Category Archives: politics

To Have Hope

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Temperature predictions from some climate mode...

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Climate change is happening. We can attempt to deny it. We can go along with the conflict among politicians and in the newspapers. We can close our eyes to it. We can say “weather is weather” when we look at a balmy January day when it should be 20 below. Climate change — global warming — is happening. No matter what we say to console ourselves doesn’t change the trend that 98% of the scientific community accepts as fact. Our world is warming and places are already being affected. Recently, the Oregonian published a map put out by the USDA. The USDA is redrawing their garden zoning maps to more accurately reflect current temperatures. The caption lightly explains warming, but also attributes the change to better mapping software! So, I put a flippant comment on my Facebook page that got its own attention from my friends. One didn’t realize I was being sarcastic. Another responded with his own, appropriately, flippant remark. Finally, a family member expressed her own frustration with how we glaze over this very serious problem. As a follow-up, I posted a link to a three-year old Scientific American article that showcased ten places that in 2008 that were clearly affected by climate change. Some of the listed places include:

Darfur

Until the rains failed in Darfur, the region’s pastoralists lived amicably with the settled farmers. The nomadic herders grazed their camels on the rocky hillsides between the fertile plots and fed their animals on the leavings from the harvest….[More]

The Gulf Coast

Climate scientists may still be debating to what extent climate change is going to translate into stronger and more frequent hurricanes, but insurance companies aren’t waiting for the final answer….[More]

Northern Europe

The warming of the globe has so far generally been good for the world’s wine. It has allowed the fruit to come off the vine richer and riper. A study led by Gregory Jones, a climatologist at Southern Oregon University in Ashland, Ore., and the son of a winegrower, tracked the impact of rising temperatures between 1950 and 1999, using as a measure of quality the values by the auction house Sotheby’s, which rates wines on a 100-point scale….[More]

Great Barrier Reef

Not all the carbon dioxide we emit contributes to atmospheric warming. More than a third of what we have produced since the industrial revolution has been absorbed by the oceans, where it reacts with seawater to form carbonic acid….[More]

In recent years, no less than four Alaskan communities have been forced to relocate (Shishmaref, Kivalina, Shaktoolik and Newtok) due to climate change. Waters are rising. Temperatures are rising. Plants and animals are migrating, and now people are migrating too. These communities are the canaries in the coal mine. They are the ones screaming to the rest of the world, “LISTEN! Climate change is happening! It’s happening to us! Now!”

But now we’re not listening. Collectively. We are stuck in group think, not embracing our group wisdom. Collectively, what can we do? That was the question that was posed to me. So, here’s a short list.

  1. Don’t lose hope. But realize that people will only change when they want to. So, while not losing hope, stay the steady course.
  2. Lead by example. Reduce, reuse, and recycle. Then do it all over again, and better.
  3. Be mindful of your own consumption and aware of how this culture of things is perpetuating the problem.
  4. Realize hope in that 60% or so of Americans do recognize that there is a problem, so while the media isn’t up on what Americans really are thinking, there is a paradigm shift around us.
  5. Educate yourself, and then, educate others. Do it with compassion, and when they stop listening do it with your actions. Show people how the local organic food you create with is better than the tasteless, flavorless, nutritionless food found in the average grocer.

To have hope can be hard, but I think it’s imperative we stay the steady course. We can find solace in the Romanesque period in history where buildings became strong again when the world didn’t end in 1000 AD. We can find solace in realizing we have found lost technologies, like concrete, to make our world more solid. We can find solace in remembering that no matter how stubborn, we are one of the most adaptable creatures, and adapt we will. We can find solace in our relationships that we forge, foster, and create. Because, then, we know that we will have a network to turn to who supports our ideals of local, homegrown, homefunded communities.

To have hope, in my mind, is the only way to live. And, to have hope, is the only bottom line that will drive us when madness surrounds.

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S-S-S-Sustainability!

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Cover of "Ecotopia"

Cover of Ecotopia

“I want to educate people on the importance of a sustainable society.”

That’s what I want to do with my life. In some shape or form, anything I am doing, I want it to mesh with that belief. The belief that we should live in a sustainable society and we owe it to ourselves to get there. The belief is also contingent upon the thought that what we are doing is not sustainable and that there is oodles of room for improvement.

