Change of pace

Last night over drinks it finally hit me. We were talking of our past lives, our lives when we were youngsters.

Part I.

I brushed with potential loss about 10 years ago in a near flash flood experience. I was hiking in a slot canyon in Utah with my aunt, uncle, cousins, mom and dad when a storm hit. I could reach out and touch the each side of canyon with my fingertips, and looking up, could see a sliver of blue a couple hundred feet above.

The "flash" in flash flood is not an overstatement. What was a dry canyon when we hiked in became polka dotted within seconds. We broke into a run, the canyon floor was soaked and the water was running within minutes. Waterfalls off the walls. Rocks falling. The falls were so powerful you could barely run through them. My mom lost her shoes. My dad picked them up.

The canyon didn't open up before it hit the water of the lake, and our array of inadequate floatation devices were still waiting for us. But we couldn't paddle through the falls. Our canoe sank instantly. Paddles and life jackets everywhere. We were swimming.

My dad was in the back of the pack, waiting for a distant cousin, who apparently didn't realize the desperation of the situation, my mom near the front panicking, searching the walls for a way out.

I was somewhere in the front, trying to calm my mom, watching my other not-so-desert-experienced cousin panic. There is a switch in my brain that automatically gets flipped in situations like this. I turn into all business and no panic. Exit situation ASAP. Panic later. Appreciate the power of what was happening. Notice that this might just be the most beautiful thing i will EVER see. might also be the last.

Other thoughts going through my head:

I can't live without my dad, he should ditch the cousin and RUN, then SWIM

Grab life jacket for yourself

I can't live without my dad, he should ditch the cousin and RUN, then SWIM

Grab life jacket for young cousin

Survey situation to make sure everyone else is okay

Keep swimming out of canyon, no, SWIM LIKE HELL OUT OF CANYON

I can't live without my dad, he should ditch the cousin and RUN, then SWIM

We heard our rescue boat coming after us, the roar echoing off the walls. I knew they wouldn't be able to see us. We made for the walls of the canyon, and tried to scream, but knew they wouldn't hear us. Pictures of us making it out of the canyon, but hit by the propellers of our rescue boat, flying through my head. I hugged the wall closer, and screamed louder.

The boat collected us. We flew out of the canyon and back to our houseboat. Sand imbedded in my scalp from the waterfalls and stones peeling off the walls. Bruises everywhere. My dad had a gash in his leg. "Ditch her and RUN, you have to make it out" flying through my head, repeating itself over and over and over again in my head.

That night I had a meltdown.

I often think about what it would have been like, how my life would have changed, and every day I am thankful that we all made it through.

Part II.

My deepest fear in my life is loosing my dad. I've met two people in Eugene, whom have had similar relationships with their dads, and have experienced loss. It wasn't until last night that it hit me in full. Jenn's blog, which I stumbled on this morning, brought it home.

My Eugene partner in crime and a few friends went out for drinks last night. We've had many a conversation about our families, and how we love them, but what struck me was said partner in crime's description of how the way of life on the farm changed after her father passed away. The hogs, which were the pride, livelihood and identity of the family, were sold. The cattle were eventually sold. Other family members farm the crops. Everything about the everyday changed in his absence.

My other good friend has carried on the work of her father, traveling the world in his spirit. She has somehow found a way to work with him and through the pain of the loss of a most wonderful person.

The connection in both cases still seems to be there, the power of the relationship seems not to have changed. And I can only hope to be so strong, and still feel so connected should I ever have to face my deepest fear.

ass in gear. or maybe bike.

I just realized the other day that i'm riding "The Toughest Century in California" in 8 weeks. I have not been training. I have been playing on bikes and using them as an excuse to avoid working on school projects, but I have not been training. I will die on the climbs if I don't start training today.

I spent the last couple of days running the stairs instead of walking them, dancing around instead of standing still while waiting, and today was Day One of actual training.

Today was also the first day of rain in a while. So I went to the gym. oh what fun!! sweaty people everywhere! all with ipods. I joined them with a borrowed ipod and rowed in place for 2000 meters. Then I hiked in place and enjoyed the rain from my sheltered place, wishing I was outside in the rain instead. but biking fast in the rain isn't super fun, and I'm not allowed to run yet.

So I dreamt about biking along the unknown coast and through Iowa and around Crater Lake. I thought about the weekend, and how happy I am to have such great friends, and to enjoy where I am in life right now. I listened to Van Morrison and Crooked Still and Rushad Eggleston. I thought about my adventure hunting salamanders with Conor and Becky and Scientist a few weekends ago, from which I still have poison oak. and I thought: "I'm going to finish this race, I'm going to finish my first century"

procrastination

I'm currently snuggled up in my giant green papa san, after the beautiful quick drive home from portland, and couldn't resist recounting all the fun that added up over the past 48 hours. This weekend was fabulous, stuffed full of adventure, the legal and memorable kind. I should be working on final projects, but I've become very skilled at avoiding work with other work that isn't due, or never will be due. For example, last term, just before our final review of the most intense studio of our program, I spent 3 days:

§ researching the history of blues music

§ downloading blues music and making a shnazzy cover for it

§ ordering books online

§ making b-day presents for all the december b-day buddies

§ cleaning out studio

§ cleaning the house

§ researching info about japanese internment camps

§ researching family history

§ researching info about dioxin contamination and information about the old saw mill in chiloquin (currently under DEQ dioxin testing): potential UO studio project, or design competition project

§ hanging out with Rob Ribe talking about studio, thesis, saw mill project and history of portland

so, this blog, if you add it to the other 48 hours of procrastination this weekend, should put me right on schedule for final projects this week. Minus sleep.

