The Myth of Independence

An orange dawn over Seattle

As the orange dawn crept up my window sill, I heard them. I rolled over sinking deeper into my pillow in a vain attempt to ignore nature's alarm clock.  I heard them again, this time closer to my window. I looked out and up, and the geese were passing in their magnificent V formation, crying out a chorus of honks and squawks. They are communicating the need to fly.  Winter is on its way. Perhaps they are discussing who shall lead the formation, honking out some kind of bird talk that tells them all how to line up and where they are going.

The V formation gives them lift. The flight pattern generates drafts from one bird to another making it easier for them to fly far without tiring. The geese take turns in front since the leader endures the most head wind. When the leader is tired, she drops back into the V and lets another goose move forward. Their natural instinct drives them to work together to get where they need to go before winter's grip grounds them.

From my sketch book....

Like the wings of the  geese, actions taken create the drafts that effect those around us. Whether we like it or not, we are all somehow intertwined.  We influence each other's experiences with or without intention. Like dominoes lined up in a maze, one toppled tile affects many. True independence is a myth, a story, a fairy tale, made up by those who really believe that they do not need anyone and who don't understand the impact of being disconnected. 

Sometimes I shuffle through life as if I have no impact on anyone else. I am tired, so I forget.  I am selfish, so I pretend I don't care.  I am anxious or overwhelmed, so I can't cope today.  Eventually I come back around and remember that I am not a lone goose. Woe to the lone goose who expends a great deal of effort and doesn't get very far.

I am thankful today for the people in my formation who provide the lift that allows me to fly even when I get weary. I am thankful for opportunities to take the lead and let someone else rest, and just as grateful when I can drop back into the V and enjoy the journey.  

Peace! lw

Paddle to the Sea

When I was in grade school, I saw a film called Paddle to the Sea. Unlike the standard boring educational film, Paddle to the Sea was screened for  our class as a "treat." The lights were dimmed, and the chugga-chugga of the 35 mm reel to reel projector transported me to Lake Nipigon, Canada, where a young boy carves a wooden model of a Native Canadian in a canoe. On the bottom of the canoe he roughly etches the words "Please put me back in the water. I am Paddle-to-the-Sea". He then parks the figure in the snow and the spring melt water carries it away. The film highlights Paddle's treacherous journey through the Great Lakes to the Atlantic Ocean.

Amarillo - No water here! 

As a youngster from Amarillo, the only body of water I had seen was the city pool. I had very little exposure to large bodies of water. While I loved the Paddle story, I had no desire to face the kind of danger required to paddle to the sea. Regardless, the film made an impression and every time I go out on the water I recall Paddle's journey. (And I also take a life jacket!)

An injury took me off my bike this summer. For a new way to enjoy the outdoors, I took up kayaking. In a borrowed, fishing kayak, the dogs and I have ventured onto Oregon's rivers with a healthy respect for water's power instilled in me                                by Paddle to the Sea. 

Tualitin River

On the Willamette between Corvalis and Salem, I inhaled the aroma of the mint fields while a daytime moon poked her forehead from beneath a cloudless, blue tarp. The wind made the downstream paddle take longer than we expected giving us more time to observe the many blue herons fishing along the banks. We stopped along a little sandy beach to let the dogs run a bit. They ran through the grasses sniffing and peeing on everything. After a snack, we were back in the boat and paddling the tiny whitecaps created by the wind. 

The Tualitin is shallow and lazy, full of sticks and greenery. It's a gentle water road through the city filled with swimmers and bird life. There were no beaches to land on (at least the part where we were), just a boat ramp and slow water. The Tualitin offers the chance to slow down and relax. 

Columbia River

A trip around Price Island in the Columbia went from the choppy, dark water of a wide river to the flat water of the Echloman Slough where the  shores became peaceful and green. The cloudy sky turned blue as the sun rose.  In the river, the giant ships contribute to the waves and while I was not worried about falling out of the boat, I didn't enjoy the stress of this stretch. Even the dogs were nervous about the changing wakes and tides as they gravitated toward the center of the kayak and hunkered down for the roller coaster ride.  Once we entered the slough they were back on the bow sunning themselves and watching for water critters. Overhead, the adolescent raptors squawked as our guide pointed out the old growth trees, the bird life, and the large eagle nests.

