Rain. Sun. Spring. Portland.
I am deeply, madly in love with this moment, with this place, with the people in it and the hope they create.
I know this is my true home. I know, because a simple sunbreak, standing on MLK Blvd, makes my heart swell with joy and love for a place, for a name on a map. A name that is more than the sum of its letters, much like the place is more than the sum of its residents.
Portland. A place full of possibilities.
I love this place.
Remember a while back when I said I was creepily high on Google search for “surviving hanging”, and had an inordinate number of hits for that exact topic? Right? Well, not any more, my friends. Not anymore. Apparently web searches have gotten all cerebral and literate – or are at least making an attempt at it. Kudos, interwebs! Read stuff! And I’m here to help!
Lately, many of my search hits revolve around two particular phrases which I’ve used in my blog posts. I tend to do that occasionally, and rarely do I ever think to actually tell you from whence those particular snippets of juicy eruditeness originate. So I thought, since people are hitting my site for this info, well, I wouldn’t want them to be disappointed, right? I know how disappointed I’d be if say, I was searching for the lyrics to Hava Nagila, and all I could find was some blog post that said “He handed me a drink, and then I got all Hava Nagila on his ass” without any explanation of what the heck a hava nagila is, not to mention why it would get on some guy’s ass. And I’m still lyric-less.
(And incidentally – here’s the lyrics to Hava Nagila.)
So be disappointed no more, interwebs! Here’s the back story to the phrases:
The first one that I keep getting hits for is “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” I paraphrased the first line from this poem by Elizabeth Barret Browning in my Valentine’s Day Crawl post. Appropriate, no? Anyway, the poem is #43 from her most famous collection, Sonnets from the Portuguese. From Wikipedia: “By far the most famous poem from this collection, with one of the most famous opening lines in the English language, is number 43”. Hey, I have high standards. For another one of my favourite Victorian-era love poems, I gotta go with that randy, haggis-eating Scottish chap, Robert Burns:
O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June:
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve
And fare thee weel, awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.
The second search I noticed pinging my humble little blog is “I said GOOD DAY SIR. GOOD DAY!” which is the title for a blog post I wrote about being a bit miffed about some silly thing. Now that line comes pretty much straight from Gene Wilder’s lips in Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory. The full text:
Grandpa Joe: Mr. Wonka?
Willy Wonka: [pointedly ignoring them] I am extraordinarily busy, sir.
Grandpa Joe: [tentatively] I just wanted to ask about the chocolate – Uh, the lifetime supply of chocolate… for Charlie. When does he get it?
Willy Wonka: He doesn’t.
Grandpa Joe: Why not?
Willy Wonka: Because he broke the rules.
Grandpa Joe: What rules? We didn’t see any rules. Did we, Charlie?
Willy Wonka: [springs up from his chair, angrily] Wrong, sir! Wrong! Under section 37B of the contract signed by him, it states quite clearly that all offers shall become null and void if – and you can read it for yourself in this photostatic copy [grabs a magnifying glass and reads]
Willy Wonka: – “I, the undersigned, shall forfeit all rights, privileges, and licenses herein and herein contained,” et cetera, et cetera…”Fax mentis incendium gloria cultum,” et cetera, et cetera…”Memo bis punitor delicatum!”
[slams the magnifying glass down, shouts]
Willy Wonka: It’s all there, black and white, clear as crystal! You stole fizzy lifting drinks. You bumped into the ceiling which now has to be washed and sterilized, so you get *NOTHING*! You lose! Good day sir!
Grandpa Joe: [shocked] You’re a crook. You’re a cheat and a swindler! That’s what you are!
[angrily]
Grandpa Joe: How could you do a thing like this, build up a little boy’s hopes and then smash all his dreams to pieces? You’re an inhuman monster!
Willy Wonka: [shouts even louder] I said “Good day!”
Grandpa Joe: Come on, Charlie, Let’s get out of here. I’ll get even with him if its the last thing I’ll ever do. If Slugworth wants a gobstopper, he’ll get one.
Yeah I switched it a little bit. But the effect remains the same, no?
So there you have it. All the literary references my readers have been clamoring – yes CLAMORING! – for. Look out! Next I’m gonna get all Shakespearean and translate into modern terms the most excellent tips Polonius imparted to his son Laertes before he went out into the big blue world. Because you need that, right? And don’t think I can’t! And from now on, I’ll let you know where I gleaned my little tidbits of literary goodness, never fear. Go read, interwebs!
What are you waiting for? Go!!
