Vacation

When I came home, my vacation began. A week away, to live by our own rhythms.

The appeal to my write-up has been denied. I figured I had to make the attempt. Perhaps starting a report trail for her ill treated staff in the future, if not for me. So be it. As I sat out in the mild spring air, Moby somewhere at the end of the tether, the garden teeming around me, my mind found a way around.

I will thank her for the opportunity to approach all my teammates and tell them how much I value and appreciate, as well as trust, them. And I am deeply touched by how much they expressed their value of me, and support, to be outright told they have my back, to know they are on my side. The advantage of being completely true.

Whether I say any of this out loud is another thing, but I have it in my heart.

Now, that is worth something, when you think about it/That is worth some money.


Next Friday, I'm having the recycle party here. We are looking forward to it.

Goose

For me, the museum was always a minor key, but for D, it was the wish of his ten year old little boy self, as well as the distinguished historian. It proved to be a very large room full of aircraft, about what I expected, but not quite the experience D imagined. He loved Dogfights, for the interviews with pilots, in contrast to the purple prose of the narrators. I watched along with him, usually while writing for this space. The vets were captivating in their laconic delivery of life and death stories, both of us enjoyed this aspect.

At the museum, I got to a point pretty quickly where I thought, "wow. another plane." Granted, we missed the tour times, and that might have helped. Blame the weather, there. But the maritime museum in Astoria enchanted both of us.

As for the Spruce Goose, my uncle Walt told me about it when I was very small. I read about it's being at the museum on Roadside America, and how visitors would walk through, and ask where it was. Museum staff would point up. It is so large, it is nearly invisible. Took both of us longer than it should have to see it. A grey background, more than an entity. An elephant in the room, too big to actually see. Like having a 4' inflatable emperor penguin (named George) in one's living room, it doesn't quite register, being out of place, off the scale. Yes, there are beach balls, in the wings, to keep the wings afloat, if necessary. Yes, it's made of wood. Somehow, it's not as big as I imagined, but that might be because the building is so large. Same with the Titan rocket, nothing to compare it to, so it just exists outside of normal space.

Long day at work. Figures.

Spitfire

Another guest post, from D. I'm so excited to rate a guest writer!



Motto: "The Hornet Attacks When Roused" This was attached to a De Havilland Vampire, the second operational British jet fighter. The Vampire was featured in Frederick Forsyth's aeronautical ghost story The Shepherd.


Corsair. Much larger than I thought it would be. Apparently much more difficult to land on an aircraft carrier than usual.


Mustang. (Couldn't get around it to get a decent photo.) The Mustang was originally designed early in the war for the RAF. The original version made a good ground attack plane, but the engine performed badly at altitude. At the suggestion of the RAF, North American gave the Spitfire the same Rolls Royce Merlin engine as used in the Supermarine Spitfire. They made continuous improvements throughout the war, finally ending with this plane, the P-51D, which many consider the best fighter plane ever made (adjusted for inflation).


Spitfire. Another legendary plane, and justly famous for its role in the Battle of Britain, although Hawker Hurricanes actually shot down more German bombers.

Herman Goering, when once asked what he would need to win the air war over England, replied "A squadron of Spitfires." Loser.

Evergreen

Evergreen Air and Space Museum. With D writing commentary.


DC3. "Probably the most important aircraft of WWII."


Sopwith Camel. "Sans Beagle. Surprisingly small."


Messerschmitt Me262. "The first operational jet fighter. Some people believe that if the war had gone on for another year, Germany's ability to produce jet aircraft would have changed the tide of the war. These people are wrong."


MiG-17. "Hugely successful Russian fighter from Korea up to Vietnam era."



Did you spot the Spruce Goose? Took us a moment, it's almost too big to see.

Glint

Smile and wave.

Rare

The entrance to Depoe Bay is tiny. I've seen wider streets. So getting a boat through would have to be something done very well indeed. No boats were going out while we were watching, so it is presumably fairly rare this time of year.




These books tend to be rare, but not exclusively, according to the sign.




This was very well done. Possibly a bit over done.

Tidal

Along the seawall in Depoe Bay.

These three are out our window.





High tide.

We got to Portland, were not able to meet up with N. Lunch was mediocre, and I wasn't hungry, feeling ill and swollen. Took the slow way to the coast. Food had no appeal for me those three days, nor did driving. The town more touristy and built up than I'd imagined.

However, the hotel room proved more warm and lovely than the Inn's site showed, a first in my experience. We sat and watched the waves. Made tea. Could not settle, so we walked out in the cold wind, plumes of spray spouted over the seawall. That was amazing, although we made sure to stay dry, being old and not wanting to be that cold.

