Life is Art
It's Monday; I walked to class today. I mentor kids at Churchill high after work, so I take the opportunity to get a ride home as an opportunity to stroll to class. Normally, it just takes too long. As is, I have a hard enough time getting out the door on time without walking. I almost copped out and biked this morning but I'm glad I didn't. I saw a few things that touched me, and were interesting to boot! And, as a bonus, I wasn't hit on by the Autzen stadium construction workers. Yay me.

There's a swamp just to the right as you cross the street to Autzen, it's runoff from the canoe track that snakes its way back into the greenbelt east of here. As I crossed te street this morning, I looked for the Blue Heron that's sometimes perched there in the morning. Usually, it's on the canoe run sitting next to some fisherman as a luck charm but occasionally it visits the swamp. I think that Heron must be the guardian spirit of the Autzen wilderness. It wasn't there this morning, but other wildlife was. It's baby duck season! Thre were four or five little Wood Duck babies skittering along the surface of the pond right behind mom and dad. And there was a small snapping turtle sunbathing on a log, its neck stretched out to the sky. Seeing raw nature this close to the city is refreshing. Last night after seven hours in the car, Justin and I took a long walk along the greenbelt, back behind some neighborhoods and parallel to the canoe track. It was pitch black- they don't have any lights out there. There's just enough glare from the city and construction site to completely nightblind you but not enough to light your way, so we walked without night vision, trusting the path. Alex, I don't know how you guys manage to go adventuring back there without breaking something... it was kind of annoying.

As we were walking by the stream, we heard a sort of squealing and then a deep growl. We stopped. We listened. More squeaking, sqwaking, a thrash (very close and on our side of the river) and another throaty, feral canine growl. It took us a minute to shake the fear, even though we knew, that the beastie wasn't interested in us. We stood frozen and just listened. It was fascinating... something out there was being tormented, killed, and eaten- by what, we don't know. Probably not a wildcat. It sounded more feral, like a badger, wolverine, or coyote... it was too big to be a kingfisher or rabid nutria. Whatever it was, it sounded mean and we were glad to get out of there even if it was cool as hell.

Back to this morning. I'm glad I walked but not just because of the baby ducks (saw a second set later) but because of the strange art exhibit I saw as I came under the train trestle after Autzen, right next to the funky mural. I only noticed the exhibit at all because I was mildly put off at the group of people hovering in the walkway, blocking bike traffic. They were a class of some sort, looking at the flowers. Great, another plants for Jocks class, I thought... they have these all over campus, looking at and classifying trees and shit. Some idiot's excuse to get outside. Then I heard the instructor talk about the "purpose of the exhibit" and I noticed that the flowers weren't... real. They were makeshift paper flowers, some construction paper, other laminated drawings, all stuck onto the stalks of real tulip or daffodil plants. There were a hundred varieties of paper flower in that little stretch, somehow attached to live plants. And I wouldn't have even noticed had I not been bothered by the other people looking- they looked so real. Of course, looking at them up close, they were obviously fake... but given the chance to pass them by, I probably wouldn't have stopped.

The exhibit amused me for a minute, as I did my double take, and as I walked on I became thoughtful. How often do I just pass art by? If life is art, how often do I pass life by? If I consider myself a fairly insightful person, how often does the rest of the world simply walk on by? It's kind of sad... not even a moment to stop and smell the flowers. We take for granted that they're there... much less question that they're real. Do you know if I'm real? Do you know if there's a person behind these words any more than I knew there was life behind those blossoms? Do you even question?

It was strange, the nature of this art. It certainly served its purpose. I don't know if I'll remember it later, but I certainly want to remember it now. I hope it's still there, later, and that no one takes it down. If you get the chance to go see it on campus later, check it out. It's past the Millrace on the same strip of road as the Urban Farm... just next to the psychadellic plant mural. Stop and smell the flowers. I don't think they'll give you allergies.