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
For some reason, even though that first line from A Tale of Two Cities resonated in my young brain so loudly, I just couldn’t get into that book. Never did. I’m sure I read that first page at least a dozen times. Maybe I should try again. But this, dear interwebs, is A Tale of Three Bamboo. Or is it Bamboos? Whatever. Our story opens…
The Triff...er I mean Bamboo
Despite numerous warnings that I was insane to even contemplate the idea, I planted bamboo in my backyard. And not even the relatively safe kind, i.e. ‘clumping’ bamboo. No, I planted the ravenous, crawl into your house in the middle of the night and kill your pets kind of bamboo. The Day of the Triffids bamboo: timber bamboo.
(Side note: OMG! The BBC is going to film a new version of Day of the Triffids! W00t, I say. Wewt even.)
But on the other hand, this is the same kind of bamboo they make floors out of. And utensils. Gorgeous ones! Or at least that was the counter argument in my head when I was rationalizing this step in my Eternal Project. Seriously, everyone I talked to thought I was insane:
“And then, I’m gonna plant some bamboo along the fence here…”
“You’re going to plant bamboo?”
“Yeah. The big kind. Timber. Black, and Tiger. They’re so pretty!”
“You’re going to…plant. Bamboo. Willingly. In your backyard.”
“Um, yeah. Pretty much.”
“Do you KNOW what bamboo does??”
“Yes…I’ve taken precautionary steps.”
“Yes but…it’s crazy! It gets into EVERYTHING!”
“Yes, I know. Like I said, I’ve taken steps. Two sides are going to be surrounded in concrete, for starters!”
“Well…I still think you’re crazy for even considering it.”
“Thanks. Your concern is duly noted.”
That’s how most of my conversations went.
But I did it. It’s done. And so far, all my pets are still here. Or, well, they didn’t die of bamboo related injuries, at least.
I can’t say the same for my poor bamboo though.
I did my research, you know. Like I said, I surrounded the planting area on two sides with concrete. The other two sides, a foot and a half deep bamboo barrier, especially made for the task. I planted them in little mounds, so the runners would be easy to spot. I fertilized only the top six inches of soil or so, so the runners would stay close to the surface and be easy to maintain. I check all the runners twice a year, and trim the ones that are heading in the wrong directions.
I did not, however, protect them from my dog.
I started with 3 bamboo. Two black and one tiger, just like I wanted. (Interestingly, both are classified as Phyllostachys nigra.) Jessie and I drove waaaay out to Hillsboro to the Bamboo Garden Nursery (Yes, Jessie and I did meet Oggie the Bamboo Dog). We were driven around the woods in a golf cart by the nice and helpful bamboo guy, who helped us pick out two black bamboo and one tiger bamboo. We carefully drove them home, planted according to directions, watered and carefully watched over my new charges. Well, watched them except while I was at work.
I guess Jessie was still in her destructive stage, because it wasn’t long before one of the black bamboo was ripped out of the ground. And replanted. And ripped out again. And replanted again. And ripped out AGAIN. And replanted, but by this time, it was becoming clear that the poor thing had met its match. Eventually I had to admit that the plant was dead, and had now become a doggy chew toy.
Now, I have a fence around my bamboo. They’re probably safe at this point, but I’m not taking any chances. I have since replaced the unfortunate black bamboo with some free golden timber bamboo that I found on craigslist. One of my favorite things to do around this time is to look for all the new little bamboo shoots popping out of the ground, letting me know that my mission of creating a privacy screen between me and my neighbors is coming to fruition.
So far….nothing.
Sigh.
Grow faster, bamboo! FASTER!
Apparently my endless reserves of patience do not extend to plants. Or actually, weather. Because you know once the weather warms up for a couple weeks, those bamboo are going to be all crazy in yo face growing fiends. Unkillable. Unstoppable. With poisonous whip-like stingers.
Hmm…perhaps I should get a really big machete. You know, just in case. Plus, it gives me an excuse to go to Andy and Bax!
Stay tuned for the next chapter, wherein my bamboo start growing at a rate of 2.65 feet a minute for the entire summer, and I next complain that they’re growing too damn fast. Yay, gardening!
“I’m leaving.”
“Hmm?”, I replied. “Where are you going?” I feigned obliviousness. It’s a defense mechanism built out of hope that I was quite adept at using.
“No. I mean I’m leaving”, she said.
When you walk into the surf at the beach, and stand in the water, just ankle deep, you feel the immense power swirling at your feet. You’re just not in deep enough that it can really affect you, not yet. But it’s pulling you out to sea, out to where its power is stronger. I felt that power now, except this wasn’t the tide, it was fear. Swirling just at ankle level, and rising quickly. My heart skipped a beat.
