Cows, Tsunamis, Sneaker Waves... and Magic

Reports of my being swallowed up by the sea have been greatly exaggerated...  However,  as a low-tide sneaker wave at Hug Point came from behind me, wrapped its watery tentacles around first my ankles, then my calves and continued to slurp above my knees - I did wonder for a moment if this is how it happens.  I read a story about a woman walking her dog along the water's edge and being hit by a sneaker and sucked out into the surf.  When her husband tried to help her, he was also knocked down and began being sucked out by the undertow.  They were both rescued by a pair of passing runners, who initially thought they were just having a tumble in the surf. Now I see how this happens!  I was a good 40 feet from the water at low tide when this wave came after me and I now fully appreciate why they are called "sneakers."

To the left are the Hug Point Falls I was headed to see.  It was worth almost being swallowed up, but maybe I should invest in a pair of waders. Next time I may venture into one of the caves, but I'm rather a wuss on that point. I'm not sure how it is that I birthed a son who thrives when diving into small dark spaces, because it gives me the willies.

Every day I see the most amazing scenery and wonder what took me so long to get here - but of course everything has its season and it just wasn't time. Some surprises however, are not scenery... A case in point:   this morning I heard some commotion out side. Opening the door to find out what the racket was all about, I heard cows - first one - then a whole herd.  We're in a Tsunami zone here, so a good neighbor had warned me about the Wednesday morning test broadcast, but ..... cows?  In a word: yes.  Not a siren, not a horn - many moos.  I've apparently fallen down the rabbit hole.

So I'm wondering why Oregon went to the effort of legalizing marijuana when the city fathers must already have been stoned.  I can see it clearly:  they are sitting around passing the bong, wondering what sound  wouldn't scare the tourists unnecessarily. Someone said "COWS," and policy was made.  Congress will be next - maybe it will help.  In their defense, apparently this is only used for the practice, the real deal is a scare-the-daylights-out of-you siren. 

Other oddities: a few days ago, I looked out and saw beautiful blue sky with a few wisps of white clouds and thought: "a good time to take my walk."  By the time I'd garbed myself in boots, hat, gloves,  smart-wool base-layer, vest, and rain  coat (never leave home without several seasons of clothes on) and got to the beach (a 5-minute trek) a cloud had slipped through like a thief,  stolen the sunshine and replaced it with a fierce pelting of sleet.  Once everyone had cleared the beach (a matter of minutes) - the sun and blue sky were back, the squall having moved on down the beach.  This is what they mean by "a maritime climate." 

                       

These unpredictable weather patterns produce some breathtaking waves and sunsets and with rare exception there are always people with tripods waiting for the perfect shot.  And of course there are birds - lots and lots of birds.  Where is Hitchcock? Seagulls have never excited me that much, but when you have hundreds of gulls, pelicans and ducks all taking flight from a small estuary it takes on a level of drama all its own. Haystack Rock is home to Puffins in nesting season and I can't wait to see that.

In Austin and so many other places, a forecast might read:  "Sunny with a chance of rain." Here

it reads:  Cloudy with a change of sunbreak.  This is an actual word...  See? I am learning how to speak Oregon-ese, which includes conversations that easily drift toward the ups and downs of growing pot, which varieties produces what effects, etc.  No - I'm not considering this as my next career move.  I think the market may already be saturated.

The unexpected abounds. A few days ago I took a long walk - mulling over a decision having to do with pursuing training in Hypnosis Therapy and Regression.  I've had some amazing and mystical experiences with that and it allows peeks into aspects of the self and the psyche typically not accessible in normal waking life.  Some experiences are downright magical and I was asking for a "sign" when what should appear in front of me but a white rabbit...  What could be more of a "sign" of magic than a white rabbit? I looked around for either Alice or Jimmy Stewart, and since neither of them were around to claim ownership, I took this as my sign. Of course, I'm taking the course. 

 The day was finished off by this gorgeous sunset.   Against the backdrop of epic sunsets, white-rabbits and warning-cows the presence of magic and synchronicity are palpable.

Permeating this surreal beauty and a level of serenity that is somewhat new in my life, there remains the connection with Uganda - still trying to help one young man pursue his dream of medical school and getting another to understand that school is not just a way to be "off the streets."  In the process of making these opportunities available via funds from friends, I underestimated the importance of  having the confidence and skill to be able to grasp the prize when it's right in front of you. It has again underscored how much of daily life and the way we are reared prepares us for making decisions and grabbing "a chance" when it comes our way.   From infancy we are bathed in a sea of possibilities, immersed in pastimes that build skills we take for granted as every child birthright.  Coming from a culture where a sense of entitlement is more common than one of gratitude or lack, it's has been a wake-up-call to witness how a lifetime of strife can thwart one into dysfunction.  Sometimes the presence of an opportunity you don't know how to claim is more frustrating than its absence. It's heartbreaking for all concerned and has added to my own appreciation of the fact that the offer of opportunity or gift is only the spark. The real gift is in being able to accept it and receive it.   Somehow this seems relevant in this "season of giving." 

At present, I'm enjoying this state-of-grace which seems symbolic and appropriate for the time of year in which we find ourselves.    I'm deeply grateful for the present, for opportunities yet to be discovered and for each of you who have accompanied me on the journey thus far. 

Wishing you all a time of grace, peace and gratitude in the season upon us.

