I went east. A lot.
Still working on that.
I’ll add some pictures later maybe.
[Update: Some pictures…]
[daily log: walking, 1km; driving, 1200km]
Month: November 2018
Caveat: Poem #852 “Anxiety”
ㅁ anxiety is nefarious creeping by secret passages asserting unlikely things discoursing about doubts taking possession so maybe just take a breath inhale sigh
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Blueberry’s Bath
I think I’ve mentioned that I dubbed Arthur’s Chevy Tahoe SUV “the blueberry tank.” That’s the car I’m driving all over during the holidays, and tomorrow, I set out on my next leg. I’ll drive to just north of Denver, where my stepmother Wendy and stepsister Brenda lives with her family.
Today, Arthur and I had another VA appointment, and we ran some other errands and Arthur surprised me somewhat by deciding it was finally time to wash the car. So we took it to one of those fancy “hands on” carwash places and got it cleaned. It was quite dirty – the dust was caked so thickly that an ecosystem of moss was forming on the sides of the car.
Now it’s clean.
Tomorrow I drive.
[daily log: walking, 3km]
Caveat: Poem #851 “The writing in the world”
ㅁ Fog and trees up the hill below the sky, which is well hidden, but peeks through, pink and gold; the trees' branches like brush strokes, uninvented ideographs, abstract characters drawn against white.
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #850 “Dodging raindrops”
ㅁ the hummingbird waits hovering by the feeder avoiding steady rain
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Dead Guy
Today was a hard day. I was at the dentist in the morning. A horrible dentist experience, as they always are for me. Pain and discomfort and feeling of being complicit in my own torture, and then having the privilege of paying for it.
Sigh.
I had a frustrating time with trying to get my computer (HP laptop) serviced too. If I want it to be serviced, I have to send it to the manufacturer. Which means being without a computer during that time – plus, it’s a bit complicated since I’m currently traveling around. I’ll probably just not bother. And that means the manufacturer has “won” – they’ve made the issue of warranty service sufficiently difficult and complicated such that I simply don’t bother, which of course is their money-saving objective.
Sigh.
On a good side, I got my tax returns for 2012-2017. That’s a feeling of accomplishment.
I have a lot of pain in my mouth. They had to puncture and drain an abscess above my molar. Ow.
When I got back, I told Juli I felt dead.
She gave me some “Dead Guy Ale” to go with my dinner, which seemed super appropriate.
Life goes on. Tomorrow will be better.
[daily log: walking, 2km]
Caveat: Poem #849 “Dukkha”
ㅁ lie down, suffering walk along, still suffering oh, there's a nice leaf.
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: here and there
I had a busy day today.
In the morning, I had to go to the dentist. Rather than find a dentist in Southeast Alaska, I did what Arthur does, and found a dentist down here around Portland. Since he comes here every year, it makes sense. Dentists in Southeast Alaska are hard to get to from Craig – you have to fly to Ketchikan or Juneau.
This dentist thing is stressing me out. I like dentists even less than cancer. That’s the cold truth: I’d rather be in the cancer hospital again than sitting in a dentist’s chair. It stresses me out. Well, anyway – apparently there’s something that needs doing, in there. Hopefully it won’t get messed up as it has, times before.
In the afternoon I took Arthur in to the VA Hospital in Portland. This is just scheduled follow-up from his accident and treatment over the summer. Nothing particularly stressful or gruesome, more on the side of bureaucratic, if you ask Arthur.
Tomorrow, I return to the dentist for a second chapter, and also will meet my tax accountants, hopefully bringing final closure to my long, six-year period of non-tax-filing status.
[daily log: walking, 2km]
Caveat: Poem #848 “Disbursement”
ㅁ fragments of water strewn across narrow valleys filling in deep holes
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: up the hill, down the river
I took a long walk with Juli, up the hill and down the river. Pictures.
We saw some turkeys in a field. These turkeys survived Thanksgiving. Juli said that they’re waiting for Christmas.
[daily log: walking, 6km]
Caveat: Poem #847 “November’s plan”
ㅁ Fog's condensation lining the tips of branches outline November.
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Thanksgiving (observed)
We observed Thanksgiving on Saturday, because for various reasons not everyone was able to make it on Thursday.
In the morning, Wayne and I took a long walk up through the tree farm – I went quite a ways farther up than I’d gone before. We took Walter, the dog, who posed for a picture, too.
Thanksgiving was a great feast in the tradition I’ve associated with the Brosing-Lecomte extended family since my own childhood in the early 1970s, when both families were based in rural San Mateo County south of San Francisco (which was truly rural at that time, and not the collection of high-tech-entrepreneurs’ mansions that it is these days).
Arthur did his small duty relative to the event, by roasting the turkey in the style he developed in Arcata in the 1970s too, using his self-designed rotisserie barbecuer.
There is no table at these gatherings – never has been one, because the number of people is too great. People stand or sit wherever, and eat.
Juli and Keith’s neighbor, who has horses, generously offered to let some the kids (and adults too) ride one of her horses. It was a first horse ride for some of the kids.
