Spring Precipice

Guys, I'm always and forever in search of experiences with fun and meaning. Lately, they've been hard to find, though.

Where is all that joy we used to know?

For me, it both is and isn't the weather. It's the weather and the other stuff, like death, and like almost dying, and like being stuck in town—both literally (with snow and mudslides closing the passes) and figuratively (with a new puppy we must care-take instead of hopping a plane to Hawaii)—that have made this winter a winter to hibernate.

However, in a rare act of magnanimity this weekend, the sky got sunny over Beaverton skatepark on a Saturday who's forecast had preambled rain showers, allowing me to do what I like, which is skateboarding, outside, in the sun, with friends. No small miracle.

Then, on Sunday, we got up early and drove into the Gorge to skate more and climb a mountain, where we walked through glowy green fields, sun dappled, flower dappled, with silver river waters off in the distance.

It wasn't the nicest weekend, as weekends go. But it was nicer than any in recent memory, juicing with enough of that second-tier happiness I needed to pull me back from the precipice—out there where I was teetering, close to becoming so grumpy, I'd be forever lost to the lands of Curmudgeon.

Social Butterflies

Borrowed the above pic from my pal Kristine.

It's from Derek's birthday party last Friday night. Twas proper 40th birthday party—everyone came out. Whiskey spilled. Dinosaur Jr played. Cake did what cake does, it got ferociously eaten!

To be around so many buds, from so many different times and places in my life, it was awesome, but overwhelming. I wanted to leave, I cannot tell a lie ... But only for a minute! That feeling passed over me, just like a wave.

This winter has made me very reclusive. Everyone, I think?

To go from months of the quietest evenings ever spent cowering from the cold—or, alternately, mellow gatherings of 4-7 people—straight into a wild rager like this one was a wee difficult for my delicate social constitution. Nevertheless! I persevered, and talked to Molly about her Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, and hugged Kelly and heard all about her terrible brush with death, and chatted with Jamie about his epic trip to Columbia, and so on ...

All said and done, it was better-than-great to see everyone. Friendships are way more than the sum of their parts. And while we can all keep in touch passively (i.e. digitally), being in the same room with your friends doing that face-to-face QT is the best and only way to tap into the real, good stuff, the sustenance, the love. Friends! Where would any of us be without them?

Adventures In Meditation

Until late December, I'd never meditated. I'd been a longtime supporter of mediative THINGS—walking, gardening, cooking. But, let's be clear, meditative is not meditating.

Meditation is really hard! Have you tried it? Do you agree? It forces you to reckon with your total mess of a brain. As a child of the 80s, I went to swimming lessons and piano class—but no one ever taught me how to control my thoughts and emotions. This is a thing. A skill you can hone through hours and days and weeks of, just, sitting and focusing. Who would've thought, as you get older, that the secret to life is not in adding things—knowledge, skills, experience, friends—but rather in taking things away, stripping down existence to its very simplest form.

Anyway, I'm terrible at it. Like a tot with training wheels, I'm doing guided meditations that I've downloaded to my phone. My favorite  is the one where you simply sit and focus on the space between your thoughts. The SPACE! It's expansive. On good days, I can rise right up into it. Eventually, perhaps when I'm all gray, perhaps when I'm living atop a Tibetan peak, I'll be able to turn my mind on and off at will. Mind control. How cool.

Anyway, daily meditation is not glamorous. It's another thing on the to-do list. Plus my knees always hurt after I sit there for a while. Still, the work is important—as necessary as eating and sleeping. And later, when the stress runs high and the world roils, I've got a surefire way to dial it all down.

This Time Last Year

This time last year, it was a lot more like spring, remember?

There was a barely warm breeze on the loose, causing me to browse the nursery for seeds for my future veggie garden (all the while caught up in a kind of frenzy dreaming about the fresh salsas and salads I’d make when the warm months returned).

There was a quick trip to Astoria to shake off the cobwebs. Despite my my longstanding grudge against the Oregon coast (too crowded in the summer, too gloomy in the winter, altogether too many windsock shops), I really liked the city's ancient crumbling victorians and colossal freighters anchored in the inlet. I liked the melancholy place names—like Cape Disappointment, where all the ships crashed, even the one carrying supplies to build a new lighthouse. It's all exceptionally Northwest!

There was also a life-affirming first-ever backcountry trip to a fire lookout in Central Oregon. I’ve almost never felt happier than I did on that first night spent rolled up inside a sleeping bag on a tiny bed atop a towering mountain. This is because I was incredibly warm and comfortable, I was tired from wallowing 4 miles uphill in the deep snow with a heavy pack (an act that I would call mountaineering, but I know if I did real mountaineers would pat my head and say, “Hush”), I was among several people that I liked very much, and I was there in the cozy dark surrounded by 360 degrees of windows that held nothing but stars.

Anyhow, in keeping with the New Year Vibrations of early Feb, I support getting 100% back to basics, getting 100% serious about clearing out clutter both mental and physical. This year, though, I don't have the energy for renewal. With the short days and darkness of weather—and with death all around—I feel like I'm only now coming out of a deep, dark hole. My current energy stores are reserved, it seems, for just keepin' on.

So hey, winter of 2017, I apologize. I'll do better next year.

Lately

Lately, I've been under the weather, in weather that's awful. These things go together. There's something very right about sneezing and shivering while walking through the soaking-ass rain (so icy it could almost be snow—but it didn't want to give you the satisfaction).

My ailment—it's nothing serious, don't worry. A common sinus-ey thing. I'm just sick enough to feel bad, but not sick enough to give up on life. The thing to do in this condition is execute the bare daily minimum—and then come home and lay around. And as part of this plan's rollout, I've been watching The Young Pope on HBO. Crikey! It's really great. The characters are offbeat and complex, flawed, funny and strange. And the scenery. The reds are deeply saturated, the whites glow with an unearthly light. I mean every clip is perfect, like its own baroque painting. If you haven't watched it, do. And give it a couple episodes for the story and characters to air out. That's my opinion anyway—you can do whatever you want, of course.

So that's what's been going on around here. I'm starting to feel better, although Mark (who built me the above raised veggie beds for spring if/when it ever comes) ominously, epicly sneezed  this morning. Maybe he's next? At any rate, a full moon lunar eclipse is on the way tomorrow—how lucky! I reckon we could all use some cosmic assistance during a dark time such as this.