Lia, Peter and I. We’re headed west to the ocean.
The two hitchhikers, Steph and Thomas, we pick up on the way need to be dropped off in Eugene.
“What we’re you doing in the woods?” one of us asks, when they tell us they’ve been camping for about ten days.
At the base of the trees lived rats, they were looking for signs of their nests. The Northern Spotted Owl feeds off of these rats and the Northern Spotted Owl is a protected species. The owl needs these rats and the rats need the trees so the area around trees are protected. This is why, they tell us. They were finding ways to protect the forest.
In Eugene our small black truck rumbles into a narrow alley. Bikes rest against the brick. Stencil spray paint of bike wheels with pentagram emblems and anarchy symbols ornament the walls. Maybe there’s a compost pile or some vegetables growing. Young people are watching us from a doorway. I wave. They wave back.
“This is the Lorax,” one of them says. “Students from the college live here.”
We drive away but return when I noticed a whittled staff left by one of our hikers in the bed of the pick-up.
On our return, Thomas gives us a tour of the house.
The Lorax is a student co-operative founded sometime ago. Thomas shows us the expansive community kitchen where residents cook vegan food from around the region for everyone in the house. The living room looks set up for a performance with two old pianos off to the side. Illustrations are painted or sharpied directly onto the walls. Tapestries hang over the windows and it’s dark. Thomas tells us people at the Lorax have meetings and work stuff out. It’s a communist model. There are 25 or so college students living here at any given time.
Four or five floors up we climb a wooden ladder leaning onto an open hole and we’re outside on the roof. Lia is probably smoking a cigarette standing too close to the edge. Peter is probably inspecting bottles of alcohol for anything salvageable.
Thomas is talking to us. He tells us, one time, he saw a sunset in the west and a double-rainbow in the east and he just wanted to keep spinning around so he could see it all.
“Almost a triple rainbow?” I jest. “Yes,” he says with a smile.
The view is spectacular save for some grey clouds. Looking into the horizon where Thomas was facing to watch the sunset I itch the old doubt.
“How does it work?” I ask Thomas. “How does the house work?”
The question is rhetorical and he knows this because he doesn’t say much in response.
“You just have to believe in people,” he doesn‘t say.
The frustrated little misanthrope inside me is pacing circles around his office. Banging on the desk. Making the secretary nervous.
“It just can’t work” he mumbles. “A group of humans working together in peace. Everyone following the rules and respecting each other and being harmonious. BAH! RUBBISH! What about the dishes? Who does the dishes? What if someone doesn‘t pay their bill? What if someone pees on the ground? What if someone sleeps with someone‘s lover?!” Grinding his teeth. Wringing his hands.
I turn to look for the triple rainbow. Why is it I can’t see it?
It’s been awhile since I opened my arms and fell backwards from the picnic table. Since I trusted in another person’s ability to catch me.
Thomas and Steph hitchhiking, maybe they considered for a second that a car wouldn’t stop for them. Maybe some people at the Lorax wonder how the human web has held together for years and years being simply young people coming and going. Maybe they wonder, but then a ride comes and things work out somehow.
It works because in a very real form, a house, proves it does. Proves humans can get along. Because they hold the faith.
“It just works.” Thomas doesn’t tell me. "It's not always easy. It's a working love."
Human connection is the heart expanding. My hand is covers my heart, the misanthrope speaks for me, protects me from the possibility of disappointment. From the pain of unrequited love. I have a hard time letting go.
Lia and Peter pack ourselves back into the black truck. We set off.
“I trust these people,” I acknowledge to myself, sending a memo to the misanthrope. It's a start.
We are driving to the coast. To the ocean. Everything is fine.
Standing on the picnic table, I open my arms and fall.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Insta-apron
Seamstresses of the world prepare to be cheated. Introducing the barely even 6 step, no-machine-required (unless you're a badass and have one), guide to making an apron.
