Don't Go Breaking My Heart

The month of June is such a tease. June is like that guy you’re just starting to date. You’re quite certain he likes you and finds you remarkably interesting, and in turn he begins to show you his charm, his warmth, his true colors. You might have a really good day with him, and you can’t help but let your expectations escalate. You think, “Wow, this guy might be something special. I’m so excited to see what lies ahead for us!” But then, perhaps on the very next day (or even as early as the next hour), it seems he is pulling away and turns cold. Naturally, you begin to question whether he’s merely playing you. Just when you decide you should write him off as a flirt and nothing more, he shows up again, shining his rays of light and presenting you with beautiful flowers. I don’t care what girls may say, they always like getting flowers. Especially peonies.

It’s probably bad form to do this on my blog, but I’m much too non-confrontational to do it in person. Please bear with me while I get this off my chest. I’m a little nervous.

June, I feel like you’re messing with me. I like you, but you’re all over the place - you’re hot one minute, you’re cold the next. I'm always wondering which version of you I might get on the phone tonight. (Thank you, Taylor Swift, for that line.) I’m being such a girl right now, overanalyzing the things you do and constantly asking myself whether I’m wearing the appropriate clothing. I know it’s early on (this is only our 11th day together), but why is it that you’ll be sunny and warm towards me, but then suddenly you turn cloudy and chilly? Are you afraid of commitment? I understand the internal struggle you must feel – half of you is in spring and the other half in summer. But it’s cruel to show the summer side of you prematurely and then take it away (not to mention make me put my sweater on and then take it off again 20 times a day). I realize that I can’t ask a lot from you, but why can’t I just get the best of you? I don’t mean to make you jealous, but you should probably know that there are others I have my eye on – namely July, August, and September. I see such potential in you, but your moodiness makes me wonder if I should simple forget you and look forward to a brighter (and warmer) future.

Whew! I feel better. That was good catharsis.

I caught some of June’s coyness today at the Hollywood Farmers Market. Seeing and smelling all the late spring flowers, herbs, strawberries, greens, sweet carrots, etc., etc., etc., made me want it to be summer – like real summer (no flirting, no games) - so bad. I can’t wait for the varieties of tomatoes, raspberries and blackberries, green beans, and so much more. Such as popsicles. And ice cream. Lots of ice cream.

At the market this morning, I picked up luscious rainbow chard, radishes, yellow zucchini, and a bunch of Walla Walla spring salad onions. As I perused Aurora, Oregon’s very own Big B Farms’ display, I spotted something I hadn’t seen before: an odd-looking variety of leek, the actual name of which is completely lost on me at the moment. (Was it leek bulbs?) Here’s a visual instead.



Of course I was intrigued by this specimen, but I wanted more information, so I decided to ask Farmer Big B himself (do realize that I have no idea if this guy is a farmer – let alone the farmer - but he worked behind the table so I figured he must know something). As I inquired, he grabbed three from a bunch, handed them to me, told me to treat and prepare them like asparagus, and report back. We exchanged some nice leek banter, and I walked away with free produce.

June may be fickle and unreliable with its weather, but at least I know I will always enjoy a day at the farmers market….that is, as long as it’s not raining.

Go Ahead, Make My Day

I like to think that I am a fairly humble person, but even so, there are a few accomplishments in my life that I have no qualms in bragging about. As I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, any success in the kitchen would fall under this category. Another would be that after driving for 13 years, I’ve never been pulled over by a police officer. Some of you may challenge this by reminding me that I once got pulled over and cited by a cop while riding my bike in college. (For those of you who don’t know this story, just ask. It’s a good one.) To avoid any confusion, I will clarify by stating that I’ve never been pulled over by a police officer while driving a car. I now deeply regret to inform you all that after last Friday evening, I can no longer say that.

