fear of flying

I'm flying out tonight.

I used to love flying. The destination, the journey, the heavy hand of takeoff when you're finally freed of gravity, the pure freedom of travelling.

I don't know what's changed, but now I dread it. I've worried all week about being on the plane. I think of the crowds, the weight of luggage burdened by holiday gifts. Ice, wind, weather.

Not only that, but the time spent in airports and on planes. Standing in long lines, being submitted to pointless and invasive searches in order to make everyone more docile yet irritable, sitting packed in those tiny seats, and hours and hours of waiting.

I used to like the time-- free, wide open time to read.

Hopefully reading and knitting will get me through, and I won't have any liquids or gels accidently snuck into my carry-on bag. Hopefully they'll let me take the knitting this time. I haven't tried in a while.

Not too long ago, in order to work on my Halloween costume I hid sewing supplies in my carry-on bag in a box of tampons. They didn't bother to look for my needles and scissors. Unfortunately my knitting kit wouldn't all fit in such a box.

solstice

Today is the solstice, the height of darkness. I love this day because from now on, the sun will slow in the sky and night will recede. This far north it makes a tremendous difference.

I've been dwelling recently upon what makes me so busy, how I spend my time. I'm not sure why I always have so much to do. So many people? Obligations? Range of interests? A friend of mine in particular tells me that I put in too many appearances and never concentrate on anything. Most of the time I'm just grateful when people like me. There are so many things I want to do, so much that catches my interest, and it's a common trait in my family to set your own nose to the grind.

My grind just isn't my work.

snowshoeing

Yesterday morning we met up in the Sandy city hall parking lot to go snowshoeing. It was Bob, his wife Sandy, Erica, and me, and of course I showed up late. We took Bob's car up to the White River snow park, where we meant to start our trail.

Unfortunately, the White River snow park is no more, after Highway 35 was obliterated by the river about a month and a half ago. Although the road has been repaired, the snow park itself is mounds of rock, mud, gravel, and some serious construction machinery. We drove a little ways back and parked in what Bob called the boyscouts' parking lot, where Erica, Bob, and I geared up and started off. Sandy took the car up to Timberline Lodge, our destination, for some more casual snowshoeing and photography.

We started out by crossing a red, slightly sulphurous stream, jumping across the little canyon it had created. I had never leapt across a snow canyon or running water with snowshoes on, and although it seemed a bit scary at first, it actually felt easier because the big shoes give an extended reach.

We went up a hill, came to a very different rushing stream, and followed it a ways down to find a crossing. This time we walked over a fallen tree deep under about four feet of snow, then scrambled up the steep embankment on the other side. After a little while we came to another stream crossing... the red, sulphurous stream. And we could see the parking lot, our start point. We had gone in a circle.

We set off again straight towards the White River snow park, walked through its industrial-seeming wasteland, and picked up the White River trail. There was a particularly steep ridge climb where I wasn't sure I was going to make it, and had to try very hard to not look down. After gaining the ridge, we followed it up and up to its peak where it was less than ten feet wide. Carved, impossible snow canyons on one side, and steep twisted trees and rocks on the other. It was an amazingly beautiful, unforgiving place. The whole time we could hear or see helicopters overhead, searching for three lost climbers.

We finally sighted Timberline Lodge, but had to go a ways up and around to avoid two deep bowls. We probably couldn't have made another steep climb like the first ridge, let alone two.

We met Sandy at the car, then ended with a drink at the bar in the lodge. Sunset turned Mt Hood a shade of pink more Miami Beach than Oregon, reminding me that next weekend I'll be in Florida for the holidays.

See my snowshoeing photos.

rain and ladders

This morning before 8am, as I was making our lunches, Erik insisted I climb the ladder he had put up against the side of the house. It was not quite light yet, and raining heavily. He had already been up to see the rush of water flowing down the decorative roof gusset and into our recently painted original wood siding, and wanted me to see it as well.

I was wearing a skirt and six year old boots with not-quite-attached soles. Because of our tiny side yard, the ladder was propped aat a very steep angle, and my first step up pulled the top of the ladder off the house.

Not a fun way to start the day.

When I got to the top, I could see water cascading down the underside of the gusset, onto the area of the siding that's blistering with water-filled bubbles.

When our contractor was over on Tuesday evening, we pressed a few and they'd squirt out an impressive amount of water, like draining a taut blister. I was reminded of running a marathon-- my feet afterwards.

