My grrl gets around. She spent her childhood in Oregon, adolescence and early adulthood in the south, eight months walking across the country on a peace march, brief time in D.C. and Minneapolis, and then migrated west for twenty years spent in Zionia being a local bluesy/rock and gardening icon. Infamous, if you will.
Despite her varied geographical identities, I can't help but think of T as inherently southern, and not only due to that sexy drawl she's prone to whip out during intimate moments. No, I take her fervent love and commitment to meat - albeit faux meat - as a southern quality, especially the way she gets excited about the "bacon" and "sausage." (If so inclined, you may insert a joke here about other types of faux sausage we grrls may enjoy . . . )
Yes, indeedy, folks. Mah soy-lovin' vegetarian gal is suthuhn. (She even told me how to spell southern phonetically. Whattagal.)
Two more conversations with the 5-year-old who lives upstairs:
#1 me, giving her a hug hello: I wrote about you in my blog yesterday.
B: What's a blog?
me: It's a complete and utter waste of my time. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
#2 B: I don't know for sure about this, and I might be wrong, but you know what I think?
me: What do you think?
B: I think that if someone moves into your house, that means they are your family.
me: Like me?
B: Yes! My family has grown! It used to be 3 people: my mom, my brother and me, after my dad died. Then it was 4 when mommy met N. Living with you makes it 5! And when T gets here, it will be 6! Our growing family!
It picks up, sometimes slowly at first, and builds, flicking around, rustling, crescendo, quicker now, and whips things from where they were. Or maybe where they were was just a temporary resting spot, in that metaphysical sort of way that life can take. Maybe those dreams, those possibilities, that DreamedLife, was waiting for the wind to take it to the next place, leaving space behind.
To say that death and loss are parts of the life cycle is obvious. However true, the actual experience of LifeLoss, or LifeTransformation, is something else. Something the body knows. The physical. The flesh.
Strong winds tonight; a lot of change. And also a strong intention toward blessedness and gratitude and spirit and Aliveness. The joy of Life punctuated by Loss. Letting go. Life passage.
* * *
Writing in this semi-veiled diarist (diarrhea-ist?) fashion, yet ever-conscious of the privacy of those around me, can be slightly challenging when something really huge is happening in my immediate domestic proximity.
My well-loved pink sunglasses recently broke, so I was thrilled to find another pair upon entering Bumbershoot in Seattle Saturday morning. R took the following little mpg of me in those rose colored glasses that make the world look extra-beeeeautiful.
Other highlights from my weekend in sunny Seattle, in addition to hanging out with SLC friends who flew in for the festival: - log cabin house where I stayed and slept under a fairy tree - meeting Shanti's folks! - laughing in an Irish pub with a couple of makeup'd clowns from Vau de Vire, fresh from BRC - Rude Mechs doing Get Your War On (flash link) - shaking my ass to the Aggrolites - Ingrid and Heidi blessing the crowd with their loveliness (unfortunately the mpg I tried to take didn't turn out) - getting turned on to Rodrigo y Gabriela - DeVotchKa as the perfect end to a perfect festival day - Cyclecide, the Heavy Pedal Cyclecide Bike Rodeo - see video below
* * *
After driving home Sunday afternoon, I finally hauled myself and my firetoys down to the bi-monthly firejam under the Marquam Bridge on Sunday nights. I was dead tired, hadn't lit up for over a month, but happy to hear the swoosh and feel the heat and play with burning fuel. After all, I am an Aries Fire Dragon.
Then today was my first potluck gathering in my new space and a very nice way to warm my house a month after setting down my first box, wiping my brow, and wondering WTF I'd done. What I'd done was follow my instinct/heart, and the rest is falling into place just as it should. As usual.
Knowing where my food is grown is intensely satisfying. If I haven't grown it myself, I like to look at the person who did grow it and have a conversation. Though not always practical, I do engage in this behavior as much as possible.
Yesterday I went to my first Portland Farmer's Market. There are markets nearly every day, at various locations in the city, and I had missed a really good one Wednesday at People's Food Coop (which has a year-round farmer's market. Year-round!!!). So I got my ass out of Haven, the Stumptown-coffee-serving queer-friendly coffeeshop where I'd been working at my computer and headed over to 20th and Salmon. The market was mellow. It was friendly. Beautiful dready mamas telling me about the fingerling potatoes with a slight southern twang and easy smiles. A kindly old man telling me about the Red Bartlett pears, wagging his finger, telling me to "eat 'em up soon! They're ready!" I got the most beautiful berries, pears, peaches, beets, corn, fingerlings. Freezing the fruit, envisioning the sorbet and smoothies and fruit sauces I'll make all year, was a welcomed Farmer's Market Day chore last night.
As one who has been trying to minimize the plastic in my immediate world, especially in my kitchen, I'm wondering how to freeze or otherwise store my fruit without the use of plastics? Canning might be an option, but I try to minimize my sugar intake and all my experience with canning has required using sugar.
Here's a little video of my new apartment ...
And a tour of the yard outside my new place:
And here's my current reminder/intention board. You know, in case you thought I'd become a suit or something crazy like that:
Just for kicks I thought somebody out there might like a shot of my blackberried tongue. No? I'm wrong? Nobody wants to see my black tongue?
Here's a picture of the first proper meal I made myself at my new home in Portland. Salad, pasta, wine, oh my! Add some Harry Potter and a beautiful location, and it was utterly pleasant, even though I used way too much rosemary in my sauce. Until last night, I was feeding myself antipasti, guacamole, Thai takeout, and PB sandwiches.
I've been in Portland a week now, and I am wondering if my housemate thinks I'm agoraphobic. I have left the house, but not much. Getting everything settled and unpacked and finding where stuff belongs has seemed important for my mental clarity. And it's amazing how much job-hunting and networking one can do in the backyard with a cell phone and a laptop. Plus, I'm studying for the exam on the professional rules governing lawyers, which I'll take day after tomorrow. Do I sound like I'm making excuses? Yeah. I am.
But tomorrow I'm going to study law at the anarchist cafe. Ironic, no?
Yes, friends, I am happy, I am settling in, and the wonder of actually living in Oregon is starting to not be the shock that it was at first. Moss belongs here. My body recognizes this place, and it feels like home.
The choppy and disoriented tone of the last few posts may persist as I settle into the first Big Move of my life. Abrupt, jerky movements have manifested as nasty scrapes and bruises all over the lower half of my body from stumbles and lurches.
Remember to breathe, Moss.
The See-Ya-Later Party was beyond words. The love I felt, the bright eyes and tight heart-hugs, the laughter, the touching things people wrote in my self-proclaimed "SLC YearsBook." And tonight I just saw some incredibly beautiful and heartfelt writing by Chicory about moi and feeling our friendship in my core.
***
Now I'm sitting amongst boxes, filled with the knowledge that stuff, in general, is just superfluous anyway. Although toothbrushes are nice.
I've had some plans up my sleeve for a few months.
This blog is moving soonish to breathingmoss. Some posts are already cross-posted, but I'm still working out formatting and such. I'll post when I'm all done here.
I love options. Having three distinct (and equally valid) first names is the kind of pluralist I like to be. The only downside is that it seems like I don't know my name when I stammer upon introducing myself.
I am who I say I am. But I'm also a couple other people too.