Settling in

Starting my walk - winds at about 40 mph

It's been rather a whirlwind, but I'm in and I'm stayin' here for at least the year.   I keep telling myself, this Fall and Winter will be the test.  Thus far - not yet a month, the weather has been a nice surprise.  Yes, there's been rain, but from the reports I received from non-Oregonians - I would surely be covered with mold by this time.  Having experienced that in actuality on the sailboat trip, where even the dried Eucalyptus grew a fuzzy green coat, I can tell you that I have not yet succumbed.  Yes - it has rained, but on most days, it's cleared off to reveal blue sky and temps in the mid-high sixties. 

Sunny and warm by the end

 Just such a pattern showed itself in the hour it took for me to walk part of the beach a few days ago.  The Oregon coast is apparently notorious for its wind and I walked leaning into a gale-force blow, picking up a hefty tail-wind on the return.  I loved it. Just for fun, I took pictures of the progression of the weather during that hour.

But the season is young.  I've been waiting to be as cold and wet as people threatened, but not yet.  I have, however, been introduced the the world of boots, having visited the local Fred Myer store and asked to be directed to "boots please."  Isles and isles of boots: polka dot boots, furry boots, fancy boots, short boots, tall boots, fishin' boots, bog-boots, Xtra-Tuff boots, psychedelic-flowered boots - yes - even glittery boots.  Everything but cowboy boots.  I'm not in Texas anymore apparently.  But these boots are made for walking, skipping through puddles, wading through surf and - as I have experienced - surviving a trick-wave with your back turned.  I now have boots and have packed away my umbrella for travel, having been instructed that it broadcasts one as a tourist. 

And so it would seem,  I have at least moved in evidenced by the unloading of a trunk full of boxes at the recycling center, making several runs to Goodwill and one to donate boxes of books to the local library, which is not funded by the city - only donations and volunteers.  Although the town has only 10,000 people, its recycling center is a good indicator of how serious Oregon is about recycling.  I discovered this focus when I waited for my wee-trashbox (yes BOX) to be picked up two weeks in a row.  I discovered that it would be picked up every forth Tuesday, while my HUGE recycling bin is emptied every OTHER Tuesday.  This is an effective training strategy it turns out, not t mention helpful when one is continuing to purge the detritus of three years out-of-the-loop.  

The interior as I moved in

With my stuff - it lighter than it looks

I unloaded about 80% of my belongings and life before running off to Africa. It was liberating!  Opening the boxes packed away for three years was  like Christmas and a life-review all wrapped into one. Some items still provoked, "What was I thinking?" moments as I unpacked puppets from India,   a hand-embroidered almost unwearable Chinese coat and a monk's robe, etc. etc.    Well - now they are at Goodwill - in the Halloween section no less. Yes, I saw them there.  It's been great fun taking the basics of this "furnished" cottage and mixing them into the tableau.

 For those of you who saw the  snaps of the cottage before I moved in and have asked for updates, here goes.  Tweaking continues, but it's feeling like home and it turns out that 875 square feet feels just right.  It requires me to be conscious of what I bring in, what stays and where things land.   It suits me.  Maybe I'll write a book, if I can stop arranging things...   And below is the view from the stairs: before and after.

 The unloading the storage in Austin, loading the U-Haul, unloading it again in Hillsboro and then re-loading has had its moments. Not finding but ONE person in all of the north beach area to help, resulted in a call to Brett to "please help."  So it fell to him and a not-so-strong helper to move the hideously heavy-beast-of-an-heirloom-table you see below.  To my metaphysical friends, the round spots you see to the right are - I think - finger smudges on the original camera lens and not "orbs."

And finally, a real kitchen with more than the two burners and an actual oven.  No more cooking brownies in a makeshift oven 1/3 of a recipe at a time. And a refrigerator that works more than a few days out of a month.  Life is good.  For good measure, I hid the microwave into the back of a storage closet. There are some habits I don't want to re-start - although when I bought a box of micro-wave pop-corn the other day, only to return it for the real thing I wondered whether I was that committed or if I should "BE committed..."

So that's most of the news for any of you who are still tuned in.  The next installment is to figure out what I want to do when I grow up. However, I have read, courtesy of a FB post, that "If you haven't grown up by the time you're 50, you don't have to." So there.  Still,  I'll be returning to Austin on a quarterly basis to teach at Austin Board of Realtors and to see clients, so that's a least a bit of a framework to build around.  The desire to lead life more simply and more intentionally is what started this whole phase, so I'm taking things one intentional step at a time.

Almost there....

One day and counting!  Yesterday was lease signing and key collecting and the start of celebrating.

We three: cottage, car and me

A friend went with me and we had a celebratory lunch on the beach.  Since some of you have been asking, here are some preliminary shots. Some are of the house as it is and others of the area.  More to come... but here we are.  

The first is the view from the street: the three of us: me, the car, the house.  Shake shingle, fun little front yard with lots of Rhododendren and other plants I know yet.  Quiet little residential street a couple of blocks to town in one direction and a block and a half from the beach in anotheron

     

Walking out the front door, turning left and crossing the street that runs through town, then following a path puts one on the beach just in front of Haystack Rock.  A couple of miles through town or down the beach gets you to Ecola State Park.   From that overlook with Brett a couple of months ago before, I had only dreamed of finding a place on this beach.  There's a lot to be said for "dreaming!"

And now for the house...  In the back is a nice sized deck and a small storage building which I may need to put to use, but I sense another round of purging coming up.  My goal is to simplify, keeping only those things that have real value (emotional or practical) and letting someone else make use of the rest.  Glad there are so many Goodwill outlets in the area!