I heard of sustainability first, while reading Ernest Callenbach‘s Ecotopia. In it, he referred to this concept of sustainability as a stable state system. A system in which everything is in equilibrium with everything else. There was a process for nearly everything to make sure that you really had the best information moving forward about making a decision. You harvested the wood if you wanted a wood frame home, for example.

A co-worker, during one of those nice “just go out to lunch with one of your co-worker” things, prodded me after I asked him why he was doing Construction Project Management. He returned the question. I wasn’t expecting that. I started with, “Oh, I don’t know.” But I had to pause. Because, I knew it wasn’t true.

I was at the end of a nearly 5 year break from college. I had gained more life experience, talked more with different people, read more about different ideas, and began formulating my own. Yes, in fact, I did know what I want to do … and I apologized for my cop-out statement and came up with that.

“I want to educate people on the importance of a sustainable society.”

Sustainable. But, what does that mean? I had the opportunity to go back to school, and back to school I went. What a fortunate time it was. Sustainability was popping up everywhere! Lucky for me, minors and specialized programs were too. I didn’t want to do another dual major attempt but rather, efficiently wrap all my interests under one degree.

One of the amazing opportunities I had after I decided on my minor in Sustainable Urban Development was to visit Italy for two weeks on an agri-tourismo property that specialized in sustainability. We were a crew of about 15. Some of us were young, some were middle-aged, and some were fresh of the boat young college kids. One of my favorite attendees was a Bosnian gal who spent much of her adult life in the US. I loved hearing her cross-oceanic view of the world.

People, she said to me, in one late night conversation around the farm table with tea and wine. People. People often forget about people. Labor. The people who do the job.

As someone who was raised in a blue-collar family with white-collar dreams, I can relate.

What did my minor say about that? Only that to define this stable state equilibrium, we should measure people, profits, and place on the same playing field. A field in which they all get equal play and are measured so that no one suffers. Equity, Economy, and Environment. The Triple Bottom Line. The Three-Legged Stool. Sustainability.

But, why then, if that’s a decent measure of how to define sustainability, do people still forget people?

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No Worries

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She said, “I love that you say that, ‘No worries.’”

“Huh?” I asked. “Did I just say that?”

“Yes.”

I replayed the conversation in my head. Another asked me if I’d say a few words about some of our volunteers. I explained that I didn’t know them well, but I’d be glad to start them off, and invite others to finish. I did, I finished with, “No worries.”

“Oh yeah,” I answered.

“That makes it even better because it means it’s so ingrained in you that you really do mean: no worries.”

I agreed. I do. I really mean it: no worries.

If you’re open to life’s lessons they can and will teach you something. Having my sister die before I felt I could get to know her. Being on welfare as an adult after being on it as a kid. Two moments in my adult life that were very humbling and in close proximity. When Cristi was killed, I hadn’t spoken to my other sister in more than a month. I don’t even remember, now, what we were fighting about. Clearly, it was something trivial. Clearly, it didn’t matter in the scheme of things. The question begs: what would I have done if were my other sister who was killed? She is the one I am close to. She is the asset in my life.

That’s a point to ponder. And, I have. For the last four years.

It’s been said to me that I am an easy-going person. But, I know the times where my controlling nature takes over and I am much less easy-going. So, although I struggle balancing my easy-going nature with my type A personality, I recognize, more, the value of letting things be. I recognize, more, the need for me to step back and listen even if I have a hard time-sharing an opinion. I recognize, more, the need to not worry.

So, no worries. Life deals us crises all the time. Shit blows up in our faces and we forget that we’re rational and how to deal. No worries. The shit will fall and we’ll clean it up and move on.

No worries doesn’t mean inaction, though. No worries means being proactive. No worries means taking steps to fix the problems that come our way.

When I sold books door to door, one of the mentors, if you will, taught us that life doesn’t give us problems. Rather, life gives us teachers, and we will be given the same teacher until we learn the lesson. That thought resonated with me, especially as I looked at the repeat boyfriend types I had in my 20s! Or, when I looked at other relationship issues I had encountered. Or, when I considered my university path.

My values shape my “no worries” philosophy, certainly. Family, to me, is number one. I value my familial relationships first. I value our societal stewardship towards our environment, next, as it speaks directly to my family’s existence in the future. Being at peace with myself and my god, actually, takes a third rung. These priorities are loose, and depending on the day they will switch levels. But, they all aid in my “no worries” philosophy.