It was a good thanksgiving.
[daily log: walking, 5km]
Caveat: Poem #846 “Nekkhamma”
ㅁ Moments of friendship, Unintended kindnesses, Slow entanglements.
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Poem #845 “The requirements of the day”
ㅁ Thanks: for life; for weather; for happiness; for looming mountains; for the colorful leaves; for long walks in a downpour; for a moment of reflection; for pauses after conversation.
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Low Key
Today was the official Thanksgiving holiday, but we didn’t really have a major celebration. Many of the people coming to this year’s annual Brosing-Lecomte get-together and thanksgiving feast were unable to make it here today due to travel or scheduling issues. So the great feast has been scheduled for Saturday instead of Thursday. That’s when we’ll roast the turkey (Arthur’s specialty) and do the other celebratory foods.
For today, we mostly relaxed. Juli and I took a long walk, in pouring rain, up to the tree farm and then down along the river, after seeing the Lee Falls up the Tualatin River a ways.
The house shortly after dawn, on a rainy, drizzly morning.
The horses at the neighbor’s house were deeply unimpressed by our decision to go walking in the rain. They stuck to the barn.
Walter the charismatic dog was unconcerned about the rain.
We saw the waterfall. In fact, despite the pouring rain, the water level in the river is quite low for this time of year. The summer and fall have been dry, here.
We saw a giant log blocking the Lee Falls Road. Good thing we were walking. This is Juli standing by the log.
We had barbecued chicken for dinner.
Tomorrow some people might go into town to do some shopping. I have no interest in the so-called Black Friday.
[daily log: walking, 6km]
Caveat: Poem #844 “The leaf”
ㅁ the night gives the day the sun makes the falling rain a leaf there lies still
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: drivedrivedrive
I drove a lot.
I saw things.
Canada has a desert. It was cold, though – below freezing.
Proof that Vancouver is beyond hope.
I have arrived in Forest Grove, Oregon. I’ll add some pictures or more thoughts tomorrow – I’m tired and will sleep, for now.
[daily log: walking, not much; driving, too much]
Caveat: Poem #843 “Behind the wheel”
ㅁ drive off the ferry, go through customs, drive in the rain to Tim Hortons drive to a rest area drive up the river's path drive east to Prince George drive through the snow drive at night drive south drive.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Driving south and more of the same
My ferry arrived at Prince Rupert at around 2 am. I was the first vehicle off the ferry, so there was no waiting at Canadian immigration/customs. I rolled down my window, and a dour, mustached Canadian asked me if I had any firearms or drugs or alcohol. No on all counts, and
he asked how long I would be staying. I said long enough to be driving through. And that was the end of the interview – the easiest Canadian border crossing I’ve ever experienced. I think crossing as an “Alaskan” helps a lot – the Canadians are used to the fact that Alaskans need to go back and forth across their country for various reasons.
I got some coffee at a Tim Hortons, I got some local currency cash at an ATM, and I drove to the first rest area east of Prince Rupert, where I slept in my car until dawn. Starting at dawn, I drove east.
First there was rain. Finally the rain cleared, and I was in the snowy British Columbian interior.
Some pictures.
I am now at a motel at Cache Creek, BC (the junction of route 97 and the Trans-Canada highway, AKA Route 1).
[daily log: walking, 0.5km; driving, 1200 km]
Caveat: Poem #842 “Prince Rupert, BC”
ㅁ Twenty years ago I was here in Prince Rupert. It is still raining.
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: from aboard the M/V Malaspina
Here I am, sailing from Ketchikan to Prince Rupert.
I’m on a phone signal… between mountains drifting down among islands.
Pictures from earlier in the day (mostly from the Hollis-to-Ketchikan ferry).
Here is a somewhat random quote that struck me as relevant to my new lifestyle among many retirees on Prince of Wales Island:
One way to find out if you’re old is to fall down in front of a lot of people. If they laugh, you’re still young. If they panic and start running toward you, you’re old.
[daily log: walking, 2km]
Caveat: Poem #841 “Consumed”
ㅁ light comes out so slowly: gradually, it forces aside the grasping bits of dark which the trees have eaten, and finally a bold grayness suffuses reality with calm.
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Water Off
When Arthur goes down to the lower 48 for the holidays each year, he has a routine to “winterize” the house. One issue: since power is unreliable (and therefore heat), he has to anticipate the possibility that temperatures will be below freezing inside the house. That means the water system in the house has to be drained, and the water turned off. He puts antifreeze down all the drains.
It’s a pretty complicated process, starting with turning off the water supply up at the water tank, and draining the house, and then opening all the spigots, emptying the toilet tanks and bowls…
I remember doing this once by myself when I stayed here in 2009 and left in November. It was a bit simpler, then, because it was before he built the main part of the house, so it was only the two “sheds” – but these had fully functional toilets and plumbing, so the concept was the same.
We got this done today. And now it’s like camping, because we have no running water. Tomorrow we leave for Ketchikan.
Last night, we had dinner with Arthur’s friends / neighbors, Jeri and Karl. They live down the road, and came up here and Arthur prepared his famous chiles rellenos.
