Bum Failure

No, I am not referring to gluteus maximus muscles giving out (although with each birthday I grow less surprised over what gives out. But I digress...)

I am referring to my general inability to do nothing in a vacuum of structure. I tend not to do well when unemployed. But, folks, I am coming into my own. Okay, okay, I admit I have many appointments and activities, I am a gym junkie, list-maker, and overachieving underachiever. But I am relaxing into the not-knowing a bit, practicing zen juggling in a material world. I do have to eat. And I like having a roof over my head. Obviously, I can't just give up. I cast my line out, but since I can't make the fish bite (wait a minute...what happened to the juggling metaphor?) I am enjoying myself, meeting friends for lunch, writing, napping, singing, allowing myself to be frivolous (obviously, since I'm blogging again).

Snowshoeing!

Map of Snoqualmie Pass, WA US


We tried a new thing on Saturday--snowshoeing! T, A, C, and I bought waterproof pants from Valu Village (accent on second syllable), rented snowshoes from REI, and set out with a class from the Renton Parks Dept. We drove past Snoqualmie Pass to Kachess Lake, about an hour east of Seattle. It was an hour going out, but longer coming back in the accumulated snow!

The parking lot was slick as a salesman. We slipped around, bared ass to cold toilet seat before donning our gear, going from land lubbers to abominable snowmen. It came kind of natural, though, trudging through the snow on new feet (except it was easy to step on your own shoes). After a lesson in climbing uphill, we set out like ducklings on first solo journeys. I found my assertiveness helped much more than caution; I kicked the balls of my feet into the hollows, engaging the metal cleats on the shoes, then pulled myself up with poles and arms. Going downhill was counter-intuitive, crouching forward like Groucho Marx, putting poles in the snow ahead (like putting out a cigar?). Lean back like you would walking down the very steep James St in downtown Seattle and the cleats would disengage and you would slide down the hill. Much of the snow was packed and therefore loud to walk on. Walking in the woods was a little quieter, since the snow stayed in the shadows it hadn't melted and re-frozen.

Excruciating pain in my fingers after lunch!! So cold I thought I would take the glove off and the fingers would stay in the glove! Warming them up on my body, under my shirt, helped a bit but not enough. Finally my blood was pumping enough to pump the blood even to the tips of my fingers. My hair was crunchy and my arms surprisingly sore. The toe warmers really worked, though! My toes stayed really warm. I paid $1.80 for two packets of iron, carbon, and water--like magic, man. Stopping to gaze around us (after we were warmed up) was very peaceful, quiet, with snow falling all around, and on our faces.

It snowed the entire time we were out there. Our guide guessed we covered about 4.5 miles. I-90 was covered in snow as we headed back to town. I couldn't stay awake in the van...zzz....

See Flickr for more photos.

"The author" at Kachess Lake, posing on request

Olympic Peninsula Retreat

My Olympic Peninsula retreat was lovely--the motel was sweet, simple--
just what I wanted. There was a cafe run by the family and some farm
animals in the back.



Locals stopped in to get their coffee and chat with the proprietors about the holiday, going into town ('PA' one called it; I've never heard Port Angeles referred to that way before), and how they were still clearing trees and chopping wood from the big storm. Apparently, the wind even knocked over a dumpster into the lake! They watched it float for awhile before it sank.

Unfortunately, I don't have pictures of the hot springs because the camera was charging. It was late afternoon and getting a bit dark, too. The hike to the hot springs was 2.5 miles and took about an hour going up the mountain. I had some vertigo on the climb, whether from elevation, exertion, anxiety, I don't know. I was scanning the rock faces for cougar faces (just-in-cases), and wondering what advice Ogden Nash would give on meeting a mountain lion (die tryin?). At one point I thought I heard a jingle and whipped my head around--did I think it would be wearing a big collar that said "Coug"? In defense of my cougar-paranoia, though, the sign at the trailhead on what to do if you meet a cougar said: avoid hiking or jogging alone. And yes, I volunteer at a wildlife center and know that wildlife does not usually attack unless provoked. I also know habitat is decreasing and there have been unprovoked attacks.

The path evidently used to be a road--it was paved, being reclaimed by the mountain. In places there were breaks between trees on the left and I could see the drop to the river below. More vertigo. Then there was a change in the trees with the appearance of a grove of leafless deciduous trees--some kind of birch? Tall, thin, white trunks. They were absolutely still and seemed to eradicate distance and perspective. The rushing of the river below contrasted with the eerie stillness of the birches, which seemed to exist near and far simultaneously. It was like looking at a still photo on television to which sound effects have been added.