1. Go to a thriftstore and find a skirt in the little girl section.
2. Cut the skirt vertically along a seam so it a long piece of fabric
3. Acquire a ribbon and size it so you can tie it around your hips comfortably.
4. Sew this ribbon onto the waist-line of the skirt.
5. Sew patches for pockets.
6. Embellish to personal preference.
1. Go to a thriftstore and find a skirt in the little girl section.
2. Cut the skirt vertically along a seam so it a long piece of fabric
3. Acquire a ribbon and size it so you can tie it around your hips comfortably.
4. Sew this ribbon onto the waist-line of the skirt.
5. Sew patches for pockets.
6. Embellish to personal preference.
Rangoli
Rangoli is floor painting.
In the morning, using materials such as rice, grain, powder or colored sand, Mothers in India step outside to create beautiful and colorful designs on the ground in front of their home. The images are intended to express hospitality. In creating a Rangoli piece the artist typically draws a series of dots in white chalk. The dots are then connected and the artist fills in the between with the other materials.
Rangoli is an art of impermanence; not one to be framed, saved, and sold but a daily meditation of the transient nature of reality.
By the end of the day the image has been obscured by wind, movement from in and out the house or the appetites of animals.
In the morning, using materials such as rice, grain, powder or colored sand, Mothers in India step outside to create beautiful and colorful designs on the ground in front of their home. The images are intended to express hospitality. In creating a Rangoli piece the artist typically draws a series of dots in white chalk. The dots are then connected and the artist fills in the between with the other materials.
Rangoli is an art of impermanence; not one to be framed, saved, and sold but a daily meditation of the transient nature of reality.
By the end of the day the image has been obscured by wind, movement from in and out the house or the appetites of animals.
CADA-CASA article
"Cada Casa classes start ten minutes late," says director Tymon, sitting in a circle of students of The Mural Project.
I sit and look around. Poet House Art, off of Minnesota in downtown Bend has exploded since it's expectant beginning. What started as inexpensive studio space and gallery has morphed quickly into a social lounge, music venue, and an open door for those who want to do something cool.
It's the second week of The Mural Project class and students gather on or around couches with notebooks and white paper coffee cups. Class begins with Tymon dividing the students into two previously decided groups: "'Truck-stop group' is leaving to do a project proposal onsite, 'Mate group' is staying here to work on planning and finalize drawings."
Tymon sits with me a moment to discuss how he became motivated to start CADA-CASA and future intentions. His experiences in Cusco, Peru where a strict emphasis on performance and meeting standards made up many of the childrens education heavily influenced his ambition. He observed "there was a disconnection between the childrens perception of education and its relation to their life." In response he brought college students and volunteers into the town to teach screen-printing, web-site developing, musicianshop and more.
"CADA-CASA is a community-based education organization aimed to connect educators and students of all ages. Our goal is to redefine education as a life long process that comes from passionate members of our community."
It's guiding principles, given more attention on the CADA-CASA homepage, are Explorative Learning, Positivism, Community Awareness, and being Evironmentally Conscious.
Everyone has assumed action stations. Half have left. The other half opened notebooks or have pulled out sketches of proposed images for the Mate Bar mural. The mural itself will be painted on the brickwall of Tin Pan Alley one floor below.
There are about 10 students left, all teens, in the gallery with teachers who give direction, mediate questions, and collaborate mural plans.
It's a simple formula. Bring people who have something to teach together with students who want to learn and pair this with fascinating and explorative subject matter.
The Mural Project also seems simple enough. Divide into two groups, pick a theme for each mural, draw, translate onto large scale using a projector, combine everything together, and paint the wall.
I start looking over shoulders. CADA-CASA student Nicole is drawing mushrooms. She explains to me the theme of mural is urban environments returning to nature. "It's like the book Waters of Babylon," a student adds. "Post-apocolyptic."
Another has drawn a yerba mate tree, thick branches with bunches of leaves. Students are drawing and searching on the computer. A planning station maps out the mural in its entirity is being scrutinized. Everyone is very involved.
The future of CADA-CASA? Being recognized as an offical nonprofit and in a year have elective classes where students can earn school credits. And growing. More students, more teachers, more collaborations and more learning.
