Helpless and Waiting

"I just can't help thinking...what if she never walks again? She loves to dance. What if she can't ever dance again?" Maggie teared up. My hollow reassurances tinned against her fears. I simply can't imagine and absolutely will not believe that Aunt Patti won't pull through this with all limbs in working order. She's a tough lady. One fall won't keep her down. But, I admit, it's tough to maintain that position when standing by her bedside. Her head is framed by the brace screwed into her skull. She claims it's very comfortable. She laughs that she sure did do a number on herself this time. She praises the notion of drinking water from a sponge fed to her by any available hand. She only asks that someone scratch her nose from time to time.

Maggie says that sometimes she's overwhelmed by the situation, that she can feel herself near to fainting and that it's all she can do to climb back to the surface of her brain without falling. I nearly fainted myself. The claustrophobia of the inability to move rips at my nerves, and standing by the bedside, I could feel myself curling up inside. sweating. needing to sit down. But, visiting time was over so I could escape to the fresh air of the free.

Times like these beg me to pray and to believe in those prayers. And if I could, my prayer would be this: with each passing day may Aunt Patti regain more of the movement that we all take so for granted, and may she feel the peace of patience in the process.

Karma is real (, baby)

Today I experienced unadulterated glee at the expense of another person's bad fortune. But, I figure this: I have experienced bad fortune as a result of his gleeful will for the last several years, so what goes around comes around. Karma is real! You know, that's what that sign along southbound I-71 should read. Rather than the ghoulish "Hell is Real" slogan, I think it should say "Karma is Real" (and maybe add a comma and a "baby" after it, just for effect). To me, both statements mean exactly the same thing. One just spins a positive flare.

One Blue Sock

I searched for socks today. It's not an uncommon phenomenon.
Anyone who has seen the inside of my drawers (my dresser drawers, that is), knows that the smooth wood exterior neatly conceals garment chaos. My sock drawer is par for this course. Bound matched pairs sit waiting near the surface - whites and browns and blacks, striped and checked and solids, all mixed indiscriminately. The most often used pairs sit up high, smiling at me when I pull the draw ajar. The lesser-used pairs peak out from the underneath, patiently waiting to be taken for a spin. Paired socks are a pleasure to be pleasantly plucked, quickly, without thought or care.

Today, however, being laundry day, I found all of the appropriate pleasant pairs plucked and discarded in the "dirty" isle of my laundry basket. Today, I had to dig a little bit deeper, pushing aside the lesser-used pairs to reveal the lonely single socks crowded and co-mingling at the bottom of the drawer. A white ankle sock, a black pin-striped nylon trouser sock, an expensive gray running sock, a fire-engine red fuzzy slipper sock from grandma, a brown wool sock with a hole in the toe...the list goes on. After much deliberation, I selected two white socks of near-enough match to be mated and suitable for the purpose. With some melancholy-tinged satisfaction I pulled them on. Looking down at the odd arrangement on my feet, I knew that these were socks I could relate to.

Post Happy Hour #23

Today, of course, is Thursday. Therefore, I am obliged to post a buzzed blog (sorry "anonymous", whoever you are). I would love to talk about work. I would love to describe the turmoil and the trauma and the future. BUT I would also like to keep my job as I am now a responsible adult with a mortgage and a kitten. Neither of which I would like to give up in the near future. (Occasionally, I'd like to ditch the kitten for an animal that doesn't turn over every plant and pull the rubber stopper thingy out of the kitchen sink and throw it on the floor every day... every day....but I don't care too much for pet fish. I'm a fish-eater.)

Today, thankfully, was one of those days when I could actually say, "I'm not so bad at this job." I can't explain it, because that would be talking about work...which I'm not allowed to do. But, upon this thinking that "I'm not so bad at this job," I think that I could BETTER at so many other things. So many people live their lives barely scratching the surface of their potential. Barely knowing of even the existence of their potential. I DON'T want to be one of those people. I don't want to live a life unrealized.

I think with some time and some practice and some more ambition, I could be a decent writer. I think, in time, I could be a decent critic. Hell, in time I could be a great engineer. I think, in time, (a decent amount of time), I could be a good mom someday (God willing that the government allows me to adopt or that I have the funds for artifical insemination.)

Some people view life as climbing a ladder towards success. An outward movement. Success is outside of onself. I can't get a handle on that. I wish I could. Instead, I look at it this way: success would be climbing deeper into the honesty of my soul. It sounds ridiculous even in my drunken state, but it's not. Some people are born into a notion of exactly what they should be doing. I didn't luck out in quite that way. But it's coming... it'll be here soon.

Dan, all of a sudden I have an idea for the illustration of the week. If only I could draw...

