lost heroics

You know the game where you choose a superpower? Flying is way too easy, and doesn't count because as a power it only exists in conjunction with other powers. No superhero has only the ability to fly, without other powers to gird their arsenal.

I think I'd choose to be able communicate with all other animals, although I'd word it as such so that I could speak any language, human and otherwise. I wouldn't want to be psychic or able to read thoughts, as it would be too invasive and overwhelming.

Then again, a very memorable answer-- to be able to urinate from one's fingertips-- comes to mind and I imagine the many scenarios in which such a power would be much more useful than being able to ask a sparrow which way Superman flew. If you can't come up with any such scenarios yourself, email me. I have a few.

One of my real-life super powers is the ability to walk down stairs quickly. I'm not sure why, but I can descend stairs abnormally fast, not skipping a single one. It doesn't apply to ascending, although the some of my skill could be attributed to my vast experience going up steps. When I was in high school I often took the subway home, and it was a point of pride for me to walk up the entire escalator from the train to the surface. At the time it was the second-longest one in the world. I didn't run down it very often, though, since I rarely used that station as a departure point.

Another odd power of mine is visual memory. My memories stand like single Polaroid pictures, and if I inspect them closer I usually find multiple exposures-- sometimes only a handful, but often enough to make a flipbook with smooth, flowing motion. This power also allows me to tell Erik where he left his keys, or to give precise driving directions to a friend over the phone, or to recall where I put something deep in my sewing room closet two years ago.

This power is extremely fortuitous, but makes up for its benefit when it backfires in two ways. The first is that it does not apply to numbers. I cannot remember numbers. Rather, I remember all of the numbers, but not in their correct order. I mix up phone numbers, birthdays, bank accounts, addresses. Luckily with the latter I can see the building in my head.

The other malfunction is when I cannot find something. My mind conjures a picture of where it usually is or has been in the past, and flips through these photos, repeating in vain. A few weeks ago I lost my drivers license and credit card between the front door of my house and the kitchen, and I will never find them. I keep looking in the same places over and over. The same power which normally makes me a small hero in finding my husband's lost phone has decided in this particular case (and in a few random others) to sabatoge my search efforts. I guess every superhero also needs a tragic flaw.

airport pickup

At the appointed time today, I stood up from my desk chair and walked out the door towards the parking garage. I stopped for a moment to greet coworkers eating lunch. It seemed so normal. How could such tiny, harmless actions add up to this huge, life-changing event? How could something I've done dozens of times be such a final and permanent end to an era, this particular time?

The highways unfurl behind me in the heat, flapping in the wind from the windows being all the way down. The music is a protective bubble of noise inside the car. I keep going, the car keeps going, the whole thing marches on unstoppable. I wonder why my feet don't slam the brakes, why the scene isn't played in reverse.

I switch highways over the river. The past ten years have been so sweet, and I am speeding toward their definitive end point. It's so mundane. There's no point to fighting it. The end is inevitable in all things, and it's a whimper rather than a bang.

van city

We're in Vancouver BC. Drove up to Bellingham last night after work, arriving after midnight to spend the night at Dan's mom's house. This morning we finished the journey up to Vancouver, and after parking at the hotel, Dan, Abby, Aspen, Erik and I took a bus downtown. We walked up Robson to the HK-style eatery Erik and I enjoyed last time: Hun's House of Noodles. Then we walked back up Robson, up to Canada Place along the water to ogle the gargantuan cruise ships, through grody Gastown and cracked-out China town, and all the way down Main Street back to our hotel. That's a looong walk, and I enjoyed it.

Our idea for the evening is to have dinner at the Naam and go to the Asian night market in Richmond, recommended by Erik's coworker Nu.

reading comprehension

My Erik has been admirably posting away every day on his new blog. Reading it gave me little snippets of his life that even I am not normally privy to. He tends to write more about a musician, artist, tv show, or topic in which he is interested, while I end up writing summaries of the day.

I don't want to be a day summaryist. I want to tell stories.

The thing is, I don't have a hobby or interest. I have five thousand kinda-interests and semi-hobbies.

When I was little, before that first epic moment when I touched a computer in 7th grade and sped down the irresistible path to becoming a programmer, I wanted to write. The whole time I went to school for computer stuff, I insistently studied writing and literature in parallel. I couldn't let go of my first dream.

Sometimes when my chosen career path brings disappointment, I think about living the dream. Is it still my dream, really? It's certainly not realistic, but that's no matter. Is it possible? Is it probable? Can I take steps toward that goal?

For now I'm looking at speed reading courses. There are so many books I've meant to read for years now, and the list is teetering, threatening to bury me. Do you have a success story? Should I take a class from the local community college, or just get a book from the library? It doesn't sound possible to learn speed reading from reading non-speedily.
***
Sorry, I keep getting distracted. Today is the Premier Cup event here on the soccer fields at work, so large groups of sporty uniformed teenagers keep drifting right past my window. It's so odd. I guess I haven't seen that many gangly limbs, pizza faces, and terrible shaggy haircuts all in one place in a while. And that's saying something, living in Portland.

the day in nature

Walking from the parking garage to work this morning, I enjoyed watching three small birds gang up on a larger one in midflight. I couldn't tell their species because of how high up they were, but it was fascinating to see the small birds take turns to swoop in and peck the larger one. Although each of them was roughly one-fifth its size, the tactic obviously worked to drive the predator away. Each time they attacked him, he changed direction sharply, flapping out of his preferred glide.

