Full Moon Tonight

Full moon tonight!  Driving home from Mickey's it was tantalizingly peeping through the clouds every few miles, and glowing dimly behind things.  Absolutely lovely, no matter how many times it has happened before, and how many times it is destined to happen again before I die.

On my way north on I-5 I was beside a pair of motorcyclists, who were riding very loud bikes.  And I mean loud, too -- when they revved their engine, each burp was separate and distinct and VERY. LOUD.  It was a pair, a man and a woman, and the man's bike had a very shiny, red, square end, like a box, which I'm certain has some specific biker name, that any biker person would know immediately and probably contains the word "bitch" in it somewhere.  But I don't know it, okay?  Anyway, it made the bike look brand new and like a toy.  They were both wearing what I always think of as Nazi helmets, which is one of the reasons I knew they were serious bikers.  And although this was back on I-5 that I first saw them, they roared and rumbled and blap-blap-blapped all the way back to Milwaukie with me, and turned up MY street.  Went to the apartments on the corner of Harrison and 23rd.  Pretty funny!

Non-Migratory Geese, and E-coli That Does Not Evolve into a Person

This morning I got up and stumped into the kitchen to put the kettle on.  I was in that stunned state I frequently am in when I wake up, eyes unfocused and staring, and I was standing at the kitchen window, but such was my state of still-feeling-asleep that it took me a moment to realize what I was seeing.  It looked like the whole pond was on the boil.  When I realized that it was the geese doing their morning ablutions, instead of the ducks, I was able to make the motion immediately relatable.   The ducks do just that same series of movements,  ducking their whole bodies under, head first, several times in a row, and then shuddering quickly to fling out the water.  But when they do it, it's sleek and quick and smooth, with some spraying of water as they shake their feathers out, but not this roiling, churning, splashing, swirling hugger-mugger that was going on with the geese.   Quite a lot of violent motion going on out there.

So -- I was thinking, as I made coffee.  Are the Canada geese that live in Milwaukie a step in the evolutionary path?  Since they no longer migrate, I mean.  Geese do migrate, right, and every time they fly somewhere, they fly in that pattern of long vees which makes me immediatley think of migration -- when I was a child I would see and hear a vee of geese going south, and my parent would exclaim, 'Look, honey, the geese are going south for the winter, see them?"  And now these geese, this flock of a couple hundred geese no longer goes anywhere, but lives here year round.  So that is changing their programming, isn't it?  They are now no longer migratory creatures.  Their children are also not migrating, but staying here with Mom and Dad.  This has been the case for at least three years, and probably much more, but these three years I can at least attest to.  So what the heck?  I haven't seen any articles about this, or even questions as other people notice and ask, so either I am the only human who has realized this, or else everyone realized it so long ago that it is now a non-issue.  The evolution of a species right before our eyes!  Or at least this sub-set of a species.

And this caused me to remember that senator from Louisiana, who will probably be remembered everywhere by everyone because of the stunning stupidity of his remark, which was immediately placed on YouTube, and will no doubt be making people exclaim for years to come.  He was opposing a group of science teachers who were there hoping to repeal Louisiana's current law which requires teachers to give equal class time to the myth of creation as laid out in the Bible.  Kept interrupting them to ask things like "Is evolution something that you can prove to me right here?"  and the science teacher, very patiently, was explaining the process of the evolution of the E-coli virus, and how each step can be frozen, and then viewed, and the progress of evolution seen right in front of your eyes, and this senator (Mike Walsworth, in case he ever runs for President) interrupts again to ask, "Does it evolve into a person?"

Into a -- does the VIRUS E-coli evolve into a -- do you have the faintest idea of what the word evolution means, you idiot?  Who elected you? 

My Head Under the Covers

Arg, arg, arg.  I do hate anything to do with my sinuses.  Whenever the word "sinus" crosses my mind, the words preceding it and following it are going to be negative.   Can we speed up the evolutionary process here, please?  Hollow areas that fill up and then empty themselves in order to equalize pressure may be the very best thing we can think of at the moment, but come on!  It so rarely works with anything like efficiency, always includes miserable sensations, impedes breathing, talking, singing, and shrieking for help (just in case, you understand) and frequently produces runny snot.  When it doesn't produce runny snot, it is often much worse in the other departments (read: miserable sensations) and always brings with it an emotional quality.  A negative emotional quality.   