I sit and look around. Poet House Art, off of Minnesota in downtown Bend has exploded since it's expectant beginning. What started as inexpensive studio space and gallery has morphed quickly into a social lounge, music venue, and an open door for those who want to do something cool.
It's the second week of The Mural Project class and students gather on or around couches with notebooks and white paper coffee cups. Class begins with Tymon dividing the students into two previously decided groups: "'Truck-stop group' is leaving to do a project proposal onsite, 'Mate group' is staying here to work on planning and finalize drawings."
Tymon sits with me a moment to discuss how he became motivated to start CADA-CASA and future intentions. His experiences in Cusco, Peru where a strict emphasis on performance and meeting standards made up many of the childrens education heavily influenced his ambition. He observed "there was a disconnection between the childrens perception of education and its relation to their life." In response he brought college students and volunteers into the town to teach screen-printing, web-site developing, musicianshop and more.
"CADA-CASA is a community-based education organization aimed to connect educators and students of all ages. Our goal is to redefine education as a life long process that comes from passionate members of our community."
It's guiding principles, given more attention on the CADA-CASA homepage, are Explorative Learning, Positivism, Community Awareness, and being Evironmentally Conscious.
Everyone has assumed action stations. Half have left. The other half opened notebooks or have pulled out sketches of proposed images for the Mate Bar mural. The mural itself will be painted on the brickwall of Tin Pan Alley one floor below.
There are about 10 students left, all teens, in the gallery with teachers who give direction, mediate questions, and collaborate mural plans.
It's a simple formula. Bring people who have something to teach together with students who want to learn and pair this with fascinating and explorative subject matter.
The Mural Project also seems simple enough. Divide into two groups, pick a theme for each mural, draw, translate onto large scale using a projector, combine everything together, and paint the wall.
I start looking over shoulders. CADA-CASA student Nicole is drawing mushrooms. She explains to me the theme of mural is urban environments returning to nature. "It's like the book Waters of Babylon," a student adds. "Post-apocolyptic."
Another has drawn a yerba mate tree, thick branches with bunches of leaves. Students are drawing and searching on the computer. A planning station maps out the mural in its entirity is being scrutinized. Everyone is very involved.
The future of CADA-CASA? Being recognized as an offical nonprofit and in a year have elective classes where students can earn school credits. And growing. More students, more teachers, more collaborations and more learning.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Childhood Spring Zine #7
Their names are remembered like dreams but they are tattooed in my mind. A forever etched memory in my childhood. My old phone number: 503.643.1353. Call it. See if someone still has it. Ask for Rachel. Holly's old number was 646.9466. That was an easy one to remember. I could type it into the phone in less than a second.
***
In front of Holly's house was a pile of barkchips and an old wood trailer. A ham radio antenna emerged from the roof and if you were standing a certain distance from across the street you could see the fort behind the house which was so high you could touch the powerlines if you were standing inside.
Holly had a trampoline in the backyard. The backyard was mostly dry with patches of grass and for reasons unknown, was infested with a huge amount of black spiders.
Most of the time Holly and I ate dry top-ramen and watched tv.
Holly had a square pink FM radio that was always tuned to Z100 and I remember going to sleep listening to Always Be My Baby by Mariah Carey. Holly made it very clear she was Christian. Her family took me to their church once. During the youth ministry some guy talked about how in the future, "very soon," people were going to have microchips implanted in their brains. He told us that Chistians would resist having the implants and be persecuted. I on the other hand found the prospects of having a microchip in my brain very exciting.
***
Alice and I walked home from school together for a long time before we ever spoke. I know this sounds weird. we both lived really close and walked home at the same time but we didn't talk. Then one day we did.
***
I guess you could call Steven Mach the Chinese kid. He walked home from school with Alice and I. Alice was the Korean kid. Alice went to my church. Steven was Buddhist. Walking home from school one day Alice found out Steven was Buddhist and said he was going to hell. I disagreed. It was a pretty horrible experience. Alice eventually became kind of exclusive with the other Korean kids in school and stopped walking home from school with us.
