Pedestrian Crossing” signs — Pedestri-ANN and Pedestri-ANDY. You’re welcome!

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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.

Rain, snow, sleet — reporters cover their beat

Journalists — and firefighters — venture out in all sorts of weather to do their work

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on December 21, 2016 6:56AM

I just wanna say the post office ain’t got nothing on journalists.

Chiseled in stone at the New York Post Office on Eighth Avenue are the words, “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”

Whatever.

After a bunch of snow blanketed Eastern Oregon a decade or so ago, our letter carrier left a note saying that our mail delivery was being suspended until we cleared the white stuff from around our mailbox. And, that wasn’t the first time a carrier had threatened to hold our mail hostage. Someone had crashed into our mailbox, leaving it with a permanent lean to the left. Yup, we had to straighten up the pole before they would resume delivering our bills and junk mail.

Anyway, reporters and photographers don’t let a little snow get in their way of telling the news. While schools get snow days and government agencies are on two-hour delays, journalists are bundling up and trudging to work.

During this recent winter storm, some of my co-workers with rigs that don’t fair well in the snow have car-pooled, while others have strapped ice cleats to their shoes or skis on their feet to walk or glide to the newsroom.

As this past weekend’s Saturday reporter, I checked out the weather forecast before choosing my attire. With temperatures hovering around 0, I decided to wear my Under Armour ColdGear and Gore-Tex Merrells with Vibram soles. It was a wise decision.

I started my day in the warmth of the Hermiston Conference Center. As I exited the building, I planned to go to the newsroom to process photos and write a story. However, the flashing lights on a fire engine caught my attention and I headed to check it out.

It was a frigid 4 degrees outside while I was crunching my way through the snow to get photos of the firefighters in action. Oh, and just a suggestion, Chief Scott Stanton might want to get some ice grippers on those boots of his. He did a little slip slidin’ away, falling on the ice.

I remained upright and stayed as warm as one can with an exposed face and hands while operating a camera. I certainly do appreciate the ColdGear technology of Under Armour — although they are a bit spendy.

Tired of having a cold bum, I bought my first set back when I was skiing all the time. I don’t know if it was shock or my Under Armour, but I stayed relativity warm one time while waiting for ski patrol to rescue me when I look a tumble at Mt. Bachelor.

When I arrived at the ski patrol urgent clinic, I was afraid they might try to cut off my upper layers. I excused myself to the restroom and somehow, despite a broken collarbone, wriggled my way out of the skin-tight Under Armour.

That, my friends, is determination to protect something very important to me. Stay warm!

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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

Winter storm wreaks havoc on road trip

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on December 7, 2016 9:48AM

As I watched a skiff of snow begin to form outside late Monday night, I wondered if the traction on my Nikes would be enough to safely transport me from the newsroom door to my Jeep.

I should have worn my Vibram-soled Merrell shoes. The weather report indicated Old Man Winter was blowing in, but I chose comfort over practicality.

I like to think I make rational decisions based on information available. However, there was that time when I was stranded during a winter storm in Imnaha.

Friends who travel with me are convinced that I put a capital O and C in obsessive-compulsive disorder when it comes to preparing for trips. So, it still baffles me that I actually hit the road with minimal planning.

It was nearly 15 years ago when Bonnie Kessell and I volunteered to help Charlotte Jeffries move her sister’s belongings out of a remote Wallowa County house. We didn’t even have overnight accommodations arranged.

Before heading out of town, we stopped by Les Schwab. Charlotte was sure that her tread-bare tires would be just fine — meaning it would be cheaper to merely buy chains.

I was having none of that — I had seen the bald tires AND the winter storm warning. After much contemplation and Les Schwab caramel corn, it was decided I would get SkyMiles for the privilege of putting the tires on my American Express card. That was the first of many purchases that contributed to my next free airline trip.

As we headed up Cabbage Hill, it became apparent the windshield wipers were lacking. Two sets of wiper blades later, they still weren’t functional. Charlotte decided to head to a gas station to find some chivalrous man to install them.

Starting up the engine, the bladeless wiper arms began wreaking havoc on the windshield. The simple thing would be to merely turn them off. But no, Charlotte jumped out, pulled the arms away from the windshield and we proceeded to the gas station with them protruding like Martian antennas.

Of course that wasn’t the only technical difficulty we experienced during the trip. A big chunk of ice disconnected some of the wires between the U-Haul and trailer we had rented. I surmised we had a 50-50 chance in correctly matching the colored wires. Charlotte decided green should go with red.

“They just go together, like Christmas colors,” she reasoned.

I suggested it could be black and blue because that’s what our bodies were going to look like when we short-circuited the system, causing a wreck and resulting in contusions and massive hematomas.

It was well after dark when we arrived in Imnaha. Luckily, the owners of the Imnaha Store & Tavern also managed a small motel and RV park. Room No. 2 would become home for the next couple of days.

In the morning, we hobnobbed with the coffee klatch before driving 23 miles on the treacherous snow-covered mountain road. More than an hour later, we arrived to find that Charlotte’s sister hadn’t loaded anything into the U-Haul.

