Crush

I have fallen in love with Portland. Like, majorly.

After only a couple of days it was apparent that if I were ever to live in a real city again, Portland would be the one. I love how green it is, I love all the water everywhere, the rain, the sun, the trees, all the people riding bikes, the ever-present safe and secure bike parking, the neighborhoods, the compactness of it, the ease of navigation, the easy-going attitude, the wooden houses that look like people actually live in them ... I liked it very much.

I spent time on this trip not only with my wonderful hosts, two friends whom I've known for well over 20 years, but also with Writermama and Rozanne, as well as Writer's sister and several offspring of a few of the above. Not to mention, during the first two days of my trip, with my own adorable parents and somewhere around a hundred assorted relatives from my father's side of the family. Meeting Rozanne was especially memorable for me, because it was the first time I'd met someone in person whom I'd formerly known only online. She was a great host-for-a-day – even came to pick me up at my friends' place so I wouldn't get lost on the way to the Japanese garden, which was the perfect place to stroll around. Almost nothing was in bloom, so I got to see my favorite kind of landscape there – ten thousand different shades of green, with light and shade and koi and waterfalls, plus the raked-gravel zen gardens and a little mossy Jizo figure you can read about via a link on her site, if you want to go visit over there.

And Writermama ... there's a reason we've been friends so long. I loved seeing her again and remembering all that. She brought with her a leopard-print cotton dress I made when I was about 22 years old, which I had given to her at some point and forgotten all about ... it's still in great shape, and I was actually kind of amazed at the quality of my work – I can say that now that 20 years or more have passed – the button holes are hand-made and all still in perfect condition! And (this is big) I can almost actually wear it again. Hmm! Her sister had a Pioneer party on the 24th of July, which is a huge Mormon holiday that celebrates the saints' arrival in Salt Lake Valley. I brought my own small cadre of post- or never-Mormons, and met several others at the party, and felt more at home there with those people than I have at any party in all the twelve years I've lived here. Don't meet too many of those kind of peeps in this neck of the woods.

Being on the beach with my relatives was a new experience and I loved it. My parents are so sweet and fun and dear, I've been really luxuriating lately in the opportunity to spend time with them, just us three – not that I don't also love seeing all my brothers and sisters too, but the vibe is definitely different with a smaller group, and I really enjoyed this visit. I got some great pictures of my parents at the beach – my mom's cute feet with her first-ever professional pedicure (a gift from my sister-in-law), and my dad taking pictures of everything, and the fog and the rain and the beautiful old bridges that seem to be everywhere on the central Oregon coast.

I loved seeing my extended family again, too. It always feels so good to me to be in such a big group of people that I can totally trust. Growing up as part of that group has in some ways I think kind of spoiled my ability to be around so many other people – I sometimes wonder if I might be more functional in the rest of the world if I hadn't grown up with the expectation that people would, in general, do the right thing and be kind to each other and not say cruel things or undercut each other or compete for winner status at the expense of everyone else ... I find not a lot of groups operate that way where I live now. Not that people are awful, but competition and self-interest seem to be so much more at the forefront, rather than this family ethos (or maybe just our family mythology, though it does really seem to play out in real life as well, not just in how we talk about ourselves) of everyone pulling together, and everyone winning, together.

Anyway ... Oregon. I liked it there. But somehow I'm not feeling like writing anymore right now. I'm still on vacation until Monday, officially, and it's been such a great feeling to totally shut off the part of my mind that reads and writes and analyzes things, and just walk and sleep and eat and look at the sky and visit with loved ones. Just now when I turned on the computer I got this sudden stab of adrenalin and realized again how much I resent all the time I spend on the thing. Funny how living a normal, healthy life for just a few days can ruin you for the life you usually lead, kicking and screaming (silently and without moving, of course, lest you alarm the co-workers or incite an unwelcome revolution). Would it be possible to live in a way that would only require me to spend a few hours a week sitting down in front of a computer, instead of 40-50? What could I do to make that happen, and still have enough money to live on? Besides retire, I mean. That's still a ways off for me.