Someone was irritated with a choice I made today. This person could hold some power over me, if I let her. The choice, though, doesn’t matter a hoot in the scheme of anything. It doesn’t affect anyone’s livelihood. It doesn’t cause harm on anyone. It doesn’t even inconvenience that many people, if any. It, likely, was a choice that became an irritation because of other circumstances in her life.

No worries. I vented with a friend to ponder the choice/irritation and help make sense of it. But, it doesn’t bother me. I might get defensive if approached in person about the choice as there were specific circumstances that led to the pattern. But no one died. No one died. Most of the choices I make daily, nary would affect a life or death decision. So, no worries.

I know, for now, that I have my priorities. I know my values. I am thankful to be secure in my relationships. I am learning myself to the point that I know myself. I remember my choices. I make conscious choices, even if it felt random at the time. So, no worries.

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Speak Power to Story

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"Santa's" gift to Levi.

Image by alexis22578 via Flickr

I have always loved stories. Give me a good fiction any day of the week. For example, I just read the Millennium Trilogy (over 2,100 pages) in less than two weeks. It was that good. But, I didn’t get the point of some stories until I took a little independent study at Portland State called Speak Power to Story.

We learned words like: meta-narrative. We discussed ideas of groups telling their own stories with dramatic play methods. We linked it together with how when we share our stories we share truth. We compared that to the stories we collectively tell ourselves and the actual stories that we are living. We juxtaposed the famed Booker T. Washington‘s stories with how many people can successfully pick themselves up by their bootstraps and make a successful living by today’s standards.

Mental power, notwithstanding, this was a hugely enormous class for how I frame the world. It was one of those “I get it” moments. It is the Occupy movement.

Every time you see someone share their story of how [we] are a part of the 99%, that is speaking power to story. That is showing how the meta-narrative under which we live is wrong. It showcases that we owe it to ourselves to tell a truer story. We owe it to ourselves to listen to others’ stories. We owe it to our world to stop, to listen, to learn, and to change and grow together.

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Growing Up

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Camera Exlporations

Peter and (sister-in-law) Jodi, September 2009. Image by alexis22578 via Flickr

I’ve heard it said that a true test of character would be if a camera (unbeknownst to you) were to follow you around, capturing moment by moment, everything you did. All your faults and virtues would be on display. Then, if you could see that video, you would have an assessment of your true character.

I’ve had this image in my head since I was in middle school. I’m finally at a place in my life where I am feeling secure in my relationships. And, tonight, I got that validation. It actually brought tears to my eyes. Everyone says that going through school is hard and that elements of being an adult are easier. Even if they don’t say being an adult is easier, most adults don’t want to repeat those awkward growing up years.

Growing up, in a small town, where the cliques were ingrained since pre-kindegarten with very little room for nuance, is hard. You’re trying to inch your way into these formed friendships, and in my case not feeling secure in my home life either. (My mother, siblings, and maternal extended family are great; but when dad leaves when you’re 5, your world gets shaken up.) So, the kids didn’t feel receptive to my presence. And, it was hard. And, I never understood why. And, sometime in middle school, I wanted a video camera to go through and document my entire existence so I could know what I was doing wrong.

It never happened. I never got the video camera.

But, I grew up. I made some mistakes. I made some huge faux-pas with my sister. (Sorry Stacer, I’m glad we’re maturing together, by the way.) But, I think I learned.

DSCN6645.JPG

Peter and Levi (under the weather), Thanksgiving 2010. Image by alexis22578 via Flickr

The thing is, I remember that hurt. I remember how it felt to be left out, and I would never wish that on anyone. So, I try, really hard, to ensure most of my decisions reflect that value of being included. It’s a value that is so inherent to my core, that it just is. Meaning: I don’t always realize I am doing a thing that reflects that value.

Tonight, though, I was validated. Tonight, the camera was briefly shown back to me. Tonight, a friend kindly validated the choices I’ve made in dealing with a tenacious situation. Tonight, I was reminded of my core friends whose friendships I can be secure with because they see me how I want to be seen, and I see them as they want to be seen. As I am. As they are. Faults and virtues, all in one.

If someone had told me when I was in middle school that I would find lasting friendships with sincere people, I would never have believed them. I am thankful, in this week of Thanksgiving, for these friendship. Friends, I hope you know that. Thank you for letting me into your lives and into your inner circles. Now, as an adult, I can say that I am glad I’ve grown up.

