Will Sleep Come

When sleep matters, it never comes.
Minds Race. Eyes glaze but stay wide open.
Pray for sleep and God laughs.
Write.
Perhaps to free the mind.
To slow the race.
Bring peace.
The clock ticks. Echoing round the room.
Drop the pen.
Close the eyes.
Allow dreams.
Let Goddess, the nurturer, bring peaceful, gentle sleep.

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This is a Flash Fiction Friday 55.

If you want to know what the hell that means visit g-man. The challenge is on.

Or Try my Sunday 160.

Head v Heart

No student of poetry the head says study the art.
Appear intelligent in the eyes of the reader.
Look good.

The heart says feel the words,
let emotion light your way.

Head versus heart.
Raised to think. To reason.
To hold emotion in check.
Hide the hurt. Laugh at trouble. Don't cry.
The head will lie. Create dark stories.
The effort makes me tired.

Emotions bring connections.
Tears cleanse the soul.
They are not always sad.
Tears of joy. Happiness.
It's okay to feel. It's okay to express.

Flow as water. Round rocky obstacles.
Falling with grace and beauty.
Gathering in pools of deep calm.
Moving freely with your surroundings.

Flow as blood through the heart.

Going Home

What do you do when you want to post something new but have no idea what type of topic you want to write about? Perhaps just a babble on, or what my daughter calls her random stream of conscience. So, here goes. Let's see if the ride is worth it.

I was lucky enough this weekend to spend time in one of my favorite places in the universe - The Columbia River Gorge. (It was also the topic of my Sunday 160 - Our Gorge. For those not familiar with the Sunday 160, just click here)

As a child, our family made frequent trips between Portland and Hood River, where my parents grew up and my grandparents still lived. We would load up car de jour which could have been anything from a mid 1950's Plymouth station wagon to a 1966 Olds Jet Star 88 to the 1972 Ford LTD and any number of others in between that I have long since forgotten, and head up the Gorge to Grandma's. The trip would always include ABC games where letters were taken in alphabetical order from any sign, license plate or vehicle; animal, mineral or vegetable guessing games; and singing. The songs were always the same drinking songs my dad learned in college.

Can't you just picture it - two children, one about five and the other almost nine singing "Drink beer. Drink beer. Oh won't you drink with me. I won't give a damn for any young man who won't drink beer with me....". Or "It's whiskey, whiskey, whiskey that makes me feel so frisky, on the farm. On the farm...". Or "Oh, the night that Paddy Murphy died, I never will forget. We all got stinkin' drunk that night and some ain't sober yet...". I had no idea what these songs were all about, but I got to say "damn" without repercussion. Pretty cool for a five year old. We sang those same silly songs into our teens because it was tradition.

So went our drives up the Gorge to Hood River. Counting waterfalls, of which there were many, that we could see from the highway. Seldom stopping. Constantly observing. In the summer the river seemed immense and gleamed blue from the reflection of the clear skies above and the trees were filled with leaves. In the fall, the Gorge was on fire with the beautiful colors of the season. In winter when the road wasn't covered with ice it was green and white with the waterfalls hanging from the sides of the basalt cliffs like giant icicles and the waters of the Columbia frothed from the strong east winds. Followed by the the bloom to life of Spring when the hues of green ran from near yellow to deep forest green interspersed with blooms of dogwood and rhododendron. Simply spectacular.

At Hood River it was all about family. The town is much different today. Back then the main industry was the cannery that supported the apple, pear and cherry orchards in the area. My Grandmother worked on one of the lines that separated the "good" fruit from the "bad". My step grandfather ran a fork lift in the yard. My grandfather tended to his apple orchard and cattle. I first learned to whizz outside behind the barn from my farmer grandfather. Still mark my territory to this very day.

I loved being on my grandfather's farm. Setting sprinklers. Feeding the cattle. Setting traps for unwanted critters. Riding on the tractor. Feeding chickens. Being close to the earth had tremendous appeal. Still does.

Today, Hood River still has the orchards, but the cannery is long gone and the main industry is tourism that is supported by the great winds that travel the Gorge attracting wind surfers from all over the world. In the winter it is the proximity to Mt. Hood and world class skiing that keeps the town afloat. Great outdoor activities abound - camping, kayaking, trail biking, etc. - and the area is dotted with wineries and brew pubs. Work your ass off with some pleasurable outdoor activity then drink to your hearts content. What a world. What a world.

During the later years of my visits to Hood River another person, who I didn't even know existed was having similar experiences of family travels up the Gorge. Not to Hood River, but across the Columbia to Carson, Washington. As a little girl she was growing up with the same travel memories I had. What's that saying, oh ya, exactly the same only different. Family car trips. Singing. Waterfalls. The Columbia. The Gorge.