***
There were these three brothers who lived across the street from Holly. Justin, Drew, and Mitch . Justin was Holly's age. Drew was my age. Mitch was my sisters age. They were Mormon and liked sports. I went into their house once and it was nothing spectacular. Once Holly and I pranked called their house. We talked through a towel to disguise our voice. Their dad came over because the family had caller ID and wanted to make sure everything was ok. It was really embarrassing.
***
Right next door was Mrs.Kennedy. Ash anyone, she is the Mother Theresea of the neighborhood. If you ask my sister the first thing she remembers from Mrs. Kennedy is candy. There is a video my dad shot of my very young siblings going to Mrs.Kennedy's house for candy, a regular pastime. My dad shoots the film from some distance to capture the moment like the children themselves were coming for a visit. In the video my sister reaches her hand up to ring the door bell. They wait. Then they start banging on the door and window viciously. Mrs. Kennedy never let us down. Once when Mrs. Kennedy gave me a glow-n-the-dark rosary. I had no idea what a rosary was but it was cool getting a glow-n-the-dark necklace.
***
Matt Paris is a liar. He called my parents "Mr and Mrs. Carmichael."
He told my dad once about a burgler breaking into his house and how he, Matt, got a rifle and fended off the burglary while his grandpa was afraid. For reason my dad called Matt's house to verify the story. It was not true. Obviously. Matt played video games all the time. He knew a lot about guns. It scares me to know he is still out their in the world.
***
Celeste was my sisters friend. Her parents had the backyard of my dreams. It had a playhouse with appliances. It had flower, vegetable, and herb gardens as well as fruit trees. Celeste's Mom, Claudia was famous to me for her bagels and cream cheese but mostly for her serving of snack in general which was not customary at my house. Celeste's Dad played wrote software guides (I believe) and played guitar.
Celeste went to a Waldorf school for her early years and had a big fluffy cat named Mina.
When I think of Ashley and Crystal I think of baked beans and kittens. Ashley is one of many Gemini's in my life born three months after me. Our Moms were pregnant together and living next-door so I could almost say I knew her since inuntero. There are many memories of Ashley and I together as we were best friends as young children.
Behind our houses there was a "crik" which was just passed the blackberry bushes and was full of crawdads and shells and treasure. We would wade in with rainboots and pioneer all the way to Celeste's house where there was a secret bush of rasberries.
Blackberry bushes.
Over the three foot chain link fence behind our backyard was a massive wild scrum of blackberry bushes. Unconquerable and growing - reaching their little thorny vines everywhere they can, they are deemed invasive.
To me they were a blessing and a summer treasure.We would use our shirts to hold blackberries when we were picking. On a succesful day our faces would be red with blackberry juice.
We had blackberry jam.
Blackberry pie.
We had blackberry juice.
Blackberry syrup.
Once we tried to make blackberry bread which was was just flour and blackberries and it didn't work. But it didn't matter, there were plently more blackberries to try again.
Blackberry marinade.
Blackberry with sprite.
Blackberries are best warm by the sun. You know a blackberry is good when it practically falls into your hand. When there are no red "druplets" or when then are soft to the touch.
Two things to keep in mind when picking blackberries: thorns and spiders. Make peace with both, not war.
We found, picking blackberries as children, to be careful of both. All of us believed if one were to fall into the bushes the thorns would cause us to quickly bleed to death. To fall would be to perish, of course.
But always the best blackberries were the one's fathest our of reach. The edelwiess of blackberries, I suppose.
Sirens of the fruit world.
The German People
Across the street in the white house with the green trim was the German people. Not once did I ever understand what they were trying to say even though they apparently spoke English fairly well (I am told). They were a really old couple and it was said they were married before or after WWII. I'm sure you want to know their politics but I'm sorry I do not know. Kids pay attention to the weird smells of people's houses before they are bothered with any kind of philosophic rheotric. I really hope someone besides myself has told their story or that would be a freaking shame.
Nancy from Nebraska
Nancy from Nebraska was a boy with another name but I forget what it was. I think Justin. He talked about Nebraska all the time because he really lived there and had to live in Oregon because of some kind of custory thing with his parents. Eventually he went to Nebraska and never came back.