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Regrets of a Stay at Home Mom

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Reading Time

My mother and Levi. Image by alexis22578 via Flickr

Reading the Price of Motherhood was depressing. This article further articulates the grim realities mothers face when life doesn’t go as planned. I choose to work because our society doesn’t give me the option of staying at home. I have school loans to pay. What if my husband got injured on the job and couldn’t work? What about my career aspirations of what I should do?

Yes, I choose to work. Yes, I would encourage you too, to work. Yes, I understand it’s all about choice. For me, the risk isn’t worth it.

http://www.salon.com/2011/01/06/wish_i_hadnt_opted_out/

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What Should I Do With My Life?

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Learning to write numbers, a gift from Grandma.

Image by alexis22578 via Flickr

It’s a book, by Po Brosnon. I read it a few years ago. And, suddenly, today, I found myself thinking of it. I’ve been reading self help books lately, as if they are mdern philosophy. All point to thinking about what one should do with their life. Not what you are good at. Not even what you like to do. But, rather, what you should do.

The self help books cover themes like:

  • Taking responsibility for your own actions
  • Minding your own business
  • Not letting others get you down
  • Creating goals, and thinking of them often
  • Evaluating self, that is being introspective
  • Figuring out your needs and stating them
  • Owning self, owning success, and owning failure
  • Learning from self, mistakes, successes
  • Assessing priorities and remembering that winning all the time isn’t what most people want on their death bed – they want family and loved ones

The self help titles include things like (some were read over ten years ago):

  • The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People
  • Strengths Finder 2.0
  • Strengths Based Leadership
  • Safe People
  • Non-Violent Communication
  • How to be an Adult in Relationships
  • The Five Dysfunctions of a Team
  • Jonathan Livingston Seagull
  • Siddhartha
  • The Wisdom of Insecurity
  • Ishmael

Not all the books would be considered self help, in perhaps, the strictest sense of the term. But they are books designed to get you thinking about these norms we create, thinking about different ways to go about life, and then acting on shaking up those norms.

These books I recall have a theme for me. The theme is to figure out what you want, generally, out of life. Sit down and assess your goals. Figure out what you’re good at by assessing your strengths. Learn about yourself and learn about how you can make self better. Then act on it. Own it. Create boundaries and enforce them. Realize it’s okay to say no and continue to focus on the goal(s). Once you’ve assessed self and your needs and you’ve owned it, act with courage to state your opinion. Own that too. Then, just act. Act on your decisions, and see what happens. If you fail, own it. If you succeed, own that too. Reassess, learn, and modify. And, have fun while you’re doing it because if you don’t have fun then you will likely have serious regrets when you’re faced with death.

The point, the theme, the message for me is to figure out what I should be doing. I can create goals and figure out what I’m good at, but it doesn’t mean a whole lot if it’s not worthwhile. So, it should be something I should be doing.

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The Kids Table

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Levi's 4th Birthday

Growing up, there is a stage in your life, as a kid, that you are relegated to the kids table. At least in our American culture. It’s the table where the kids go because the big table for adults is full of adult conversation. Amidst an intergenerational experience, we segregate.

Tonight, Levi was relegated to the kids table. Granted, he was being a little on the loud side and a little distracting. The problem was that I was separated from him, could not whisper in his ear or move without being more distracting. This was brought up, that he was distracting, but a 20-something male colleague, recently married, with no kids. To his credit, he tried to be nice. He tried, very hard, to bring up a difficult situation in a kind matter.

I got pissed. I glared. Eyes imploring, “What exactly would you like me to do while I am boxed into this corner?” Thankfully, another offered a kindly, practical solution when Levi declined, in the stubborn four-year old way, the other solution proffered. Levi refused to sit at the kids table. Levi wanted to be a part of the adult conversation.

I know this colleague meant no ill will. The issue, though, highlights our society’s segregation. Growing up, all we want to do is grow up. We want so badly to be part of adult conversations and play at the big table. Adults, patiently, deal with our repetitive manners, and when they get a chance to be at the adult table and drink their wine, they take it. As an adult, now, I try to be patient with my loving, humorous, silly four-year old. But, sometimes, I just want my own adult table. (One friend is particular handy for this when she comes over and we drink, wine or the harder stuff, play cards, and swear like sailors.)

