Canine kids are doggone special

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on August 29, 2017 7:55PM

We sang a rousing round of “Happy Birthday” Monday morning in celebration of Lucifer’s eighth birthday.

While we didn’t throw a big party and invite all the neighborhood dogs, we did give Lucifer and the General some canned dog food. They get the good stuff on special occasions. The following morning, I swear the General looked at me like, “What gives!?” when I placed a bowl of regular food at his feet.

While both of our dogs are part of the Malgesini pack, Lucifer, a black German shepherd, is John’s dog and the General, a 5-year-old tan/black German shepherd, is mine.

After having Jeter, my 13-year-old German shepherd, put down in April 2012, I was initially hesitant to get another dog. I didn’t think I wanted to go through the difficulty of losing another canine kid. Lucifer helped me through the grief process and I’m grateful the General joined our pack. I can’t imagine life without my sweet boy.

The General is definitely the most intelligent dog I’ve ever had.

However, he has issues.

I used to think it was pretty amazing that he never had an accident in the house. Seriously, house training was a breeze. But later, it became apparent he had some quirks when it came to going to the bathroom, which I shared about in a past column.

The goofy guy also has tactile issues. I think he exhibits symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder or maybe even autism. My friends laugh when I say that, but think about it, dogs get other “human” diseases.

The General will only drink out of certain dishes. When he was about 9 months old, a paper towel fell into his water bowl by the daybed. He jumped down and stared at it.

“Take care of that,” he seemed to be saying. So, I squeezed the water out of the paper towel and threw it away.

He had a look on his face like, “That’s it, that’s all you’re going to do.” Honesty, I don’t know what more I could do. But he never drank out of that bowl again. He would jump over it, run downstairs and get a drink and then come back upstairs. After several more weeks, I finally removed the bowl.

And, playing hide-and-seek is hilarious. When I peer out and see him running frantically looking for me, I want to yell out, “Dude, use your sense of smell!”

What’s even more entertaining is when Lucifer hides with John. Seriously, this 95-pound dog will stand perfectly still in the shadows. I swear sometimes Lucifer even flashes an eye-roll while watching his brother searching for them.

John and I readily admit our canine kids have us wrapped around their dew claws. It’s all good — the boys always happily greet us when we come home, they rarely talk back and as long as they have food, water and the occasional belly rub, they’re happy.

———

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.

Selfies and beers and friends, oh my!

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on August 16, 2017 6:49AM

While selfies may have increased in popularity over the last decade, millennials certainly weren’t the first generation to snap photos of themselves.

When Oxford Dictionaries announced “selfie” was selected as the Word of the Year in 2013, efforts were made to track down the word’s origin. According to Slate.com, Oxford identified a 2002 science forum post on the Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s website as the earliest known example of the word’s use.

Evidently, a young Aussie man took a photo of his stitched up lip, an injury he suffered while drunk at a “mate’s 21st” birthday celebration. “Hopey,” aka Nathan Hope, apologized for the photo’s lack of clarity, “And sorry about the focus, it was a selfie.”

Hope denied coining the use of the word, saying it was merely common slang to describe a picture you had taken of yourself. The thing is, self portraits — whether by taking a picture while looking in a mirror or with one’s outstretched arm — have been around for ages. As far back as the early 1900s, the Kodak Brownie Box camera provided opportunities for people to take self-portraitures.

I must say, however, the use of cell phones or digital cameras are much preferable in the art of the selfie.

Back when telephones were attached to walls and a thing called film was widely used, photographers didn’t have the luxury of instantly seeing what they had taken a picture of — thus affording them an opportunity to delete anything they didn’t like. Sometimes a roll of film remained in a camera or sat in a drawer for months before being developed.

Lacking the ability to view photos immediately could prove to be quite embarrassing to people who liked to take photos while also imbibing in too many adult beverages. I know this from experience.

A particular selfie taken in the early- to mid-1990s featured part of my face and more. Let’s just say, it could have qualified for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue … uncovered. The unfortunate thing is, it was taken with a film camera — someone else’s film camera.

By the time Kaci Parker had her film developed I had long-forgotten even taking the photo. If the truth be known, I likely forgot mere moments after snapping the picture.