“You mean…”
“Yes”, she interrupted. “I’ve taken the offer. I leave at the end of the month.”
I sighed, bracing myself for the discussion we had had so many times already. Tapping into the seemingly endless pools of patience I always managed to find at times like these.
“I thought we decided you’d wait until I could find a way…”, I started.
“No. I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m doing this for me. I’ll be back, but I need to go.”
Inside my mind, inside my heart, I heard a low rumbling. With every passing moment, the rumbling grew louder, more shrill. I recognized it; it was the sound of desperation. The sound I heard when I gazed into the dark abyss of loneliness that I knew so well. It was coming for me again. The sound surrounded me, as the fear lapped at my knees, slowly engulfing me. I faced that sound, faced the growing fear and what lay behind it, and firmed my resolve.
“Then,” I said, “you should go.”
The look of relief on her face spoke volumes, while I felt at once both pride and pain. Pain, from the agony of knowing that it was over, that I would never see her again. My skepticism would not allow that she spoke the truth that she’d be back; we both knew it was a lie, one for my benefit, and all the more stinging because I knew it. Pride, in knowing that I could let her go to follow her path, that I could stand fast and remain true to my beliefs in the face of such pain. I knew the loneliness that lay before me, and could still let her go.
But oh, how I hated the thought of being alone. What a fool I am, I thought. What a total fucking fool. A fool for love, and a coward in the face of loneliness, unable to walk away from love even when it’s all wrong. But now the struggle was over, the fight lost. Or was it?
It would be an end to the lies and confusion. No more wondering who she’s sleeping with behind my back. No more thinly veiled recriminations, or being told that nothing I tried was ever *quite* up to par. No more struggling to be understood. No more questioning myself when I knew full well the answer.
Yes, as always, this would be for the best. She was not the one.
I pulled out my suitcase and began to pack.
This was not the end.
This is a story. An amalgamation of those moments when the relationship, my relationships, end. I’ve learned many things from my past relationships:
Through it all, I have never given up on love. I am frankly amazed at the fact that I keep bouncing back, willing to try again; for all the times I’ve been hurt, I ought to be jaded beyond repair. But I’m not. I marvel at my heart’s resilience, and look forward to the next lesson.
I’m excited.
Stoked.
Thrilled.
Giddy! (yeah I know, I used that word again. It’s a rare occurrence, really.)
In fact, if you could hear the chatter inside my head, it would sound something like this:
“omg omg omg omg omg omg omg yay!!!”
Pretty much that’s it.
So. I guess you’re wondering why I’m all hyped up, happy, bouncing off stuff and…stuff. Are you? Really?
Ok. I’ll tell you.
You ready?
Maybe you should sit down first. I’ll wait.
……..
Sitting? Ok.
<deep breath>
Ok.
I’m one of the newest writer/bloggers for OurPDX.net.
Allow me to give you a moment to just let that sink in.
……..
I KNOW HUH!!!! HOW AWESOME IS THAT!!!!!
Pretty damn, my friends. Pretty damn.
No worries about my slacking off on blogging here though. OurPDX.net is all about Portland, so my PDX-type posts will be drifting over in that direction, but there’s oh so much more stuff I blog about than that. I’ll let you know when I post over there, so you can hop over there and check it out too. No worries!
In fact, check out my VERY FIRST POST, about how our own dear Mayor Sam forgot about bikes for the storm response survey they did last month. Unbelievable, but true.
One final thought:
OMG YAY!
Just in time for Valentine’s day, I submit to you, worthy readers, a valentine pub crawl. Except instead of crawling pubs, I’m gonna crawl countries. And instead of sampling libations*, I’m gonna swirl words of love around my palate in different languages, see if the mouth feel is nice. Test the bouquet. See if the tannins are overpowering. In homage to Valentine’s Day, join this humble, hopeless romantic as we journey ’round the world in my flying gondola of love.
*False advertising, you say? Whatev. Deal w/ it.Let’s start in that passionately contested northeast corner of Spain, where they pronounce Barcelona with the c sounding like –th, Catalonia:
T’estimo (Catalan) – Short and sweet. But not too sweet. Sounds a bit fiduciary, in fact.
Wo ai ni (Chinese (Mandarin)) – Falls off the tongue with a touch of earnestness. Interesting, for the Chinese to sound earnest in love.
Jeg elsker dig (Danish) – Full and robust. Would sound great yelled from below a balcony, I’d wager.
Ik hou van jou (Dutch) – Melodic, strong, with a nice rhythm. I think Dutch singers probably have the edge, here, no?
Je t’aime (French) – Hello, this is the language of love, right? Making the knees of women weak for centuries.