On the Siletz 

The Siletz was too shallow for the kayaks, so we made due with inflatables. Staying on them was a challenge and Sonic and I fell into the mini rapid.  The water wasn't too deep for me, but Sonic could not find the ground. He  quickly abandoned me for the shore. So much for canine loyalty! He was rescued against his will by our friend who managed to stay on her raft. The water was warm, clear, and pleasantly calm in the swimming holes while the shores were lined with slick rocks. The next day we traveled to Ollala Lake for paddling since the Siletz didn't provide a haven for paddling. 

Estacada Lake

Lake Estacada provided a paddler's peace of heaven between two dams on the Clackamas River. The water was just the right temperature to take the edge off that 100 degree day. The water mirrored black in the distance and green just under the boat. The Osprey soared on thermal drafts, and the dogs barked at the ducks. They wanted to chase without actually getting wet. One can easily spend an afternoon here dodging the fishing rafts, slicing through flat water from dam to dam. If you go later in the day the tall trees along the banks provide plenty of shade. 

Each time I put in the kayak, I can't help but recall that little wooden canoe. While I won’t be paddling to the ocean, Paddle’s memory links me to a simpler time before the burdens of the world became apparent. I forget my troubles for a while and enjoy each river's wildlife, scenery, and natural pace. I am lucky to live in such a beautiful part of the world. I am thankful today for nature’s gifts of sunrises, sunsets, rivers, mint fields, and those delightful daytime moons.

Echloman Slough

For more info about the NFB's Paddle to the Sea click here

Info on children's book Paddle to the Sea

Roads to Cathlamet

I have now made three trips to  Puget Island in Cathlamet, Wa where I have enjoyed the river, the apple orchard, the garden, the farmer’s market, the goats, and my wonderful friends.   

The first time I went to this beautiful place, the weather was gray and rainy in typical Oregon fashion. My traveling companion and I took Highway 47 through Vernonia , where we stopped for a burger at a small café. We continued north to Highway 30 where we were awarded a scenic drive of twists and turns along the road to Westport where a small ferry leaves the dock at a quarter after every hour. The Oscar B Ferry shuttled us 1.5 miles across the lower Columbia River from Oregon to Puget Island in Washington where we disembarked and drove a short distance to my friend’s little farm.   Later that evening, Oscar B, the last car ferry to cross the river between the two states, returned us.

 Last weekend, I decided to take a different route and avoid the ferry. This time I took a sunny, cloudless drive along Highway 30 from Portland to Rainier.  I crossed the Lewis and Clark Bridge, ducked through Longview to Highway 4, and enjoyed the drive along the Columbia through Stella to Cathlamet where I crossed a narrow bridge to Puget Island. Time wise, this route took no longer than the other.  Since this route travels through St. Helens, Scappoose, and Rainier, it's a bit stop and go. Watch your speed through the little towns or you may get to visit with a state trooper. The scenery was different this time, less twisty forest road and more river/slough view.  I favor this route as I do not have to wait for the ferry.

Since I needed to stop in Vancouver on my way home, I grabbed I-5 South from Longview. I took care of business in Vancouver and grabbed the highway into Portland. As usual, traffic was fairly annoying and the city added at good half hour to my travel time home.

I drove back up today to harvest pears, apples, and tomatoes. I chose to avoid the ferry and I-5 and took the route through Rainier again.  Next time I go, if the weather is good, I think I will go back through Vernonia and ride the ferry again just for fun.

Consider that there are many routes to where you wish to go, and that there is no sin in attempting more than one. Just because a certain path worked out OK doesn’t mean that we should avoid the opportunity to try another road which ends up in the same place. Like the roads to Cathlamet, a new experience awaits along each route.

