Honey

We set a new record, completing our exodus from Portland this morning before nine o’clock. The drive to Olympia is feeling shorter, or at least not so dreadfully long as it used to be. Time seems to pass with more speed and determination in the morning too, which also helps.

We stopped off at the farmer’s market for a snack and a latte. I saw a few old aquaintances I felt no obligation to interrupt and also someone who looked just like an old best friend’s mom. Does this ever happen to you? It seems to happen to me a lot.

When I’m visiting an old home town, my familiarity-seeking feelers come out and search every public space for old friends. Then I see someone who looks just like someone I knew a long, long time ago but I’m too chicken to ask them if they’re my long lost friend. So I’m left wondering for the rest of the day. I guess I think wondering is better than the risk of being disappointed (and slightly embarassed).

I took the dogs to Watershed Park while Agent got started in the tattoo chair. Miso had a great time jumping in and out of the mud and Farmie pranced around in her jacket, matching the bright green leaves all over the ground.

The great thing about Olympia is that it’s in the middle of the rainforest. Everything here is so totally alive and fresh and green. I feel I can really breathe, deep and full breaths of sweet, cool, autumn air.

I’m going to attempt to post pictures in the correct order, something I haven’t succeeded in doing before from my iPhone. You may not even be able to notice the difference.

Since it is Agent’s birthday eve, I will be posting about her favorite topic, the dogs.

We’ll be sharing a few words about each of our fuzzy animals that we keep as pets.

Miso:
Bratty
Nosey
Playful
Belligerent
Soft
Silky
Puppy face

Farmer:
Gentle
Precious
Cute
Protective
Sleepy
Black
Perfect

The dogs make us smile and fill our hearts with joy and love. We can barely stand a minute without their faces in our view.

Camping is fun because it is so very unpredictable.

All I knew, really, was that I wanted to go camping somewhere around Mt. Hood. I tried doing all kinds of research on the Internet (that usually knows so much, but sometimes knows so shockingly little) and came up with hardly any information. (Okay, there was information, and thanks to Barney, I finally found that information. The truth is that I could not find usefulness in the website’s arcane architecture. I need more than just the name of a campground to get excited about it. I want to see pictures, read campers’ reviews, and order my search results by user score.)

I gathered everything on the list I had excitedly, but neatly written. Everything fit snugly in the back of my pickup. I popped in my freshly burned compilation of Randy Travis country songs to warm my heart. Me and my doggies headed east.

There were two things on the list I had forgotten about as I rushed to get out of Portland. I headed out into the sticks and had traveled a far distance before I realized that I had forgotten those two last things - gas and a map. It crossed my mind to turn back, especially since I had less than a quarter tank of gas left in my truck and absolutely no idea of when I would reach the next town. I chided myself a bit for the mistake and kept driving. I hate turning back.

Luckily I met up with the main road before I ran out of gas. Fifty bucks and a nasty bathroom later, my truck carried me and my cargo up the mountain. We explored a few campgrounds before I found a site that appealed to my intentions. An hour later, my dogs and I were walking down the dirt road to the lake. (This was the very best part of my entire camping adventure.) We eventually found the lake and the dogs went swimming. I threw the stick for them to race for. We were all tired by the time we got back to the site.

That was it. That was the fun part. Well, finishing my book and drinking a soda was pretty good too, but by then the mosquitoes were attacking us relentlessly. (Finished The Time Traveler’s Wife: OMG I loved this book.) After I made myself a little dinner, I decided to build a fire. Me building a fire is like me making a bed. It’s painful, pathetic, and doesn’t work real well without a lot of help. I had thankfully taken Agent’s advice planning for this very situation, and brought our one remaining Duralog from over the winter.

The fire went out after an hour or so and I was ready to go to sleep anyway. I crawled into the tent with the dogs and got under the blanket with all my clothes still in use, including my baseball cap. Miso curled up to my feet and I went to sleep. I didn’t sleep very long, though. The main problem was that I am no longer able to successfully sleep on the surface of the hard earth. I didn’t know this about me; I thought for some reason that I could always make due.

The earth was hard and my body could not adjust appropriately. Also, I was cold and I don’t sleep very well when I’m cold. Then it started to thunder and rain. I’ve never heard thunder like this. It was really, really close and the sound it made was out of a horror movie. I wasn’t very frightened, but it kept waking me up. I checked the time a lot and stared out the screen window, begging for the sun to rise.