Although my entire face wasn’t caught on film, her neighbor Suzy Tosten immediately knew it was me. When she told me about it, I was mortified. Being the friend that she was, Suzy said she would get the photo and the negative.

When I got to work the next morning, I went to Suzy’s office to see if she had retrieved the items from Kaci. However, before I could even get the words out of my mouth, I looked down and on her desk in a picture frame was the photo.

While they say a picture’s worth a thousand words, I only needed one … a four-letter one.

———

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.

Fairgrounds move results in chance to reflect

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on August 1, 2017 10:19AM

I’m looking forward to the Umatilla County Fair taking place in its new digs at the Eastern Oregon Trade and Event Center

I’m especially excited about air-conditioning where the open class entries will be displayed. I’ve done my share of sweating in Price Hall while judging photography since 2006.

To get a short reprieve from the sweltering heat, I used to head over to the senior center — where they housed the horticulture exhibits — to use the restroom and cool down.

With this year’s theme of “New Faces, New Places & Old Friends,” I was reflecting about fair memories. Before I started working at the East Oregonian and Hermiston Herald, I used to enter my work in the photography division.

Each summer, Carol McIntosh and I would talk about what we were going to enter, where we found deals on mats and start doing the countdown to taking our entries in. We were like giddy schoolgirls, fussing over our photos.

Anticipating how my photos were viewed by the judges, I’d get excited after dropping off entries on Sunday. It seemed like it took forever for Tuesday morning to roll around, marking the opening day of the fair.

Then, I found out Carol used to sneak into Price Hall the night before the fair officially opened to check on her photos. One year, she talked me into going in. I got caught and was sent away.

When I went home, I called her and we had a good chuckle. Carol somehow cajoled me into changing clothes, putting on a hat and going back. And, you know what happened?!? Yep, I got stopped at the door again.

Other memories over the years include a couple of big storms during fair week, including in 2012 when Carol Greene and I were at the Farm-City Pro Rodeo. The hourly weather forecast predicted a 10 percent chance of rain and a drop in temperature, so I grabbed a jacket as we headed out the door. It was a beautiful night.

Was!

Suddenly, the sky darkened, there was booming thunder, jagged lightning and the wind began to wreak havoc on my hair. An announcement on the loud speakers directed people to take refuge in Rankin Pavilion.

Carol and I darted in and out of the crowd like Marshawn Lynch during his heyday with the Seahawks. As the torrential downpour persisted, we realized we were gonna have to hunker down in the sheep barn.

When the rain let up a bit, we made our way to the senior center — hey, I was in survival mode and I knew they had the best facilities. We took selfies and I sent a text to my husband. His response, “It looks like there’s a 100 percent chance of rain now.”

Another memorable experience was attending the Uncle Kracker concert in 2010. I had just survived the worst case of cabin fever after breaking my shoulder.

The concert was my first real entertainment after sitting at home for nearly two months. With four VIP tickets — which somehow multiplied like Jesus feeding the multitudes with five loaves of bread and two fish — a bunch of my friends and I had a crazy fun time.

I’m looking forward to creating more memories at the EOTEC facility. See ya at the fair!

———

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.

Transportation issues ... driving me crazy

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on July 19, 2017 7:14AM

I hate traffic.

I seriously detest traffic — sometimes merely backing out of my driveway is enough to raise my blood pressure.

When heading to metropolitan areas, I have to find my Zen zone. If I’m driving, I don’t hesitate to go on the toll roads. And, in the Seattle area, there are even stretches of the “freeway” that have one lane that’s designated as a pay lane. Believe me, the fee is worth it.

I also use public transportation. However, there can be problems when leaving the driving to someone else. Being a bit directionally impaired and having no conceptual understanding of an inch equaling one mile, I’ve had issues.

One time I flew into Las Vegas and crashed in the hotel room some friends had checked into for a conference. While they were at meetings, I decided to go to an evening show. Not exactly sure where I was going, I took a bus down The Strip and then went to a taxi stand to take me the rest of the way.

The whole confrontation that ensued at the end of the ride could have been avoided if the taxi dude had explained that I could merely cut across the parking lot to my desired destination. He tried to soak me for a ride that barely lasted longer than me getting my seatbelt fastened.