I stated at this meeting, beginning in November, my dear four-year old will be coming with me. Later, I commented, if the four-year old can’t go, then neither can I. A solution will be found, I am sure. The only workable solution is to make meetings more kid friendly. We struggle with this in our food club, all the time. 90%+ of our club is mothers. Mothers who often stay at home to take care of the young ones while the men folk go earn the money. We want to have adult conversations too. We want to be at the adult table, but the kids are being kids.Why do we insist on compartmentalizing when we know it doesn’t work?

Knowing, learning, realizing, that as adults we often try to do too much. We try to please everyone and then end up, as the adage instructs, pleasing no one. It seems we would be wise to take a cue from our kids and play. What would happen if we tried the meeting, as inconvenient and time-wasting as it feels, and just start playing when the kids do. My facilitation training has taught me that the human body, natural biorhythms, wants to move at about 90 minutes. When was Levi starting to act out and not play quietly? At the 90 minute mark. So, we punish him, relegate him to the kids table because his body told him to move. We always have a lot to cover, a lot to say, a lot to think about. It seems that if we got loud when the kids did, we could all then get quiet and get to work.

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It’s Your Queue! And, Your Cue!

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CAT Photo by Cal

Image by alexis22578 via Flickr

I was in fourth grade. We had a class play titled something like, “The Cat who Cried over Spilled Milk.” The scene: a house with lots of animals including a cat, an owl, a turtle (played by me), and a few others. The owners were away and the cat spilled milk, and cried. I don’t remember much beyond that. I had one line. I had all the lines around me memorized. The boy (who I had a fourth grade crush on) played the owl, and he said my line. I was devastated. That was my line. He missed his queue, and instead of playing as a team, I restated my line because it was mine.

Queues (cues) are an interesting thing in our society. We take cues, stand in queues, and query queues. We use queues to create order, manage order, and extract order. We use queues to help make sense of this chaotic world. We use cues to prompt our role in this chaotic world.

As an adult, who often relies on other people, I have realized that I would rather those with whom I frequent take their own queues. Take a group of moms, post event. Let’s say a group got together for a potluck, during the summer. After the meal is consumed, I have noticed that the women, often mostly mothers, hang back and ensure things are tidied, straightened, and put away. These women understand the queues and they execute the tasks without fussing. These women assess and do. They might do it with jokes. They might do it with calm. It might be spirited. However the method, the kitchen gets cleaned. The dishes are put away. The food is separated into containers to take home or stored for later use. The tables and counters are wiped down. The floor is swept. Any messy spills are removed. And, within seemingly moments the kitchen is transformed form a place that held ruckus, eventful conversation, to a place of order where another spirited meal can be created.

When it’s mothers, the queues are often practiced, daily, cleaning up after children and spouses. Perhaps this repetition, this practice, this understanding makes the queue easier to understand. Suddenly, in this familiar situation, it’s not a lone woman cleaning up her own kitchen nagging her husband to help. She’s with a band of more women and a team is formed. The tasks are understood, and leaders of execution pick up what must be done. One woman takes dish washing duty while another rinses and dries. Another still might put away. Another will sweep, while someone wipes down the counters after the food is put away by yet another. A team enforcing the adage, many hands make light work.

It was during one of these moments that I flashed back to that 4th grade night where I grumpily restated my line. I could have said his. I knew his line. I knew what the owl had to say. The performance, if anyone had noticed, would have flowed better, looked better, and everyone would have been maybe in a better mood. What I know about myself now is that I often care less about the credit (although I do like being credited for a job well done) and more about getting the thing done together. It doesn’t matter who takes dish duty or sweeping; it matters that it gets done.

Now, I would like to take and offer a cue from my experience. When someone says your line, don’t fuss, and help them with theirs. Together, we are better together. Together, we can get things done.

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Culture of Food

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Sandwich Bread

Image by alexis22578 via Flickr

Watch a movie or a play. There isn’t a single movie out there that doesn’t incorporate either food or drink or both. At some point, during some part of the movie, at least one character will partake in the breaking of bread or drinking of the cup.

We are centered around food.

I’m not the only one obsessed with it. We all are. We come from clear, defined cultures where we ate and modified what was available to us. We now have this processed food culture where Totino’s Pizza Rolls are hip and without substance and its clashing with a back to normal food front.