On Friday we zipped up to Albany to review the design work of Jenn's students. I say "zipped" because mostly we got lost, got stuck behind a train in the switching yards, drove past signs 4 or 5 times to LBCC, and ended up 1 hour late for a 2 hour long review, and spent 2.5 hours driving, when it should have taken 45 minutes. The review was super fun, and just happened to be held in a greenhouse of all places.

Our pod, which now consisted of 3 cars, jenn, jules (partners in crime) and scully, drove back to corvallis, drank margaritas (I believe we were the only ones in the restaurant), ditched 2 cars and drove on to the coast.

The temptation was too much, and a few articles of clothing were thrown into the wet sand, and we ran for the freezing water as we lost the last light of the day. Tingly fingers and toes and waves and dusk and sand and friends. Doesn't get much better than that.

Jenn picked out the 'just for the halibut' fish and burger shack that was more like a dairy queen than a seafood dive, we ate and tore up our receipts and headed out for a camping site.

Camping involved the four of us sharing 3 sleeping bags, a couple of blankets, a 2-person tent and no pillows, beer, fire, marshmallows and chocolate. Also hard to top. I'm not sure how much any of us actually slept.

We wandered around to the lake, then wandered back to the ocean and collected rocks, drove in the direction of home, and happened by a fundraiser for a tiny airport with small planes, a pancake feast and lots of pilots. We drooled on the planes, ate the blueberries out of the pancakes, and drove again.

Back in corvallis, we took a short tour of the OSU campus in bloom, gathered vehicles, managed to loose jenn leading her out of Corvallis back to I-5... strike #2 for the weekend.

In all, I thought the weekend was over, and the work was starting. I cleaned my room, did the laundry, unpacked, aired out the tent, all in preparation for the downpour of work to come. Then I called jenn, who convinced me to drive to portland for my site visit. This counts as homework.

Bikes on the river at night in portland, perfect weather, st patty's day! People everywhere in green and giant hats and dresses clover beer and music. We parked our bikes, wandered the scene, and chose our bar based on the music.

Someone stole my credit card out of my hand like magic. Jenn bought the drinks and we danced until the bars closed, and biked home, then talked until our eyes closed. And woke early (accidentally) in the morning, biked to a fabulous breakfast joint, then to the south waterfront for some 'homework', which involved taking pictures of cool industrial sites and bad new urbanism designs and riding the most fabulous bikes in the sun, which was warming the sweet cottonwood buds along the river, and my insides.

Not so B-Town

Last weekend there was a symposium in Berkeley related to my masters project that I could not resist. I also couldn't resist the temptation to try something new, so I took a chance and decided to call my dad's best friend from high school. Ross is something like a close uncle to me, I've known him my entire life, and he often goes on family vacations with us. However, I've never asked a favor of him, nor have I ventured into the realm of his world. I gave him a call and asked if I could sleep on his floor. He gave me my own room. He lives in Oakland, a 5 minute walk from BART, a 10 minute walk from a great street with food, and an hour walk up telegraph to UC Berkeley.

Normally I would stay with my aunt and uncle in Fremont, a healthy drive, and a 1.5 hour BART ride into Berkeley, which would effectively kill any free time in the fun part of the bay area, and force me into the burbs. Instead I drove to Fremont on Thursday, picked oranges from their tree, picked up a loft bed for my sister, gave my uncle a BIG hug, and headed to Ross's house.

We immediately had a beer, headed out for dinner, met up with his partner, talked planning and politics, took a tour of Oakland and Berkeley, then headed home for sleep.

The Friday session of the symposium was incredible. All the big names in theory of landscape architecture and architecture were present if not lecturing. The talks were thought provoking, the audience engaged. The campus: full bloom. The weather: 85 degrees, no clouds.

Ross and Noreen bought us tickets to a funky jazz show, though I backed out in favor of some time with a friend I haven't seen in a long long time. Their stories from the evening were enough to make me smile, even though Ross described it as "the best show I have ever seen, and I've seen a lot of live music". The Time with said friend from college was worth every missed second of the Best Show Ever. We talked about the past 6 years of our lives, and connected as if we had seen each other yesterday. He has a wife and child, and designs bike lights. The things that happen when you blink.

Saturday morning I played hooky, had a lazy breakfast with Ross and Noreen, then wandered in the sun around Berkeley, relishing the soul music on the streets, the people, the smiles, the funk, the diversity. I caught the last half of the schedule for the day: the portion related to my project, which was fantastic.

I then wandered campus, coordinated with a cute boy for a date in the city, and enjoyed the design work in the art building.

A BART back to Ross's a few episodes of Weeds, a glance at a map, and off I went to SFO via tracks, to be swooped up on the other side by a cute boy in a truck. We parked, wandered around the city, found our restaurant, which was closing by the time we got there. We kept walking, enjoying the activity under the moon. We found some seafood and wine, then some ice cream, then some sand and a reflection of the Golden Gate Bridge. We talked of stealing ships, and mountain biking, and moving, and crazy families.

Though I didn't want to leave California in the morning, it had to be done. The drive was a nice transition back to Oregon, back to the clouds and into my new state of permanent daydream.