The good news is that we seem to have discovered the cause of our bubbling siding. The bad news is that it will be raining for the next five months, so even after the gusset is caulked, the siding still needs to dry out.

the sun'll come out

I found out Monday that my contract will end early, at the end of December. Two more weeks of sitting in front of a computer in a modern glass building on the edge of a man-made lake in a Portland suburb.

My manager, Tom, came to tell me, saying that he had known for two weeks. The entire time I've been here I've heard about the budget shortage, but I've never seen real evidence of it; well, now I have.

The story goes that some department made a grave budget error, discovered it recently, and the burden has been pushed down. I don't understand if the group that made the error is part of the our department, or perhaps a department above the one I'm in. What I do know is that my smaller team is terminating its ETWs, which is some crazy acronym for contractors. As far as I know, that's only Chris-- a clown from Texas-- and me.

I have to say I wasn't particularly surprised. The whole gig just seemed to good-- the people too nice, the environment too beautiful, the work too straightforward-- to last long for me. I've had the song "I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here" from the 1982 movie version of Annie stuck in my head for the past three months. Like Little Orphan Annie, I'm out of place in Daddy Warbuck's mansion. Luckily I'll return to the streets instead of Miss Hannigan's orphanage, but there's a chance that the millionaire will take me back. His secretary, Grace, seems to have taken a liking to me even though I'm only a scrappy little orphan.

weekend

Really I just wanted to write something before the weekend, during which I usually do not touch a computer. I can't understand how people who are at the computer all day at work are also on the computer all day at home, evenings and weekends.

I'm helping my brother move this weekend. He's coming back to Portland from Eugene, and will live in the house he bought a year or so ago. He worked out a deal with his company that after working down in Eugene on the Springfield hospital project for a year, he'll be able to work from downtown Portland in order to resume his life here. He lived in a tiny, crappy studio apartment in Eugene the entire time. I can't wait to be able to hang out with him again. And with his being downtown, the phrase "happy hour" dances about in my head.

busy tonight

busy tonightI use many techniques to try to stay organized and fit in all of the things I want to do. A Slingshot planner for the year, pocketmod for the week, Google calendar... So I was pretty excited when my friend Josh asked if I wanted to write weekly for the blog attached to his events website, Busy Tonight. It's another way for me to gather my thoughts and settle on which events merit my precious time for the upcoming weekend.

The blog is Busy Today, and my posts are the Portland-centric ones.

run for it

I organize a Wednesday night women's running group. It was started by Sara Sitter when she worked at Foot Traffic, a local running store, three or four years ago. It has passed through several hands and now been in my charge for a little more than a year.

In that time, group attendance has drastically declined. Two main reasons are that one previous organizer (from whom I inherited the group) had a baby, and the original organizer started working a job with late Wednesday night hours. I also weathered the final end of a long-dying friendship, during which lines were drawn and sides taken. I do have one or two friends who bridge the gap, with whom I run sometimes, who tell stories and mention the other group, not realizing that we are at odds.

Really, that I am at odds, since I'm the odd one out.

So for yesterday's run, I was very excited that five people responded that they would be running with me. Usually it's just me and one other person, although recently there have been two attendees.

By yesterday morning, two people had emailed me that they couldn't make it. Two other people emailed asking if there would be anyone else showing up, that if not they'd just run on their own. Since there were still three people attending, including the skeptics, I assured them that there were.

Driving to our meeting spot, two more called to tell me they couldn't make it. One had forgotten her running clothes, and one had a late, impromptu meeting.

Traffic was dense, and I made arrived four minutes late at Duniway Track, located next to the YMCA in southwest Portland. I walked around the track to warm up, waiting for one person.

I completed a speed workout, the simplest one I know. It felt good to be outside, working, in the cold black air. Exercising, putting my body through its paces, expending energy through the sheer force of my will.

It was good to have a night alone.

Much later, Erik and I went to the see And You Will Know Us By The Trail of The Dead play at the Crystal Ballroom. It wasn't very good. They took 50 minutes to set up, they do not have very good voices live, and the crowd was more into Blood Brothers, one of their opening bands. I truly do not enjoy time when Blood Brothers' music plays, which did not positively enhance my mood.

At any rate, we didn't go to bed til after 2am, which automatically qualifies as a good night!

costa rica

I haven't been on a vacation in just about a year, and it's time to start planning. Seems like I go every 14 months, so the time of year keeps getting pushed back. February 2007 I will spend a week or two in Costa Rica. Erik and I meant to go last year for our vacation, but by the time we got down to making our plans it was equally expensive to go to Costa Rica, Peru, and New Zealand. We chose New Zealand, since it is farthest away, hence more bang for the buck.

