Moody Meow

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I haven’t taken a shower yet. I’m still covered in sweat, but my heart is full of joy. Why? D and I rode down to the waterfront and saw Obama’s speech. Okay, honestly, we heard it. There were an estimated 75k people down there, and I wasn’t about to beat people up for a good seat. We found a perch, in the shade, and listened with about a bajillion other people. He’s an amazing speaker.

D and I got some breakfast, and decided that we had to go down to the rally. I honestly don’t know how many people are going to vote for Obama on Tuesday, but if this gathering was any indication, he’s going to do well. After breakfast, D and I shimmied throughout some of the amazing neighborhoods I love to ogle, and when we got to the bridge, we were stopped by a wall of people. All of the white on the bottom of the bridge - those are all people (and bikes and puppies too) walking to the ralley. D and I had to get off the bikes and walk with the crowd. We honestly could have been total dicks about it, but I’m kind of into being polite since I’m not a fast rider yet. Let’s see how much of an ass I become when I get a little speed going.

Anyway, it took us a while to traverse the short distance from where this picture was taken, to the rally itself. Security was tight, and avenues that are usually open to traffic were shut down. I needed to eat. I was hot and sweaty and getting pissed that the normal route to get near Waterfront Park had been shut down. But we progressed.

D and I were going to just park the bikes and get into the line for the main entrance. But after locking the bikes up, and walking a few blocks, we noticed that the line wound all over the place. After a quick discussion of options. one included FINDING the back of the line and just following everyone else in, we decided to use D’s knowledge of the city to our advantage.

We unhooked the bikes, played in a little belligerent traffic, and found a spot on the back end of the park, near some shops. They opened up another enterance to the rally close to where we were sitting, but we decided that sitting in the shade was far more important than actually seeing the tiny spec that would have been Obama on the stage. Besides, the audio traveled perfectly to us. We waited it out, marveled at all the funny shirts, and interesting bike stickers.

The speech gave me chills. He knew his audience, and he spoke to us. Portland is very progressive when it comes to transportation and he held that up as a thing that other cities should strive for. He mentioned how important teachers REALLY are - TWICE. He talked about everything he should have, and more. But he also recognized the sheer size of us - his Portland Obama supporters and thanked us. And I realize that I’m kind of dragging this out a bit, but I have a sunburn. So, my nonsensical rambling will be blamed on heat stroke…or something.

Here are some images from the rally. There are more on my flickr thingy.

I have more to write about, I really do. It was a great weekend, except for the heat. We discovered a new place for food and good conversation, I had too much wine, laughed so hard my face hurt, and discovered new things about who I am and why I do things the way I do. But most of all, I got my fat ass BACK on my bike, and it felt fantastic.

And now I’m going to pass out and sleep for 100 days.

Just felt the need to share that. I have this “thing” for liquids, glasses and reflections.

What does this make you think of ?

You should see the sky as it truly is. In a place where the shadows of the trees truly are darker than the heavens. Do you really understand how bright the night sky should be? How the stars spread like sand across the darkness and how they swim in milky swaths of light… you should see it. But you can’t. We wash it out with our lights and the pressing civilization. But I enjoyed it while I could. The sky can’t be described, nor photographed by my little camera, just know that I got neck cramps from staring skyward, I want to go back just to look at the stars.

We loved Crater Lake, and I will write about it more, but I have to get back to packing. I’m heading out again, for another trip, to Colorado with my sister. She’s been planning to go down to see her friends and family, but can’t really drive down from Tacoma herself, so her friend was going to come with her. At the last minute, the friend flaked, and Alexis was left holding the bag. So, after D and I talked about it, we decided that I would drive down there with her. We leave on Tuesday… so it’s a quick turnaround. I will be back home in about 10 days…

These are just a few shots. I haven’t gotten them all worked out yet, like a bathroom shot or a good image of the living room, but you get an idea. Wanna come over?

In the words of Dead Can Dance:

Severance,
The birds of leaving call to us,
Yet here we stand
Endowed with the fear of flight.
Overland
The winds of change consume the land,
While we remain
In the shadow of summers now past.
When all the leaves
Have fallen and turned to dust,
Will we remain
Entrenched within our ways.
Indifference,
The plague that moves throughout this land
Omen signs
In the shapes of things to come.

Tomorrow’s child is the only child

**** we are leaving in an hour or so. I know I was supposed to meet some of you for breakfast, but the odds and ends called and we had to finish cleaning. I had a long list of goodbyes to say. But Anne put it best last night, it’s not really good bye, just see you later. Later depends upon all of us…. I will do my best.