He was kind of like the "Dill" of To a Kill a Mockingbird to our neighborhood. But instead of To Kill a Mockingbird we would be something like, "To Kill a Mallard Duck" because there were mostly ducks in our neighborhood. Unless you want to focus on the symbolism of the mockingbird in the story as a peaceful creature who never does any harm but is nonetheless persectuted. Take Boo Radley. Our Boo Radley would have definitely been
The guy across the street who had a push mower.
The guy across the street who had a push mower was only persecuted by my father who would often be found scoffing at him from behind the blinds from our living room. The persecution went no farther than that. He had a daughter who lived with him sometimes and he seemed to live like a Buddhist only from lack of initative. Driving a small white car no one besides himself ever seemed to come or go and no one had much interaction with him. Another mystery surrounding the GATSWTPM was that all the cats in the neighborhood used his under the house crawl space as their clubhouse. One would often see a cat or two ducking into the beneath workings of his white ranch-style abode.
Backyard garden soup
Saltlicker
As a child I loved salt. Almost as much as my sister loved sugar. The salt shaker in the cupboard was often encrusted with salt. Occasionally I would slip in from the kitchen and hide in the backyard by the wood pile. There I would lick all the salt off the lid and then sneak it back into the cupboard licked cleaned. Your welcome family.
***
In front of Holly's house was a pile of barkchips and an old wood trailer. A ham radio antenna emerged from the roof and if you were standing a certain distance from across the street you could see the fort behind the house which was so high you could touch the powerlines if you were standing inside.
Holly had a trampoline in the backyard. The backyard was mostly dry with patches of grass and for reasons unknown, was infested with a huge amount of black spiders.
Most of the time Holly and I ate dry top-ramen and watched tv.
Holly had a square pink FM radio that was always tuned to Z100 and I remember going to sleep listening to Always Be My Baby by Mariah Carey. Holly made it very clear she was Christian. Her family took me to their church once. During the youth ministry some guy talked about how in the future, "very soon," people were going to have microchips implanted in their brains. He told us that Chistians would resist having the implants and be persecuted. I on the other hand found the prospects of having a microchip in my brain very exciting.
***
Alice and I walked home from school together for a long time before we ever spoke. I know this sounds weird. we both lived really close and walked home at the same time but we didn't talk. Then one day we did.
***
I guess you could call Steven Mach the Chinese kid. He walked home from school with Alice and I. Alice was the Korean kid. Alice went to my church. Steven was Buddhist. Walking home from school one day Alice found out Steven was Buddhist and said he was going to hell. I disagreed. It was a pretty horrible experience. Alice eventually became kind of exclusive with the other Korean kids in school and stopped walking home from school with us.
***
There were these three brothers who lived across the street from Holly. Justin, Drew, and Mitch . Justin was Holly's age. Drew was my age. Mitch was my sisters age. They were Mormon and liked sports. I went into their house once and it was nothing spectacular. Once Holly and I pranked called their house. We talked through a towel to disguise our voice. Their dad came over because the family had caller ID and wanted to make sure everything was ok. It was really embarrassing.
***
Right next door was Mrs.Kennedy. Ash anyone, she is the Mother Theresea of the neighborhood. If you ask my sister the first thing she remembers from Mrs. Kennedy is candy. There is a video my dad shot of my very young siblings going to Mrs.Kennedy's house for candy, a regular pastime. My dad shoots the film from some distance to capture the moment like the children themselves were coming for a visit. In the video my sister reaches her hand up to ring the door bell. They wait. Then they start banging on the door and window viciously. Mrs. Kennedy never let us down. Once when Mrs. Kennedy gave me a glow-n-the-dark rosary. I had no idea what a rosary was but it was cool getting a glow-n-the-dark necklace.
***
Matt Paris is a liar. He called my parents "Mr and Mrs. Carmichael."
He told my dad once about a burgler breaking into his house and how he, Matt, got a rifle and fended off the burglary while his grandpa was afraid. For reason my dad called Matt's house to verify the story. It was not true. Obviously. Matt played video games all the time. He knew a lot about guns. It scares me to know he is still out their in the world.