Peace! Lw

Marshmallow: The Movie

 Perfect Toasted Mallow

A few weeks ago while camping,  I created the perfect toasted marshmallow. To create the perfect toasted marshmallow, one must draw upon one's deepest patience. To start toasting over a roaring fire spells doom as the mallow will burn to blackness. Waiting for a bed of hot coals produces the finest roasting environment. 

Once the coals glow red and the smoke has died, the delicate confection must be carefully punctured by the finest roasting implement. I suggest a whittled green stick or a store bought roaster with safety handle obtained at your local dollar store. Say no to mutilated wire coat hangers. 

The marshmallow must be tended uninterrupted. Distractions are dangerous.  A few extra seconds on one side, defeats the perfect toast. Too long in the heat may blacken it, or allow it to over melt and fall off the stick. 

As a side begins to brown  gentle turning is required for even browning.  Again patience is the key!!  Gentle, uninterrupted rotation above the coals is a must. Giving up too soon may produce a one-sided toasty leaving the other side devoid of delicious crispness and with a sticky, gooey texture instead. Get distracted, and have a coal on stick. Once toasted to perfection, keep your stick up or the melty goodness may dive to inferno.

I can't think of one time when I toasted marshmallows all alone.  When I went camping alone, sitting by a fire toasting marshmallows was the last thing on my mind. I built a fire for heat when needed, or I simply didn't bother. When we are with those we treasure, the campfire presents a place for fellowship.  While consuming the perfect marshmallow could be the best part of the toasting, to me it’s the camaraderie around the fire that makes them taste so good. Sharing the small stuff with people we care about makes the joy abound.  Consider who you would have with you around the campfire while you view Marshmallow: The Movie.  Tell them you care and invite them to watch it with you. Hopefully,  you will find the film is better when shared (since it’s not really that great to start with).

Toasts!

lw

Physical Therapy or Medieval Torture?

You know that old saying, the bigger they are, the harder they fall?  It turns out it's true. When I fell, I meant it. My knee has been quite unhappy since the embarrassing crash I took at work over a month ago. I shall hereafter refer to that moment as "the incident."

As a result of "the incident" I have been ordered by medical professionals to attend weekly PT sessions. About 10 years ago I got whiplash and went to see a PT. Mostly they just massaged and stretched me. That PT never really asked me to do anything, and I was fine with that.

Not so with this new bunch. They work me hard. I have teased the PT Assistant mercilessly about putting me on the racks and locking me into stocks.  I asked her about the thumbscrews and, fortunately, she didn't know what thumbscrews were. (I encouraged her to chat with her Game of Thrones friends.)

My PT and her Jovial Assistant (aka J.A.)  not only force me to use various torture devices in their presence, they also want me to inflict myself at home with a regimen of exercises including one which involves looping a dog leash around my foot and pulling it vertically across my back and over my right shoulder. I have named this exercise the Ouchy Dog Walk. My book of physical terror games grows thicker after each visit.

In spite of rehab's discomfort, I appreciate how my PT and J.A. smile and lob words of encouragement as I suffer. Sometimes they even offer some praise when I get through something with only minor (although amusing) complaints.   J.A. even laughs at my torture related jokes. Even though she has probably heard them all before, she does a nice job of pretending that she hasn't. 

Health care providers can burn out. Personally, I often tire of seeing suffering weather it's a pet or the human family. I've had times in my career where I was pretty low after a what seemed to be a plethora of negative outcomes and grumpy people.  Most of  us have crossed paths with a health care provider or two who is tired and/or jaded by the system. 

I am fortunate to have some superior providers on my case who care about the outcome and can chuckle with me about "the incident." So the saga continues until this knee resolves or I see a thumbscrew and run. (Dang, I'm in trouble! I can't run!) 

Thanks to my peeps at Providence Rehab & Sports Medicine-Tansabourne for great service and support. 