I took my usual afternoon walk, not keeping a sharp eye out for snakes like I usually do. The bark dust trail along the far edge of the lake was strangely devoid of geese, but near the end I heard-- and saw the aftermath of-- a huge splash. It looked almost like a turtle from the corner of my eye, but I was pretty sure that only frogs (or toads) take such flying leaps into the lake, so I waited for a head to appear. A mallard duck flew in for a landing to investigate, which is always fun to see up close. After a few minutes, we were both rewarded with a huge frog (toad?) head floating with its eyes just above the water. Cool.

Yesterday I had acupuncture, went for a 13 mile bike ride, helped Erik make dinner, and then worked in the yard til about 9pm. I marked out sections for Square-Foot-Garden-izing my three raised beds, so tonight I hope to drill holes, twist in eye screws, and run line to delineate the grid. I can't believe how far behind I am in the garden, but I sure do love this time of year in Oregon.

project list

Current projects (listed in no order of estimated completion percentage, or intention to spend time on, or importance to personal well-being, or likelihood of ever being finished):

1. Lucky wrap sweater.
All pieces knit, except that neck band and tie need to be lengthened. Need to sew pieces together. Half of the seams are already sewn, but with a different yarn in a crazy, vintage red that screams orange, as I ran out of yarn. This yarn also seems to be discontinued, now that I'm searching for it. Erik's idea to undo the tie and use that for sewing up and neck band extension will likely prevail, although it's likely not enough yardage.

2. Lichen bonsai.
Bought two kinds of spray acrylic varnish last night. Finding lichen shouldn't be tough, nor finding acorn caps or rocks for perches.

3. Harry Potter re-read.
Currently on book two.

4. T-shirt renovation.
Grey too-girly shirt from Erik's monthly program needs shoulders shortened for the second time, and sides pulled in a bit. Batman shirt done up tentatively, and needs to be completely reworked. Pile of 5,000 cast-off tshirts lays in wait. This includes incredibly awesome pink Havana shirt, which is criminal to have hidden away for so long.

5. House projects.
Bah. Separate list.

6. Stained glass mosaic windows.
Re-found old windows in garage. Need to find a source for glass. Trying to decide if I should strip them first. If I get really into spray varnish, I might use that to seal the old lead paint in its pristine old-paintiness.

7. Fire alarm jewelry box.
Back burner for three years. I have hooks for it and it's 80% painted. Needs cleaning, now.

8. Drawer shelf.
Back burner for three years. Argh.

9. Hippo hardware assemblage.
Got two old door knob surrounds, old deadbolt lock part (moving), mostly-legible glass apartment numbers. I'm sure I have black velvet somewhere around, and I bought spray adhesive last night. Need a board for the spray adhesive, nails (check!), and some kind of frame. Might be able to use the canvas stretcher pieces, painted black. This includes working on cleaning up, sealing, and mounting the piece of glass with a disintegrating smidgen of lotuses painted on.

10. Overengineered bag.
Argh. I never finished the flap (a tote bag and main-bag extender) and the main part is fraying in spots where I wasn't generous enough with seam allowance on the velvet from the skirt. Need repairs to main bag, too.

airport pickup

At the appointed time today, I stood up from my desk chair and walked out the door towards the parking garage. I stopped for a moment to greet coworkers eating lunch. It seemed so normal. How could such tiny, harmless actions add up to this huge, life-changing event? How could something I've done dozens of times be such a final and permanent end to an era, this particular time?

The highways unfurl behind me in the heat, flapping in the wind from the windows being all the way down. The music is a protective bubble of noise inside the car. I keep going, the car keeps going, the whole thing marches on unstoppable. I wonder why my feet don't slam the brakes, why the scene isn't played in reverse.

I switch highways over the river. The past ten years have been so sweet, and I am speeding toward their definitive end point. It's so mundane. There's no point to fighting it. The end is inevitable in all things, and it's a whimper rather than a bang.

post memory

I received a postcard from Eric yesterday, written about memory and self. The central question was that if human memory is only half accurate, is it possible for the self to be made up of its own memories? Wouldn't that be an untrue self?

I love this quandary. I do think that we are our memories. Regardless of their precision, memories are faithful in that they remain true to one's overall vision of how the world works.

Perhaps then self is that vision? But which came first, the vision or the shaped memory? They influence each other, both everchanging.

As Eric points out, this only applies to intellectuals. And as he also points out, f* the rest.

tunnel travel

Sometimes, in disembodied conversation with a friend of like mind, I try to convey a mental photograph and I wish I could just pull the entrance wide and have them climb into my mind to see it for themselves. It's more about the completeness of the experience than the speed and efficiency, although the latter certainly beckons.