 And here we are inside. Remember, I haven't moved in and what you see is the "furnished" part.  My stuff will be added shortly but there's a small living room with the basics, a bedroom to the right, kitchen, etc. Although the owners were lamenting the eccentricities of the dishwasher, washer and dryer, given my time in Uganda I'm thrilled with even the presence of such things. No more rushing home to get laundry off the line before it gets rained on, stolen or eaten by termites; No more hoping there's water for washing dishes.  Perspective is a wonderful thing.
 

Left is the attic a.k.a. future meditation room, weaving studio and guest room!   The two beds are included as furnishings.

As we surveyed the space, walked along the beach and then had lunch at the little place below, I was periodically amazed by the realization that this is the little place, the beach and the community I've been visualizing and creating in my mind for so many years - right down to the shake-shingles on the cottage.  

Now to actually move in a start creating the rest of the scene!

Thanks Merrily for going with me and making it a fun day, the celebratory lunch and for your pictures!  The beach in the background is what I'll be walking every day rain or shine, warm or cold! Too bad I left those rain bots in Uganda....

Hurry-up and Wait!

Hurry up and wait....  So that's what I did - hurried and hurried and hurried and now I am waiting!   Karla and I hurried all up and down the coast of Oregon looking for a place for me to live, to unload my stuff, etc.  Karla drove, Garmina navigated and I hoped...   It was Labor Day weekend and no one answered phones or e-mails or returned calls... It's the last big hurrah on the Oregon coast.  So I unloaded by stuff - again - but you know that part.

After three years of being transient and rootless (Peace Corps plus Mexico) the need to put down roots has become almost an obsession, so this part of the waiting has become a challenge. Waiting for Peace Corps to make up its mind was practice for this part.

Haystack Rock

I finally got a call from the only place that looked promising (a cottage Karla found on craigslist) - having looked at a whole slew of places that were really depressing.   On the 15th I drove the 2.5 hours to the coast and had four places lined up to view.    The first was the little cottage, just what I visualized - with four other people in line after me to see the place.  No choice but the wait and see who the owners would choose... with so many people looking and so few places available, it's a landlord's choice.  The remaining three places were like closets - no room even for my thinned down collection of belongings.  The waiting was excruciating because the cottage was in cannon beach, my town of choice, famous for it's beached, Haystack Rock and Ecola State Park near by.

Ecola State Park

My stars must have been in alignment because I got the cottage.   Again - waiting - till October 1st to move in.  It's a precious shake-shingle one bedroom with converted loft, a block and a half from the beach, a block and a half from the middle of the town of Cannon Beach and partially furnished so I don't have to run out immediately and buy any big pieces like a mattress set, couch, TV...

In another step toward "normal," I now have a car - 2011 Honda Fit!  The freedom is intoxicating, but I have also discovered it's a little strange...  almost like driving in another country: 

• $500 for driving with a hand-held telephone (your's truly opting for simplicity doesn't have hand's free)
• B-I-G tickets for accidentally drifting into the bike lane or turning across it outside the dotted lines...
• Randomly placed flashing (tiny lights) pedestrian walks: when flashing mean S-T-O-P  
• Against the law to pump you own gas - fines for that too! ($200)
• Fine's double in "safety corridors," - never mind school zones!

Note: Oregon has no sales tax, so it makes up the revenue with traffic fines.  At least the still drive on the right side of the road.

It's cool and lovely, though I have discovered that November through February at lease, the coast gets about 12" of rain per month.  Too bad I gave a way my big rubber gum-boots (rain boots) in Uganda.  Whodathunk I would need them here?     Well I am ready for for cooler, wetter and seasons that go beyond Uganda's rainy or dry and Texas' hot and hotter.  Loking forward to finding out how Oregon feels over the long haul and discovering whale watching, crabbing and storm watching, to mention a few new "seasons." 

Another Returned Peace Corps friend of mine (not Africa) recently sent me quote from Henri Matisse

 that relates well to life or at least the life of "a traveler." It goes like this:

“Each picture, as I finish it, seems like the best thing I have ever done... and yet after a while I am not so sure. It is like taking a train to Marseille. One knows where one wants to go. Each painting completed is like a station— just so much nearer the goal. The time comes when the painter is apt to feel he has at last arrived. Then, if he is honest, he realizes one of two things — either that he has not arrived after all or that Marseille... is not where he wanted to go anyway, and he must push further on.” Henri Matisse

I don't know if Cannon beach will be my Marseille, or another stop along the way, but I plan to immerse myself fully, discover what we have to offer each other and enjoy the process of continued discovery.  I do know, that - like a painting - I've been mentally painting in the details of ach room as I wait to move in.  And there are certain pieces of personality that endure where ever one goes, and other aspects that emerge only when offered an opportunity that's new enough to bring out latent talents, the shadow, or pieces of coal that needed pressure and time to become diamonds.

We'll see what pops up and what falls away...    What I do know is that I am being very selective about what I add back in to this phase of life, starting essentially with a blank canvas.  Choosing a simpler way of living,  closer to nature and as "off the grid" and still being able to do the consulting I love.   Sometimes that's more complicated that it should be - in the "first world."

Setteling down for a while....

I have finally reached a point where I can stand still.....  Karla - my navigator, co-conspirator and friend has flown back to her real life and things here are quiet - if you don't count the vibrating base coming from the downstairs apartment. 

Since arriving it's been an interesting quest and a strange stage of life.  On one hand this feels like just another trip - a place I will be for a while to explore.  Then again I've never driven a thirty foot truck full of my life to get to "just another place."  Periodically, when I have a moment that's not dedicated to figuring out which lane to be in, I shift into another state of awareness that remembers I'm moving my life half way across the country.  And while I have planned this, looked forward to this and am excited - I am also periodically enveloped in a cloud of angst and uncertainty about what comes next.

