Water and Words

Crescent Lake, Oregon

The other weekend ago we spent some time in the Crescent Lake area of Oregon.  I was surprised, yet again, by the turquoise blue water of the lake peaking through the trees.  How magical.  Nature never seems to let up, everything is so beautiful - even a rainy day.  When I think of lakes, I've always imagined the ones I know on the East Coast: muddy, green water solely navigated by the brave and the desperately hot.  I imagine leeches sticking to my feet in the muddy quicksand  and emerging with sediments still sticking to my sunscreen as I try to find relief in the shade.

At Crescent, we paddled on top of little waves - great practice for an inexperienced paddle boarder.  I wish I could've brought my camera; our dog looked so miserably cold - Why have you brought me out here???  She's our separation-anxiety dog and would've most likely whined on the shoreline or sniffed every person and food item available.  She was barely able to hold it together on that paddle board and nestled for warmth as necessary.  Poor puppy.

I love the outdoors and sometimes that is all I need - a run, hike, or beautiful experience.  Other times I need words and verbal or written perspective.  I really appreciated this poem I came across the other day:

"When I Am Asked"
by Lisel Mueller

When I am asked
how I began writing poems,
I talk about the indifference of nature.

It was soon after my mother died,
a brilliant June day,
everything blooming.

I sat on a gray stone bench
in a lovingly planted garden,
but the day lilies were as deaf
as the ears of drunken sleepers,
and the roses curved inward.
Nothing was black or broken
and not a leaf fell
and the sun blared endless commercials
for summer holidays.

I sat on a gray stone bench
ringed with the ingenue faces
of pink and white impatiens
and placed my grief
in the mouth of language,
the only thing that would grieve with me.

I don't read enough.  It's too hard and too easy to watch a show or movie instead.  When I do come across words that can make sense of something deeper, it is such a gift.  I've had those moments where I feel like the world has stopped, but it hasn't.  While my world has changed, the rest of it seems to keep on going.

I've had the pleasure of hearing some music recently.  We heard Neko Case, Laura Veirs, and K.D. Lang; Mandolin Orange - a sweet folksy duo with thoughtful lyrics and beautiful violin, mandolin, and guitar; and I stopped by Bend's downtown Summerfest to hear Blind Pilot play for free.  Thank goodness for musicians, who bring thoughts and words to life.  Although nature may be indifferent, people are not.  We are all much too affected by the power of each other.

Keep creating songwriters, poets, writers, and artists, just as the nature around us does the same.

The Pool Boy

I'm not sure how this nickname came about... but this is how my Dad refers to Kevin: the pool boy.  We do not have a pool.  Since my brother never gave a best man speech - and unfortunately probably has the best stories to tell - perhaps this can serve as something.  I've known Kevin since he was probably around age 6 or so.  But the first time I remember laughing with Kevin, was sitting in his Mom's car or maybe it was Mrs. Ackerman's car, looking through tapes.  It was not uncommon to sit in the car in the church parking lot before our Moms came out ready to drive us home.  I was probably in middle school or so - can't remember.  We came across some kind of emotional/empowerment/encouraging tape that was entitled "Heart to Heart."  I believe we played it, but I can't even remember what it was about.  We just thought it was really funny - in the same vein as Stuart Smalley and his "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and dog gone it, people like me."  To this day we still refer to each other as "heart to heart sistas" or some variation of that.  One of my favorite Facebook posts from Kevin - back when people used to post personal/funny things - was this one from May 13, 2011 after he graduated college:

There are so many funny/my-face-hurts moments, stories, and photos, that I have shared with Kevin - and Alan.  Kevin sent me 2 Kenny G CDs for my birthday one year.  He, my brother, and I have spent a couple New Years together - I remember one year we were discussing what the saddest songs ever are ("Brick" Ben Folds Five).  We had a Sufjan Stevens dance party one time in Alan's room.  While I was away at college, the two of them created a couple DVDs with a morning show called "Warm Ice Cream in the Morning" along with other sketches which they sent to me.  I found these in my basement recently and re-watched them at Christmas.  Kevin has spent Christmas with us and visited our family in Scotland with Alan and my Mom.  He is more than a pool boy - he is part of our family.