This trip will be with Erik's parents, and we'll be visiting an old family friend who works in Costa Rica as a coffee buyer.

I'm excited about that, with my long love of coffee and its related effects and products. But recently I've severely cut back. I never thought this word would emerge from my lips or typing fingers, but I've been drinking half-caff. One sixteen ounce cup of coffee, from home, made with half caffeinated and half decaffeinated beans. No more caffeine the entire day.

So on the rare occassion now that I do have caffeine, I'm euphoric. Manic. Happy, bouncing, awake. I had completely forgotten that caffeine could have such effects.

It's awesome. So that's what I'm expecting for my entire trip to Costa Rica.

gross out sunday

While running errands Sunday afternoon I got to see, in person, an occurrance I often witness via my rearview mirror in the car.

Erik and I pushed a full shopping cart from Trader Joes into the busy parking lot. I saw an old man and woman bending down to look at my bumper. My first thought was that they had bumped or scratched my car. No big deal. I was rear-ended recently, and the crumpled license plate, black marks, and dents don't really bothered me.

The man walked around to unlock and get into the car parked next to mine. The woman bent closer, then straightened up and exclaimed, "That's gross!"

An enormous smile grew on my face. They were looking at my favorite bumper sticker.

As they slowly, creakily got into their car and did the weird old people thing where it takes them forever to get ready to drive, Erik and I loaded the car and took off. I could feel them staring at us in horror, while the toothiest grin shone from my face.

vancouver day one

Erik's coworker Gerry was originally to be our guide, but he bagged out the night before. We never really got out of the lax mindspace to organize anything, so it's no surprise that we started out late: almost 11am.

Traffic wasn't bad until about halfway to Seattle, in the middle of nowhere. Erik phoned around to see if anyone could find out if an accident was causing the slowdown. Just when he got his mom on the phone, traffic loosened up and we took off.

I took the wheel around Olympia. Getting over the border was quick and easy. I actually felt some panic nearing the line, as though it would be a difficult thing to drive over, or I wouldn't understand road signs on the other side, or some untold foreign difficulty would thwart me.

I don't drive much when I travel. Erik has much more experience with winter driving, and gets carsick reading in the car. I, on the other hand, am easily distracted by cool places to stop, not very aggressive, and can navigate the hell out of a map. It's a good partnership.

Anyhow, it's an odd event to drive into another country, for the insular US of A.

I half expected everything to be different on the other side, half expected nothing to be. It was a bit darker. Street and traffic signs were smaller and looked older. Different font, perhaps. Reading metric measurements was a bit odd.

Then we hit insane traffic, still a ways outside Vancouver. Stopped. For an hour. It took 1 1/2 hours to slog through five lanes merging into one through a short tunnel, for no apparent reason. The drive through the city, downtown and our hotel wasn't bad at all.

We parked in a huge garage, called a "parkade" in Canadian, and checked into the Lamplighter. After choosing a room and resting a bit, we decided to trek out to a vegan-friendly pizza place. It was a bit far away, and we had no maps (since Gerry was going to be our guide), so the sweet, fumbley guy at the front desk called Rebellious Tomato Organic Gourmet Pizza for us to get directions. I ended up teaching him how to use Google Maps.

Erik drove, we both ate tasty curry-sauced pizza, then went back to our hotel to hit the hay. But as Erik turned the key to open the door to our room, I realized that the music-- coming from the nightclub attached to the hotel, two floors below-- was actually good. We sat in the room for a moment before deciding to go down to the bar. We had a couple of beers, watched the rest of In Flight Safety's set, and sat through a bit of the next band. The best part was people watching. Such an odd place, in the most mundane details. We went upstairs to bed around 1am, and I slept great on the saggy bed with the ear plugs that came with the room.

comedy of errors

The subject describes last night, the big "going out for my birthday." I've told the story two or three times and it didn't go over well. Basically I tried to do stuff and was thwarted a few times over, each time.

And so it goes. Perhaps this is why I laugh so much. Or, as the one astute observation an old boss made of me, I laugh when I'm nervous or unsure, to defuse tension.

At any rate, I laugh alot, although that's not what I intended to write about.

today

It's my birthday. This year it feels like the year I turned 19. I climbed out of my roommate Mollie's window and drank wine from the bottle on the roof of our rented rundown colonial. It felt like the day was marked by being the opposite of an important day. It was the turning away of importance.