One thing I have not been is BORED.  I think you have to go through Boring to get to Bored...  I've been near, but not there yet... Here's the sign.  

As we were leaving Austin and waiting for the light to change at the intersection of Hwy 183 and Loop 360 a beautiful white haired black homeless man sitting on the median locked eyes with us and gave us the most beatific smile and the thumbs up. We exchanged smiles and from that point on the trip felt blessed.  I am holding on to that sense of blessing and exchange of goodwill and remind myself of the joy exchanged in that moment as a harbinger of good things to come. And thus far this journey has felt very synchronistic:  every time there has been a question or a need, the answer, place or person has appeared.  I like that. 

In some ways, this is feeling more like another country than another state.  This  one has mountains, big green trees, fog, cooler air, lots of water and lots of bike lanes and new traffic rules.  There are strange signs:  "drag chains required..." and we were stopped in Seaside for our wheel going over the 8" white line separating a bike lane from traffic. Not that I'm unfamiliar with bike-lanes and the need to stay out of them, but there seems to be a difference in the way one handles an 8" line and a 4" line.  I feel a new vocabulary coming on.   And there is a strange white substance that falls from the sky - not yet - but warnings appear everywhere.  I think this is going to require a different wardrobe.

When I started out, I was confounded as to how I was going to handle the logistics of finding a place, unloading the truck, turning in the truck, renting a car, seeing Brett off on his great cross country adventure, getting Brett's car, returning the rental car and getting Karla to the airport - all of which had to be done in three days.  All of it was impossible to plan, because there were too many missing pieces.  Ultimately. I had to just allow things to develop in their own time and all of it fell into place in a sequence I couldn't have predicted.

The day spent at the Japanese gardens was a needed escape, especially since the day spent investigating the coast and all days thereafter produced nothing in terms of lodging. It did, however, give me information about where I really want to be and that's Seaside or - preferably - Cannon Beach.  Since each of these little communities has a very specific personality it was time to spend some actually time on the beach and literally get the feel of the place.  We ate great seafood, watched a fabulous sunset and found a fun little motel near the beach, everything having cleared out of holiday revelers except a large contingent of young Russians.

Jeff and Bernard at the finish!

We headed back to Hillsboro and wandered into the old historic district for dinner and to our great surprise, discovered the Tuesday Night Art Crawl with free food. By the next morning it was time to get the truck back and that mean unloading.  No place to move meant unloading into a storage unit in time to get the truck returned and I dreaded the idea of driving it through Portland again to get to Mt. Hood area to return it where I'd originally planned.  Once again, a better option presented itself and I was able to unload two blocks down the road and return the truck to the same place.   Since we rented a car  under Karla's name (hard/ expensive  to rent a car with no car insurance) we now had wheels that were not attached to a 30-foot truck.  A  snappy little red Hundai, it was soon dubbed Hot Little Number.

Lucky gals that we are, we found these cute guys to unload Guadalupe into the last 10x10 unit available!   Wow - what a feeling to be free of the truck and have my "life" safely installed in a free-for-thirty-days-climate-controlled unit!  Three of the big things had resolved themselves.

The next day, was the first day of Brett's great adventure - a cross country trip on his new Kawasaki 650 motorcycle from Port Flattery, WA to Key West, FL. And in another stroke of luck, we were able to meet and I got to give him

and hug and see him on his way.  Funny that the place most convenient was a Krispy Kreme Donuts!  I didn't even know they had them in Oregon - it was  my secret guilty pleasure in Austin!  All sugared up, Brett left on his journey and we headed in the opposite direction toward his apartment in Welches to pick up his car, return the rental and hold up in the midst of tall green trees with hiking trails nearby. The last three pieces fell into place!

Somewhere in the confusion of vehicles and moving here and there I got a response from a craigslist advertisement for a "Cannon Beach Cottage!  So I'm hopeful.  Can't look at it until September 14, but am at least in contact with the owners.  It looks cute so far - furnished with basic neutral things so I can move my few accent pieces in not have to buy bigger pieces yet.  So hold good thoughts for me while I wait.

Thanks to Garmina, I found the Portland airport and dropped Karla off for her flight back to normalcy.  Now to find a car...

Trucker chics...

The last week has been quite the adventure starting last Sunday with loading the truck.  What started as a plan to drive a small U-Haul (thinking a baby 10-foot truck) grew and grew.   While I did purge about 75% of my life and belongings before Peace Corps, I still managed to fill and 8X10 storage, with mostly boxes and a few pieces of sentimental furniture including granddaddy's haunted deacon's chair, the impossibly heavy 1800's table around which I heard my first tales of family clairvoyance and hands-on-healing, the first piece of furniture I bought post-divorce, a childhood table and tons of artwork and odds-and-ends of memorabilia from around the world - plus - you know - regular paraphernalia required for conducting life.  That amounts to about 650 cubic feet of STUFF, translating to a 14 foot truck expertly loaded.  That turned into a 17-foot truck to accommodate the possibility of not-so-expert loading and THAT morphed into a 20-foot truck by pick-up date because they didn't have a 17-foot one.    With each additional foot in length, my anxiety level ratcheted up by an order of magnitude.     What is life for if not to worry....    but my friend Lizzy kept telling me I was making too big of a deal out of it and so I took a deep breath and hoped for a Xanax.And - just for the record a 20-foot U-Haul is NOT 20-feet long ... It's 30 feet - or so.