This woman and I met two decades ago and our first date was in our beloved Gorge. So it comes as no surprise when given an opportunity for a road trip we chose the Gorge. Lunch in Hood River, cruising the boutiques, people watching and enjoying the vistas and the touch of a hand. It was an overcast day with a bit of mist in the air, but that is part of the character of our Gorge. We even travelled back the the waterfall that was our intimate picnic spot on that first date. She's still breathtakingly beautiful....and so is the falls.

Today we have shared memories to go along with our individual memories of how we grew up in the Gorge. It is a true love affair - ours with each other and ours with the Columbia River Gorge. The three of us being forever linked. Our existences entwined. I am sure we aren't the only ones with this romantic link to such a beautifully scenic area, but that matters not. To us it is ours and always will be - Home.

Sunday 160 - Our Gorge

Waterfalls cascading. Kites billowing in the constant breeze, pulling excited surfers. Basalt bluffs protruding like jagged teeth. The Gorge beckons. Our Gorge.

The Gentleman Child

Blessings should be counted. Among my blessings is a kind gentle soul who will be 15 in about a month. He is my son, Sean.

Why do I count him among my blessings? Well, allow me to recount a recent evening. My wife and daughter had grabbed the car keys and fled on a mission to find flying monkeys (monkeys play a big role in our home). So I went to knock on the door of his man cave to let him know we had the house to ourselves.

Up the stairs he ran, laptop in hand and a huge grin on his face. "You've got to see this Dad, it's really funny," he blurted. Seated on our couch, he pulls up a video from the Adult Swim web site he likes to browse. He has found a mocumentary on spiders building webs while being put under the influence of various substances and, yes, it was very funny. The boy has his old man's sick sense of humor.

That video was followed by another he found of a kitten being given a "bath" in a pet spa. Bath in this instance is a euphemism for torture. Again, this appealed to my sick and twisted side. I was so proud.

We spent the next hour or s0 talking Trailblazers, watching ESPN's NFL Live and Sports Center. Sean is a wealth of knowledge on sports, devouring sports news and carefully compartmentalizing the finest of details. His interest in sports began as a way to connect with his father who was sometimes distant and closed off.

We are now learning new ways to connect. Comedy is one. His love of video games is another (he tries so hard not to beat his extremely competitive old man....it is very charming).

This is a very smart lad that I am proud to call son. He is patient with his sister. Kind and loving to his mother. Reminds all of us when we are being superior or negative. Truly playing the role of gentleman, but with the edge of a comedian.

I can just see the wheels turning as he observes the world around him. I have suggested he keep a notebook to write in bits and pieces he can use for his future stand-up routine. That just isn't Sean. He may keep a mental catalog, but to write something down doesn't fit with his demeanor to lounge in a hammock next to a cooler of cold beverage, let the world be and allow him to laugh at it and with it. That's my boy.

Even today as he occasionally goes through periods of teen angst that positive and gentlemanly attitude shines through. When he gets upset, it is usually due to some injustice he feels needs righting. Looking to bring the positive into everything.

He has been this way since he was a baby. I can remember saying to myself when this smiling tub of goo that could barely hold up its head would giggle and drool in happiness - "I wish I could have his attitude every day."

Now, it is different in that he holds his head up high at just over six feet tall, isn't anything resembling a tub of goo and doesn't drool on himself anywhere near as often. He still giggles and smiles and has a positive attitude (for a teenager) that is worth emulating.

Sunday 160 - Grandma Trudy

She lays in silence.

Expressionless.

Looking as she always has, but not.

I am a 29 year old boy.

I reach out to touch her one last time.

Cold.

Goodbye, Grandma.

A yoga matt will not make you invincible

With the mood I am in and what I have gone through since last Wednesday, I should be writing about something that isn't fluff or flowers. Too bad. I just don't feel like going down the road of negative emotions. It has been crushing and outside of this short vent, not an avenue I am ready to take.

Instead, after a great Saturday morning of photographing doors around the Portland area and having a satisfying breakfast feast at Mississippi Street Station, I was driving home. As I crossed the Broadway Bridge and stopped at a light (kissed the bride as is our tradition) there was a young woman on a bike headed toward the light. She didn't stop. Just looked both ways and barrelled on through.

Now, as a one time avid cyclist who is now just a recreational rider, this always makes me cringe. A bicycle is required to obey laws of the road just like any other vehicle. But most important, this woman had nothing more for protection that the yoga matt strapped to her back - no helmet, no mirrors, no common sense. Not only is she endangering herself, but she is giving other cyclists a bad name. Hey! I'm a rider and those of us who ignore the rules piss me off.

Lots of drivers out there already don't want to share the road with bikes - "they are so annoying and always act like they own the road". The reality is there is room for all. We just need to be respectful of one another. The cyclist should obey the rules and drivers should have a bit more patience and provide a wider berth when passing a bike. It seems so simple, but we are, after all, human beings and the centers of our own universes, so to think about others is often a stretch. Especially when we have already established that "we hate cars and drivers" or that "we can't tolerate the attitude of bikers".