Mary had a little lambwich
Murray, Justin, and I drove to Walla Walla on Friday in Murray's old Subaru (does it have a name, Murray?) The trip along the Columbia was gorgeous in the setting sun, even if we did get caught in traffic on blasted I-205. There passed a moment of some hilarity before we reached Multnomah falls when Justin, who had been absorbed in a book for the last forty-five minutes, looked up from reading and upon seeing the Columbia said, "Well, that's a pretty lake!" We'd been driving along the river for about an hour. Murray and I cracked up. Justin was not amused. We stopped for a look at the falls, the turnoff is conveniently located along the freeway. Much of the path and lower viewing area were closed, but we got a good look at it. I've only been there twicec before, the first time and early December morning with Alex, several years ago (on a trip back to Montana) and with my dad last year. We detoured on the way home from Eugene and hiked the mile to the top of the falls to kick rocks off. It was fun, despite my allergies. We left the falls much frightened by the souless, eyeless baby golems that the giftshop was selling, and kept driving pretty much all the way to Walla Walla.

Murray's house is outside of city limits, a place kind of like Lesley's old house, where people like me dream of living. It has the all land space of a small farm, a barn (and the FDB), a fast-running creek, and several fields. Murray's dad, Tim, has set up a vineyard on his land, enough to grow some of the grapes he'll use to make wine. In my opinion, Murray's dad's wine is excellent, and I bought a few bottles to take home. We slept outdoors in a tent, serenaded by the creek, crickets, and the whinnying of the Sampsons' horses. Saturday we set up for the lamb roast and I met the relatives. Two of Murray's young cousins adopted me for nail-painting and cookie baking. The youngest cousin didn't seem to feel comfortable around Justin. When he walked into the house in the morning, she whispered to her mom, "I don't like the look of that man!" We had a good laugh about that.

Two lambs were roasted, a yearling and a two-year old. It was kind of grizzly, watching them skewered and spit-roasted all day. Justin was appointed MC of the fire, and spent the afternoon tending the coals. That evening was a feast. About sixty people showed up ( I think there were actually that many, counting the kids) and I met a great deal of Murray's family. Some French people from a winery in town were there and, to my embarrasment, I seemed to have forgotten all of my three years' French. Oops. We ate lamb, asparagus, potatoes, barley casserole, salad, bread, and countless appetizers and desserts. There was wine-a-plenty and I think we were all stuffed withint twenty minutes enough to last the night. Later in the evening we had a bout of some BAD plum brandy, (Schliebewitz? sp?) apparently some country drinks it with lamb. It tastes severely of ass. Ugh.

The three of us stayed up, tending the fire until late, and then slept again. I ask forgiveness for all embarrasing incriminating comments having to do with Peter North. I'm really not a sicko or a porn-meister... it's just Justin rubbing off on me. Argh. ARGH. Nevermind. There is no qualifying my dementia. I'm just not a normal girl. *sigh* What am I talking about, that's something to be proud of?

The next morning it was waffles again, a blissfull home-cooked meal at a non-rushed pace. We stuck around for a while on cleanup duty and then took off. The wholesome appeal of the landscape and the middle-american small-town-esque feel of Walla Walla made Justin and I more than slightly nostalgic. Especially Justin. I think maybe he feels like his family values are being compromised by this split between his dad and Bev. I certainly do.

We stopped a lot on the way home. Somehow the drive just wasn't as fun... it seemed longer and less hopeful. Duh, I guess. We detoured across the river and drove back Washington side. Stopped for a brief look at Stonehenge, a war memorial in Klikitat county that's an exact replica of what the original monument looked like. It was almost eerie. Crossing back and forth over the Columbia, we noticed several times that there were huge gaps between the "Welcome to..." and "Thanks for visiting..." signs of Oregon and Washington. What is between these gaps? A no-man's land? We called it the "map-line", the thick black line separating the states on the map book... a weird sort of no-man's land that we kept running into as we drove. Came home late last night and the rest, as they say, is history.

I leave with one unanswered question: GOD DAMMIT, IS CURIOUS GEORGE REALLY A MONKEY? What KIND of monkey is he then?? I say he's an ape!! Bah!!