The Vacation Long Gone - Day 4

We headed back to Seattle in the morning with Portland still fresh in my lungs and the echo of guitars still aching in my ears. Our first stop in Seattle: the Experience Music Project.
With no high expectations, we purused the place. The first few exhibits reminded me of a lower quality Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. By that, I was not impressed.

I did walk away from EMP with a few new pieces of, well, experience:

A. Guitar Pedals are cool. If the pedal was an instrument unto itself, I could play it. I spent an inordinate amount of time working the distortion pedal and the wah-wah pedal and the echo pedal and the...I don't remember the names of any of the other ones. I had no idea of the possibilities!

B. I learned that I cannot drum. I should have known that already...ever since that time I was roped into a new age drumming circle... EMP has an entire exhibit devoted to learning to play musical instruments. You can play guitars and keyboards or even learn how to spin records in a more open area downstairs. Or you can head upstairs and enter a sound-proof room to get a more intimate one-on-one with an instrument. I chose drums. As the lesson progressed I had the bass drum down no problem. And then I could add in the snare okay. But when that drum set asked me to play the cymbal things, well, no way. I crumbled into a heap of rhythmless banging. And it was over.

C. EMP introduced me to Bob Dylan. Their rotating exhibit at the time was entirely focused on Dylan. Up to this point, I had never paid him much mind. I actually once owned his 30th Anniversary Concert, but that was only because I had a thing for Eddie Vedder at the time. (Damn, he sang a powerful "Masters of War." ) Anyway, this exhibit was awesome. It detailed Dylan's life and writings. At various stations, I could listen to each of his albums and watch old interviews. I have to say, I was moved and smitten. This was truly EMP's gift to me.

D. EMP has an ever-changing and informative website. Currently,it has a section devoted to In the Studio with Built to Spill. Check it out, it's worthwhile.

I don't remember what we did for the remainder of Day 4. But, after reading this blog, you're probably happy that I'm drawing a blank.

Thoughts from a Liberal Who Had Hoped Barbara Had Some Sense

Barbara Bush after a tour of the Houston Astrodome where many of the Katrina refugees are residing: "So many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them."

With a mother like that how could W. grow up with any sense of reality?

On Receipt of Fatherly Advice

My dad surprises me sometimes with his insight. In fact, he surprises me on a regular basis. He's a man of complex contrasts. He's a tad bit prejudiced, yet amazingly liberal. Close-minded about many issues, but deceptively compassionate and empathetic about others. Not much of a book reader, but knowledgeable on a million issues. He's a paradox. I often wonder how much of that Mom saw in him before accepting his proposal, having only dated for a few months. I have to say, as much as he aggravates me with his stubbornness, I'm proud and blessed to call him my father. And I hope to have even a fraction of his wisdom someday.

So Spoon Me

Last summer. WAS it last summer? Dan and I took in a run at Winton Woods. (It was last summer. Not this PAST summer (it is september), but LAST summer) After our run we decided that we were both in desperate need of a smoothie (you know, like Smoothie King smoothies). So, I hopped in his truck and we drove off in search of a smoothie place. Tri-County. You would think that there would be a Smoothie King or a Smoothie World in all of Tri-County. You would be wrong. Like me. Like Dan. You would be wrong. So, we ended up at the Border's in Tri-County drinking sugary smoothies from the food bar there. Tasty, but not Exactly what we were going for.

I'm digressing.

So, during that drive to and from and around Tri-County, in Dan's truck was playing this music that I had never heard before. Music that got my feet tapping and my ears wagging (i don't know what that means either). Anyway, I listened and I listened and I listened, wondering "who is this band?" BUT I didn't want to speak too soon. I didn't want to ask and then find out that it was a band I had heard many times and should recognize. Oh no. I bided my time. Finally! Finally. I accepted that I didn't know. I didn't recognize the sound. So I asked. Casually. "Who is this?" Dan turned to me and smiled. "I was wondering when you would ask."

Spoon. That was the answer. Spoon.

I'm not going to describe their sound to you. If you want to know, e-mail Dan. Ask him. He has an uncanny ability to describe music in words and imitate sounds in syllables. Me? Not so good.

All I can say is listen to them. Go see them in concert. They're coming to Louisville soon. It's a good excuse to drive to Kentucky and take the next day off work. Maybe I'll see you there.

Here's Part II to Day 3

We didn't spend much time at Mt. St. Helens. For one, Liz was not too keen on doing much more hiking. Her foot was pretty blistered from the day before and she was still soaking in the realization that she simply doesn't enjoy hiking all that much. Certainly not as much as I do.