It is with all that, that I say, welcome to the family, Danielle.  I had a great time photographing your wedding and making ya'll stand out there in the hot sticky Monroe heat.  Cheers to you both!

(Oh - and here's a little Kenny G as a soundtrack for these photos)

***

Girl-cation

Newport, OR

Girl-cation.  

That's all I'm saying: 

Necessary, always. 

Maybe some of you know what I mean - 

(I mean, if you're a girl and you girl-cation)

Or even if you don't.

Or aren't. 

Isn't it nice to surround yourself 

with the words about 

what is coming 

and going - 

no matter where you are, really: 

here, there - 

as long as there's thoughts

put into words and dreams, 

hopes and fears turned into 

questions, answers left 

at the door - 

and contemplations

sing.

Poetry & Chaos

Multnomah Falls

"I always say that poetry is language against which you have no defenses...that moment in a conversation where you have to have the other person understand what you’re saying. And sometimes, it’s when you’re delivering terrible news, news of a death or an accident. And you have to tell the other person, and they have to hear it. And you have to say it in such a way that it’s heard fully. But you have to say it, also, with the intimacy of care and of understanding at the same time." 

David Whyte

Sometimes I like to listen to podcasts to tune my mind into a different conversation.  As I was driving to the Redmond ER the other day, I was listening to On Being (one of my favorite reflective podcasts).  Whenever my mind focuses on "the broken [mental health] [you name it] system" I can become pretty judgmental of reflections offered by poets, writers, and thoughtful intellectuals.  Great ideas, hard to put into practice.  The boy I was headed to visit in the ER was there because his former placement and family doubted they could keep him safe from himself or others.  He could become aggressive in different ways.  There was nowhere for him to be placed at the moment besides a windowless room in the ER with glass sliding doors letting in whatever crisis may be happening in that pocket of the hospital.  He had to stay calm and wait for the conversations of mental health professionals to finally find at a solution, which could take days.

My mind was skipping back to the scene from that night before, where I had a sweeping feeling that this client would possibly throw something at my supervisor and I when we delivered the news that he would be staying in the ER that night.  "This is NOT going to work for me!" he said, his hands crumpling the sheets between his fingers and his eyes quickly shifting from content to desperate.  I glanced at all the objects in the room that he could possible detach and throw at us.  I became quickly in tune with his body posture.  How this interaction would end seemed so uncertain.  

As I was getting closer to the hospital, I heard this poet start talking about the poetics of conversation (quoted above).  In my mind, I thought, blah... but then, the part about communication being like poetry in which the person you are speaking with may "have no defenses" caught me.  Hmm... thinking. 

When I arrived to the ER, this client was sitting up on his bed watching cartoons.  I opened the sliding glass door and said, "I don't know how you were able to sleep here last night." 

"I know," he said. 

I wasn't kidding either.  I mean, nobody wants to be in the ER (no fresh air!) and mental health professionals certainly don't prescribe it as effective treatment.  He doesn't want to be there, we don't want him to be there, the ER certainly doesn't want him there - there's just nowhere else for him to go yet.  And so, in the waiting, we have conversation.  He told me all the reasons why he can't stay there and I agreed with every single one, which was the truth.  Trying to sleep in the ER sucks.  He just had to wait it out the best he could, which he was doing.  The room became full of big sighs and rolling eyes as we endured this frustrating situation together.

*

This past week, I also had the pleasure of visiting a few waterfalls - the kinds of waterfalls I have never experienced.  Sometimes nature provides a revelation or two.  The words "wonderful" and "awesome" were brought to life in a way that East Coast waterfalls don't typically inspire in me.  Watching the water fall from such a height to land so gracefully is smile-forcing.   I could also tell the water was slowly eroding the rocks it spilled off of, so much so that one day the water would eventually transform it into a different place.  Everything is always changing.