Forget the big-girl-panties.....  I went for the jock-strap and channeled my "inner-trucker."  It seems to have worked.  My good friend Karla from Peace Corps has achieved sainthood status because she flew over to make the trip with me.  Not sure what I did to deserve this generosity, but I picked her up on Saturday and now, here we are in Oregon.  How will I ever thank her!

Driving the truck back on Sunday after loading was a little like it must feel taking your first step on a tight-rope while holding an elephant by the tail.   I was scared to even attempt the steep hill going to Lizzie's house, but the only other option was to drive half way around Austin to avoid it.  I was relieved to discover it did not in fact stall half way up as I had imagined....

Karland and I with our weapon of choice

And  I'm sure you all will be glad to know we heeded suggestions that we take a weapon for self-defense. Refusing recommendations of a gun, pepper spray or wasp/bear spray we opted for a fierce hand-rake that presented itself during loading.    Soon every car will be equipped with one. 

From that inauspiciously fearful beginning, we have now accomplished a 45 hour drive of  roughly 2400 miles,  transiting Texas, New Mexico, a corner of Colorado, Utah, Idaho and Oregon in a truck with a gasoline addiction resulting in the consumption of 350 gallons of gas (8 mpg). We accomplished the entire trip in what seemed to be a state of grace. Karla's navigating saved the day and made it possible without total madness and the purchase of a female-voiced Garmin navigator we named Garmina has made me fall in love with technology.  Interesting sights along the way kept us totally engaged and entertained.

Driving through the desolate no-man's-land of West Texas we crested a hill and had to immediately dodge the debris of a blown-out tire. While still wondering what vehicle had survived that blow-out, the other side of the hill offered up a scene right out of a fifties' movie:  two ancient white school buses snugged up to each other facing opposite directions and surrounded by six grim looking armed guards  policing the transfer of prisoners.   We didn't think it wise to stop for pictures.

We continued on for a total of thirteen hours that day and settled into a routine. On every trip concessions must be made to accommodate space and time limitations.  On this trip, there was no CD player for books on tape or music.  But with Karla - for whom every site triggers a song,  there was always music.  For me, it's stories, so between songs and tall-tales, we managed to keep each other entertained, if not a little crazed.  One of those concessions was not about to be good coffee, so at each unloading of more bags than a traveling circus, the one with coffee, french press and fixin's plus an ice box with the half-and-half had highest priority.  Waking up at 5:30 each morning - usually with a headache brought on by driving 10 hours the day before - yours truly (that would be me) greeted the day with a primal scream for coffee and started the ritual of figuring out how to make said coffee using the various contraptions available on site.  Some mornings required a heating element purchased in Mexico, some resulted in messes that could only be described as volcanic, and others employed various contraptions mimicking a stone-age Starbucks. All required the focus of a chemist.   But in the end - there was C-O-F-F-E-E to jump start the process of cognition sufficient to transit another 500 miles.

There were bizarre moments of mental lapses so aberrant that - had I been elsewhere - might have resulted in a scene out of One Flew Over the Cookoo's Nest.   Consumed in an examination of a lever I'd already used for a day, but which boasted a sign for a device  about which I know nothing - I asked in the most earnest of voices "what do you think this lever is for... it looks like it has a purpose"  Karla, looking incredulous and more than a little spooked at the prospect of continuing another 2000 miles with this mad woman, suggested it might be for shifting gears, at which point a deafening silence ensued. The incapacitating laughter that erupted when I came out of the time warp returns unbidden every time we think about it.  Some things are simply inexplicable.   Maybe we were just preparing for Roswell of alien fame.  We hadn't originally planned that stop, but as the route unfolded,  Jeannie's directions brought us right through Roswell and its ubiquitous supply of "little green men." This one was the greeter at the Motel 6. 

Jeannie, Me and most of Karla

After a night in a dank and smoke infested Roswell Motel 6 (the alien was of no help) we managed to  arrive in Albuquerque to meet up with another Peace Corp friend, Jeannie and had a great visit.  Wish we had a friend like Jeannie at every stop along the way as she really made us feel so welcome and well cared for.  Professional truckers that we are and each of us taking care of different things, not always checking in with the other - we drove out of Albuquerque on Day 2 to the sound of a small horn beeping behind us only to discover that Jeannie was not just giving us a a grand send- off, but warning us that we'd left the back of the truck open!  How the mighty truckers had fallen and been reduced once again to the realm of mere mortals.   So grateful were we that our stupidity was discovered before we got on the highway, that we almost forgot to be embarrassed.  Thanks to Jeannie we were spared the abject humiliation of it happening it 8 o'clock Albuquerque traffic.

Shortly after that fiasco - laughing all the way - Jeannie's improved routing took us past a resort where eight hot-air balloons were readying for lift off against the morning sky.  Spectacular.  The scenery that took us up to Colorado gave truth to New Mexico's title as the Land of Enchantment.  

Colorado was surprising in that we went across the southwest corner that looks like a moonscape with desolate buff-gray rounded land forms that gave way to Utah and its jaw-dropping surreal landscapes of red rock sculptures, arches and canyons.  Just as we thought it couldn't get any more spectacular,  dramatic dark cloud formations dumping swaths of rain danced across the horizon occasionally gracing us with a shower to clean off the dust collected along the way.

Getting through Provo and Boise, Idaho kept us on our toes as we kept the U-Haul, newly christened Guadalupe after Our of Guadalupe (you can't drive something 2400 miles without giving it a name) moving forward as Garmina would periodically remind us to "stay on road."    Who would have guessed she had a sense of humor?    I wish her expertise extended to motels, because the next night we landed at a new and improved version of Motel 6 where the AC abandoned us.  That made us determined to find another option,  so we  reserved a room at the lovely looking Dunes Motel in Hillsboro (the coast having NO VACANCIES because of the holiday) and arrived to discover it surrounded by yellow hazard tape and absent siding.  Photo-shop is a grand invention.  