Heard the first harbingers of a HUGE SNOWSTORM! for Oregon. By morning, the hysteria is high, we are not sure at all we will be able to get home on Thursday, and we watch the weather. A few inches, traces, conflicting messages. It all seems overblown to us, except for two things, winding roads through hills that are not well plowed or gritted, with a tendency to form black ice, and drivers who are unused to these conditions going too fast and following too close. The state road alerts are requiring drivers to carry chains on the roads we will be traveling. The Inn folks assure us that if we can't get through, they will put us up another night, and since they do offer a winter discount of three nights for the price of two, the extra day would be free. We call the airline to find out what will happen if we can't get through. We begin to regret going unplugged, un-laptopped, this trip. After a few minutes of panic, we decide to just take it as it comes, and at least enjoy the day.

Squalls of rain, gouts of bright gold sun, tides, waves, crows, gulls, a heron, we snuggled and watched water move. Out in dense rain along a narrow state park drive to see Otter Rock and the Devil's Cauldron, we regain our delight. And lose the tail-gaters, for a while, among the trees. Pathetic excuse for bbq, still not hungry, we return to our picture window and solve a few more crossword puzzles. A spate of pellet snow rattles the windows.

Gut rumbling all night and into morning, as reports of bad road conditions spatter the local/regional news and weather channel. I am afraid, dreading the drive, wanting to get moving, but knowing that just waiting for the temperatures to warm and the road crews to work will greatly improve our odds. About 0930, we make a break for it. Hit waves of snow, but these drivers are taking it slowly, and we make it to the tire shop and get chains. Informed that if they are required (they were) there is a $300 ticket not to have them, so we had chains, in case. Stopped for breakfast, I could not put food near my mouth, but D needed food, and I needed him. By the time we were finishing up, the waitress told us one of their delivery drivers came down the road we would be going up, and it was mostly clear.

Ultimately, we did not need the chains, but there were a few miles of turning, steep, snow packed roads that would not have been nearly so bad but for SUV driving idiots who don't understand inertia and following distance. Tense and worried, I kept the car on the road, got us through. Not as bad as the hours of horrible roads coming back from Lava Hot Springs. We did make it to the Evergreen Air & Space Museum. D delighted, although neither of us as impressed as we'd hoped. More on that later.

Found our way to see our friend, N, give him a book, and leave the chains for his mom as a fortuitous gift. He seemed very subdued, but we got him laughing before we left - so that's alright then. Ate at the airport, which is not the terrible choice it sounds like. Had a lovely Rogue Irish Lager, and the first appealing meal I had all week. Easy flight back, cab ride home we nearly got cut off by a semi who couldn't stay in it's lane.

Moby well cared for while we were gone, but VERY HAPPY AND EXCITED to have us home. Staying very close, chasing a lot, purring mightily.

Dire

One of the ground states of my personality is anxiety. Today, I have my pre-trip thoughts of death and dismemberment. Mostly just death. Plane crash, car crash, disasters and catastrophes. Knowing logically that my odds are no worse than on any day does not help the irrational worry.

Found a real pet sitter for Moby, and although she usually walks dogs, Moby took to her immediately. He will be fine, all will be well. I've left a ridiculous number of notes for the poor woman.

But, you know, if something does happen, I don't want Moby to ever go to another shelter. He needs a real home, we promised. We always promise we'll be back for him.

Yes, I know.

Planets

When planning this trip (we always over-plan) we decided to eat meals heated in the room, bought at Trader Joe's. And fill a suitcase to bring foodstuffs unique to TJs home. This suitcase is what we chose to pack, clothes and a gym bag inside, to be later filled with food and some clothes, and carry the gym bag with us. Not overjoyed at having to check luggage, but it seems worth it this time.

The saleswoman appeared surprized at the color D chose. They came in black, silver, red, and purple. We both knew immediately we would take the purple one, and not just because I love the color. Having an unusual color makes the luggage carousel less of a torture. And D does not consider the color of his luggage* reflective of his gender. We then wanted to up the visibility, and went into the office supply store with an open mind for something sticky and identifiable. D spotted the vinyl planets sheet in the educational section. Only one way to tell for sure how much difference it will make, but I have every confidence in this idea.

When we returned from Gulf War I, and knew we would need to sift through 800 identical duffle bags to find our own. So I'd bought a remnant of obnoxious bright pink polka-dot fabric from a Riyadh shop, to tie on all the handles of mine, to find it. D thought this a great idea, and had me put more on his as well. Worked a treat. At the time, I thought this remarkably pragmatic for a 21 year old guy, in the Army, who grew up in Utah.

