#5: juggling.
Showing posts with label the list. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the list. Show all posts
July 2, 2012
April 27, 2012
my secret vacation (#12)
took a mini-vacation to the desert this week, for two and a half days.
just me and the desert and the sun. and the pool. I read books and slept the wrong way in the king bed and paid a guide to let me gallop a horse (mouse) through the sand. I hardly told anyone I was going, and the only talking I did during the trip was while ordering drinks and riding horses. traveling alone provides such unspeakable freedom. nobody's needs to fill but your own. only when I got home and walked into my dark apartment did I feel lonely. it's always better when somebody's happy you're home.
tomorrow: candide rehearsal. just one more opera, then we can breathe until the fall. thank the heavens. we might love what we do, but several months without last minute crises sounds pretty divine, thanks.
just me and the desert and the sun. and the pool. I read books and slept the wrong way in the king bed and paid a guide to let me gallop a horse (mouse) through the sand. I hardly told anyone I was going, and the only talking I did during the trip was while ordering drinks and riding horses. traveling alone provides such unspeakable freedom. nobody's needs to fill but your own. only when I got home and walked into my dark apartment did I feel lonely. it's always better when somebody's happy you're home.
tomorrow: candide rehearsal. just one more opera, then we can breathe until the fall. thank the heavens. we might love what we do, but several months without last minute crises sounds pretty divine, thanks.
July 11, 2011
#19
19. do the fruit loop
hood river's fruit loop is 35 miles of roads that wind around orchards and wineries and fruit stands. I've been to hood river a few times -- to swim across the columbia and to hike -- but have never traveled through the loop. although most people DRIVE the fruit loop, I got the idea that it might be fun to bike. I couldn't find very much about biking the route, with the exception of a forum posting a few years back that talked about a group ride there. it seemed totally doable, so a certain someone and I decided to do it this past weekend.
scott talks a lot about all the bike trips he's gone on, and has often suggested that we could do one together. secretly I have never believed I was up to the task, because I hadn't biked in so many years and because biking on the road has scared me for so long. cars! they are fast! shoulders are small, and my absolute most petrifying bike fear is of losing control of my bike and crashing into the road in front of a car. also, I still lack finesse when it comes to turning, and I've always been afraid of going at high speeds down hills. but recently I've been commuting pretty regularly in traffic, and we've even gone on a couple of bike dates where we've just meandered along from one place to another. on roads. without spending two hours scrupulously finding the safest bike route possible.
so: the fruit loop.
we followed this route from hood river, south to parkdale, then back north. we stopped at a couple of fruit stands along the way but didn't choose to detour to any of the ones off the main course. (although we did leave highway 35 for a couple of miles in order to bike on a less-trafficked road).
mt. adams through the orchards. we were there last summer!
a certain someone on his bike
mt hood looming close by
a paraglider! he/she was SO HIGH UP. presumably they'd ridden the air vents. insane. there were two of them; the other one was much lower.
making it look easy
fortunately you can't see the steady trickle of sweat on my face in this photo.
the ride was the hardest I've ever done -- a lot of climbing (for a novice), a lot of fast cars going by, a rough road. there was one hill -- the last, not long but on the steep side -- where I thought, "if I can't see the top soon, I'm gonna cry." but I made it! at several intervals on the climbs scott very kindly waited for me to catch up (and catch my breath) before we continued upwards.
he also tells me that the conditions were probably about as bad as it gets on a bike ride, so I guess I'm ready to go on bike rides now! look who's all grown up.
hood river's fruit loop is 35 miles of roads that wind around orchards and wineries and fruit stands. I've been to hood river a few times -- to swim across the columbia and to hike -- but have never traveled through the loop. although most people DRIVE the fruit loop, I got the idea that it might be fun to bike. I couldn't find very much about biking the route, with the exception of a forum posting a few years back that talked about a group ride there. it seemed totally doable, so a certain someone and I decided to do it this past weekend.