When he parked, he announced some ungodly amount. I said, “No, that’s ridiculous. I’m not paying that much.” He threatened to call the police.

Undeterred, I told him fine — then you can waste your time and explain to them why you didn’t even turn on the meter. I shoved a $5 peace offering into his hand and quickly departed.

When I left the show, I followed a group of people to The Strip to catch a bus. I figured if I looked like I was with a crowd, then I wouldn’t be a target on the streets of Vegas.

The only problem is, I didn’t tell the group of people that I was pretending to be with. I’m not sure how intimidating a 5’2” blonde haired woman can appear, but they kept walking faster.

My short and stubby legs had a hard time keeping up. I finally got the attention of someone in the group and let them know they were serving as my safety herd. We all had a good laugh and they escorted me to my bus stop.

I learned from that experience.

When using public transit a couple of summers ago to go to a baseball game at Safeco Field in Seattle, I be-friended some gals on the bus ride from Everett. Although they jokingly said I’d have to remove my Yankee hat, they made sure I got to the stadium. We even made arrangements to meet afterwards to walk back to the bus stop.

During a recent trip to the Seattle area, John and I mostly stayed away from the I-5 corridor. It saved our sanity when it came to dealing with traffic. However, there was a sign that freaked me out on Highway 2, which we drove each day to visit my favorite mother-in-law.

It indicates how many days since the last serious crash. I don’t know the average number of days between bad wrecks but if the number gets way up there I’d be thinking that route was due. Just like when a batter has been in a slump, inevitably he’s gonna get a hit again. And, undoubtedly, a crash will occur again on Highway 2. It’s all good, it had been accident-free for nine days by the time we cruised back home.

———

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.

Watch out for solar luna(r)-tics during Aug. 21 eclipse

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on July 3, 2017 10:19AM

We have become a society of commercialization.

I know I’m preaching to the choir when I say this. Remember the days when stores were closed on Thanksgiving and Christmas? I do. And, I liked it — even when I had to scramble to find some yeast one year on Christmas Day because ours had gone bad.

The latest event that’s been overrun by commercialization is the upcoming total solar eclipse.

If you’ve been hiding under a rock and haven’t heard about it — the celestial show, which features the sun hiding behind the moon’s shadow, is Monday, Aug. 21. The path of totality will touchdown at about 10:15 a.m. on the Oregon coast between Lincoln City and Newport. It will travel a swath through the entire state as it makes its way across the United States.

Seriously, people are getting crazy about a celestial happening. Expert eclipse meteorologist Jay Anderson, touting typically clear August skies, said Oregon offers a great chance to fully experience the cosmic phenomenon.

Evidently, the masses agree — more than 1 million people are expected to travel to the state to experience the sun’s dance with the moon. Even the Oregon Department of Transportation is concerned — urging people not to become luna(r)-tics. To reduce road congestion, they suggest arriving early, staying put and leaving late.

NASA is calling it an “experience of a lifetime.” Well, I must be extra special — because I recall experiencing a solar eclipse while living in Newberg when I was a freshman in college.

Only, back then, it seems people didn’t focus on making big bucks off the event. There weren’t a bunch of souvenir T-shirts, commemorative viewing glasses weren’t flooding the market and motel rooms weren’t outrageously priced.

For the August 21 event, Pendleton (which isn’t in the path of totality) is tossing its hat into the ring in hopes of cashing in as a “gateway to the eclipse.” Travel Pendleton has pondered offering packages that include accommodations and chartered buses to the path of totality.

I have no interest in dealing with the possibility of solar luna(r)-tics road rage. Without a shadow of a doubt — although, Hermiston doesn’t have a front row seat — local residents will be treated to quite the celestial show. The maximum coverage, which is all but a sliver, will occur at about 10:23 a.m. (to view a simulation, visit www.timeanddate.com/eclipse/in/usa/hermiston).

I don’t care what the solar snobs say, that’s good enough for me. I’ll crank up George Harrison’s “Here Comes the Sun” and don some special glasses during my second in a lifetime experience.

———

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.

Brushing, flossing and other dental obsessions

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on June 20, 2017 12:01AM

I don’t like the dentist .

Not any particular dentist — just going to the dentist in general.