No Sonic, we aren't going for a walk. I'm doing my PT. 

lw

Jaded at the Coffee House

Sometimes when I am tired or a little blue, I head across the street from work to the multi-million dollar coffee chain for a Frappucino. (I won't use this company's name since I fear litigation when I dis them.)  I don't frequent the place super often as the drinks are spendy and loaded with empty calories. They are tasty though, and the sugar and caffeine give me a shot in the arm for the afternoon. 

I thought I needed one today. I was indeed a little blue about something. So I headed over on my lunch break to get a lift. First, they didn't have the type of sandwich I wanted. I was okay about it and chose something else after checking with the clerk to make sure they didn't have one stowed somewhere. Then I ordered my fave s'mores frap and headed to the pick-up end of the counter. 

I was greeted by a nice young man who informed me that he didn't have all the elements needed to create my drink of choice. I know my face shifted from excited (about that drink) to super frowny. 

"I'm not happy," I said in a flat tone. "Really, I'm just not happy." That's the drink I want today. I needed that drink today I thought. Damn, it's not fair. What is wrong with this place that they would take this drink away after selling it to me? If they didn't have it, they should not have sold it to me. 

" I  can make it," he said, "but it won't be the same. Do you want something else?"

" Ok," I resolved, " I will have waffle cone instead."

" Oh, I'm so sorry. We discontinued that drink too." He was apologetic at least. 

I crossed my arms and flopped them on the counter. I am aware that my face was now extra frowny. I broke the eye contact I had with the man, and hung my head.

The Drink 

"Now, I'm not just unhappy," I grumbled. "Now, I'm upset." I was slumped over in disappointment like a kid whose scoop just leapt from the cone. I sighed. It occurred to me then that I was being a big baby over a frosty drink. It also occurred to me that I didn't care. I wasn't angry, just disappointed. I wanted a pick me up. I wanted to feel better, and go back to work stoked.

I finally picked out another drink. I, with great sadness, requested extras for which I had not paid and was rewarded.  I was handed the drink and the barista felt so bad that he also gave me a gift card for another drink. I thanked him for his efforts and tried to provide a half-assed smile. The poor guy wanted me to walk out happy and I couldn't do it. 

I drank  the hazelnut frap with banana and extra whip and was not happy about it. I was jaded by the multi-million dollar coffee corp. who had lured me in for something that was no longer there. 

Such is life, I guess. Aren't we all subject to being lured by a promise of something that isn't really there or wasn't what we thought it would be? There in lies the disappointment that often strips us down to our basic human-ness. We want what doesn't exist and mope when we don't get it. 

lw

The Tunnel of Uncertainty

Change…. just thinking about it makes me want to spit.  The older I get, the harder it is to let go and move forward.  Whether a change is forced by circumstance or chosen, the common product is uncertainty.  Will it all work out or will I suffer and die? (I know I am being dramatic.)

Big changes are like walking into a long dark tunnel. My assumptions keep me from moving forward since I have already (very dramatically) determined that what’s in the tunnel isn’t good for me.  I cling to my assumption as a lantern in the darkness. Will I encounter a fiery dragon, a cursed treasure, or be forced to slay my own demons like Luke Skywalker in the old tree? Yoda understood about the uncertainty of a dark unknown place and, despite his knowledge, he saw its usefulness in training Luke to acknowledge his fear and face it all while Luke claimed he was “not afraid.” Unlike Luke, I have no problem shouting out to the world that the tunnel is scary. 

In the face of an important change, I am challenging my assumption and requiring myself to believe that the tunnel is a passage to another place , that it doesn't house killer beasts, and that if I can muster the courage to go forward I will see the light at the end. Can changing my assumption change my experience? I am finding that, if nothing else, the new assumption makes me a little more willing to move along. Willingness doesn’t quash the fact that change carries a truck load of uncertainty that I can't do much about. 

Carly Simon had it right when she sang, " We can never know about the days to come, But we think about them anyway." So dwelling on it is pointless and what IS certain is that I will do it anyway. Human nature compels me to think ahead .......... even when it's not in my best interest. 

Excuse me now, while I go spit! 

I've had this drawing folded up in my sketch book for a while. 

lw