Tut, Tut.... Looks Like Rain

The cashier at New Season's said, "You have your blustery day coat on." 

"Tut, tut - looks like rain...." I responded.

Summer's slow tranquility has given way to lively autumn.   

I took Luna out to run errands with me.  She is learning how to wait in the car.  I carefully craft opportunities for her - leaving her for 5 minutes at Bales one week, then 10 at Trader Joe's the next.

Today we set out on our circuit.

Broken tree limbs and fallen leaves littered the streets.   As the car cut a path on the asphalt, the wind whipped the leaves into a riot of color and sound.

Luna loves a car ride.  She sits and watches wistfully out the window.  Nothing escapes her observation.  An airplane, a motorcycle, a dog and his people walking, a lone bird.

Today we stopped at the Recreation Center for a quick walk.  If I walk as fast as I can, we could almost say she is not really pulling on the leash any more. 

My perspective:  the dog cannot go slow!  Her perspective:  who is this human ball and chain in tennis shoes and yoga pants who is weighing me down like an anchor? 

The Rec Center circuit on a windy fall day

We sped around the perimeter, past fall soccer games, booming tennis tents thudding in the wind, the skate park with its slouching daredevils, and a curtain of fiery autumn leaves under marble skies.  Autumn is a drama-fest. 

The Oregonian shared a story of downed trees and branches, upturned tents and other debris left by fall's wild rumpus here:  http://www.oregonlive.com/pacific-northwest-news/index.ssf/2014/10/high_wind_advisory_lifted_but.html#incart_river

Beaverton Farmers' Market tent overturned

October Morning Walk

 

 

Morning walk at Forest Heights Park.  Luna found a friend.  The year-old Wrigley could not be let off her leash or she would dive into the fountain.  So they rolled in the wet grass and fallen leaves, tussling and gnawing on each other's necks, and braiding their leads into a twist.  Tomorrow Luna will celebrate her one year birthday.

 

 

 



Dimwitted Moronic Vapidity

I napped both weekend days.  The full impact of what we had seen, felt, and lived finally hit.

But I was proud of myself.  Proud of us, really.  We had this scary big accident.  And we handled it with wits and grace. We were organized, thoughtful, and calm.  We had our act together.  Go Peace Love Bossy!

The police officer had emphasized that we had 72 hours in which to report the accident to the DMV. "If they receive my report, and they have not heard from you within the 72 hour window, you will be in trouble." 

I left work early on Monday to trudge off to the DMV.

Who looks forward to that?

But I would be okay.  I had my documents in place.  I had the police report in hand.  No big deal.  Right?

I found out what is worse than a car accident: reporting that accident to the DMV.  The dummy vee.

I'm not sure what exactly did it.  The incomprehensible forms?  The byzantine system of waiting in different lines to make it seem like a person is not really waiting as long as he is?  The callous and dismissive "service"?  The lackadaisical approach to attending to customers?  The hemming and hawing over a form that has been filled out correctly?  I'm not sure what did it, but when I left that place my heart was thumping with anger.  Doofus, moron, vee.... Humph!

Friday Night Lights

It was pretty typical for a Friday night in our world. 

Son needed a ride to a restaurant where he was meeting buddies for dinner.  I needed to get to the bakery before they closed at 7.  I suggested Hubby and Luna come along.  We could stop at the bakery enroute to the dog park.

We dropped Son off at Roxy's Island Grill.  Check.

Made it to Great Harvest by 6:52.  Two loaves of brown rice flour bread.  Check.

We turned out of the parking lot and onto the road.  The dog park was still at least 10 minutes away.  As we pulled up to a red light I noticed the time: 7:00.  It's getting dark earlier and earlier!  Luna won't have much time to run and play in daylight...

3 minutes later it happened.  As we sat waiting for a green arrow to turn left, two cars on the cross street collided.  Head on.  Square in front of us.

The impact snapped my attention to laser focus.   I saw the vehicles spin as clearly as if the whole scene were in slow motion.  I even saw the looks of fear on their faces, like a spotlight was shining on every detail of the moment.  20-something guy driving a black Toyota with his buddy in the front seat, their eyes wide with shock as the airbags billowed.  40-something blond alone in the Camaro, her face a mask of fear and surprise. 

I stiffened.  My foot pushed at the brake in our motionless car.  "They're going to hit us!  They're going to hit us!" 

Boom!  They hit us.

The car directly behind us at the light was a Portland Police Cruiser.  If the impact happened at 7:03, he was out of his car and in command at 7:03.5.  The red strobe light sliced the darkness, the noise and color awash in adrenaline.

The Toyota driver shot out of his car.  He was jumping around.  Looked like he wanted to punch someone.

The Camaro was a mangled twist of black metal.  Steam and the dust from the airbags rose into the twilight air.

I tried to put the car into Park, but it would not budge.  I could not move the gear shift out of Drive.  I could not get the key out of the ignition.  I rotated the key and killed the engine.  We were okay.  I knew we were okay.  Our airbags did not even deploy.  It was a major hit, but we were in the Acura.  That car is a tank.

Luna was frantic.  Hubby took her across the street and ran her down the sidewalk to spend some of her pent up energy.