As soon as Miso started gacking like she does sometimes in the morning, I jumped off the hard, unyielding floor of the tent and unzipped the door (that is usually my favorite part of camping, the unzipping part). I set a new record for breaking down camp while the rain poured on my head. We jumped in the truck and got the hell out of there.

I listened to Randy all the way home, unloaded the truck, ate some oatmeal and jumped in bed. I slept the entire day away. It was all worth it.

I can barely admit it, but I must. I hold on to a lot of stereotypes that distort my experience in relationship to other people. As you may have been following in the last while through my blog, I am attempting to dissect and disseminate my own “outsider syndrome” (did I just coin a phrase?) and learn all over again how to connect with people in real and meaningful ways.

I went for a walk yesterday. It was blazing hot outside, but I was in desperate need of an adventure. I packed all the water I could carry without putting too much strain on my aching knee, collared up my trusty puppy, and headed out on one of those excursions that the young folks these days call “urban hiking”. I had a few possible destinations in mind, but mainly followed the instincts inherent to the part of myself who is free and innocent and trusting. I headed south.

Miso and I kept an easy pace through the neighborhoods of Northeast Portland. I know I teased her a little by walking through Irving Park, but it wasn’t too bad, seeing as how there were no other dogs playing on the hill. We stuck to the shade where we could find it. Miso spent most of her attention on the curved base of trees while I wondered at the lush, beautiful gardens embracing old Portland homes.

When we finally reached Broadway, it was like entering a whole other place entirely. The traffic was, as it is typically, commuter centric, cars on a mission. The sidewalks widened, making room for a homeless population that I rarely see from the outside of my car. A closed-up, out of business deli stood empty beside the goodwill and the Chinese buffet. Every corner held at least two of our poorest fellow humans, old folks in older clothing, sometimes yelling but mostly just looking forlorn and drawn.

I couldn’t help it. I gave money to whomever asked. (Side note: Every time I do something like this, I think that I can never, ever tell anyone, because that would mean that my intentions weren’t pure. Maybe it doesn’t matter how “pure” my intentions happen to be at any given moment and I was just brainwashed by the Catholic Church. Hmmm.)

I went to my favorite sushi place, Yuki on Broadway and 14th. My order was a little complicated and I had to sit outside with my dog, in the sweltering heat. I asked for a pitcher of water and the server who brought the water was so confused at my need for an entire pitcher that he almost took it away. Luckily, he granted my wish when I begged him to leave it.

I made a good sized puddle out of the ice water for Miso to lay her hot body in. We sat there together, observing the constant activity. It was then, looking around at the corner and the intersection full of people that I started to see myself making assumptions about the people who walked, rode, or drove by me. I noticed that the negative assumptions were aimed at the kind of people to whom I consider myself an outsider (there’s that “outsider syndrome” I was talking about).

As you may have been gathering in this endless search I’m on to find out what’s beneath the bullshit, I am tired of feeling like an outsider. Gazing at the strange and diverse pedestrians addle by me and my dog, I wondered if perhaps a way to help me stop thinking that I am separate than other people is to seek out the goodness in others rather than seeing what I have taught myself to see.

Unfortunately, this post serves to admit, most humbly, that I am a judgmental person. Did you already know that about me?

I would love more than anything to free myself of all that cynicism and rejection I’ve felt toward other people. I want to really care about everyone, not because I have to, but because I want to. Is it possible to recognize the person in every person, the thing(s) that make us more alike than we are different? Are we doomed to continue to lose touch with helping each other and taking care of each other until we crumble under the weight of our loneliness? Or will our evolution turn us toward the love and respect that will finally heal us? I don’t usually think about this question, since in it lies the greatest sadness that we share as human beings.

Back to how I was sitting outside with my dog in 94 degree weather on Broadway in Northeast Portland. (Have I told you that I love Portland?) Once I had finished my delicious veggie tempura roll (yum) I headed north with my hot dog. I had two interactions with people that were meaningful to me on the way home. They were meaningful because I am (astonishingly) growing out of my shyness and finding ways to genuinely relate to people. I’ve been afraid of people for a very long time.

With all that and a soy dream icecream sandwich under my belt, Miso and I made our way home. I was content and satisfied with my urban adventure.

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