I’m a grown-ass woman!

I can pump my own gas!

Gas pump jockeys

Gas pump jockeys.

Oregon bugs me for many reasons.  First and foremost because it’s illegal to pump your own gas here.  An attendant must pump the gas for you.

Usually I stop to fill up my tank just before I hit the California-Oregon border.  Then I hope I can hang on, parcel out the driving, until I head home and get back through the pass and over the border so I can again fill up my own damn tank.

The last time I was here I was so spacey I stopped at a gas station, not even thinking about the no-pump-your-own-gas law.  I hopped out of my car and grabbed the pump to fill up my tank.  The attendant yelled at me and came a-runnin’.  Rather than get back in my car, wait for him to fill the tank and then wait for him to take my credit card and bring me that little signy plastic tray I simply said – “Never mind,” and took off on maybe an eighth of a tank, hoping there would be no delays.  I figured once I got through the two passes it was pretty much downhill the rest of the way and I could coast if necessary.

I guess I get it, Oregon wants to ensure employment for gas pump jockeys.  However, I’ve been pumping my own gas and cleaning my own windshield my entire driving life.  I don’t need some guy in a little suit knocking on my driver’s side window.

In other news… My father is still in a holding position, however he looks fantastic.  He’s stuck in limbo until his heartbeat is regular.  He’s suffering from Atrial Fibrillation, which sucks.  He’ll be converted (we hope) as soon as his coumadin level is therapeutic and blah blah blah.

Last night I made him lamb chops marinated in olive oil, cumin, chili and smoked paprika, roasted potatoes with crispy shallots, a salad of mixed greens and tomatoes (he has to be consistent with the green vegetable intake) and fresh sourdough bread – I stopped at one of our local bakeries on my way out of town to pick up a couple of loaves of his favorite bread.

Tonight I plan to make a pasta Bolognese with guanciale and grass fed beef from my daughter’s cows – Bolognese does feature meat and my dad is craving meat.  Probably I’ll steam some asparagus and slice up another loaf of bread.



Tomorrow – beef short-ribs in a soy-maple-citrus marinade with smashed potatoes and brussel sprouts.

Monday – croque Madam.  I brought him some thin-sliced sweet ham, guyere cheese and farm fresh eggs.

It’s kind of fun.  My dad is usually running around so much he has no time to sit still.  Fortunately, despite his inability to exercise, he continues to be super skinny so I’m not worried about him over-eating.

I also have an opportunity to go through all my old letters and writings – my mom saved everything, except my collectible comic books – which she tossed out – but we won’t go there.

So… talk soon!  Julia