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Nash, Edith / Practice the here and now: selected writings of Edith Nash
(2001)

Nash, Edith
Sour eggs,   pp. 31-32


Page 31

Sour Eggs
 Instead of thinking all the time of What Happened in my life, trying to
piece it together, trying to explain it to myself, trying to find the real
ME, I'm thinking of what will happen in the next 30 minutes. I'll write my
third journal page (this one) and finish in time to hear my chief medical
consultant, Zorba Paster "On Your Health" on Public Radio. And I'll make
breakfast. Of course without going -to the store — 22 below zero outdoors
— but the river is still wet and flowing and shiny. I'm just home from
Chihuahua, Mexico on the longest travel day — Hurry, hurry and wait,
wait all day and overnight at Maggie's house in Chicago when the plane for
Central Wisconsin finally did not fly.
- We lived in Berkeley, California in 1936 for six months in an apartment
on Ridge Road called Shyster's Roost. It was only a block from the other
gate to the Berkeley campus and, although often chilly, was our very first
home. We bought sawdust logs, three for a dollar, for the fireplace. Philleo
and I had been married at home in Oak Park in 1935 and spent most of our
first year of marriage on Kiamath Indian Reservation in Oregon where he was
doing a study of a religious revival among Kiamath and Modoc people for his
Ph.D. thesis at the University of Chicago and I was working only somewhat
on a paper on the present Kiamath community. I was actually learning how
to be married, keep house, make lemon soufflé on a wood stove, walk
through the mud to the railroad station in my riding boots to get the Portland
Oregonian for my husband
— a compulsive newspaper reader most all of his 78 years. We had the
second best house in Chiloquin and the only
one for rent with running water. A little channel ran around the fire part
of the wood stove carrying water. It made just enough hot water to take a
bath in the bathroom after breakfast, and when my mother came to visit after
my father's death she found this most comforting, used to a daily bath.
 Our best friends in Berkeley were Abe Halpern and Mary Fuji — fellow
anthropologists and entirely compatible. Years later when Philleo and I took
our first airplane together to
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