Yesterday I went to the beach at Bolinas and spent several hours just walking up and down in the fog, and sitting with my back up against the sea wall, listening to the waves and looking out at the ocean, letting the sand and water scrub all the thoughts out of my brain. Lately I like that empty, quiet feeling more and more, more than any other way I feel on any kind of a regular basis. A book I was looking through during my trip says this is the natural state of mind that humans are meant to be in much of the time, whenever they're awake; interrupt that relaxed-alert mindspace too much, and you start to have problems. We're also supposed to sleep a lot more than most people do nowadays – basically, whenever it's dark and for as long as it's dark – and eat very few carbohydrates in the winter, when our genetics tell us we are really supposed to be more or less hibernating. I am not technically astute enough to evaluate their science, but I can tell you that a lot of what I was reading felt just instinctively right to me, and that when I have lived like that – like on this trip, more or less, for example – I do feel much better and happier than when I'm chained to my desk, stressed out and staring into the bright light of my computer screen. Like right now.

So I'm going to stop writing now and go sit outside in the wind and the shade. I still have a couple more days to really live, and I intend to enjoy every minute of them.

Who are you? (Who who – who who)

This afternoon I was looking through a basket of old photos at an antique shop in Petaluma and noticed something interesting happening. Usually when I'm looking for photos, I have something specific in mind – pictures of people fishing, or old wooden farm houses, or babies with dogs, or a certain era or artistic style. I'm especially partial to bad amateur photography from the 1920s and 30s, back when the average person started being able to have their own camera and take their own pictures of whatever they found interesting. Any earlier than that, you mostly just see studio portraits, which can be nice, but lack the unpredictability and just downright goofiness of so many of the personal, unprofessional shots. Heads or shoulders slightly out of frame, eyes closed, blurry hands or faces, someone goofing off when they were supposed to be acting serious – the ones nobody in the family wanted to keep are the ones I like best.

Today I was feeling a little out of it – hungry, drifty, and kind of tired – so I wasn't really looking for anything in particular. Just browsing, drowsing ... And what I noticed was that every time I caught myself spacing off, and came back to see what I was actually doing, I found that I had been examining the faces in each photo to see if there was anyone I knew. Hmm! If I'd been really paying attention to myself I don't think that would have happened, because I would have been aware the whole time that the chances of my recognizing anyone in any of the photos would have to be very close to zero.

I just think it's cool that my basic mind, when left to itself, just automatically starts looking for (and expecting to find) the friendly, sympathetic faces of loved ones. That seems like a very positive, healthy human kind of expectation to have. It also feels somehow a bit contrary to what I often think I expect, which is for people to be self-centered and callous and critical at least about half the time. Sigh. I don't know what I think, really. People who know me often chide me for just the opposite offense – for believing people are nicer and better than they really are. They think I'm not hard enough on other people and give them too much credit for being "good."

I suppose that might be true, actually. But if it doesn't put me in danger, what's the harm in giving people the benefit of the doubt? It doesn't have to mean you're a doormat or a chump. It just means you're willing to keep your mind open. I do try to do that, and when I am surprised by someone's behavior, it's almost always a pleasant surprise. People very often do rise to the occasion, when the opportunity is there. For example, a couple of weeks ago I came within a few feet of plowing into a guy with my shopping cart as I walked across the parking lot to return it to the front of the market. My first impulse was surprise and anger – he stepped out right in front of me! But then he opened his mouth ... and what he said was, "Hey, it's so hot out here – I'm heading into the store, want me to take your cart back?" It was so nice, and so unexpected! It was really hot that day, and walking on that sizzling black pavement was awful. That guy's small gesture totally made my day. And he didn't have to do it. So why did he do it? Well, why NOT do it?

Or think about Katrina. Sure, there was looting, bad things happened. But the overwhelming impression I received from watching that whole nightmare unfold was, "Wow! People are coming out of the woodwork from all over the world to help here." Same with September 11. I cry every time I see the footage ... I cry just thinking about it ... all those images of people running toward the fire. Running there without stopping to think it through, just running to be there, to help. It breaks my heart. In a good way.

I heard something along these lines on This American Life recently – something about how brain research has shown that what we think of as human morality may be hard wired into the brain much more than we think, that we have a powerful inborn inclination to Not deliberately harm other humans .... that the violence so many people seem to believe is innate and inevitable may in fact be neither. The implications of this kind of research are comforting.

Anyway. When I get the scanner plugged back in I'll maybe post a few of the photos I bought today. The theme ended up being "Photos Whose Titles Came To Me As If In A Dream." The best title: Man With Broken Bird.