Change is the norm, not control.  Our surroundings and ourselves are always vulnerable - we're always coping coping coping with loss, newness, frustrations, wonders, and change.  Vulnerability is one of those trendy words these days, but I still like it.  I agree with Brene Brown who talks about how to grow up is to become more vulnerable.  And lastly, I will end with David Whyte's words regarding vulnerability:

Excerpt from Consolations:

“Vulnerability is not a weakness, a passing indisposition, or something we can arrange to do without; vulnerability is not a choice, vulnerability is the underlying, ever present, and abiding under-current of our natural state. To run from vulnerability is to run from the essence of our nature; the attempt to be invulnerable is the vain attempt to become something we are not and most especially to close off our understanding of the grief of others. More seriously, in refusing our vulnerability, we refuse the help needed at every turn of our existence and immobilize the essential, tidal and conversational foundations of our identity.

“To have a temporary, isolated sense of power over all events and circumstances is a lovely, illusionary privilege and perhaps the prime and most beautifully constructed conceit of being human and especially of being youthfully human, but it is a privilege that must be surrendered with that same youth, with ill health, with accident, with the loss of loved ones who do not share our untouchable powers, powers eventually and most emphatically given up as we approach our last breath. The only choice we have as we mature is how we inhabit our vulnerability, how we inhabit our vulnerability, how we become larger and more courageous and more compassionate through our intimacy with disappearance. Our choice is to inhabit vulnerability as generous citizens of loss, robustly and fully, or conversely, as misers and complainers, reluctant, and fearful, always at the gates of existence, but never bravely and completely attempting to enter, never wanting to risk ourselves, never walking fully through the door.”

http://www.onbeing.org/program/david-whyte-the-conversational-nature-of-reality/8560

Tamanawas Falls

History/Herstory

"Knowing, therefore, that human prosperity never abides long in the same place, I shall pay attention to both alike." (p. 5) Herodotus The Histories

I picked up The Histories by Herodotus on our shelf today.  I read about 4 pages, maybe.  However, what I was struck by was the tone in which he is writing history.  He sounds so conversational, like, "Yep, this happened... then this guy stole this guy's wife and killed this guy - that's how the war happened."  Still hard to follow and possibly stale, but I liked it.  It made me want to go to Greece. 

I also love history because I think learning about the past is refreshing.  Living in such an extremely future-oriented society, sometimes it's nice to hop off that train.  Especially having been on that train thus far - it's always about the next thing... and finally getting to some kind of end goal.

The other day Jordan asked me what I will do when I'm retired.  What?  To actually be at a point where there is potentially fewer pressure on "the next thing." To actually retire.  Of course I said, "Well, I guess I'd want to be hanging out with my hypothetical grandchildren."  To enjoy the future and not have to work towards it.

I often try to pause and reflect, but sometimes life feels that its moving so fast that there's no time to pause.  Pausing means missing out on something, or missing your chance - at least, to me.  It's hard to even sit here and "work on my blog" because - for what?  Should this be heading towards an end goal of publishing or something?

Nope. 

This is why I like history, yet don't spend enough time in it.  When you read history, you're reminded that there have been whole civilizations which have risen and fallen and been corrupted and damaged the earth.  There have also been incredible advances, precarious times, and moments when people thought the world was ending.  As the writer of Ecclesiastes repeats, "There is nothing new under the sun" and "there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity." There's something sobering about that, especially as I watch the flowers blossom and fall. 

"Human prosperity never abides long in the same place" somehow, to me, gives us permission to "settle down" sometimes and maybe even make mistakes.  Those beautiful and fortunate mistakes that hopefully teach us something and nurture our wisdom. 

Here are some clips from our most recent history... or herstory, if you will...

Summer chasing the birds

The Dune

The gorgeous blossoms in our backyard

When it randomly snowed one morning

The surreal Tamolitch Pool