I screwed up. I can admit that.

It was over a month ago, and the incident still circles my conscience like a housefly over old garbage.

It was a random light-jacket-September-Tuesday, too early for the crispy leaves of fall and too late for the sun to turn my upper lip into a muggy mustache.

My friend Beth and I meet up every month or two to go on long walks. We trek up and down Northeast Portland’s winding roads and hidden stairs, our conversations often as meandering as our paths. Our talks are both healing and hilarious, and these hours with my friend have become a crucial ingredient in my recipe for 2025 survival.

It takes about 10 minutes to get from my house to Beth’s. It’s a left to a right, another left, then right.

Makeup-less, hair pulled into an exploding chignon, wearing leggings and an old sweatshirt, I steered my red Honda left and then to the back of the queue of cars making the first right turn. This has recently become a no-right-on-red intersection and often has a bit of a wait, but it was only 10:45 am, so the traffic was far from snarled. I was listening to music on the radio and thinking about absolutely nothing. It was a lovely moment of emptiness that I don’t often allow myself to bask in.

Then the light, many cars ahead of me, turned green, and I inched my car forward. I looked to my right and realized that my car had been blocking a car on the side street that wanted to turn left onto the street I was on. In the hatchback’s driver’s seat was a little old lady with tight gray beauty parlor curls and a pale green gramma cardigan. She looked livid.

“Oh,” I said to myself. This is the kind of thing that will fester in my head for days. I hate being an unintentionally inconsiderate driver being viewed as an intentional jackass. I was just spacing out. My stomach lurched with guilt. I mouthed “sorry” to the woman, shaking my head shamefully.

But no apology would suffice when it came to this galled granny. Her eyes grew wide, her shoulders shook, and she raised her arm aggressively to shake her middle finger at me.

“Oh!” I repeated to myself as my car rolled slightly forward.

There was no cooling her rage. The ferociousness of her stare bore into me as she shook that bird with feist and fervor. Her eyes blackened now, her arm desperately searching for new ways to emphasize her finger waving.

I inched forward more, finally clearing her car, and the bitter biddy made her left turn behind me. From my rearview mirror, I saw her roll down her window and thrust the limb out, finger straight up to the sky, arm angled at me as she drove away. I honestly believe that if she could have safely continued to drive, she would have wiggled through her skylight and given me the finger from the roof of her car.

I don’t know that I’ve ever made someone this rageful before. I was so riddled with shame that I didn’t tell Beth about it on our walk. I didn’t tell Francis until much later. I was horrified… and then fascinated. She didn’t fit the standard finger-giver archetype—who I think of as a hormonal teen showing off for friends or a dude in a MAGA hat driving a pickup (NOTE: I’ve never been given the finger while driving before, this is just who I think of as the average finger offender). The lady also didn’t honk at me to let me know I was in her way, which I’m sure both of my ne’er-do-well examples would have.

The more I thought about it, the closer I felt to her. My daily frustrations, disappointments, and fears regularly bring me to the edge of a meltdown. Maybe this was her moment to snap, to let it all go, to rage at me in a way she has never raged before. Maybe her instincts led her to give me the finger rather than kick her cat or yell at her grandchildren. Maybe she finally felt some clarity in her life by letting it all boil into that one long finger of fury.

Or maybe I should pay more attention on the road.

These concepts are not mutually exclusive.

And…she might just be an asshole.

We’re all trying to get by in this crazy world.

When in doubt, I make small food…

Sesame Glazed Chicken Balls

Makes about 28 balls

Ingredients for chicken balls

• 1 pound ground chicken
• 1/2 cup panko
• 3 tablespoons fresh ginger, chopped fine
• 3 garlic cloves, chopped fine
• 1 egg
• 2 teaspoons sesame oil
• 1 1/2 teaspoons soy sauce
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon Sambal Olek
• cooking spray or oil to grease the pan

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees.
2. Mix all of the ingredients together. Cover a sheet pan with parchment and mist the parchment with cooking spray or lightly rub with oil to prevent the balls from sticking.
3. Using a #60 scoop or a tablespoon, roll mixture into balls (makes about 28 balls).
4. Bake balls for 10 minutes. Let cool for 5 minutes before glazing.

Ingredients for Glaze

• 3 tablespoons soy sauce
• 2 teaspoons rice vinegar
• 1 teaspoon sesame oil
• 1 tablespoon agave syrup or honey
• 1 teaspoon cornstarch

1. Pour the soy sauce, rice vinegar, sesame oil, and agave (or honey) into a large fry pan and stir together.
2. Sprinkle the cornstarch over the mixture and heat over a medium temperature, mixing the cornstarch with the wet ingredients so that it doesn’t clump. It will become a shiny glaze quickly.
3. Place the chicken balls in the pan and gently toss them in the sauce to glaze every ball.

Serve with a sprinkle of sesame seeds.

I made this recipe on KATU’s show, Afternoon Live, the other day. Just click on the pic to watch!