Now, you could argue that miserable sensations are, by definition, going to produce misery.  But I have experienced pain just as painful in other parts of my body -- my knee, for instance, or my elbow.  And while it made me feel pain, it didn't make me also feel --  frightened, anxious, depressed, hopeless, desolate, solitary, unloved and ugly.  All of which I have experineced (and then some) when having sinusitis.  Remember those months at Prairie?  I'm amazed I survived.

So, today is Wednesday, and I noticed the facial pain on Saturday.  So this is day five.  Isn't that long enough for my sinuses to figure out what is going on and reach a point of equilibrium?  This spot on my cheek has been aching in that elusive, cold, dense way pretty much without a pause, but bounding into my awareness every time the temperature drops even a few degrees.  I need a hood to wear over my head, that can stay moist and warm inside.  I took an antihistamine, just hoping that it would have some effect on the attached sinus activity, even though there isn't an allergen involved.  Don't know if that will help or not.  I need the cold east wind to stop blowing.  STOP BLOWING!  I need to live on a tropical beach, or a rain forest, woth lots of water floating about in the air.  I need to have stayed in bed with my head under the covers.

I will choose Free Will!

As I turned onto "R" Street, just a hundred yards or so from my parent's house in Ocean Park, this past Saturday, I was singing along with the radio. It was playing loudly, since it is a three-hour drive to my parent's place, and I need to amuse myself somehow. Since no one was in the car with me, I was also singing loudly. The song was Rush, "Freewill," which lends itself to loud solo singing.

"...you can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice/
If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice/
You can choose from phantom fears and kindness that can kill/
I will choose a path that's clear -- I will choose Free Will!"

And then I turned in to park beside my parent's little wagon, in front of their tidy yellow and brown house. I passed a very pleasant and lazy weekend with them, as it was chilly and raining, only went for two short walks and did not even see the ocean, although I heard its thunderous roar. I collapsed in a heap in my favorite chair and read all weekend, and my mother fed me. It was lovely.

When it was time to return to Portland and take up the reins of my life once more, I packed my duffle, and gathered my things, and kissed my mom. And then went out and got in my car, started up the engine and drove off. As I got to the first cross street, I flipped on the radio. It came on loudly:

"...you can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice/
If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice/
You can choose from phantom fears and kindness that can kill/
I will choose a path that's clear -- I will choose Free Will!"

I was quite surprised!

Jays and their Ways

I spread a bag of upscale trail mix on the edge of my deck railing last night.  Came in the food box, so cost me nothing, and was full of whole almonds and cashews and large chunks of dried fruit, as well as the usual raisins and peanuts and sunflower seeds.

This morning a young Stellar jay came along and tried a few bits.  The cashews he couldn't handle, but he loved the raisins and peanuts and even managed to hork down a hazelnut, after trying desperately for a few seconds, with his neck extended.  Shortly thereafter, there were two velvety blue birds with black frills on their heads, hopping about on my deck.  Then three, and the two young ones were very wary of the older one with the ragged edge to his topknot, diving off the rail if he even looked beadily in their direction.  Now they were just landing, grabbing a mouthful and flying away.  Soon there were five blue and black jaybirds, all eating and transporting these expensive treats as fast as they could.  This went on without a pause for about twenty minutes.  I was imagining the cramps some of them were going to have, and the diarrhea, if that can be said to apply to birds. 

I was also imagining the large size these birds were going to attain – it would be the talk of the bird-watching community – North Milwaukie birds sudden growth spurt!  -- when suddenly – as suddenly as the first one had appeared – they stopped.  Completely.  Half the contents of the bag are still there, but the jays have stopped.  Not the slightest movement in the branches of the cedar tree, which were bobbing and swaying a minute ago, with high speed arrivals and departures.  Not a jay in sight.  Only a squirrel, sitting in the leafless maple tree, and looking beadily at my deck railing.