I loved being 18, on the cusp of some thing giant, alive, electric. Being 19 was away from all of that. When I was 18 I traveled across the country on a newspaper ad whim, and returned alone on the Greyhound bus. Everyone exclaimed "18! Just 18!" or "18! So precocious!" Suddenly I was not a one of those things.

Last night I couldn't get to sleep. I read. I pet the cats. I saw the clock shine 12:05. My birthday.

I didn't want to do anything today-- not vehemently nothing, just that nothing sounded good, nothing sparked me. I don't want to leave the house, or make a production. But Erik inspired me, and we're going to the new crepe place. And just as things often work out in the end, most people can't make it, and it will be low key and casual.

On a side note, I love the shortened nicknames for "casual" and "usual." But how do you write out "cas" and "us" in the best way to be understood? "Casz?" "Ush?" Ugh.

flurries

The big thing around here has been snow. Most cities and populated areas in the Pacific Northwest are at low elevation and very temperate from the moderating effect of the ocean, so we rarely get snow. Up in the mountains and at higher elevations, there's plenty, so you can see it if you want.

It was very cold yesterday, with the high temperature barely above freezing. Today is about the same. Normally we only get a handful of hard frosts here in Portland, but it rains most days in the winter.

I still don't quite feel like writing about my Vancouver trip, but that story also involves snow, and more of it than this little bit:

I saw a shining white sliver of outside through our living room curtains, and my whole body flooded with the excitement of waking up to check for a school snow day. There was no snow, though. Only sun reflecting off shiny wet ground, possibly ice.

On the way to work I drive through a tunnel and then up and over the west hills. Often it's like a portal to another land, because the weather will be completely different on top of the hill or on the other side. Today snow crept up the hillside, crouched on top.

The parking lot at work had a dusting of snow, but not a smooth blanket. More like confetti, little round balls of snow sprinkled evenly. Walking to my building, flurries fell in odd pieces, some big, some small, some meandering slowly and taking their time like feathers floating, some headed straight down on a mission to emulate rain. It was enchanting, a shame to duck inside.

foreignsgiving

Left the country for the long Thanksgiving weekend. I have to say, it's my preferred method for dealing with holidays.

It's a bit of a farce, though. Erik and I drove up to Vancouver BC. We've got my car, all of our electronic devices, and we can still use our cell phones. At the same time, Canada is definitely not the 52nd state (Puerto Rico is 51 to my mind) we joke about. More on the differences and our adventures later.

tofurkery

People are invariably surprised by this, but I love Thanksgiving. A holiday based on cooking and eating? The only thing that could make it better would be costumes.

This year Erik and I are driving up to Vancouver BC during the long holiday weekend, so we'll miss all the feasts. That's why I was very excited when John invited us over last night for a pre-Thanksgiving tofurkey feast. I guess that should be Tofurkey(tm).

Besides tofurkey, there was gravy, fresh veggie salad, quinoa and tempeh salad, a risotto corn dish, a rice dish with accompanying collard greens, and I brought mashed potatoes. Yum! They also had glogg, which was incredibly tasty, like warm, spiced cherry wine. Love those Swedes.

This, however, is not where our Thanksgiving ends. I'm picking up my own Tofurkey and dinner rolls from our favorite bread bakery tonight after work. We'll probably devour it next weekend.

I'm pretty excited about Vancouver. Erik's coworker who has spent time there and was supposed to go with us bailed, so now the trip has got a more adventurous feel. And I printed out a list of 101 vegetarian restaurants, cos now I know I can drag Erik around to them. My main hope is to walk around alot and see neighborhoods. Hopefully Vancouver is nearly as wonderful and quirky as sweet Portland.

witching vest hour

Erik drove up to Seattle straight from work, so the house is cold and quiet. I'm alone at home in the witching hour, and the possibilities are palpable since tomorrow is the one day of the week I don't have to wake up early. I've already gone for a few walks in the dark. The fog is seeping in under the streetlights and it's cold and dense enough that you can feel it thicken the air, in your lungs. It looks like the seaside, a tidal mist.

I'm listening to music and working on the Overengineered Bag.

Wednesday night it was raining needles sideways, but I went for a (shortened) run right after work, around campus. I was already soaked through when a car splashed a vertical wave all the way from the part in my hair to the bottom of my socks. Couldn't have picked a better time or situation to get splashed by a car, but sadly no one got to see the hilarity. I had been running in the bike lane (no sidewalk), but I had a blinking light on my back. I think water got in my mouth, because my memory of it is tinged with the feeling of getting pulled under by a wave at the beach when you're little.