I’ve shed some tears. Expected, I guess.

I will update the blog on our journey, take lots of pictures, and call or text you crazy folk when I can. There was a thunderstorm this morning and someone said that “Orlando weeps because you go”… I wept a little myself.

Blessed be…

I hate writing long blog posts. For the sake of my readers, I feel like I should break things up catagoreically and not let the personal stuff blend with the policital stuff, and not to let the stuff about the move blend with my fun in the now. I should get over this. I like to mix together my corn, mashed potatoes and stuffing with gravy into a big, soggy, yummy mess. My life is much the same. Except the gravy would be mushroom and the potatoes have to be those little red ones. I love red potatoes.

Friday: We took Frankie to Taste. I like to frequent my regular haunts with new people. Not that Frankie is new. He’s not. He’s been our friend for eons, it seems. But the dinner flowed into wine, and that flowed into heart-melting desserts and more wine. We moved to McCraneys (I think that is the spelling) for more pints. Amazingly, Amanda and Ginny were there. Of all places! The beer flowed faster, and my attention was split between a conversation between the girls and me about personal worth and the future. Occasionally I chimed in with Frankie and D and full-on geek speak. The night ended on a less than stellar note because I am an asshole and I take things personally when they have nothing to do with me. Without getting too far into the mess, I am still carrying a lot of rage about a situation, and no matter how I try, I can’t seem to shake it. I have a journal that needs to be burned, and some other things needed for a cleansing. This ick has to go before I move. I won’t allow it to follow me.

The Sellwood house fell through. She yanked my chain all fucking day, and when I wanted to sign an application, told me that they would go with someone local, but I was allowed to apply anyway. Bite my ass, you hideous wench! I was so excited, too. I hate getting my hopes up only to have them dashed against the rocks. The house search continues. Alexis, the bestest sister the world has ever seen, drove to Portland yesterday to look at two houses. One is in Linton, which is an area north of Forest Park on the west side of the city, and the other one was in Mt. Tabor on the south east side of the city. I will start with the Mt. Tabor house first. It’s an expensive blank slate. No trees (yes, this is one of the amenities I need, so STFU), and although the interior was kind of nice, the kitchen was teensy. No porch, nice woodwork, nice paint, a persinickety fireplace. So, after Lex sent me the pictures, D and I decided to say no. It’s a nice house, no doubt, but I don’t feel the juju. It takes some magic for me to want a house. Now, as for the other place. It’s “interesting” — if interesting is the set for some horror movie. Observe below and let me know what you think.

So, is this the front or the back? Alexis wasn’t sure, but this is what you see when you drive up. Is the forest trying to eat the place?

As far as we can understand, this is the front of the house, but you have to go around the house to see it. Nice porch. The forest is still trying to eat the house.

Original woodwork, which can be charming and scary in the same note. I think I like this room… I think.

Look! Sunroom. Alexis took better shots of this, but we think this is on the 2nd floor, but the plants are still trying to eat the house. I’ll explain the 2nd vs 1st story in a minute.

Wanna bath. Yes, this is a blue claw foot bathtub. The toilet is blue as well. It’s dangerous when people get a hold of a bucket of paint. Is this charming or weird?

Want some dinner. The kitchen is actually a decent size, but the dark tiles and overly white paint bug me. Again I’m not sure if this is cute or not.

We are still deciding about this place. Once the guy cuts back the fucking forest, it has panoramic views of Mt. Hood, the river, and the forests in the park. There’s a bird sanctuary, and Alexis said she saw LOTS of birdhouses. But the yard isn’t fenced, and that’s kind of problematic. Pip’s used to a fenced yard. And then there is the missing part of the house. The ad said the house is 1800 square feet, but Alexis could only reach one part of the house. There are no internal stairs to get to the other floors, but the foliage was so overgrown that Alexis couldn’t find the stairs to get to the other floor. She did go into the basement (brave woman that she is) and it had a washer and dryer hookup. So, there’s a whole other part of the house that she couldn’t get to. It’s mysterious, scary and worth a look. The other concern is the distance from Portland proper. It is still under consideration.

D and I went to his father’s birthday party. It’s going to be the last time we see that part of the family. D’s not close to them, and I don’t feel all warm and fuzzy about them, except for two of his half sisters. The  event was awkard, but it was good to get the goodbyes over with. It’s not that they are bad people, because they are nice and genuine and caring. But we don’t have anything in common with them and it’s just strained. I’ve made arrangements with some of the brothers and his Mom to have dinner @ Taste on the 16th. I think it will be good to get the rednecks into a nice restaraunt. Plus - they have good beef. Everybody likes beef! Right?