The second reason that we didn't spend much time at Mt. St. Helens was this - I had much bigger plans in mind. On the drive in I spotted a sign for Portland, Oregon. Now, to clarify, I'm the kind of person who wants to see EVERYTHING. So, if I'm even remotely close to a point of interest, I can't pass it up. We were 70 miles north of Portland. 70 miles. It would have been a crime to pass up that opportunity. We hopped in the car at Mt. St. Helens and I speedily drove us through the mountains back to our hotel. (As a side note, have you ever driven through the mountains? It can be totally exhilarating...like playing a video game except that you areIN the video game...anyway...)

We got all gussied up and burned rubber down to Portland. Portland, Oregon - I call it The Promised Land. We wanted to check out the city, get a little dinner, and go see a band. That was the plan.

<- This here is a very BAD picture of the city. We were in traffic. I was trying to focus on driving. Liz was directing the camera. But, see the bridges??



This here is another really BAD picture of a fountain in a park along the river. I took this one, but I was driving, so give me a break.



And this here is the last picture I took before getting pulled over by a cop for driving in a bus only lane. I really think the dude pulled me over for taking pictures while I was driving. I'm not sure that there's a law against that actually on the books. But, this picture doesn't do much for my case either way.

I don't have any other pictures of Portland.

We spent most of our time winding through the enormous Powell's Books, where I lost Liz and had to ask the workers in the childrens' book section to page her. So silly, but I would STILL be there looking for her if I hadn't given in to that option. (that's not sounding too bad, by the way)

Then we had dinner at Jake's Famous Crawfish where I had crab cakes the way crab cakes should be made. Huge chunks of crab and shrimp. YUM.

THEN. Then. Well, then, I spotted in Portland's "City Beat" the concert I wanted to see. To think, of all nights, we would find such a, well, great find! Britt Daniel's of Spoon was performing at Dante's with two opending bands and an admission fee of $5. What more could you possibly ask out of the Promised Land??? (background on Spoon to follow in the next blog)

In summary, I'm in love with the city of Portland. Maybe it's just an infatuation. Only time will tell.

Day 3 Requires Two Highlights - Here is Part I

Day 3 of the Seattle trip was an excellent day and in no way involved Seattle.

Liz and I woke early, packed our bags and loaded the car. I hesitated in the parking lot of Paradise, wishing that I could stay, breathing in the perfect mountain air. A utopia of sorts, it certainly is up at Rainier.

But, we had much on our agenda. Next stop - Mt. St. Helens. I've always flirted with a fascination of geology, particularly geology of the natural disaster sort. I mean, look at this picture. The cone growing at the center of Mt. St. Helens grows by 5 feet every day. 5 feet! That's just amazing.


The devastation wrought by the lava flows, the pyroclastic spews, the mudslides of the 1980 erruption stretchs for miles and miles. It can't really be explained in words. You just have to see it for yourself. Mt. Rainier is beautiful in it's perfect postcard way, but Mt. St. Helens possesses a beauty all of its own. She is barren and imposing at first glance. But, if you look more closely, the wild flowers growing up from mud and lava testify to the cycle of life that can't be controlled by man's intention.

Mt. Rainier's Skyline Trail (highlight of day two)

Last year I spent a little time in Rocky Mountain National Park. There I saw beauty beyond belief. The kind of beauty that you can't entirely absorb or understand. The kind of beauty that you hope, if you stare long enough, will seep into your conscious so that you can carry a piece of it home with you.

I left for Mt. Rainier with the attitude that, yes, there'll be some stunning views, but, yes, how could it possibly be more beautiful than what I've already seen.

How naive!
Rainier's beauty was all together a different kind of beauty than anything I had ever seen EVER.
Instead of wandering through forests like RMNP, we winded through prairies of wild flowers, climbed over rock outcroppings, and ascended steeply to avoid glaciers.

We could even spot Mt. St. Helens smoking imposingly in the distance.

The next time I return (and I will return), I'd like to repeat the Skyline Trail and hike some of the trail spurs that we didn't have the energy to explore this time around. Mt. Rainier National Park reminded me of the endless glory of this planet. So much to see and each piece of it as unique as the next.

A Taste of Seattle - The Highlight of Day One

Inspired by this article in the New York Times months ago, I set out on this Seattle vacation to eat me some salmon.

So, for my first meal in Seattle, I was happy to find myself seated in a hard wooden booth in a tiny diner eating a delectable meal of smoked salmon, havarti cheese, and fresh crusty bread.

Yum.

I was too hungry to get a picture of the meal BEFORE I made short work of it.

I HAVE Been Drinking

BUT I feel that I'm on the cusp of an enormous change.

Maybe IT is the alcohol.

it must be

Or possibly it is the change in seasons - that change that can't be escaped

If you live in Ohio

i don't know

It's a strange feeling to know or believe that in a few months life will be exceedling different than I know it to be right at this minute and who is to say or what to do or where to go or who to be or how how how to live in this moment or the next or further down the line without burning the past or fucking the future.

i don't know

it must be

IF you live in OHIO