Road signs and place markers did their part to keep us entertained and wondering about the fate they suggested: Dismal Nitch, Dead Horse Canyon, Starvation Road, Poverty Lane, Hells Bend and Humbug Cove.

And Guadalupe never met a gas pump she didn't love.  We spent a lot of time nurturing her addiction. Gas prices got worse as we went west and we spent about $1200 feeding our trusty transport.  But otherwise, she treated us well and was surprisingly comfortable, if you don't count needing back support for the driver. At the last minute, Liz donated a bath mat that served that purpose.  Improvisation turned out to be a valuable skill on this trip.

Coming into Oregon from the south east was shocking as we saw a part of the state that echoed the moon-scape feel of parts of Colorado, Texas and Utah, punctuated by hundreds of towering white wind turbines turning against the back drop of a bluebird sky.




 
 Driving under the Welcome to Oregon arch gave me chill-bumps as I realized how long I have planned for and thought about this move.  When the Columbia River and Mount Hood came into view it was nothing short of a spiritual experience.

We abandoned Garmina's logical best-route commands when I decided to turn off and take the back way into Portland via Mt. Hood and Timberline to visit Brett.  I couldn't possibly be that close and opt for logic over heart and miss the opportunity to hug Brett in celebration of arrival.  Approaching 11,000 feet,  Guadalupe gasped a little, but pulled her weight and made it up the winding roads without a glitch.  Getting to the top caused some angst when I realized I would have to get her down 6% slopes without riding the brakes.  We managed to piss-off a few drivers behind us, but put her in  low gear and snaked our way down.

No U-Haul trip would be complete without navigating and taking a wrong turn in a city during rush-hour the Friday before a holiday.   We obliged and thought we might implode from hysterical stress-induced laughing as we squeezed across a two land winding bridge tailgated by a schoolbus full of football players.  The driver had the good sense not to pass us, knowing no doubt that the drivers didn't know what they were doing - a generalized assumption about U-Haul drivers that is probably well deserved. 

It's not an exaggeration to say that the trip thus far has felt truly blessed.  At every juncture, it has been easier than expected.  When there was threatening weather all around us,  the road through it seemed to open up.  Guadalupe has been comfortable and accommodating, despite her guzzling addition to gasoline.  The loading was so well organized that nothing appears to have shifted and there have only been two  glitches in routing over the entire route.  We've laughed more than I thought possible, eaten some truly awful combinations of food (fried chicken, corn dogs, Cheetos, road food) .....   OK - so the food has not been so blessed.  But otherwise it has been a remarkable journey and the rest of it is just beginning.

We have checked out Astoria, a major seaport at the mouth of the Columbia River, Seaside and Cannon Beach for rental possibilities, but of course everything is closed for Labor Day weekend and no one has returned calls since property management companies are closed.  Flexibility being the byword here,  we spent the day at the Japanese Garden and Rose Garden in Portland.   Tomorrow we'll explore Lincoln City and on Tuesday hopefully there will be some movement!

Oregon Bound

Wow - for those of you still interested - yes - I've been "gone too long" in more ways than one.  I've been writing in my mind and was surprised to see the last entry was July 4th.  Since I have been traveling and through the extreme generosity of friends, have been sleeping at their homes - the Ugandan's would say, "You've been sleeping around!"    So in the Ugandan context - yes, I've "been sleeping around," but not much luck there in the American sense...

I spent about a month with Brett at his place at the foot of Mt. Hood and began the process of re-entry - again.  Mexico was fabulous in so many ways because it gave me time to process, feel and think without having to define what I plan to do next.    It gave me time to become aware of what I miss, what I want to add back into life when I settle-in somewhere and time to climb back into my own skin.  Friends who saw me in the first few days and weeks after I got back from Africa have told me I looked "shell shocked," and I admit I felt like that.  Going from Post-conflict Northern Uganda to the affluence  and pace of the States was so much harder than going in the reverse direction.   Another friend was surprised at that, asking where I'd been in the States that was so difficult.  But the fact is, even the most "laid-back" town in the US is light-years faster and more complex in every regard compared to life in rural Uganda.  So, Mexico was the perfect middle-ground:  slower pace, lots of color and life, communities that take time to share a conversation and communal time, fewer gadgets in general and less to confront all at once. 

                                                                           The first week I arrived in Oregon, Brett had mountains to climb - real ones, not figurative ones.   Climbing season is short and if you climb too late it's really unsafe - so I used that time to walk wonderful, bucolic trails that are so magical you can practically see the fairies playing.  It was regenerative, especially after the intense heat of the Yucatan!  Vine ripened fruit was everywhere: berries along the path, fruit stands overflowing with cherries, blueberries, apricots, blackberries!

 

A drive along the coast north of Newport Beach (no not the one of California fame) gave me a glimpse of the diversity of communities there - some are heavy-duty ports with no actual beach, others are covered with river rock and dramatic boat eating boulders, while others are soft and sandy. Bathed in sunshine walking along one beach you can see the next one down shrouded in

fog.   I'm aiming for the Cannon Beach area, but where I'll actually land will depend on what I can find to rent.  Yes - I'm one of those crazy people who show up with a U-Haul full of furniture and assume something will show up. 