Taim i’ ngra leat (Irish Gaelic) – Probably one of the hardest languages to learn, but oh so rewarding. This is the one that you yell out amidst the fields at twilight, and who’s to say if your heart’s true love is the girl or the island.
Ich liebe dich (German) – Frankly, German is not the most pleasant on my ears. But I’m sure if you’re German, this is one of the nicer things you get to hear.
S’agapo (Greek) – Agape! Greeks, who gave us Aphrodite, Zeus, Adonis, Cupid, the Muses, and at least three different words for love (agape, eros, philia, and possible thelema and storge). Truly this country has inspired love in the world for eons.
Szeretlek (Hungarian) – Whoa. And I thought the only cool thing to come out of Hungary was Béla Bartók. They don’t fool around when they say I love you. They fucking mean it.
Ti amo (Italian) – Ah, the Italians. I do have a fondness for the Latin languages, I must confess. They all just sound…right. Like they invented the idea of love, and the way they say it is the way the universe would if it spoke in words. They don’t call them the Romance languages for nothin!
Ya tebya liubliu (Russian) – Not what I would have expected the Russian to sound like. Sounds a bit like you’re talking to a pet instead of your lover. Meh.
Kocham cię (Polish) – Sounds a bit demanding, but musical. Still better than the German, if you ask me.
Eu te amo (Portuguese) – This is my favorite. But then, I’m biased. I freaking love this language. Eu te amo, meu amor…Sinto saudades de você.
Techihhila (Sioux) – Native American languages are so awesome. You can almost touch the desire in this one.
‘Rwy’n dy garu di (Welsh) – You know, if I could figure out how to pronounce this, I bet it would sound just beautiful. I’m sure my pronunciation is all fuckered up, and it still sounds poetic.
Well, my star-crossed lovers, I hope you enjoy my little love sampler. This Valentine’s day, when you whisper sweet nothings in your true love’s ear, try something a little exotic for a change, and whisper one of these. Impress him or her with your worldly talents. Maybe these exotic words will inspire you and your babe to try other exotic pursuits in the name of love, right?
Peace and love to you all, this day and every day.
Who came lurking in the nighttime to wake up grumbling don’t look at me? Folding scolding it came building folding up inside of me. I wake up bleary body weary slowly cruising sunless streets. Broken, tired uninspired folding up inside of me. Aching shoulders holding demons angels nowhere to be seen. Whispers nearer, closer dearer folding up inside of me.
Unimportant is the path,
Chemical and Divine.
I am here.
I see the ways in all,
And all touches me.
I am in God.
Forever burned in flesh,
It affects even now.
I am not the same.
The Pyramid of the soul,
I am climbing its steps.
The pinnacle is closer.
The world to the crown,
The way is clear.
I will not forget.
Read Part One First If You Haven’t Yet Or This Probably Won’t Make Much Sense
Transition – Part Two
As she stepped into the dim living room, another memory passed before her eyes. She and her mother sat in front of the TV, watching a movie. It was about a family that had a rough life. One of the kids left home, and after years of struggling, she became successful. She returned home victorious, and brought her family from the brink of ruin. She felt safe then, sitting on her mother’s lap and letting her gently brush her hair as they watched the show. She remembered the feel of it, as if she could feel all the love of a mother for her child coming through those bristles. “You see? That’ll be you, my little Kip. You’ll make it out of here someday, and we’ll be so happy, just you and me.” She smiled up at her mom then, knowing that if her mom thought she could do it, then that’s what would happen. Later her mother had drunk herself to sleep. She was five then.
She felt something wet against her cheek and touched it in wonder. One tear coursed down her face. She nodded to herself. That is as it should be, she thought. Just one. She pulled the ear of corn that she had brought back with her from inside her leather jacket. With a purposeful stride, she walked towards the kitchen, stepped over the wet broken glass, and looked down at her mother. She was pale, and the glazed eyes stared up at the nicotine-stained ceiling. She had been pretty once. She placed the corn on her mother’s breast. It was complete now, like a full circle come round. Now for the last of it, she thought once more. Quickly she packed some clothes and necessities, her mother’s small savings, and anything of value she could easily carry. With a last quick glance at her mother’s body, she left the only home she’d ever known. She drove away, stopping only at a pay phone near the entrance of the mobile park. Nine. One. One. “Hello? Yes, my mother has had a heart attack. Please hurry! I think she’s already dead….I’ve…no, I’ve…I was gone. She was like that when I came home. Hurry, ok?” She gave the address, then slowly hung up. As she drove away, she could see the red lights grow brighter behind her as she headed for the highway.