A bright white morning

It was very light out when I got up this morning -- I know, I know, that's what Daylight Savings is all about right?  Lighter in the mornings, and darker in the evenings.  But I noticed it as I was levering myself upright and staggering the few steps that my old body always seems to need to stagger before straightening up and flying right.  And when I got into the kitchen, and stood in front of the window, my discomfort at the chill linoleum floor under my bare feet was drowned out by the brightness of the day outside. 

The sky was very full of light, although the sun was completely invisible behind the thick, off-white cloud cover.  It radiated light all over, and the tree directly in front of me, which was only sparsely leaved, with small, completely yellow leaves -- a change in the past week -- stood out sharply against that glowing backdrop.  A squirrel, racing lightly along this branch and that branch and then dropping to that other branch, was bright, crisp black against the white sky and the yellow leaves.  Very visible, yet I clearly remember just a few days ago -- wasn't it? -- that I saw a squirrel perform much the same manoeuvres and all I saw was the bouncing of the thick green branches and the occasional flick of a tail.  The yellow continued on down to the ground, which was carpeted with crunchy gold -- no rain and cold nights have kept everything bright and sharp!

Cold nights -- yes, last night was very chilly in my bedroom, but I am smiling with pleasure as I think of it.  My nose was very cold, but the rest of me was absolute perfection.  I had changed the sheets to a flannel set, and they were lightly furry and immediately warm when I slid between them.  I had draped my old-rose afghan over the side of the bed I always lie on, and I was wearing my pink shawl.  Made for me by the mother of my first boyfriend, back on the Farm, it is pale pink crochet, ribbed and scalloped and buttoned up the front with large mother-of-pearl buttons.  It is a very warm garment, and I never wear it as clothing anymore, but keep it for a bed jacket.  It fills that job to perfection.  I'm really very surprised that I still have it, after all these years.  Let's see, I was -- sixteen? -- when she gave it to me, and I am 47 now, so it is 31 years old.  Remarkable that it has survived so many abrupt departures and cross-country moves.  I still have the quilt my mother made for me when I was eight, but those might well be the eldest of my belongings.  I'll have to give that some thought.

I had a new Michael Gilbert to read and a cup of scalding tea, which I held balanced on my chest (propped up by four flannel-clad pillows -- warmth from the back as well as the front! ) and every few minutes dipped my head to take a tiny sip -- couldn't manage more, it was too hot -- and as I felt the spreading glow of each sip I had to smile.  Comfort complete!

Gravy

I have just utilized Triple-A for the first time and found it highly useful and very satisfactory.  They lived up to their reputation in a way that few things do.  I locked my keys in my car, which I knew even as I was doing it, that I was doing it.  I had paused for a few seconds to hear the end of a line of song on the radio, and when I snapped it off I was then juggling my umbrella and a couple bags and my purse.  As I got out of the car, I thought, several layers down, “There’s something I am doing wrong here, but…” and I popped down the Auto-Lock button, and closed the door.  And then stood there, as my feet grew increasingly damp, looking in the window at the shiny bundle of keys depending from the ignition. 

My first thought, heading down the road toward panic, was to break a window, and wrench my keys into my hand.  But I have allowed for this possibility by leaving bundles of keys with various friends and relations (not Rabbit’s) around town, so I told myself that in a scolding hiss, and then as I grew calmer, I thought, “Hey,”  I thought, “I’ll bet this is something I can do with my handy-dandy and never-before-used Triple-A card!”

 
So I called them.  And got a live person in under two seconds, who took my membership number, name, location and make of car, and told me someone would be there in half an hour.  I hung up the phone, drew a deep breath, and looked up to see the Triple-A van pulling into the parking lot.  Okay, so maybe I drew five breaths.  But I had not even considered going inside out of the very wet morning.  The man got out of his little small van, and stuck his little metal tool down inside my car door in probably thirty seconds, then checked my ID and waved his hand and away.  I was inside the building with the lights on and checking my e-mail before 9:30.   Now that is service. 

And since I have used the card once, I feel quite certain that it has paid for itself, especially since I am certain Joe has used it more than once.  Any other usages will be gravy.