Lighten up. We all end up at the same stop light. So slow down, take a breath and enjoy the company in your car or the music you're listening to and smile at the cyclists. If you ride a bike - obey the laws and smile back at the drivers. "Share the road" goes both ways.

Calling in lazy

Used to be you were either sick or on vacation when it came time to take a day or days off from work. But in today's corporate world we no longer have "sick leave" or "vacation days", there was even "mental health days". Now we have PTO - Paid Time Off. All you have to do is log on to your corporate web site, navigate to the correct form and fill out your PTO slip.





Of course they ask the reason, but here is where you can get creative. I suppose the old standbys would be "I had the flu," or "took a vacation day" or "stayed home with a sick child". But really, I mean, really, what did you do. There are now a whole big group of choices for reasons you stayed home. Try a few on for size and see which one fits you best.

• My kids used all the hot water in the shower


• I was out of razor blades


• I was too lazy to come in today


• Sick Yoda


• I caught Spring Fever


• Couldn't find any clean clothes


• My wife grounded me to my room


• My daughter planted a brain worm in my head and I didn't want to bring it to work


• My wife looked so good I couldn't make it into work today


• I got tangled up in the sheets and couldn't move


• Over ate at breakfast


• I'm having eye trouble...can't see coming into work today (my all time fav)

So this is just a partial list and I'm sure you could come up with more, but as for me this was it because I called in lazy today and didn't feel like being that creative.

My Date With A Blue Haired Girl

Last week I had a date with my daughter. It was dinner at her favorite Sushi restaurant followed by a quest to pick up a little something for her mother.

My daughter is a wonderful little girl - okay, she's 16 years old, but she's still my little girl and always will be - who happens to be diagnosed with an anxiety disorder that has effected her since she was a baby. She is very social, extremely likable, intelligent and has a keen moral fabric, much thanks to her wonderful and solidly based mother. Her anxiety isn't so crippling that she won't come out of her house, it is more fear of unknown, but on a scale that is beyond most people's understanding.

Our dinner out was simply fantastic. We entered the restaurant and heads turned. You see, my daughter has bright blue hair. She has her own sense of style and her hair color is a huge part of her persona. Hair color can also be changed, it isn't permanent, so if it makes her confident and happy, this dad is all for it. Remember, this is my little girl.

It was a delightful evening. There was an older woman with her thirty-something daughter sitting at the counter just down from us. She couldn't keep her eyes off my daughter and gave me the occasional glance as if to say, "How can you let your daughter go out in public that way." My typical reaction is to smile until they just look away. Don't try to place your set of standards on me or my daughter. As a friend of my wife's likes to say - "Fuck That!" My daughter didn't color her hair for shock value, it is just part of her artistic expression and for that I am glad.

Staring old folks aside, the waitress and the sushi chef were enthralled. Partly because they were closer to my daughter's age and "got it". But also because they talked with her and saw the spark, the creativity, the intelligence and great personality and were drawn to her like metal to a magnet. The chef was actually flirting and my daughter seemed most disinterested or perhaps just oblivious. He even made a special dish, just to show off a bit. While it wasn't one she liked, I can tell you it was delicious. I didn't mind being the benefactor of the spell she had placed over this young man. I like sushi.

My daughter not only likes sushi, she likes everything Japanese. Manga. The language. The culture. The silly television shows. So when our waitress, who was a student at a nearby college, started talking about her visits to Japan, the two became instant friends. My little girl has that effect on people. She will also remember our waitress and all the details about her and pick it right up when we return. She is a terrific kid. I wish we were in a position to get her to Japan for study, but even if we could, her anxiety has the power to prevent her for even stepping on an airplane, let alone going so far as to Japan by herself. Fortunately that doesn't prevent her from following her heart and staying with her interests....domestically.

After our dinner, we were off to Best Buy on a quest for the Holy Grail of our household. Music has been an important part of our home since my kids were babies. Their mother always had CD's or the radio playing, but in the past two plus years we have moved three times and the set up we had for playing music is still hiding in a box somewhere. We needed music in the house again. Our Holy Grail - an iHome for Mom's iPod.

We snuck it into the house, plugged it in and started playing music. I would say what happened after that makes my top ten list, if not top five, for most memorable moments in my life. You couldn't have taken the smile from my wife's face with a jack hammer and she danced. And danced. And sang. I almost cried. I had spent a great evening on a date with my kid and had the opportunity to bring the joy of music back into my house. If I had died right then and there, it would have been a life worth living. Call me glutenous, but of these moments....I want more.

Sunday 160 - First Edition

The morning sun peaks over the shoulder of a snow capped mountain. Rays of warmth kiss the earth. Coffee in hand we share the moment together. Lovingly. Silent.