I only passed a few people going the other direction. Afraid I would never reach the springs (there was a distinct lack of signs in that part of the Olympic National Forest), I asked a young couple if they've come from the springs.
"How are they?
"They smell terrible," says the boy. I expected that, the smell of sulfur.
"Are they warm?"
"Yeah. There's a group of hippies in the last one," the boy says.
"I can deal with hippies," I say (not bothering to explain I come from hippies).

The springs were a series of small, shallow pools. Most seemed to have water that spilled over the sides (water circulation being a good thing for the health of the water and the people soaking in it), leaving a pale, sulfur trickle across the path. I picked one that was a climb up from the path. It was only waist deep when sitting, with muddy floor and a stream trickling in that was hotter than the pool temperature. Getting in wasn't a problem, but getting out and back into clean, dry clothes proved to be tricky with the muddy slope. I had a plastic bag, but two--one to use as a mat--probably would have helped. I had a flashlight, though, and this came in very handy when heading down the mountain (and across a stream) in the gathering dark. I caught up to the hippies, who seemed to be unconcerned about night falling. I had a nice chat with one of them as we walked along in the dark. I didn't learn his name and just thought of him as "The Hippie". When I got back to my motel I was about to shower when I realized I could take a bath and not have to clean the tub. So I took a bath both nights I stayed there. I went to dinner in Port Angeles, came back to my motel room and plinked on the ukulele for awhile before I fell asleep.

Although I didn't spend much time in the springs, it was special to be soaking out there in the middle of the wilderness, surrounded by trees and fog. I would have liked it if the pool was deeper, though. I am curious to try other natural (undeveloped) hot springs. I will let you know when I do.

Other people's pictures of Olympic Hot Springs:
National Park site
http://www.idahohotsprings.com/destinations/olympic/index.htm
http://www.nwhotsprings.net/olympic.htm

Retreat

I'm planning a two-day getaway to a natural hot springs in Western Washington. More on this later.

November 6, 2007 National Strike

In Harpers, Garret Keizer suggests a national strike to *do* something to reclaim our country for its people, to show our government that we will not just go on with business as usual while a President claims more and more power for himself and acts against the Constitution, hurting us and not making us safer.

In a talk at Kane Hall in Seattle, Naomi Wolf suggested this strike be a sit-down, with music and banners, but not a march (which could be instigated into becoming violent).

I know very well how hard it is to overcome apathy and the sense of futility, but if we lose the sense that we can affect change then we give up our democracy and become victims. I am the first to admit that I am guilty of this. Keizer writes: "Of all the various depredations of the Bush regime, none has been so thorough as its plundering of hope."

This strike suggestion has been picked up by bloggers and indy-media, but there seems to be no one organizing anything. I am planning on writing my representatives to let them know I am striking and I am planning on voting.


What others are saying about the Nov 6 National Strike:
http://justmyideas.blogspot.com/2007/09/general-strike-november-6-2007-stop-war.html

http://whystrike.blogspot.com/2007/09/keizer-and-striking-on-blogs.html

http://www.dailykos.com/story/2007/9/23/141513/171

Green Party of Canada

http://youthinkwhat.com/we-think-its-time-for-a-general-strike.html



article by Jim Hightower

Famous Travel Photographer?

No.

But two of my photos of are now part of online travel guides:

Prague http://www.schmap.com/prague/sights_malstrana/. Click on Golden Lane; there are about 20 photos that automatically scroll.

Budapest http://www.schmap.com/budapest/sights_districtii/. Click on Matthias Church- Ecclesiastical Art Collection.

Where Should I Go Next?

A says Australia. She wants to live vicariously through me. I understand; I do the same. I was thinking maybe Hawaii. Right now I would just like to get out of town. A little trip to the coast would be lovely. But it is only lunch time and I will be happy just to get outside before I have to get back to work.

Turkey Plans to Invade Iraq

I thought he already had...

May Day - International Workers Day

May 1st, International Workers' Day, commemorates the historic struggle of working people throughout the world...
http://flag.blackened.net/daver/anarchism/mayday.html
http://www.forward.com/articles/may-day/
http://www.marxists.org/subject/mayday/index.htm
http://www.acpp.org/sevents/0501.html

Poetry Nights with Eeyore

I realized it took me a couple weeks to adjust to being back home after my trip. It happened in stages, but I'm not sure why it took so long to feel completely adjusted. I struggled with fatigue, malaise, low concentration.

My friend Robin told me today, "It's good to hear you all fired up again. Although I must admit I also enjoyed my poetry nights with Eeyore."

Although you really haven't met Eeyore until you've met my dad, I appreciated the sentiment and was glad to hear he enjoys being with me even when I'm Eeyore (and not just when I'm Roo).