Yesterday was glorious. My brother, dad, and I went to Flavour Spot-- a cart in a video store parking lot in north Portland-- for their sausage-maple-waffle concoctions. I heard they had vegan waffles through Portland's vegan grapevine, and I wasn't disappointed.

We headed out to the Columbia River Gorge and hiked up the steep trail to Angels Rest, then drove to Hood River for a quick lunch. I'm still exhausted today. Of course it could be because I went to bed late due to general family dinner-decision ambivalence, and woke up extra early to take my dad to the airport this morning.

high on life

Yesterday I went on a 14 mile bike ride along the Springwater Trail, which clings to the east bank of the Willamette River until it hangs a sharp left, east to the suburb of Gresham. At one point, riding along the river with wild lupins in bloom, wind hitting my face, gentle swaying of tree branches lulling my mind... I panicked. I thought, Oh god, please don't let the rain come again. Please don't let winter happen anymore.

In that moment, I would have gladly signed away my soul for endless spring or summer. But the next moment I thought of the huge moody clouds, their restless movement, and how I still get outside in the winter. Why was I so scared? By the time winter rolls around, I'll be tired of relentless sun and bone-dry air.

I don't know. I don't know why it hit me so hard. But please, don't let it rain again. Don't let the seasons turn this time. Just let the plants quicken their green reach. Let the sun shine on til it's time for bed. Let the wood of bridges warm in the sun unto giving off that distinctive wood smell. Let my skin soak it all in, shoot the sensation straight to my brain.

best laid plans

The rain is fascinating, coming down in steady syncopation like a specially designed bathroom fixture. And I can't concentrate on what's in front of me. Singing the same song, indeed.

Erik and I are meeting after work at the fancy furniture store I went to by myself last weekend, on our perpetual quest for a couch that doesn't incite my sciatica and make me feel several decades older than I am. Then I tell myself that I'll have time for a little run to calm my mind, but it's mostly just a mental bribe. It's more than likely that it will take all of my time to prepare for our "Iron Chef" inspired cocktail competition party. The secret ingredient is chartreuse.

Tomorrow it's the farmers market, taking Julie's mom to the airport, a first birthday party, a free wire crochet class put on by the library that I certainly won't have time for, a vegan cooking DVD release event that I probably also won't have time for, perhaps a smidgen of yard work, and then a nice evening trying out a new restaurant and going to see a movie. I've finally learned to put my foot down (well, semi-down) and said no to another party on Saturday. Normally I'd say yes and try to show up, but it would be the fourth party in three days, and... not sure how to put this into words, but I'd be uncomfortable with the people there. They're nice people, but I don't know them, and there's no reason for me to. They're people I've met over and over again at similar parties, but have no other connection with. One could argue that the first party of the day is a similar situation, but it's one I can handle. Two in one day, I cannot.

Sunday I'll go for my customary long run, maybe go out for breakfast by myself, clean out my car (interior armor-all will make it last another decade for me), maybe make it to a different free craft class put on by the library, and hopefully spend most of the day in the garden planting things I've been meaning to plant for the past few months. MONTHS! Ye gods, as tightly as I schedule things, I have no self-discipline for follow-through.

My eyes suddenly opened the other day to the fact that I still haven't finished my hallway project from months ago. There is only one step left-- painting the edges (not the facing, that's already done) of the trim. It's already taped up, and has been for months. One step from being finished, after all of the tedious, tough tasks I busted my way through! Sometimes the harder I try to contain my scatterbrainedness, the more outrageous the outcome.

Same could be said of the #)($*#$()*@ sweater I'm about to finish. I started over from the beginning on it in autumn, I even blocked all of the pieces recently. But when it came time to sew it together, I was out of yarn and tried a different ball of a similar color. I did half of the seams on the RV trip last weekend, but seen in daylight it's a red sweater with screaming hot '70s era red-orange seams. Ouch. Hopefully I'll get around to ordering an extra ball of the original yarn, and finish the damn thing.

See? I'm still hopeful.

may day

Spent the weekend at Cape Lookout on the coast with Erik and his parents in their R. Julie's out of the hospital, but has to go daily for plasma exchange. Yesterday she had a "permanent" neck catheter put in. When she originally told me about it, I thought she was being melodramatic. What do you mean by "permanent," I asked. How could a catheter be permanent.? Permanent like a tattoo? I guess I expected the answer to be a month or so. Turns out it could be a few years.

The month of May is insanity. Spring fever, I guess. So many birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, parties. It's only day two and I'm already biting my nails and gritting my teeth. Where is my cave?

I went for a walk with Sri today, around campus. The wind picked up like mad, young birch tree branches leaning over into the path and losing their brand new leaves. Then it hailed, hard, which stung with the force of the wind. Ten minutes later, back at my desk, there was not a cloud in the sky. Hurrah! At least the weather is still Scottish and Aprily.