P.S. Two more things. 1) This morning I was going through some more boxes of clothes and pulled out my battered old paint-spattered motorcycle jacket, from college. I put it on and walked out to show it to Mr. A. His response: "Nobody who knows you here would believe you ever wore a thing like that. You're too sweet!" Grr! I'll show him sweet .... 2) My next door neighbors have just commenced what is apparently going to be a night-long, full-blast, outdoor singalong celebration of the lung-busting and earnest-as-heck vocal sound stylings of one of my most reviled bands of all time – Journey. Strangely, I am kind of enjoying it. Maybe I'll go over there with a pie or something one of these days. Or not. Of all the houses on our road, they're one of only two that didn't show up for the get-to-know-your-neighbors party last fall ... so all I know about them is that their house is worth about three million dollars, and that every spring they leave a note in our mailbox asking us to please trim the grass All The Way Up To Our Side Of The Fence – even though Mr. A has never failed to do so long in advance of the date the grass turns brown, and is in fact probably even more of a fire-phobe than they are .... Oh, I also know that they illegally drain their pool into the creek. Nice people. But it figures. Journey!!!

Summer rain

It rained this week. It had been getting ready to all day, and by the time it finally started everyone else had gone to bed and I walked out into the field and stood there soaking it up until I got cold. It was so beautiful and so rare that I didn't want to fall asleep, for fear I would wake up in the morning and it would be over. I heard it and smelled it through the window several times during the night, and the next morning the sky was still heavy and low and dark, and everything smelled like pine trees and fresh, damp hay. I left for work early and rode my bike all the way across the valley – about six miles – and then back to my office. It was lovely.

I haven't felt much like writing anything lately, but that rain was worth remembering. I read in the paper that it was the only rainfall on that date in all the 75 years that rainfall has been recorded around here. It reminded me of how much I always enjoy the first couple of rains in the fall, and got me started looking forward to them already.

What else? I leave for Oregon a week from today and am slowly gathering supplies for the trip. I like to travel super light and usually wait until a couple of days before I leave to start packing, so I can check the weather. This year it should be easy, since I only have a few summer things that still fit. Then again, I'm gonna be on vacation – it's okay to be in "relaxed fit" mode.

The weekend meditation retreat thing is going well. Last week Pema Chodron came to meet with us in person and answer questions (on the weekends we just meet as a group and watch a DVD of the talks she's giving at the Berkeley center). I got a seat near the front and really enjoyed listening to her speak, though I didn't ask any questions myself.

After it was over I thought I might get a chance to talk to her for a minute and thank her for her teaching, which has helped me so much over the years, but as soon as she finished she was whisked away into a conference room to be interviewed. So I took off and headed home on my bike, then about five minutes into my ride decided to go back and fill up my water bottle and see if I might catch her on the way out of her interview. It turned out to be kind of embarrassing, for me at least – or maybe humbling is a better word ... just as I walked up to the water fountain with my bottles and my bike, she came out of the room and suddenly I was face to face with her.

And instead of just saying what I wanted to say, I suddenly felt like a complete idiot, which made me want to explain, so I stammered something about coming back for some water ... and since I just happened to bump into you like this, totally by chance – while coming back to fill my water bottles, you see – I would like to thank you ... It was silly, I was silly, approaching her as if she was a rock star or something! Which is not really how I think of her at all. But I'm sure it wasn't the first time she's encountered someone who wanted to say something to her and didn't know how, and she was gracious and accessible and just very normal, and I'm over my embarrassment and just glad I got a chance to thank her in person. Because her work really does mean a lot to me. She's actually the one who first turned me on to the idea that this kind of intensely emotional moment, when I feel like a dork and a loser and want to sink into the ground and disappear, is not something to try and get rid of, but is exactly the best kind of material to work with if you want to develop the courage to live with a more open heart and more compassion for yourself and others. It isn't enjoyable to feel that way, but you can learn how to use it – and so in that way, your greatest pain, guilt, fear, anger, whatever – can actually be your greatest wealth. I need to write more about these ideas one of these days.

Not today though. Despite this long and rambling entry I seem to have no interest in writing right now at all. Not much is actually happening, for one thing – just the usual. I ride my bike every day, walk the dogs, run on the treadmill, lift weights (little ones), eat good food, sleep well, and try to keep my blood healthy. In an interesting stroke of coincidence I received several yoga-related gifts for my birthday this year, so I'm incorporating those into my little routine as well. Mainly, I'm just feeling very quiet and clear lately. Empty, in a good way. It's actually really relaxing. But there isn't much to say about it except that it feels good.