I have more to say, but I think I need coffee. And lunch. So…more later. Happy Monday.

It’s going to take me a bit to sit down and tell you about that last day — about how I cried, and tried not to get overwhelmed by the first of my many goodbyes, about how I took a few moments in the parking lot to reflect on the sucesses and failures at Rollins, about how I realized that it felt like a break up or the end of an emotional relationship, or about the Jagermeister and my foolish excess…but all of that comes later.

This tree hovers over the Orlando Hall courtyard, and before we go, I will go back to take more pictures. The flowers are beautiful, and when they fall, they hit the ground and tables with a soft thunk. They are heavier than they look. And when they fall in your water or coffee…well… it tastes like shit.

Find something small to see - a window ledge, a flower, the way the light falls through the screen onto the textures of the table in the living room. Look, closely. What do you feel?

That pink in the window is the brightness of my home, and that texture, the thread of my life. I can feel this house move beneath my feet. It creaks in the hall by the bathroom, two steps away from the tile. The front door needs a little encouragement to stay closed. It pretends, and you think that your cats are restrained by wood and glass. But then the whisper, a creak, and you see the tail of the little gray one, and you know all is lost. I know how frightening it is under my porch. Boogey men, roaches, nightmares, a rodent or two and memories linger there. What did the maker of this house think when those first bones were fleshed out by wall and window?  And who will live here when we depart? Will they love the sound of the rain on the chimney top? Will they find the great honking of the resistant windows amusing? Will they love every texture and moment as I do?

We have worked extensively on the reproductive organs of the flower. Every time we talk about ovaries and stamens and pistels, I think of Reproduction from Grease 2.

Reproduction, reproduction!
Put your pollen tube to work.
Reproduction, reproduction!
Make my stamen go berserk.
Reproduction!
I don’t think they even know what a pistil is!
I got your pistil right here…
Where does the pollen go?

It makes me giggle. Yes, I like musicals. Bite me!

I found the commencement info for graduation in May. I am so excited, and still, so sad. Many wheels turn simultaneously. Moving, quitting my job, graduation, beginning grad school, finding a new house in Portland, finding a job. It feels overwhelming. But sustainable, with careful balancing and calm focus. But, this is me - Erica - queen of “I’ve got stuff to do” - the one who gets very stressed about being stressed and as such, gets nothing done except stressing. Ahh…the Catch 22 of my life. I’m trying to get better - lists… lists are my friend.

Speaking of graduation and whatnot. I plan on having some people to the casa the night of the 12th. I don’t know what time and I really don’t have solid plans, but if you are out there and you have the time, you are more than welcome. This is the last gathering for us. We won’t have time for another, as far as I can tell. Before I head to Seton Hill, I have to write something (I’m still trying to find out exactly “what” but …..well…. maybe they will actually send me the information), so there is my time in June. Then I head up there for almost a week. Then we move. Shit. That’s a lot to do

I think I bombed the lab practical last night. Sometimes, I just hate Botany.

In other news, I know you’ve heard about that looney that shot up the campus in Virginia. Everyone knows that the country mourns for those kids and the professors, and I do as well. What I find a touch disturbing is how the media ran away with it, to such a degree, that it eclipsed all the other news in the country. I don’t argue the gravity of that story, but there are other things going on in the world that warrant that same kind of attention (and even more so in many cases). The media frenzies, the sharks in bloody water, freaks me out. I watch the news constantly. I switch channels. I get frustrated. I want to throw the remote, because there are things going on in this country that need to be talked about. Two things come to mind: the Alberto Gonzales testimony on capital hill and the ruling on partial birth abortions.

