Memorial

This past week I've seen flower stands along Foster Road, selling cheap hothouse flowers dyed with chemicals and wrapped in non-recyclable plastic. This afternoon's traffic to the Willamette National Cemetery was backed up over 1/2 mile, spilling down 110th Avenue. As I made my way through it, heading home, I thought about my tradition of calling all veterans I know on 11/11, how I don't actually know anyone who died while in military service, how my father threw his purple heart into the ocean, his reasons complicated and intensely personal.

And then I thought of Utah Phillips (wiki link here), whose singing and storytelling touched me, and provided a common forum through which my father and I connected, he a veteran and his daughter a peacemonger. The 1996 album Utah Phillips produced with Ani Difranco, The Past Didn't Go Anywhere, was tremendous and moving. Two tracks in particular, "Korea," followed by "Anarchy," brought tears to my eyes every time I heard them. I have many memories wrapped up in associations of this man, his cataclysmic force and sense of humor will remain in the threads woven through the past twelve years when I was first introduced to his stories and his music.

From "Korea":

I knew that it was all wrong, that it all had to change, and that change had to start with me.

From "Anarchy":

I learned in Korea that I would never again, in my life, abdicate to somebody else my right and my ability to decide who the enemy is.

. . . anarchy is not a noun but an adjective. It describes the tension between moral autonomy and political authority, especially in the area of combinations, whether they are voluntary or coercive. The most destructive coercive combinations are arrived at by force. As Ammon said, 'Force is the weapon of the weak.'

All these thoughts and memories and triggers inform me that now is the right time to publicly acknowledge my next project, to investigate and explore the Great Peace March of 1986. My fascination with the March, with Marchers' thoughts and stories twenty-two years later, with the meaning of Peace as a concept, a practice, a vision, a reality - these things will weave together the next creative phase.

What is peace? What is war? What is between the two? What else is on the spectrum? How do we choose to exist?

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Now I Know His Name

For a long time, I didn't know his name, although I saw him almost every day. And then I fretted about not knowing his name.

But now I know his name. It's Jesse. He smiles and waves, "Hi, Mossie!" as I drive by, whether or not I have a dollar or a banana to give him.

The last few times I've had the first-in-line position, where I can roll down my window and talk with him until the traffic light changes, I've been especially sad. Today I was fighting back tears. But I still smiled at him.

He said, "You have such a pretty smile. It really brightens my day. It's great that you are so happy!"

"I'm actually really sad right now, Jesse. But I find that when I smile, it helps."

He smiles at me softly. "It helps me, Mossie. Thank you for your smile."

And so with tears splattering my lenses, I turned the corner and drove down Glisan Street to my office.

Smiling helps. Knowing his name helps, too.

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He Said . . .

. . . to K on the phone:

Oh no! [rummaging sounds] Shit! . . . . What the . . . . ? Dammit!

So she asks:

What is it? Whassa matter?

And he says in utter seriousness:

I can't find my phone anywhere!

K laughed until urine threatened to soak her jeans. And when K recounted the story, telling us of "B's blond moment," T looked at me, raised her eyebrows and wondered aloud if he should have taken that last hit.

Maybe he shouldn't have taken those last twenty years' worth of hits.

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Fridge Wisdom

Last night I started clearing off my fridge and decided to finally recycle these scraps of paper I've hung in various locations for years. Since I'm not ready to let go of their sentiments, I'm posting them here in the form of a photo.

Fundamental

Besides the fact that it is 85 degrees and sunny in Portland today, news out of California has me all aflutter.

Despite all my conflicted feelings about having gone to law school, those three years getting my JD provided me a new lens through which to interpret news. Links to the decision abound, but here it is again (172 page PDF) for your pleasure.

Marriage is a fundamental right. Felons [edit: Prisoners] get it, and (gasp) gay people should get it too.

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Taken with my phone last Sunday

Further Perspective

After the 4/11 car incident, I intended to refrain from posting until the story had played itself out fully. [I made an exception for the plea for NineMile Canyon.]

I also thought I'd gain some insight on how to talk about news I received earlier in the afternoon on the day of the accident. I haven't figured out that tellling, but the accident story I can now address. The accident played out in the following ways:

1. Statements were given and reports were filed. Photos were taken. Measurements were provided. The story was recounted. Hours and hours were spent on the phone, in tears, telling it over and over. Sleep was lost. Nightmares were had. Eventually, Oregon Revised Statutes were named. Blame was placed. On me. My insurance company made tsking noises and raised my rates. Attorneys were consulted and said they were sorry, they couldn't help me. So much for my naive self-righteousness. So much for recouping money for damages to my car or time lost from work, let alone the nebulous pain and suffering.

2. The upside: I am now receiving much-needed chiropractic care. Oregon law requires that minimum liability insurance provide $15,000 in medical care, regardless of fault, and my body is starting to heal. For that blessing, I am breathing a huge sigh of relief.

3. Housemate N pshawed my lamentations about salvaging my beloved car (named Goldilocks) for a paltry $400. I'd talked to three different body shops, receiving repair quotes between $2500 and $7000. (In tip-top shape, Goldilock's bluebook value is $2200, though her value is so much more than that for oh-so-many reasons.) N was my rockstar savior, my guy, who drove me to the junkyard. On the drive there, I bounced up and down and said, "N, I feel more hopeful than I've felt in two weeks."

We hammered on Goldy's frame a bit.



And then we attached a door retrieved from a Silverlocks which had been in a head-on collision. N later put the window in the silver door, replacing the classy blue tarp that kept the rain out.



Sure, it's kind of ghetto-style, and opening and closing the car door presents its own set of adventures, but I will say this: at least the door isn't red.

4. This whole series of events provided significant distraction, and the further further perspective is just starting to sink in and sort itself out now. For weeks I've tried to encapsulate what happened earlier that afternoon, before the car door was ripped out of my hand, what's happened over the course of the last year, two years, five years - and every choice, every decision, every motivation become so convoluted and twisty that communicating meaning seems impossible.

So rather than force it, I'm going to let the story trickle out as it does. Drip drop. A deluge may ensue, but it could be a slow telling. The unfolding, the mystery. Are you curious? Excited? Confused? Disinterested?

Yeah, me too.

Act Now for Nine Mile Canyon

Though out of character for this blog, I'm posting the following on the chance even one person will see this in time to take action.

Today is the deadline for submitting public comments to the BLM on proposed drilling of over 800 natural gas wells in ways that threaten Nine Mile Canyon. This canyon, home to over 10,000 individual petroglyphs and pictographs, would become an essential highway for hundreds of trucks traveling to and from the gas wells.

This is not an all-or-nothing issue. Many people and groups are urging the BLM to consider alternative routes for the trucks, among other options.



Please see The National Trust for Historic Preservation and the draft Environmental Impact Statement for more information.

Most importantly, send electronic comments to UT_Pr_Comments@blm.gov TODAY, May 1, 2008, even just to send a short comment letting the BLM know that you concur with and endorse the official comments they have received from the NineMile Canyon Coalition, the Hopi Tribe, the National Trust for HistoricPreservation, the Colorado Plateau Archaeological Alliance, and the Utah Rock Art Research Association.

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I'll be posting automobile/accident updates in the next few days. I'm sure the masses are terribly excited!
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