Afterwards, even at the later time, traffic home was bad. Erik had gone to a happy hour with his brother, and then on to game night at a friend's house. He didn't come home til 10pm, when he picked me up for the Hot Chip show at Doug Fir.

It was a pretty good show, with great people watching. I saw two sweater dresses-- one "vintage" from the 80s in cobalt blue with black tiger stripes, and one contemporary in a chunky brown luxury fiber. I also saw some vests, both sweater and suit. Vests are going to be hip this winter. I guess we should all try to embrace that and be excited for the quirky possibilities, rather than fretting about how stupid and unattractive (most) vests are.

I don't have to qualify that last statement, but... extremities get cold first, so why add extra layers to your core? Mmhmm.

On Reading

I used to do this on my "log," the online diary I kept for a few years starting in 2000, before the term "blog" was used. I always meant to write a little app to better organize and store the data. Anyhow, I just can't bother. So here's my new reading blog to keep track of what I'm currently reading, what I've read, what I want to read, where I got it, and what I think of it.

http://bookr.blogspot.com/

bag drama photos

http://www.flickr.com/photos/susank/sets/72157594378277133/

bag drama

I left work 15 minutes early yesterday to get to the surplus store before it closed at 6pm. All I needed was two triangle-shaped rings to sew onto the main body of my new bag, so that the snap hooks on the strap could attach and not slip around-- as they would with tri-glides, square ring loops, or D rings.

Traffic was really moving, even in the rain, so I got there with time to spare. Unfortunately, they had no triangle rings. They had thick, heavy, shiny chrome D rings in the right size for my nylon webbing. They had two thin, lighter, black metal D rings in a size too small. I bought both. I'd decide what to do once I had the bag in front of me.

Driving home I realized that I still had half an hour til the fabric store (probably) closed. It's a bit far, but driving right past my house, I went for it. I got there in time (they had even extended their hours) but of course they didn't have the triangle rings. Instead I got some shallow (ie, more slip-y for the snap hook) black plastic D rings in the right size. At least they'd match in material to the snap hooks and other bag hardware. I also got a pair of side release buckles, which would work if nothing else. They accomplish the same goal but are just bulkier than I wanted for a velvet-and-floral bag.

Yes, I am making a bag with blue velvet exterior and a floral interior. It even has pink. And lace. Don't worry, it's all reclaimed fabric, zippers, elastic, and laces from a skirt, pants, underwear, and some yard sale finds.

Anyhow, the main body of the bag is finished to a usable state, so I'm using it today. There are so many pockets and features that it took me several tries to configure all my stuff in it. I may have slightly over-thought this one (it took nearly a year from first idea til now). But it's so convertible and modular!

three poems about love

three poems about love

Come To Me by Bjork, from Debut

come to me
i'll take care of you
protect you
calm, calm down
you're exhausted
come lay down
you don't have to explain : i understand

you know : that i adore you
you know : that i love you
so don't make me say it
it would burst the bubble
break the charm

jump off
your building is on fire
i'll catch you : i'll catch you
destroy all that is keeping you down
and then i'll nurse you : i'll nurse you

you know : that i adore you
you know : that i love you
so don't make me say it
it would burst the bubble
break the charm


Sonnet 116 by Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

A Valediction Forbidding Mourning by John Donne

As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,

Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."

So let us melt, and make no noise, 5
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ;
Men reckon what it did, and meant ; 10
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove 15
The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss. 20

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so 25
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam, 30
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just, 35
And makes me end where I begun.

night out

In an attempt to revive the weekly Bar Night that acquainted Ted, Erik and I with more of Portland when Ted first moved here, I sent an email to Julie and Erik.

Last night Erik had a going-away thing for a coworker, but Julie and I went to Oaks Bottom Public House, in Sellwood. I showed up first, didn't like the small, packed, in-the-know density of the place, and waited outside. When Julie arrived we waited patiently at the miniscule bar for a drink, while glaring at the woman sitting alone in a booth, playing sudoku with a full glass of wine, a burger and tatertots, and a full plate of extra tatertots. We finally got a seat and ordered our own tatertots, and the evening got markedly better.

I wanted to check out Oaks Bottom Pub for its local liquor-- Indio flavored vodkas in particular. I tried the lime-lemongrass, and New Deal's Hot Monkey. I didn't like either. The tatertots were good, but the pub was not a bar and not really a restaurant, so I'll probably not go back.

yawning in autumn

Depression must be like yawning, when even if you don't see or hear someone else nearby yawn, it makes you yawn too. If you're reading on a train and you only hear the person next to you yawn, at least you know why you are yawning.