It became apparent as the day wore on that we weren’t going to make it home that night. Between all the crap in the house and the storm warning, which had become a full-fledged storm, we were stuck in Oregon’s easternmost settlement.

We were grateful that Dave and Sallie had saved our room for us — not that anyone else was venturing to Imnaha during the storm. We hung out in the store/tavern, getting our fill of food and Imnaha stories.

It was an adventure, but I’ve never been back to Imnaha. I’m afraid our pictures are on the wall as Charlotte wrote a hot check to these kind country folks who carry big guns.

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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.

Erik Estrada livens up game show fun

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on November 15, 2016 11:23AM

I can name that tune in three notes. Before you get too impressed, I must qualify the statement with music from game shows.

Such was the case when the familiar opening theme music from “Match Game” and “The Newlywed Game” boomed through the sound system Oct. 29 at Wildhorse Resort & Casino. And then there was wild cheering and screaming — mostly coming from the mouths of female baby boomers, like myself — when announcer Jimmy Richards introduced Erik Estrada as the live host during “America’s Greatest Games Shows.”

Known as Ponch from the 1977-83 TV Series “CHiPS,” I had a poster of Estrada back in my college days. Yep, the man who once graced the cover of People magazine — who was designated as one of sexiest bachelors in the world in 1979 — still has it going on.

When Tiah DeGrofft of Wildhorse community relations asked if I was interested in attending the event, I was all in. I’m a game show junkie. My husband, John, is amused that I actually record some of my favorite ones to watch later.

My game show addiction started when I was a kid and continued when I was in college. Kari Knutson, one of my old roomies, and I were parked in front of a black-and-white TV each day to watch as Richard Dawson introduced families as they battled it out on “Family Feud.”

When Tiah asked if I would be interested in a telephone interview with Erik Estrada, what do you think I said?

After getting the official business out of the way, Erik and I spent a few minutes shooting the breeze. In regards to aging, we agree that our bodies feel older than our minds. An avid golfer, I told Erik to prepare to spend some time “at the beach” when swinging the clubs at Wildhorse.

“I’ll bring my suntan lotion,” he said with a laugh.

Also, a bit of a foodie, Erik said many of the casinos that host “America’s Greatest Game Shows” have excellent chefs.

Initially, John said he’d attend with me. However, as the date got closer, I thought I should paint a picture of what the event would be like — a lot of screaming people. For a man who lives for concerts, he doesn’t like big crowds of rowdy people.

I invited my bestie, Carol Greene, to go with me. To give you an idea of how crazy we can be together, my husband has referred to Carol as Lucy — as in Lucy and Ethel.

While we weren’t chosen as contestants, Carol and I had a great time. And in keeping true to our “I Love Lucy” monikers, there were some shenanigans. However, what happens at Wildhorse stays at Wildhorse.

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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.

Inside my Nikes: Feeding my shoe addiction

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on October 19, 2016 12:01AM

I am the proud owner of two new pairs of Nike shoes.

I’m absolutely thrilled with the Nike Free Connect. Released in June of this year — shoes have release dates just like albums, who knew? — I got the fluorescent yellow ones with black accents. A co-worker said my feet look like victims of assault by a highlighter. Whatever, they are sweet and so comfortable. They provide all the pleasures of walking barefoot, but without the risk of stepping on goatheads.

The other pair is the 2016 version of the women’s Air Max. I have a past model and really liked them, so the new and improved model caught my eye. They are like walking on a cushion of air … hmmm, maybe that’s why they have “air” in their name.

My quest to go on a Nike shopping excursion started when I was watching the Summer Olympics. I was salivating over all the awesome gear.

However, my pocketbook doesn’t always agree with my wants and needs — yes, needs. A woman can never have too many shoes. Besides that, for some cruel reason my feet grew in the past few years and many of my shoes don’t fit anymore.

I had heard that people can sometimes get passes to shop at the Nike Company Store — the privilege comes with a 50 percent discount. I had no idea how common folks could obtain one of the passes, so I expressed my desire on a Facebook post.

Within a short period of time, Martin Alvey, one of my old high school buddies, sent me a private message saying his son worked for Nike and could probably hook me up. I’ve never even met Sean Alvey, but he was a trooper and took care of the details.

Pepsi or Coke, Ducks or Beavers, beer or wine, Nike or Adidas — people often have their own preferences. I’ve been a fan of Nike dating back to my high school days when I bought my first pair.

From a very young age my mom and pops taught me to set goals and work toward them. I got a job at the Coos Bay Library, initially making less than $2 an hour. I had to shelve a lot of books and wait on numerous patrons before I earned enough to buy those beautiful white leather high tops with Nike’s signature red swoosh.

Fast-forward 40 years and there I was at Nike’s headquarters in Beaverton. There was a line outside the store and after waiting 10 minutes I got through the door. Then, reminiscent of the winding lines at popular rides at Disneyland, there was another line to check my ID before I was granted entry into the Nike kingdom.

When I walked through the doors, it was a feast for the eyes … and feet. Despite my desire to snatch up dozens of pairs of shoes and other merchandise, I settled on two pairs. And, just for good measure, I threw in a six-pack of Nike Dri-FIT socks for my husband. Don’t judge me — his feet haven’t outgrown his shoes.

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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.

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