A co-worker recently mentioned how being a vegetarian [5 years ago] was easier than it is now. Then, you just ate vegetarian meals because all meat was processed like The Jungle. But, now the waters are muddied with grassfed, organic, pastured choices.

We are obsessed with food.

Greek yogurt, gyros, hummos kabobs. Falafels, tabouli, eating with certain hands. Pitas, pasties, burritos: portable food for the working man. Seven course meals paired with elegant wines and decadent deserts. Strawberries and chocolate mixed with champagne. Truffels soaked in wine and smothered over chicken.

We are enamored with food.

It nourishes us. We create religions around it. We know it gives us energy, go, life. And, then when we can’t find any other reasons for our ill-health, we blame food. We base studies on it, create law around it, destroy law around it.

We don’t always know what to do with food.

Centered, obsessed, enamored, and confused. We know we need it to survive, and we have desires to make it more palatable while trying to balance delectable treats that sometimes run into our shared beliefs. We have cultures of food, even when that culture is missing a true culture.

I’m beginning to wonder, as inspired by Mr. Pollan while reading Omnivore’s Dilemma, if part of our biggest problems with food is that we simply don’t have a solid, shared food culture. When considering these ideas,  like to compare my two (or three) families.

The Anniversary Dinner (Roast, Brussell Sprout...

Image by alexis22578 via Flickr

Until I was 8 years old, I spent my life living in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan mostly surrounded by my maternal relatives. This environment is my baseline, my norm. My maternal grandfather was born to Polish immigrants, since my maternal grandmother came from a family with French, Scottish, and Native American heritage. I do not know where my grandmother learned to cook, but cook she does. Memories growing up include many loaves of baked bread, fresh cookies, and homemade pies. All jam was preserved by my grandmother or a team of aunts. Milk came from the cow in the barn that my uncle gathered that morning. A vegetable garden, as large as my backyard, was flourishing every summer. Once, I even recall being taught to churn butter, in a real wooden butter churn. It was hard work! Having my Cuisinart do it is a much easier option. Another time, I swear they were grinding hamburger into hamburger on the table.

All meals were together: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Every meal was preceded by grace, and just saying “Grace” didn’t suffice. Usually it was the before meal prayer. Mostly, we squeezed people around the table, but big holiday meals required the “kid” table. Some of the “normal foods” we ate included beats, potatoes, lots of beef, cabbage rolls, sauerkraut, liver and onions. Breakfasts were often sausage and eggs or pancakes or waffles. I remember having to stir the peanut butter after pulling it out of the cupboard for lunches.

My (step) grandparents from downstate, I often think of as my prim and proper grandparents. My grandma Arlene was very elegant, and she was the first person who served me herb roasted red potatoes. We didn’t dine with this set of grandparents like my maternal grandparents. They had a pool, so often we’d find ourselves grilling hot dogs and eating summer picnic foods when visiting. Although the difference isn’t incredibly stark, it outlines this food confusion in our society.

Now that I am married, and I am creating our own food culture, I see it even more. My husband came from a mother who claims she cannot cook. She mostly microwaves canned things, and the few times I’ve cooked for her she’s been surprised I was able to whip something up even from her cupboards. My own mother also claimed she couldn’t cook. These normal homemade meals of my memory came from my grandmother, not my mother. Hamburger Helper and canned tuna were our real norms growing up.

Leeks, lettuce, potatoes - oh my!

I know I am blessed with curiosity that allowed me to hear and see my two keys that unlocked the door of cooking mystery, for me. Cooking is temperature and watching a fresh mushroom be cooked, in my then tiny kitchen, into something that looked like a canned mushroom. Finally, my childhood memories were linked with my present, and for the last 10+ years I’ve learned and built upon that.

I live a life centered around with food. I think about meals for my family, trying to make sure I feed myself at work, and when I create something at home I often plate and garnish like I’m in my own personal restaurant where I am the head chef. I am trying to take the nutrition knowledge I have and make sure balanced meals for my family. Usually, we eat around a table with a meal preceded by giving thanks.

But, we don’t have many strong dos and don’ts, and we don’t have a strong collective acceptance of what to eat. Here, in Portland, especially, we have many diverse cultures of food trying to find themselves, and any potluck will showcase this phenomena to the extreme. Our lack of food culture makes us confused foodies. And, I sometimes wonder if it stems from that thinking that cooking is too hard.

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