The world is run by those who show up

I saw that on a bumper sticker recently; maybe I mentioned it already. The second line, in large print, says, "Get involved!"

I could just as easily reduce the whole thing to a simple two-word command: "Show up!" It's one of the best things I've been doing lately – just deciding to say Yes to various opportunities, and then following through and watching what happens.

As an example, a few days ago the dietician I met with in April called to see if I was still interested in taking the diabetes education course she's teaching at the hospital starting this week. With all the research I've been doing over the last couple of months, my first thought was, "Why would I waste my time? I could probably teach the whole course myself by now!"

But then I thought, well, there's got to be something new I can learn, and if nothing else I can schedule another one-on-one with her to go over my personal questions – the ones I wouldn't want to bore the rest of the class with. So I told her I'd be there, and tonight when I arrived it turned out that except for the hospital dietician, who was sitting in for her own continuing education, I was the only other person who showed up. What this means is that instead of having to listen to newly-diagnosed people ask questions I already know the answers to, I ended up with a two-hour personal consultation with not one but two registered dieticians – without having to beg my HMO for another referral.

I opened my book on the table between us and we reviewed every morsel of food, every minute of exercise, every moment of stress or anxiety, and every blood glucose reading I've had since April 23. I got to grill them both about diet, exercise, carb and calorie counts, stress, vacation, illness, medications, insulin, weight loss, A1C testing, triglycerides, iron deficiency anemia, and every other topic that came to mind.

The good news is, they both think my weight loss and glucose readings are excellent. The bad news – well, not so bad I guess but disappointing, at least to me – is that I think my definition of "excellent" is quite a bit more strict than theirs. They both think I need to be eating more calories and about three times as many carbs as I have been eating ... which I didn't like hearing, because one will make me gain weight and the other will make my glucose go up, but I'm willing to try it at least for a little while, in the service of the greater good – namely, with more calories my metabolism may come back to life and I'll start losing weight again, and with more carbs I will prevent my brain from withering up and blowing away. I'm supposed to aim for no fewer than about 150 carbs a day. Bleah.

Also, based on what she saw in my book, the one who's a diebetes educator suggested that if I want to bring my numbers even lower, I might consider adding another medication, one that's designed to increase insulin production. In other words, she thinks that my pancreas might be even a little more broken than I had thought (my words, not hers). So that was kind of a bummer, but on the other hand, it's good to find out about something else I might try.

In other news, remember how I was talking about starting to write again, and how I wasn't sure if I wanted to use my real name on anything I publish right now? Well, this week I decided I definitely want to start not using my real name anymore. I wrote something with one publication in mind – a fun, fluffy piece of about 750 words – which was then wrested from my grip, edited and added to in ways I would never have dreamed of (or approved, had I been given the opportunity), and stuck on the front page of another publication that it was totally wrong for – for which it was totally wrong, whatever! In a way it's really no big deal – it's just small-town journalism, not Great Art, and I will be getting paid for the piece even though it isn't exactly what I intended it to be ... But on the other hand, it bugs me to have my name on something that through no fault or neglect or lack of talent from me, is not nearly as good as I know I can make it. I already have to compromise so much with all the other stuff I do for work ... because even though I do the work, it isn't really MY work – it belongs to the people who pay me to do it, and it's their requirements that have to be met in the final work, not mine.

So if they want to pay me for articles and then slaughter the hell out of them, and publish them with typos and awkward, tacked-on introductions and fifth-grade cliches – that is fine with me. I just don't want my name on them. Am I being petty? Or stupid? Should I be more concerned with having my name out there again than with having final say over the exact words that get published? Is it worse to have to convince future clients that yeah, I know that isn't my byline but I really did write that piece – or to have to convince them that well, I know the writing isn't all that great but that's only because it was edited by some chucklehead without my approval?

Actually, I'm not all that upset over it. It's not like it's the New York Times. Mainly, it just interests me as an excuse to play around with new pseudonyms.

Ech. Enough. I ate the recommended amount of carbs for dinner tonight and now, an hour later, my glucose is 206. So it's off to the treadmill for me. Good thing I brought home a new trashy magazine from the stack in the break room at my office; that should keep me entertained for at least the next 40 minutes or so.