I had an amazing night of poetry, music, and community at Bai Pai, which I wrote about on my poetry blog.

Today's Thought

This is either really simple or really hard and I can't figure out which.

Without the Vigorous Scrubbing of Youth

From the beginning, I liked to eat. Mother’s milk, formula, baby food, blender food, sister’s food, dog food…well, I became more discerning as time went on. But before discernment, everything was fuel for my growing and learning. That is still true, but perhaps I have to sample the rotten, the stale, the not-to-my-taste less frequently now than I did so many years ago. How many years ago, I don’t choose to reveal.

What will I reveal? More than you might want to know. Hell, more than I might want to know. But I don’t choose the events; I merely relate them. Does my perception also shape them? As storyteller, am I also part author/creator, part chef? Yes; I am chef, waiter, and customer, epicure. I want to tantalize, feed, fill, and fortify.
When I was young, able to stand but not able to see over the kitchen counter, I began experimenting in the kitchen. Father made me a stool and Mother placed it in the kitchen. There, on rainy afternoons, I became acquainted with cumin, garlic, and saffron. No, not saffron. That came later in life, I think. There, in the warmth of kitchen and family, I became acquainted with comfort and nutrition, nurturing. I carry that knowledge with me today. Believe me, I do not wish to lead you astray. I do not wish to, but I might. I am only…a chef standing 4 feet, 0 inches at home, where critics are gentle and adventurous.

I went to school, as children do. My parents had taught me that I was smart and capable. School was supposed to sharpen me, but it ground me down. At least, that is how I see it now. But I see that it is lunchtime and my stomach tells me it is time for a little something.

. . .

Please excuse the crumbs and stains. But eating and reading—or eating and writing—is one of the simple pleasures in life. We have control over few things, and that includes stains. So I have stopped trying to stop the encroachment of stains. I still do the laundry and clean the counters, mind you, but without the vigorous scrubbing of youth. I have come to accept imperfection, and I am happier for it. I suggest you do the same.

I live with a dog now. Wolf is my best friend and constant, undemanding companion. I meet other dog-walkers in the city and we stop to chat and sniff the air (and other places we shan’t mention here). I like dogs, and I like people with dogs because I believe they tend to be looser than other people, say those young, urban professionals I see hurrying across the street. Dog people know that stains happen. No one likes them, but you deal with them and move on. No sense crying over spilt milk or dwelling over rotten, up-chucked woodchuck. In fact, it is especially best if you don’t dwell over the latter. Or so I hear from my friends who live in the country. We don’t get many woodchucks in the city. We do get rats and pigeons, though. Some people don’t choose to distinguish between the two, but I do.

The Night ran away with the Moon

In this corner...Ding! I meant to go to bed early, but instead I went 4 rounds with my roommate's Epson printer and lost every round - ding! It wouldn't print without a color cartridge - even though it had a black ink cartridge, and was set to print in black ink. I checked every setting I could think of....9, 10! Epson wins! We finally decided it was a very clever - and very devious - marketing ploy by Epson to require consumers to buy color cartridges.

I went a second night of sleeping without sheets (hooray for being a bachelor.) On the productive end, though, I actually made myself dinner - stew with beans, carrots, potatoes, veggie sausage.

On the bus home I ran into an acquaintance who used to work at a bookstore with monthly poetry readings. She told me about moving to NY and looking for a job in fashion design. She wasn't worried about making it; she's got a good portfolio. I tried not to be the wet blanket on her parade, but I was thinking: ah, the early 20s.

More

I was born in North Carolina, lived an unextraordinary life, much like yours, I imagine. I like to imagine the lives of others, their thoughts, secret hopes and public failures. I suppose you could call me a voyeur, but that is only part of the story. No matter how many fragments a story has, how many roundabouts and detours and dead-ends, somewhere there is a whole. But that whole is different for different people. You participate in the creation of the story, make it unique, unimagined by anyone else. You are important. You matter. No matter how much events, people, and television will seem to add up to you being a cog, a little person, joe schmoe, jane doe. Go home at night and, lying in bed, whisper to yourself that you matter. I only give this advice because I care, because I have been there myself. And I promised I would tell you about myself.

It was a grey afternoon when I was born; mother was napping. It was before Thanksgiving. The house was quiet, no preparations yet in progress. Cypress trees watched over her from the swamp. Brown leaves gathered to muffle sounds, to protect us. I was born and I was loved, like we all hope to be. But there is the way things should be, and the way things are. And it’s not always easy to tell which is which. So I am on guard, watchful for indications that things are not what they seem.