Despite what my friends might say, I have a small mouth. That, coupled with having anxiety about not being able to breathe because of asthma, makes my mouth not very user-friendly when it comes to dental work.

Seriously, there’s not very much room in there for my teeth, much less hands, mirrors, suction tubes and various instruments that I probably don’t even care to know what they are called.

It seems quite unfair that I brush my teeth several times a day (I even have a toothbrush in my desk at work) and I have all kinds of funky implements to clean and dislodge debris from between my teeth and gums. Yet, I seem to have my share of dental issues.

And, don’t even get me started on dental floss.

Too late.

I floss with regularity — more in the past five years than ever before. It hasn’t gotten to the level of a social activity, which I get the impression from my dental hygienist wouldn’t be a bad thing.

The interesting thing is, I recently came across an article in Time — “How Dental Floss Became a Thing in the First Place,” Aug. 2, 2016 — that suggests flossing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

The article talked about the history of dental floss (yeah, I know, a riveting subject). It ends with, “Today, however, the value of dental floss is not so certain.”

Another thing I’m intrigued with is the specialty areas in dentistry. Back in the day, your regular dentist was one-stop shopping. They did it all, from basic care to extractions and root canals.

Now that I think about it, maybe there is one dentist I don’t like. It seems my parents paid for a root canal when I was in high school that I never actually got. I remember getting hit in the mouth with a rock and it resulted in a slow and agonizing death of the tooth.

The fix — a root canal and cap. Evidently, the dentist decided to collect the extra cash for the root canal without actually performing the procedure. Or he did such a lousy job, the endodontic specialist I saw in the fall couldn’t tell it had ever been done.

I recently looked up the dentist’s name on the Oregon Board of Dentistry. It seems he had some issues over the years.

While I can’t be certain that dentist did me wrong decades ago, I do know I didn’t get the best set of choppers genetically. I won’t hold that against my mom and pops. Before I had braces, I could have left a pretty gnarly bite mark. They did sacrifice to give me a straight smile — something I appreciate to this day.

———

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.

On Memorial Day, a penny isn’t much

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on May 30, 2017 5:58PM

I spent 45 minutes and left a penny on the headstones of 75 veterans Monday at the Hermiston Cemetery.

It’s not much — not even an hour and not even a dollar. But, for me, it’s a way to commemorate Memorial Day.

Sometimes people forget the meaning behind the holiday. It’s not merely a day off from work (although I did work swing hours) or a day to have a family barbecue.

It’s a small gesture — extremely small. It doesn’t even compare to the sacrifices made by the men and women who have served in our nation’s military.

I became aware of the tradition of leaving coins on headstones nearly a decade ago. Every year since then, sometime during the Memorial Day weekend, I have grabbed a bag of pennies and headed to the cemetery.

According to information I’ve read, the tradition is a way of paying respects. As the coins increase in value, so does the level of connection the person leaving it has with the deceased:

• A penny means a person visited the grave of the veteran that is buried there.

• A nickel means the person trained or was at boot camp with the deceased veteran.

• A dime represents military personnel who served together.

• A quarter indicates the person was present when the deceased was killed.

Reading the headstone, I learn the date of birth, date of death and the branch of the military the veteran served. Then, I say their name and thank them for their service while setting a penny down.

Sometimes, I have to brush away grass that has been cast onto the headstone during the mowing process. And, I’ve even poured water from my bottle to wash away bird droppings. Again, small gestures for people who have made sacrifices to serve our country.

Every once in awhile, someone asks what I’m doing. Such was the case Monday, when an Air Force veteran and his wife noticed the “U.S. Air Force Academy” T-shirt I was wearing.

They said they had come across a pair of headstones — a man and wife who both served in the Air Force. Dismayed that there were no flowers or flags, they returned with a pair of small bouquets. I thought that was pretty cool.

Of the section I visit each year, I personally know the relatives of less than a handful. And, to me, that makes it even more significant. Those veterans didn’t know me — yet they served our country so that I may reap the benefits of the freedoms we have.

Each year I post a photo on Facebook — not because I want attention — but in hopes that maybe someone else will be moved to do a little something to pause a moment and remember to thank our veterans.

———

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.