Preparing for a weekend trip to the vibrant and bustling city of Kennewick, WA for a birthday celebration, I made a quick stop at Fred Meyer to pick up a few items. As I pulled out of the parking lot and onto NE Glisan to make my way to the freeway, I looked down for a brief (ever so brief!) moment to turn up the volume on my phone and to place it in my middle console. Bringing my focus back to the road then (with hands at ten and two!), I glanced at my rear view mirror. I’m usually pretty quick on the uptake, but there was a good five to ten second delay before I realized that the flashing red and blue lights coming from the motorcycle directly behind me was 1) a cop and 2) that the cop was flashing his lights at ME. Other than an excited utterance or two in the form of an expletive, I remained cool, calm, and collected as I veered right onto the nearest side street, wondering what I could have possibly done wrong. My relaxed demeanor proved to be very short-lived indeed.

Even though at that moment I had never experienced the act of getting pulled over by a cop on the road before, I still figured I knew the drill. After all, I’d seen it a million times before on TV and movies. So why I decided to turn off my car and open my car door rather than roll down the window is anyone’s guess. As the cop approached my car and asked if my driver side window was broken, I stammered as if under interrogation and guilty of some heinous crime, and explained that the window wasn’t broken and I wasn’t sure why I had done that. That’s when I took the time to actually look up at this man in uniform to see what he might ask next. I believe I reacted then in a manner that any girl of similar like and kind might: “Whoa, this cop is kinda…hot.” Bringing myself back to reality, I followed his next instructions and handed him my driver’s license.

As I sat there when he studied it (and likely wondered why I look like a 300-pound terrorist in my picture), my mind began to retain all that material I thought I had forgotten from criminal procedure in law school, e.g. reasonable suspicion, the plain view doctrine, and what constitutes probable cause to search the trunk. Of course it’s not like I was under the influence or possessed illegal substances or had any open containers in the car, but as soon as I started to look around, I began to sweat a little bit. There was the bottle of root beer in the cup holder with the uncanny resemblance to a bottle of beer, and the four bottles of sparkling wine in the backseat, and the bottle of Bacardi rum next to them. The only innocent item in sight appeared to be my box of Good ‘n Plenty. [Insert dumb donut joke here.]

Just as I was about to blurt out, “Officer, this is not as bad as it looks!” he asked for my registration and proof of insurance. Reaching for the glove compartment, I realized how jittery I had become. First I couldn’t find the current insurance information and then I couldn’t locate the current registration, and as papers were spilling out in every which way and I was muttering to myself about how I need to be more organized, I came to terms with the fact that I was a disaster.

Finally I handed the correct documents to Officer Hotness and that’s when I realized I seriously needed to get a grip if I wanted to avoid getting a ticket. The internal pep talk commenced: Allison, stop being a befuddled fool and get it together! You need to get your head in the game. Take a deep breath and channel the inner actress in you. Waterworks, please remain on standby. Batting your eyelashes and turning on the charm should prove to be a less difficult task when your subject is this easy on the eyes.

The cop then began to explain that he had pulled me over because he noticed that I had looked down at something and it appeared that I was texting. (“Officer, I really wasn’t,” I asserted in my sweetest tone possible.) As he droned on about the dangers in texting while driving and the new law now in place and the expense of those tickets, I realized that this might just be a lecture and nothing more. As soon as he said, “I’m actually on my way home now, but…” I knew then that I was home free. No ticket, even without having to use tear or flirting tactics? Victory for me! As he walked back to his bike, I reflected on the biggest surprise of all: I couldn’t believe he made not one comment about my apparent alcohol problem.

So, maybe I can no longer say that I’ve never been pulled over by a cop, BUT I can still brag that I’ve never been pulled over by a cop and gotten a ticket. Don’t think for one second though that I didn’t take anything away from this little experience. Next time, I will be sure to 1) roll down my window; 2) have current registration and proof of insurance readily available; 3) keep all alcoholic beverages in the trunk (just in case); and 4) take a chill pill. Lesson learned, Officer Hotness, lesson learned.