 Then to Austin, where I have been so incredible fortunate.  Goods friends have embraced me and provided gorgeous places to stay, good food, cars to drive and caught me up on their lives.  My goodness there's been a lot happening:  twins were born, divorces were had, houses burned,  kids were married, left for college, businesses were started and Austin grew into an almost unrecognizable city.  But that's the sort of thing that happens when 150 per day move to town.  Congress Avenue and downtown have been transformed from a lazy place to spend a weekend into the hip-and-high-priced-happening-place-to-be.   I got the opportunity to spend a week in  a really posh high-rise condo overlooking the LadyBird Lake and the expanding city of Austin all lit up at night and I finally - after almost 40 cumulative years in Austin got to see the bats fly out at dusk from the Congress Avenue Bridge.  1.5 million Mexican free-tail bats call the bridge home in the summer and every night about 8:30 they take flight to rid Austin of mosquitoes and of course entertain the tourists.  They winter-over in a cave in the hill-country outside of town.

These are bats - not birds

 Today is D-Day minus two: tomorrow I pick up a 20 foot truck, which started as a commitment to a 10-foot truck and grew.  Too much stuff for the baby truck, then they said a 14" would work, but if not loaded right, might not work, so safer with a 17foot.  Just about the time I'd resigned myself to that one, I got a call saying my reservation for a TWENTY foot truck was confirmed!  "No 17-footer available ma'am, the 20 footer is only a foot longer (whaaaat? 20 minus 17 still 3 isn't it??? ) and drives better because it's newer and gets better gas mileage ma'am."  Hmmmm.  So here we go. My Peace Corps friend Karla has arrived from Tennessee via Nawlins to make the trip with me and we'll stop in Albuquerque to visit another Peace Corps friend. We are going to make this an adventure no matter what!   Stayed tuned! 

Oregon, here I come! Just gotta get through Texas, New Mexico,Utah and Idaho before I get there!

Empty airports, contrast and choice

Happy July 4th everyone.  What a time to come back to the States and what a contrast in worlds and environments.  First, the Cancun airport, even in low season is a veritable zoo of humanity leaving the world of beaches and going who knows where. Feeling a little silly at arriving three hours early (just in case there were unexpected delays in route to the airport), I felt justified when I saw at least 200 people in line before me.  In varying states of undress and some still on a tequila buzz, travelers - having passed through security, spilled into a barrage of Duty Free shops and a dizzying overload of everything from tequila and vanilla to Gucci.  Re-entry to the world of consumerism continues to be a little brutal.

Being in an empty airport all night is an experience.  Those of you who saw the YouTube of the man trapped in the Vegas airport filming his own music video with Celine Dion's "All by Myself," may have wondered how he got all those shots with NO ONE in the background...  Well - here's San Francisco's airport to the right.  

An interesting re-discovery of US air carriers was the fact that even on a 5 hour flight, there's no free lunch - not even peanuts. Contrast this with Ethiopian Airlines that managed  a three course complimentary meal complete with wine on a three hour flight.  However, customs in San Francisco was thankfully easy, and I hoped this bode well for over-nighting in an empty airport while I waited for a 5:50 AM connecting flight to Oregon.  The gift in that was being met by the sweet PCV friend who had to return to the States after being hit by the drunk driver in Uganda.  The last time I saw her she was packaged ready for MedeVac to South Africa.  What a great reunion! But that still left 6 sleepless hours. 

Such an environment is ripe for introspection and remembering other airports, other trips, and other transitions. I realized I've lived in each of the four corners of the US and then some:  Lousiana/Texas,   Florida, Southern California, West Virginia and soon - Oregon.  I don't know that that says anything in particular - just part of the Gypsy mentality I guess.  

The walk I took yesterday afternoon through one of the amazing forests near Mt. Hood and along the Salmon River triggered an awareness of the contrasts inherent in the last two places in particular: the heat, sunlight, blindingly white

sand and  turquoise waters of Playa to the cool,  fern covered, moss draped banks along the tumbling waters of the Salmon River.  And it all shifted in a day's time - a real statement about the times in which we live.  Things, places and situations can change in a heartbeat.  

A good Peace Corps friend of mine reminded metoday of where we were on July 4th one year ago:   Zanzabar!  I have tended to fold my memories of Peace Corps into one envelope labeled Uganda and it feels like it was both yesterday and in the far past - yet it was only a year ago.   I'd lost this beautiful memory of a fabulous time with friends in the over-arching memory of the difficulty of living in Uganda.  That's a loss,  but it has colored my perceptions of the present and my ideas of the future, which unfolds in front of me like one of those sticky fruits roles where every little bit that unrolls is stuck to what preceeds it.

As I acclimate to the "first world," having used Mexico as a transition to lessen the incoherence between the third world and this one, I gradually shed or at least become aware of the baggage brought with me - the stuff sticking to me. While in Uganda, I never went out after dark: too dangerous.  In Mexico, I began poking my head out and discovering there's really not a boogeyman in every shadow.   In Playa I went to a friends' house for breakfast and coffee and realized I was scooping up the extra salt on the plate - leaving no grain behind - only after my friend said, "You know you don't have to clean the plate - you're not in Uganda anymore."  There are other holdovers:  a continuing - though reduced - hyper-vigilence, conservation of every resource, meticulous management of consumables - not quite realizing things are readily available and don't have to come in care packages, dread and hyper-preparedness around travel.  Now in the States I marvel that I can drink water from the tap and it's OK to take a bath because I won't drain the water tank doing it - not that I had a bathtub there anyway.  