I spoke to a witness who had stopped to ask if we were okay.

At least three more police cars arrived, along with an ambulance and a full fire engine.  The lights and noise filled the chaotic scene with added blare and drama.  Two police dogs barked from inside one of the cars.  Officers stopped traffic, checked for injuries, took our statements and investigated the crash scene.

We never made it to the dog park on Friday night.  Instead, we got a special ride from a flatbed tow truck driver all the way back to our home.  Luna rode locked up in the banged up Acura loaded onto the bed.

We got our excitement.  A lot more than we wanted.

What am I thankful for?

• No one was gravely injured.  Hubby, Luna and I are fine.
• We were driving our big car, and not our tiny Mini Cooper.
• Son was not with us.
• Son was not driving!
• We were not at fault.
• A police officer was on scene before the crash even happened.
• We were close to home.  Not 300 miles away or 500 miles away.  And we were not headed to any important destination.  

Yep.  If you must have an accident, that's the way to do it.

Are you okay?

The car on the left wins.

Summer Snapshot

Journal Entry:  July 31, 2014

I am taking a vacation day.  Luscious to be home.  Son is playing Beethoven's Sonata Pathethique.  It never fails to move me.  I stop what I'm doing to listen, sigh, and feel my heart swell.  The beauty makes me want to cry.

I drove Luna to Camp Good Puppy for the day.  She was excited about exploring the farm until she realized, from the other side of the fence, that I was leaving without her.  She went bonkers trying to get to me.  Jumping, pushing the gate, I think she was contemplating digging out for her next move. 

It's a beautiful day and the puppy gets to be out with other doggy friends in a wide meadow with soft ground to dig in.  She will have a grand time.

Today's smells:  the sweet, peppery, fresh scent of potted Basil brought in from the warm patio to water.  The leftover smell of vanilla coffee from the half cup left cold on the table from breakfast.  The scent of plants and forest on the back deck.  The slightly garlicky aroma of last night's pozole every time I open the door of the refrigerator.

The sounds are fewer.  There is Son's music, but the piano is silent now.  So the only orchestra is the one undertaken by a construction crew as they hack away the tangle of forest behind our house and train the land into space for a park.  I can hear chain saws, dump trucks, the faint shouts of the men, and the snapping of branches as they cut through the thick web of shimmering green.

The landscape is layered with light.  Diaphanous shades and tints of green and yellow.  The rich burgundy of the Japanese maple.  Crocosmia blooms are teardrops of fire.  Thyme, Petunias and sweet potato vine cascade from the terra cotta planters.  The sky is bathed with the sheerest turquoise and dotted with floating clouds.

It is summer.  The warmth, the light, the white stillness all lovely.  Lovely.  Lovely.  

Were it not for a vacation day I'd miss its charms.  I would know it was a sunny day.  I would hear a mention on the radio, or someone on the phone would say, "Enjoy the sunshine," as a sign-off to our conversation about hiring or jobs or employment.  I might feel the hard slap of heat if I left the office midday to go home and check on Son, feel the sizzle from the asphalt or the suffocation of the closed car interior before the AC roared to life. 

The quiet, reflective, tranquil essence of an Oregon summer day requires all the senses.  In the spirit of Emily Dickinson, it takes reverie.  I have that gift today.

Chop Wood, Carry Water

Life is made of the common moments. 

Saturday buzzes with cleaning, errands, and household chores.  There are leaves to blow in the yard, counters to tidy inside the house.  The weekly grocery shopping must be done.  Drop dry cleaning off at the cleaners.  Sort and pay the bills.  Take the dog for a romp in the park.  Be sure to exercise - goodness knows there is no time any other day.  Take Son for a haircut.  Time to buy new jeans.  Catch up on journal writing and pen a letter to Grandpa.  That hedge needs trimming out front.  And laundry, there is always laundry.  

Then Sunday comes, a day of rest and renewal of spirit. 

The day dawns quiet.  There is fellowship and spiritual bread.  Long and slow Sunday dinner.  An afternoon nap. 

In the evening, snacks are bagged up for quick school lunches for the week ahead.  Dinners planned for the next five days.  Homework done.  Garbage and recycling sorted and taken to the curb. 

On Sunday night the house breathes deep.

Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.  After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.  - Zen saying

Rockaway

Girls getaway to Rockaway Beach.

Just dune grass, sunshine, a cartwheel on the sand.  Stories.  Lots of talk.  Remember that time in our 20s when....  Mimosas on the deck.  The soundtrack of the waves by day, their lullaby at night.

Go to bed as late as you like.  Get up at noon if you wish.  There is no wrong way to do it here, now, at Rockaway.  Another day in the paradise of the Oregon coast.  What a weekend.

Infinite

August

Nothing like a fire on a summer night.  The day's heat falls away, the stars appear, and the stories begin.

Photosynthesis

Autumn photo shoot at Cathedral Park under the St. John's Bridge for Son's senior pictures.  It is an ethereal setting with soaring Gothic arches.

Brilliant sun rays pierce the angelic white clouds in today's periwinkle sky.

The gritty concrete girders and bisecting railroad tracks are an earthy crossroads to disappearing infinity.  The place is full of mystery and atmosphere and the stain of color and light.