Too Tired to Post

Do I contradict myself again? Alas. Don't want to be too predictable. We all hold inconsistencies, contradictions, and paradoxes within ourselves. There is more to write about my trip, but I have spent my energy doing other things. And my energy doesn't seem to last long, lately. So I leave you with this:

We were born on a November afternoon on a twin bed in North Carolina. Our story really begins, however, hundreds of miles away in a big city—about as different as you can get from the sleepy southern town where we were conceived. But what is a story, if not a journey from one place to another? And what, if not the journey? The end exists, but it is artificial, as we all know. Except for death, and whether that is an ending is still being debated. But I didn’t start telling you this to prosthelytize my point of view…or did I? I will leave that up to you to decide.

There is usually a moment when the course of our journey shifts. Or many such moments, really, but we often don’t recognize them at the time for what they are. Sometimes we do recognize them, feel the gathering force of their power, a giant cartoon snowball picking up everything in its path. I have mentioned some passer-bys, innocent bystanders, walk-ons, stand-ins, wallflowers, backgrounds, bit-parts, accompaniments, appetizers, condiments…we will come back to them. But for now, let’s start with me. No sense in false modesty; I would be lying if I said I didn’t like talking about myself; who doesn’t? Anyone who doesn’t like talking about themselves is hiding something. You can attribute it to whatever you like—being an only child, being the star of the school play, being a lonely person who lives alone, works in what, if not a dead-end job, is at least a detour, roundabout, one-way street or one of those subdivision streets where the houses all look the same. The point is, I will admit to things that many people think, feel, or do, but that they would never admit to. I don’t like lying and I usually don’t see the point. Remember that; it will be important later, when you start to doubt me, start to doubt my version of events.

Insubordinate Kneecap

A coworker once told me what she learned in her presentations class: public speaking is people's #1 fear. Death is #3.

If you are dead, do you need fear public speaking? Do the angels require you to give a weekly update of your activities in heaven to justify your presence there? Does the devil torture you by making you regurgitate in a position other than one of the four home base positions? It must be he didn't like the holy implications of the steeple posititon (fingertips touching, hands at waist level).

When I'm dead, I hope people remember that my shoe color was two shades darker than my hem and that I never showed an insubordinate kneecap in the office.

March Birthdays

Happy birthday, Erika, Jesse, and Hugh!

Nose to the smelling salt mines

I liked my metaphors mixed, not shaken.

I was going to go in search of a poetry fix tonight, but I ended up staying home and adding to my travelogue. My notes I kept in my notebook are a bit sparse, but I added some recollections of Prague online. It is easier for me to update the entries and keep them somewhat chronological than just add things willy-nilly as I think of them.

It was difficult to go back to work today, but I think I feel more well-adjusted now (as well-adjusted as I get, anyway).

It rained today. The pink cherry blossoms were all the more stunning against the grey.

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd:
Petals on a wet, black bough

Ezra Pound (1913)

Jet Drag

Why does going west seem so much harder than going east? I found this to be true when I came home from Ireland, too. I'm usually worn out after these vacations; that probably contributes. I try to drink water and only enough coffee to keep away the caffeine monster. And, although they offer free drinks on international flights, I abstain (which goes against the principal of free stuff). When I get to my destination, I don't sleep until the local time zone says sleep. Tomorrow I go back to work; I hope I remember how to work.

I uploaded more pictures to Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/19255037@N00/sets/72157600005190124/. I am also going back and adding to previous posts. I've added some text to the Budapest entry, and will add more to other entries as time allows. I want to record it before it fades.

The night before I left for home, I dreamt that my cat died. Tamar and Alicia took her to the vet and the doctor told them that this cat had been neglected for a long time (Tamar laughed when I told her this; since I dote on my cat, the idea of her being neglected was funny). I awoke upset and anxious. When I called Tamar from Porland, almost the first thing I asked was, "how's Bird?". "She's fine; she's napping with Alicia."

But, in the area of animal news, there was a pet food recall on brands (that include the ones I feed my cat). Cats and dogs have died and they linked it to the pet food. For those of you with pets, find the FDA press release and links to lists of affected products: http://www.fda.gov/bbs/topics/NEWS/2007/NEW01590.html. And sleep better ; )

Seattle/home

It is good to be home. I arrived at Sea-Tac around 4:45; Tamar picked me up. I made 3 phone calls, showered, ordered Thai food, visited Alicia at work, ate, and crashed at 9 pm. Now it is Saturday and I have had kava/kave/kaffee/coffee and breakfast and I am ready to go back to bed! But I won't, yet. I have errands to do and a new time zone to adjust to. But I will definitely nap before the party (St. Paddy's day, a friend of Tamar's) tonight.

David, thanks again for meeting me in Prague and Vienna. It was really great to see you again...