On another subject, I was spraying the counter, and Moby just watched with idle interest. I remarked, as I have before, that I am very glad we never "punished" Moby with spraying water at him, and apparently neither did his former owner. Mentioned this to D, glad that we'd read up on this before we'd even found Moby. That punishment doesn't work for any creature, unless it is immediate and a spontaneous reaction, not intentional retribution. But especially not with cats, who merely decide you are dangerous and crazy, and therefore to be avoided. Unlike dogs who want your approval.

D said, "Yeah, cats know your anger is all about you."






*He had no trouble carrying a friend, P's, pink, Hello Kitty! luggage from the airport to her B&B, although P's mom tried to tease him about it. He shrugged P's Mom's slur off as irrelevant, if not downright silly. This is a huge part of why I so admire him.

Antelope

We got a wild hair, and took off.

Antelope Island is only an hour away, but it feels like it's at the end of the earth. No civilization in any direction, save the empty causeway. Winds were high here. There, it hit up on Buffalo Point with muscles. Probably 30-50 MPH. We put on shirts, because with wind and lake and elevation, it's ridiculously easy to get burned, even on a cool day. A short mile trail, but it beat us both, and cleared out the cobwebs vigorously. The journey there (and back) was much more difficult than it needed to be, but we persisted. As we approached the entrance we realized how little cash we had. Had to search the car for change, and still came up a nickel short for the entry fee, but the ranger merely grinned, and waved us in with what we had, including pennies.

Typical

For those that like this sort of thing, they will find that this will be the sort of thing they like. Personally, not enough cloud or rain or gale force winds, and no trace of blizzard at all. All too typically pretty, or overbuilt, or grandly sweeping. Doesn't move me at all, only makes me want to erase all the man-made structures and see it how it was a few centuries ago.

Looking off toward Mexico.


To downtown San Diego.


The Scripps Pier and Coast Hwy with adjacent beaches.



Or so we were told, and have no reason to doubt.

Maybe we were just tired of California by this point. We could so NOT live there. Oregon, maybe. The boring-weathered, freeway-thick southern state? Not a chance in hell. Friends notwithstanding.

Guests

We could have, we were invited to, stay at the home of friends on this last trip. But we are neither of us comfortable with this. We once had to stay with his parents, and once with mine, episodes that cause both of us to shudder in suppressed horror. We've been invited to stay at the home of a friend's mom in Portland, and we both recoiled. We treasure our privacy and our own space, and feel profoundly intrusive on others when we ignore this urge. Rare exceptions have been made since.

Each of us individually have stayed a night or two with out of town friends, but it's almost always very uncomfortable and mostly sleepless. During a week long period of homelessness, we started one night in a friend's basement, and wound up re-packing the car, leaving an apologetic note, and driving through the night until we found a hotel during conference weekend. Unable to sleep, hungry and restless, we had to escape.

On the other hand, I'd stay with our cousins in Massachusetts anytime, and put them up anywhere, even to giving them our bed and sleeping on the floor myself. I won't speak for D, but I suspect he'd feel the same. I did just fine at Moira and C's three years ago, although I know I was a burden.

And although we have made guests comfortable when we've had the room, I didn't handle well a surprize extra visitor who wound up in our living room, to my extreme irritation since I had to get up and dressed and eat at 0600 that morning in front of a younger brother I'd never met before. We hosted D's brother, a friend, and Moira and C in our largest apartment in Boston, all of which worked out very nicely. So, it can work. We just have to have the space, and I have to get myself in the right place in my head. I like the idea of guests, just very little practice with the extra room to do it right.

The friend who wanted us in San Diego? Well, maybe now that I have met his spouse, which I hadn't before. Maybe next time, if we can't afford a hotel that time. Maybe.

Motel

Irrelevant photo of a boat.


The other not-at-all new revelation reinforced on this trip is that expensive hotels suck. We didn't know this most of our lives, but found out when D was being sent out to San Francisco for his job during the dotcom years. Beautiful rooms, elegant lobbies, no free amenities, only very expensive soda and candy bars, lotion and crackers - charged individually. D's brother put his parents up in this old resort hotel, with elegant beds, and $10 a day wifi, no fridge or microwave. At the Ramada where we stayed (via Travexorbitz) we had a fridge, microwave, free wifi (that worked perfectly) nice shampoo, conditioner, lotion, and a washer dryer down the hall.

I grew up with my father taking two week vacations that involved long car trips, getting up before dawn to get in the miles, stopping at every tourist trap along the way, and staying at the cheaper motels that still had AAA ratings, with occasional concessions to my brother and I to find one with a pool. They never had shampoo or coffee makers, not even the cheapest of plastic danish that constitutes what in this country gets called a Continental Breakfast. We ate tiny boxes of cereal, Corn Pops or Froot Loops, from the box, with milk bought at the truck stops, for breakfast. Mom made her tea with an immersion heater in the morning, and chewed on ice from the motel ice maker in the evening. (Never saw her chew ice in any other context.) We emptied the cooler of the melted ice, and bought more the next morning to keep the coke and milk and fried chicken brought from home cool.

