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.

3 Things

Mini ramping revival: Years from now, we'll tell tales about this winter. The "crazy winter of ’17"! Right now, though, we're livin' it, and I am not understating things by saying this is the least amount I have ever skated in any season, ever. But that's okay. We have to live in time and the realities of our world. It was awfully nice, though, last week, to session the garage mini again—sustained by friends and beers—and feel warm, and, heck, feel happy.

Durango's ashes: Over the weekend, a few of us hiked a very long way into Mt. Hood National Forest. We kept climbing the steep switchbacks until we broke free from the trees and found what we were looking for—a bold, rocky precipice. Here, several months ago, we'd come with Durango—my wonderful first-pup-after-Lefty. And here, we scattered his ashes. When Lefty died, we buried him in the garden and I can still feel him there. I don't know where Durango is—I can't feel him anywhere. Maybe he wasn't even with us long enough to linger. Still, scattering his ashes made me happy. Watching that dust fly away wild on the wind. Earth dust, to become, at some point, start dust, I hope?

Moonlight: I don't know if the trailer does this movie justice. It makes it seem overly serious, misses the tender moments of light. However, I didn't go see Moonlight (the early show on a winter evening of no particular import) because of the trailer. I went because I heard it was good—nay, great, and had the Oscar noms to prove it, and also because I listened to an interview with the film's creators and found their perspective compelling. LONG STORY SHORT, I loved this movie. See it—even if you think it might look depressing. Like all real-world stories, with sadness, there is redemption.

Compassion Is Radical

Saturday was a big day in Portland. A big day everywhere. Even on our morning dog walk, we saw the hustle—the whole city getting ready to march. Families piling into cars, the kids carrying their very own homemade signs.

Katie showed up to my house right as a hard, cold rain began to fall. We walked to the train, joining a steady stream of people, and barely squeezed on the blue line headed downtown. Again, the whole city was here. The train had to blow through all the subsequent stops, its cars already packed to the gills.

Once downtown, you felt it. A swelling crowd, a swelling energy. It was palpable—it vibrated right through your rib cage. The masses were full of good will, but in general, the mood was somber.

As part of the event, there was a rally and a march, but we couldn't get anywhere near the "rally" and so just stood around, and walked around, and couldn't find our friends, and talked to people, and brushed shoulders with all walks of life, all ages. Before the march started, nobody knew what to do with themselves. What are we doing here? Shouldn't we be DOING SOMETHING? You had to remind yourself, we are here to be here. Our presence is enough—it is, in fact, everything.

The rain fell harder, colder. We live in Portland. That's what it does. My hair was soaked. I had full body goosebumps. My cardboard sign was disintegrating. All of it was just fine. Perfect even. Because why should it be easy? Baby, a little rain must fall.

Personally, I took the idea of "women's march" very literally, and my signs reflect that. But I imagine people were there for a wild range of reasons, from fighting systemic racism to defending gay rights. One of my favorite signs addressed the new prez and simply said, "Grab a constitution."

As an employed white women, I come from a place of privilege. And although the massive turnout for this march also, in its way, emphasized how we ("we" as liberal society) have NOT shown up when other minority issues where at stake in the past—we are here now.

Speaking strictly for myself, I was standing there in downtown Portland, Oregon, USA, to leverage my power and privilege in order to help people who are underserved in this country and to challenge the systemic mechanisms that infringe on the rights of people without power. Because it's the right thing to do. (And because just complaining doesn't do any damn good.)

I've heard/seen some arguments against marching, recently, online and from friends and frenemies. "Those people probably didn't even vote, and now they're out their protesting to be cool." ????? A strange argument. I only know a few people who didn't vote—they're def not the ones protesting. I think this is a way of trying to take power away from the thing, so that one does not have to feel bad about oneself for not participating?

The "crybaby" argument. I reject this reasoning, because it's the quickest route to taking the spotlight away from the issues, making it an us vs. them thing instead of an advocating for a little kind, calm thinking.

"Protesting doesn't work." As spoken by a generation that's wayyyy too used to instant gratification. Sure, there is no direct route from A) protesting to B) change. You won't see it on a road map. More like, it's ripples in the pond. Get enough of them, and you make a wave.

Again, speaking only for myself, I can say that the more I did nothing, the more helpless I felt, like nothing you could ever do would ever make a difference because it's all so depressingly, frustratingly, steam-coming-out-of-yer-ears fucked. However, when I started doing things, walking in the streets, sending emails, making a phone call, sending a postcard, I felt more hope, not less. Taking a little power back, it felt like. Sure, I don't expect my actions to affect change. But OUR actions, well they might attract the kind of climate and universe in which kindness/compassion/common decency COULD HAPPEN. And wouldn't that be radical?

Two Worth Your Time

For snow days. For ice storms. For cabin fever. For life on weather hold. For cold nights with the furnace on blast ... Here are 2 good movies that'll get ya thinking.

Author: The JT LeRoy Story. A crazy story about a crazy story. What is art?  Does it matter who the artist is? Was it all a hoax? Is hoax even the right word? For me, this drama says more about "us"—a society hungry for celebrity—than it does about a middle-age woman channeling a teenage boy to write books.

Midnight Special. A sci-fi that doesn't feel like sci-fi. Such a subtle movie. What's it really about? You have to use your brain, figure things out for yourself, make the connections and be rewarded.

Burning The Old Year

For certain reasons, as well as no reason at all, I didn't go out on New Year's Eve. The trick here is to plan your no plans in advance. Don't do any "we'll see what happens," or "maybe we'll check out that one party for a little while." Decide ahead of time. Put your sweatpants on early. Then when the light falls, you're already settled in and cozy.

Anyway, as holidays go, this one was a bit sad—a night full of memories. However, we were warm inside by the fire and our plates were pleasantly full, which, despite anything, is a life affirming way to spend a winter's eve. At one point, a tidy package was discovered outside our front door. We unwrapped it to reveal a candle smelling of cedar, along with the loveliest note. "Can't help but feel the emptiness. I hope this warms your heart and home." I lit the candle and cried ... for him ... for both of them.

Early the next morning, we drove up a volcano through the blizzarding snow. Tony and Ryan were awaiting us at the ticket line. We hopped the lift and rode hip deep powder until our faces froze off. It was smooth and creamy. It was largely untracked. We whistled and hollered. We went fast. We were happy.

And just like that, a cycle starts anew. Happy 2017, everyone!