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ROGUES: TALES FROM SOUTHERN OREGON Sibling rivalry spices lunch, but affection sweetens it Installment one of a new serial exploring life in the Valley Comment By Lyda Woods For the Daily Tidings DailyTidings.com By Lyda Woods For the Daily Tidings Posted Sep. 23, 2014 at 2:00 AM Updated Oct 28, 2014 at 2:17 PM By Lyda Woods For the Daily Tidings Posted Sep. 23, 2014 at 2:00 AM Updated Oct 28, 2014 at 2:17 PM » RELATED CONTENT • Episode 23: Family secret solves exploding house mystery • Episode 21: An interview with a zombie • Episode 20: Dawn follows her nose • Episode 18: Need activists? Go to a boomers' anti-establishment meeting... • Part 17: Dawn answers the call of the Rogue Sirens • Part 16: Howling good time at a wolf moon conclave • Part 15: Into the belly of the Black Sheep • Rogues story series: Dawn channels her inner porcupine • Laying out the dots, looking for connections • Talking turkey: What's in a nickname? • Squeezing psyches in the aisles at Shop’n Kart • ROGUES: Tales from the Valley: Sherry and Dawn prepare for a psychodrama weekend... • Escape from the mummy like a Marx brothers' comedy • Another empty house blown up, and something smells funny • Search for Sherry leads through Talent • Babycakes comes along on a trip to the hypnotist • Barely bearing a brother's poetry • 'Tears and laughter' • Experience This • Improv group performs at winery • Improvisational-comedy workouts » Social News Editor’s note: The Daily Tidings today begins running a weekly fiction serial entitled “Rogues: Tales from Southern Oregon” by Lyda Woods exploring life in the Rogue Valley, including, in Woods’ words, “the variety of micro-cultures we live among, from Rodney Carrington-loving rodeo boys, to dread-locked yoginis, to budding SOFAT filmmakers, to the underground meth industry, to the ever-growing retirement community, to struggling RCC students ... from Britt Festivals to Oregon Shakespeare, to Ashland Contemporary Theater, to the Craterian, to AIFF, to the endless local clubs ... to Plaza fire-dancers and ... most of all, the everyday people who live here and their experiences.” The narrative relates the tale of two sisters, Sherry and Dawn, one Medford-bred, the other Ashland-loving, and their adventures across the Rogue Valley as they come together to solve a mystery. Along the way they develop an appreciation for each other despite their differences. She writes, says Woods, in the tradition of Armistead Maupin’s “Tales of City,” which appeared for years in the San Francisco Chronicle starting in 1976. I wasn’t sure how and when to tell him that his poetry was bad. “I mean, really terrible, teenage werewolf bad, John Carpenter and heads on sticks bad,” I groaned. My sister and I were going over Josh's contribution to our father’s upcoming funeral. “So what if it’s bad? He’s our brother.” Sherry said, flashing her glittery pointed nails. My eyes hurt to look at her. “Taste is a matter of opinion.” She adjusted her tank top over her medically enhanced boobage. How could she do these things to herself? “It's just so bad,” I said. “It’s not like your taste is so spectacular.” Sherry looked down her fake baked nose at me. I was sure she had a malignant melanoma somewhere. “And yours is what?” I asked. “At least I know how to groom myself.” She wrinkled her nose at me. “You’re Medford, I’m Ashland, that’s all.” She said nothing, her face narrowing to a point. “You’re ammonium armpits and mall manicures. I’m hairy legs and overly aromatic. Yes! I know, but I won’t be getting Alzheimer’s.” “You are just soooo good. Aren’t you? So green. So politically-correct. And so judgmental. I bet you’ve been sitting here judging me this whole time." Guilt singed my gut like a hot branding iron that left the smoking word, “hypocrite,” all along my intestine. I’d been judging her and Josh; my critical thoughts punching through any pretense of "let's get along" like a sharp needle on a sewing machine. “Yes, I’m sorry.” And I was. Sherry sighed and leaned back in her chair. We were at the Sunrise Café on Main Street in Medford, finishing up our lunch. “I’ll get the check. I know you’re broke.” She opened her shiny gold wallet and fished out a credit card. “Thanks. I’ll be doing great soon. My Better Barbies are starting to sell.” I smiled nervously. Sherry leaned over the table and said, sotto voce, “Do you remember when that friend of yours, what’s-her-name, that pom pom girl from Napa Junior High called your Barbie a slut?” “That was a million years ago, Sherry. But how could I forget?” It should be funny now, but for some reason, I still felt ashamed. Oh, the girl power of peer pressure even some 30 years later. “What was the deal there anyway?“ Sherry asked. “It was nothing. My Barbie believed in premarital sex and hers didn’t.” “What?” “Oh, come on. Didn’t your Barbies ever talk about sex? Look at their over-sexed bodies. I mean, wasn't that part of their purpose? To explore adult relationships in a safe way, removed from reality? Isn’t that why Mom got GI Joes instead of Kens, because at least they had a bump?” “Wow. You’ve really thought about this. I don’t find it useful to analyze that stuff.” Sherry stood. “Thanks for lunch. And I’m fine with Josh’s poem, really.” I needed to work on my humility. “Look, I’ve got a client meeting at a home for sale in Talent in 30 minutes. I’ve gotta go.” Sherry signed the bill and we got up to leave. Next week: Dawn's Ashland yoga class ends with a bang, not a whimper. By Lyda Woods For the Daily Tidings DailyTidings.com By Lyda Woods For the Daily Tidings Posted Sep. 23, 2014 at 2:00 AM Updated Oct 28, 2014 at 2:17 PM » Comment or view comments Reader Reaction » STAY INFORMED Email NewsLetter Sign Up Today Sign up for our newsletter and have the top headlines from your community delivered right to your inbox. Southern Oregon Directory Featured Businesses Loading... 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