FYI kiddies - I’m a very strong believer in the right to choose. In 1999 I had a late term abortion (2nd trimester). Why? For a lot of reasons, most especially because of my drug use and inability to bring a child into the world for a second time. Yes, kiddies, I had this done after I gave birth to my birthdaughter. Everyone thinks that my choice to give my birthdaughter up for adoption was noble and “right.” At sixteen, I didn’t know noble from the Nobel Peace Prize. It’s something I did, like moving with the current of a river. It didn’t feel wrong to carry her to term, to relinquish my rights, to give her the family she really deserved. That process devastated me. When I got pregnant the 2nd time, I couldn’t do it. The father left me to deal with the situation on my own. And I did. Alone. My friends helped as much as they could, but I didn’t tell a lot of people about it. I’d retreated into a group of amazing women who supported me and kept me sane. And the day after the abortion, I went to the birthday party of a girl I was interested in, and fell asleep in a good friend’s arms. It’s a shame she and I never dated, but that’s another story. All these years later, and I believe that I made the right choice — and I had that choice. It’s a slippery slope, this ruling. I ask you - would a child, subjected to hard drugs, smoking and alcohol in the womb have been a viable child? You could argue that my poor life choices were to blame for what ever issues the child may have had if I had carried it to term. I can’t take care of myself sometimes, even today. I know I’d never have been able to take care of a drug-addled child. So I aborted it - and I never looked back. I’m not governeed by Christian religious convictions. I don’t think that god will send me to hell for what I’ve done. So, that arguement is lost on me. Without religous morality, what arguement is there? Isn’t this whole issue perverted by religion? The whole thing makes my head spin.

Sorry… I didn’t mean to go off on a rant there. I’m just tired of the “right to life” movement. What about my right to life? Oh… fuck it.

In other news - I am wearing my favorite shirt (picture to follow) and I am drinking coffee. And my couch is the happiest place on earth.

And on a lighter note — my gift to you — pictures!

Voodoo takes a bad picture. He always moves… but he’s cute.

I bought my plane tickets for Seton Hill, and applied for Financial Aid. I even rented a car. . It cost more for the car than the flight. How fucked up is that? It’s more expensive to fart around PA for five days than to fly up there? That’s just obscene. I get back home on June 24th. We move the following weekend. It’s getting close, kids!

The Saturday Botany lab left me exhausted. We traipsed through a preserve in Volusia county, and I feel like a jerk because I forgot the name. It was hot — damn hot, and I ran out of water half way through. But, this trip, the last for our class, really solidified my love for cypress trees. You should have heard them, the music in their leaves, as the beginning of a front rolled in. When I see their knees, I look up, and often trip myself, because I want to see the pale bark and cheery, bushy branches Dr. Grey lectured about a well (it monitors water beneath the wetland), and the dried up wetland we stood in. I walked off a ways, ignored the talking, and just listened. I haven’t heard that kind of music since the hurricanes. I tried to keep up my enthusiasm, to continue taking notes, and pictures — but I just got tired. I made it home before 2 after taking a wrong turn into Longwood. I have no sense of direction. This is not a good sign for my PA trip. We saw a baby gopher tortoise! Lauren, a classmate, almost stepped on the little thing. Dr. Grey actually smiled when he picked it up, and giggled when we talked about their history and habitat. I think it made his day.

I feel pretty lost in Botany. Just when I think I have a handle on the terminology, I blank out and forget too much. We have a lab practical on Wednesday that is scaring the shit out of me. There will be twenty stations with a specimen and we will have to identify it - he uses multiple choice, matching, true/false and fill-in-the-blank. I’m trying not to be freaked out, but it’s got my stomach churning.

D and I walked from the Cady Way Trail near his work down a strip of land that paralleled the canal. I needed flowers for my Botany project. A man, walking a bicycle down a thin path between a wooded area and a fence, disappeared in the green shrubbery. I noticed bottles and bits of clothing, refuse from the unseen. I felt like I was intruding, like I shouldn’t gaze into the grass and shrubs in search for a good bit of color. But I needed flowers. I found beautiful ones, delicate cup-shaped, pink and white. I hid my shame in my bag, next to the clippers and my notebook. Their garden’s fruit and color - I stole it for school. Yes, they are “trespassing” on public land, and their shelters are unseemly, but it seemed romantic that they lived in a green world, full of flowers and leaves and wind, and that they could call it home, perhaps without much disturbance. I don’t know how they coped with that rain on Sunday. It was a washout. Maybe their homes didn’t dry as fast, but I didn’t want to take too many flowers from them. They deserved at least that much — also, I wanted to take a picture of one of the “homes” because I thought it was beautiful, but I didn’t. It would have been intrusive. I hope their trees love them, I really do.

I hate it when people can’t pick up their damn feet when they walk. Thought I would share.

I finished my Humanities Portfolio, I turn it in today.

There’s more to say, but I leave you with a tree, one that sang to me on Saturday.

They have the right idea. Don’t you think?

Woman arguing on cellphone ends up in a pond

Somehow, I can’t feel sorry for this lady.