Since I now have a US phone, I suppose that makes me a citizen again - albeit not a very active one because  I don't exactly know how to use it.   It turns off at its own will - not mine, and seems to have a prima-dona attitude,  unlike those tough  little phones in Uganda that tolerated being dropped in the mud, coming apart in three pieces and still working when you put them back together.  It beeps at me for reasons unknown  - I don't know it's beep-language yet, it not being English, Spanish or Acholi.   But time heals all wounds - or  wounds all heels - right?  I suppose I will catch up, but am not at all sure that's what I want to do.  

So here I am in Welches, Oregon at the base of Mt. Hood where the beauty almost makes you weep - the pure richness and accessibility of it - picturesque little towns, bright purple and pink baskets of Petunias, giant evergreens and trails populated with families carefree enough to hike in the woods with the family dog, cold water rapids from melting snow.  I suppose in part it's being in a culture where despite our problems and the complexity of life, we have enough disposable income and time and feel safe enough to go climb a mountain,  to travel, to expend energy in ways other than finding food and to think about what we'd like to do rather than endure what life has dished out.

What strikes me as one of the most salient characteristics of the developed world is the presence of choice.  It doesn't mean that those choices are easy or that we even recognize the reality of their existence, but for the most part, they are there in every breath.  It includes things as mundane as food choices: not IF we can eat,  but which of many possibilities are we in the mood for.   The down side is that few realize just how much opportunity to choose we have on a moment to moment basis and therefore don't really exercise the right to choose, living instead by default.

So, in gratitude -  here's to choice and all that that entails, including the responsibility to choose wisely and often lest the freedom inherent in the privilege is lost.

Happy 4th of July!

Place of the Turtles - Akumal

 It's closing in on my last week in paradise and I'm grasping at ways to hold these times close and be present.  Surrounded by tourism as much of Yucatan is, sometimes I forget to simply close out the rest of the world and see where I'm standing. 

It's easy to get caught up in "what should I do next" and "what will I be sorry I didn't do when I look back." As in the rest of life, it can be a challenge to be fully present and filter out the background chatter. And on a tour, there's plenty of chatter. Last week I went on a snorkeling tour to Cozumel, supposedly the best-of-the-best in the Costa Maya.   As tours go, it was more relaxed than some, but still constrained. Sadly, there are so many tours and so much boat activity there, the reefs are dying and it was disappointing.  What is even worse is the fact that this area's economy depends on such activities and that very activity, badly handled is killing the reefs.    But there's the sense of "I'm HERE! I need to do it all." So I'm still glad I went and know what's there, but it was a reminder that you don't have to be IN the water, to be bowled over by what there is to see. 

Here, there is so much natural beauty about the sea it's just mind boggling.  I usually don't take my camera, because then I'm always taking a step back to try to get the perfect shop.  But then I realize, I don't have any pictures. So a few days ago I took a walk with my camera to capture my morning walk and here it is. 

I'm on the north end of the beach, the tail-end of the tourist district and it's pretty tranquil. That's a left turn when I get the sand and it's a world apart from what I see if I turn right where there are wall-to-wall hotels, bodies, beech chairs and music.  My end is more populated by the locals fishing, couples walking hand-in-hand and sand-covered toddlers squealing with delight.   Dogs cavorting in the surf are having at least as much fun as their owners and one followed me last night with a ball in his mouth looking for a "throw."   The only structures for a while are a few Palapas like the one at right built for a little shade.

About a mile down is a small lagoon fed by cold water coming from the underground rivers.  You can see a bit of it at left.  The water stays deliciously cold until it merges with the sea. A few nights ago, I heard drumming and the call of a horn made from a conch shell.  There, gathered at the lagoon were about 50 locals participating in a ritual cleansing ceremony complete with feathers and smoke... and the Virgin Mary.  I was expecting a Budha, but it's a Catholic country after all. 

I waited 'till today to venture to Akumal,  Mayan for "Place of the Turtles,' since the beaches and the water there boil with humanity even on off-season weekends.  It does live up to its name.  My  turtle researcher friends first told me about it since they have been there often to count and tag the local green turtles that like the grassy patches there. It's a turtle sanctuary.

Before it got too stiflingly hot, I walked the two miles to catch the local version of what Ugandans would call a Matatu, but thank goodness the similarity ends there!  These are nice, new Toyota vans that  hold about 12 - 16 people and are the middle alternative between buses and Taxis that charge a round trip fee because they are regulated by district and can't pick up a return fare.   Because of that, they'll will wait up to a few hours for you if you choose, but that fare is about $55US.  The collectivo on the other hand charges about $3US, is air-conditioned and one leaves every 30 minutes!  For the budget minded-and that would be me-the collectivo is perfect.

The collectivo  drops its riders on the highway at the mouth of a pedestrian bridge that empties onto cobble-stone walkway into the town. You know you're getting close to the beach when the hawking of tours begins.  Luckily the dive shops rent gear, lockers and showers without requiring a guide or a tour.  What they do require is life jackets, so I paid my $15US, donned my life jacket and gear, stashed my loot and footed it to the water a little apprehensive about actually finding turtles, considering some of my previous water adventures.

This time the reports were true: by the time you're up to your chest in water you're in turtle territory. Find a dark grassy spot or a gaggle of snorkelers and you can be pretty well guaranteed turtles.  The water's a little murky because of the surge,  but I followed about 8 turtles around, mostly solitary, but some in pairs or a group.   There were a few real granddaddies out there - probably 2.5 to 3-feet long.   They forage on grass and periodically come up for a gulp of air and go about their business.  They really are beautiful and prehistoric looking and since it's shallow, they're very close.  Another plus were the sting-rays gliding along the bottom and a few schools of fish.   A real treat to be this close to these guys.