The very one.


Can't say I enjoyed car trips as a small ride hostage to a rageful father. But I loved the swimming pools, and I'm glad I still have the cooler. And that we don't stay at ultra cheap motels, nor expense account posh ones. We'll stick with the comforts of the middle, preferably at a discount.

Signage

In San Diego the birds get seats, even if they can't reach the tabletop.


The meat may be from a named animal, but which one is a matter of chance.


And all the cats smile beguilingly.

Companionship

On the Sunday, we rested. Moira and C and their little Plum found an apartment full of light, and have filled it with their even brighter intelligence, and two foodie cats. C experiments with bamboo flutes, and a frankencello. We rested there, completely at home, no agenda, no plan. Rather like the last time they visited us, and Moira napped on the sofa while Plum napped in our bedroom. Rare to find a friend one can so completely relax around, to find two couples who are friends who can do this is perhaps unique, and certainly a blessing unutterable.

No, that's not Moby. But a larger cat still, no doubt of Maine Coon descent, Umeko/Bear. Both he and Kibo/Mau had been dangerously obese, until Moira gave them a home, right after her two previous cats had died within weeks of each other. They've slimmed considerably, happily showering Moira with affection and devotion.

Ok, make that three couples in blissful, mutual solitude.

Postcards

We did make it to the beach one afternoon. We are not much into sunny California seaside life. D got burnt, and there were too many people for me. Too much the "ideal" of the picture postcards. And I am bored and irritated with what is commonly perceived as "perfect" in anything. Too crowded, too many cheap* summer rentals. Pretty, but not the intense beauty of a winter lashed coast. Got my feet wet, though.








Rucked up, hair a mess, but feet in a kind of bliss. Unknown child.





*But very expensive.

Refugees

The Cat found refuge from the many children cousins first on my lap to be petted, then with Mike to sleep. We talked for hours, someone got D a guitar, and I had a pick in my pocket (as I often do, just in such a case.) There was consternation among this group about mutual turning 40 within the past year. I understood, I really did. But I've seen 50 ahead, and I trust that my cousin Elizabeth is right that life begins at 50. To me, they all look to have come into their own, with varying levels of assurance and comfort. But the men all seem more distinguished, the women all more deeply beautiful in my eyes. I said none of this, they will find out for themselves, in their own way, in their own time. I'm just blessed beyond belief to know them all, and to have known them all for so long.

Ocean

What do you do when two people normally wake up very early, and with the time change get up an hour sooner than that? Well, we took the mile and a half walk to the pier, and enjoyed the shore for it's early morning beauty, surrounded by Southeast Asian and Mexican fishers pulling small silver fish from the waves. Then wait for the cafe at the end to open at 0700 to devour a much needed breakfast. The walk back, all uphill, took more out of us, but we would have time to lounge around C and Moira.

I love the subtle monochrome of the air and water, pleasing to my tired eyes and newly growing soul. Made me think of Agnes Martin who I'd learned of from Sr. Wendy's Story of Painting. The sky was like I imagined those paintings. Overflowing with nothing to see, save everything. My little digital does not show what my eye saw. Pete could photograph this sky, I have to remember it.

Ops

Home and slept with a cat on my ankles. All is well. Moira taught me the PT exercises that overlap both our issues, and I'm sure that's kept me merely stiff and sore, but not flared up and in misery.

Written during the flight yesterday:

The last day, and from last night it has seemed one too many. We miss Moby, our own bed, our own space. We have persevered and got another bit of time to hang out with Mt.

Last evening, another gathering of the same core friends, and the comfort is still solidly there. Excellent food at a Greek place, including flaming cheese. Which lead me to substitute Cheese on Fire* for Wheels on Fire (The Ab Fab version), which I sang. So gratifying to be around people who get my jokes, and I theirs. Mt's usually (relatively) taciturn wife got in the funniest comment of the weekend at dinner. We were talking about how Amelia Earhart's remains have apparently been found. But just the one skeleton. What happened to her navigator? Says Ch, perfectly timed, "She ate him."

After, with Moira driving, flying down the freeway in the dark, belly full of contentment, heart at ease.


So, shall I start at the beginning yes I will. Not quite, since I have a few shots on the way to the airport, but they didn't show anything much.

The photographer getting it together. Would you believe they're all adopted? No, of course not. Strong genetic connection there.


Bride and Groom



With both sets of parents. Really. Father of Bride's shoulder is there. That's all I'm going to show, for the sake of privacy.





*"This cheese shall explode!"