Here is a pretty good picture of the three of them, in the kitchen here.
[daily log: walking, 3km]
Caveat: Poem #840 “Serve yourself”
ㅁ The dawn is like soup: a broth of gray fills the air, chilled, unsavory.
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: preparing to drive
I may not have mentioned this yet. I am preparing to drive down to Portland for Thanksgiving. Yes: drive.
Arthur and I will take the ferry with the car to Ketchikan. There, he will get on an airplane, and meet Juli and Keith in Portland.
Meanwhile, I’ll put the car on another ferry from Ketchikan to Prince Rupert, BC. Then from there I can drive down to Portland for Thanksgiving.
Why are we doing this? Because that way, we’ll have the car down there. We evaluated the comparative cost of renting a car over the holidays down there, versus driving Arthur’s car down, and even accounting for the ferry tolls, the low gas mileage on his SUV, and the extra 1500 miles of driving, it’s still much cheaper.
And I used to do a lot of road trips. I think I’ll handle it fine. Once down in the lower 48 with Arthur’s car, we’ll be able to make use of it for our various intended visitings.
One thing I wanted to do to get ready to drive is make sure the car has snow chains and that I know how to attach them. That’s not because I expect to have to use them, but driving in the winter, some western states and Canada will sometimes require snow chains on vehicles for snowy weather, especially over mountain passes.
So I spent the morning practicing putting snow chains on Arthur’s car. It’s kind of unpleasant, in the rain on the gravel. But I got it done.
[daily log: walking, 4km]
Caveat: Poem #839 “Post mortem”
ㅁ So twenty blurry years ago today I made a try at dying: took some pills... instead became a ghost abroad. It stayed as if a dream had taken over this... this world, this life, this cold oneiric space. I found I could not stop my headlong trip because each trembling leaf I saw had grace. And finally, the ghost had found his will.
– some lines of blank verse (iambic pentameter).
Caveat: Mushroommates
In a rainforest, one’s roommates might be mushrooms.
Other pictures…
An autumnal imagistic inversion.
Walking into fog.
Greenery seen through clear water.
What I’m listening to right now.
Saint-Saëns, “Symphony No 3 in C minor, Op 78,” Orchestre de Paris with Paavo Järvi, conductor.
[daily log: walking, 4km]
Caveat: Poem #838 “Emergent phenomena”
ㅁ among the shadows nothing is necessary the gods just emerge
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Lot 73
One of my major on-going projects since coming here to Alaska has been to assist my uncle in taking the initial steps to “improve” (read “develop” and make buildable) the adjacent lot to the west, which he also owns.
Foremost was the need to build a driveway down the slope toward the water. This was, in fact, the project Arthur was working on when he had his accident – he was trying to survey the western property line so that Richard (the excavator operator) would have some guidance when he came in with his big machinery to cut the driveway.
So when Arthur and I first got up here, we finished that job.
Then Richard came out, starting in September, and cut the driveway. Arthur liked to grumble that Richard was destroying too many trees, but I think his complaints were with the understanding that in the given topography and the limitations of the plan and intention, there wasn’t much alternative in how he had to go forward.
The next step is to get approval for the septic system, since that would have to precede any house construction, obviously.
So I have been working on that. I completed a sketch-draft this morning, after thinking through the most reasonable place for where a house might go, talking it through (and through and through, ad infinitum) with Arthur and Richard.
Here are some pictures and my rough sketch plan. Hopefully we’ll get the engineer to begin the formal application process for the septic system if this passes muster.
Here is the lot plan. It’s very rough – it’s not a design drawing, but rather a suggestion to the engineer, to make clear our intentions.
I also prepared this photo with annotations, looking down the new driveway.
Here is a view toward Arthur’s water shed (on adjacent lot 74 to the east).
Here a view from the new parking area onto the expressway (Port Saint Nicholas Road).
Here is Arthur, supervising (observing) the excavator.
[daily log: walking, 4km]
Caveat: Poem #837 “Mud”
ㅁ mud has its own moods not influenced by light's moves waiting for darkness
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: resist, at all costs
Despite evidence of the cruelest tortures, the gnarled old tool did not betray the close-held secrets of its prior loyalties.
[daily log: walking, 3km]
Caveat: Poem #836 “Lines of escape”
ㅁ autumn's reflections articulate water's shapes and dismember time
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: después de muchos años
EL INVENTOR DE LAS METÁFORAS…
El inventor de las metáforas
se parece al duende de los gatos
metiéndose a media noche
por la boca abierta de los niños
para fabricar sus sueños con pesadillas.
El inventor de las metáforas
saborea con su lengua pegajosa
cada llanto infantil
arañando las sábanas.
Y los niños sudorosos
se abrazan a la almohada
e intentan descifrar
la forma de su angustia.
El inventor de las metáforas
siembra una semilla venenosa
que germina en poema
o agoniza en locura después de muchos años.
– Ana Merino (poeta española, n. 1971)
[daily log: walking, 2.5km]