***
Celeste was my sisters friend. Her parents had the backyard of my dreams. It had a playhouse with appliances. It had flower, vegetable, and herb gardens as well as fruit trees. Celeste's Mom, Claudia was famous to me for her bagels and cream cheese but mostly for her serving of snack in general which was not customary at my house. Celeste's Dad played wrote software guides (I believe) and played guitar.
Celeste went to a Waldorf school for her early years and had a big fluffy cat named Mina.
When I think of Ashley and Crystal I think of baked beans and kittens. Ashley is one of many Gemini's in my life born three months after me. Our Moms were pregnant together and living next-door so I could almost say I knew her since inuntero. There are many memories of Ashley and I together as we were best friends as young children.
Behind our houses there was a "crik" which was just passed the blackberry bushes and was full of crawdads and shells and treasure. We would wade in with rainboots and pioneer all the way to Celeste's house where there was a secret bush of rasberries.
Blackberry bushes.
Over the three foot chain link fence behind our backyard was a massive wild scrum of blackberry bushes. Unconquerable and growing - reaching their little thorny vines everywhere they can, they are deemed invasive.
To me they were a blessing and a summer treasure.We would use our shirts to hold blackberries when we were picking. On a succesful day our faces would be red with blackberry juice.
We had blackberry jam.
Blackberry pie.
We had blackberry juice.
Blackberry syrup.
Once we tried to make blackberry bread which was was just flour and blackberries and it didn't work. But it didn't matter, there were plently more blackberries to try again.
Blackberry marinade.
Blackberry with sprite.
Blackberries are best warm by the sun. You know a blackberry is good when it practically falls into your hand. When there are no red "druplets" or when then are soft to the touch.
Two things to keep in mind when picking blackberries: thorns and spiders. Make peace with both, not war.
We found, picking blackberries as children, to be careful of both. All of us believed if one were to fall into the bushes the thorns would cause us to quickly bleed to death. To fall would be to perish, of course.
But always the best blackberries were the one's fathest our of reach. The edelwiess of blackberries, I suppose.
Sirens of the fruit world.
The German People
Across the street in the white house with the green trim was the German people. Not once did I ever understand what they were trying to say even though they apparently spoke English fairly well (I am told). They were a really old couple and it was said they were married before or after WWII. I'm sure you want to know their politics but I'm sorry I do not know. Kids pay attention to the weird smells of people's houses before they are bothered with any kind of philosophic rheotric. I really hope someone besides myself has told their story or that would be a freaking shame.
Nancy from Nebraska
Nancy from Nebraska was a boy with another name but I forget what it was. I think Justin. He talked about Nebraska all the time because he really lived there and had to live in Oregon because of some kind of custory thing with his parents. Eventually he went to Nebraska and never came back.
He was kind of like the "Dill" of To a Kill a Mockingbird to our neighborhood. But instead of To Kill a Mockingbird we would be something like, "To Kill a Mallard Duck" because there were mostly ducks in our neighborhood. Unless you want to focus on the symbolism of the mockingbird in the story as a peaceful creature who never does any harm but is nonetheless persectuted. Take Boo Radley. Our Boo Radley would have definitely been
The guy across the street who had a push mower.
The guy across the street who had a push mower was only persecuted by my father who would often be found scoffing at him from behind the blinds from our living room. The persecution went no farther than that. He had a daughter who lived with him sometimes and he seemed to live like a Buddhist only from lack of initative. Driving a small white car no one besides himself ever seemed to come or go and no one had much interaction with him. Another mystery surrounding the GATSWTPM was that all the cats in the neighborhood used his under the house crawl space as their clubhouse. One would often see a cat or two ducking into the beneath workings of his white ranch-style abode.
Backyard garden soup
Saltlicker
As a child I loved salt. Almost as much as my sister loved sugar. The salt shaker in the cupboard was often encrusted with salt. Occasionally I would slip in from the kitchen and hide in the backyard by the wood pile. There I would lick all the salt off the lid and then sneak it back into the cupboard licked cleaned. Your welcome family.
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