scott talks a lot about all the bike trips he's gone on, and has often suggested that we could do one together. secretly I have never believed I was up to the task, because I hadn't biked in so many years and because biking on the road has scared me for so long. cars! they are fast! shoulders are small, and my absolute most petrifying bike fear is of losing control of my bike and crashing into the road in front of a car. also, I still lack finesse when it comes to turning, and I've always been afraid of going at high speeds down hills. but recently I've been commuting pretty regularly in traffic, and we've even gone on a couple of bike dates where we've just meandered along from one place to another. on roads. without spending two hours scrupulously finding the safest bike route possible.
so: the fruit loop.
we followed this route from hood river, south to parkdale, then back north. we stopped at a couple of fruit stands along the way but didn't choose to detour to any of the ones off the main course. (although we did leave highway 35 for a couple of miles in order to bike on a less-trafficked road).
mt. adams through the orchards. we were there last summer!
a certain someone on his bike
mt hood looming close by
a paraglider! he/she was SO HIGH UP. presumably they'd ridden the air vents. insane. there were two of them; the other one was much lower.
making it look easy
fortunately you can't see the steady trickle of sweat on my face in this photo.
the ride was the hardest I've ever done -- a lot of climbing (for a novice), a lot of fast cars going by, a rough road. there was one hill -- the last, not long but on the steep side -- where I thought, "if I can't see the top soon, I'm gonna cry." but I made it! at several intervals on the climbs scott very kindly waited for me to catch up (and catch my breath) before we continued upwards.
he also tells me that the conditions were probably about as bad as it gets on a bike ride, so I guess I'm ready to go on bike rides now! look who's all grown up.
July 6, 2011
summer, so far
item #1:
today I biked 3 miles home in flip flops; with a bag not designed for biking slung VERY awkwardly over my neck/shoulder, messenger bag style; holding on one wrist a half gallon container of milk in a grocery bag, which I bought forgetting that I'd be biking home and which wouldn't fit in my shoulder bag. the headwind was atrocious, and my shorts -- not really bike friendly -- kept blowing up my leg high enough to give people a show. BIKE COMMUTING SKILLS: ACQUIRED
item #2:
sayonara, number 23. we've had a string of nice weather FINALLY OMG THANK YOU PORTLAND so I drove over to sellwood pool, brought a book, and lounged for a few hours. they heat the water to 84 degrees, so despite the fact that it's only now gotten warm outside, the pool was the perfect temperature. there were about a hundred thousand kids there. I ate an ice cream. pool admission cost me four dollars. everything about this story is awesome, guys.
item #3:
the pea trellis fell over.
it happened sometime between monday morning and yesterday. we've had a pretty steady north wind these past few days, and the pea trellis is, as I have mentioned, super janky. two of the wooden supports simply snapped from the weight of the peas. this comes literally on the heels of my thinking dreamily on monday, these peas are the most successful thing in the garden so far. go figure. I had to leave them when I discovered them yesterday, but today I bought a couple of heavy plastic stakes and tried to wire them to the existing supports. it's hard since the stand of peas is so thick. I have a suspicion their season is beginning to wane, so hopefully the thing will hold up long enough to harvest the last of them.
it was a good run. we have probably a 3 or 4 pound bag of peas in our fridge right now. I love eating them straight off the vine, but we have so many that I'm going to have to can them or pickle them or feature them in several recipes this week.
item #4:
the rest of the garden hums along.
italienischer lettuce heads, bigger than dinner plates
the whole greens bed. salad 4eva
herbs. the fennel is spreading everywhere, including into neighboring plots, oopsies. and it's like 4 1/2 feet tall
strawberries & their runners. they, too, are beginning to take over
one tiny successful tomatillo. there are three other plants, but none with flowers, and since tomatillo plants flower each other in pairs, I may not get any this year. HURRY UP DUDES
peppers. right now they don't look so good so somebody remind me to google pepper problems, k?
the pole beans are climbing very enthusiastically up the trellis.
the edamame is bushy. but not yet beany.
teeny tiny sunflowers! they need to be fertilized. hell, everything needs to be fertilized.
item #5:
I cooked the first of the chickens from the slaughter. I made the marinade from smitten kitchen's thai-style chicken legs, plus the accompanying mango slaw, and I pretty much want to eat that dinner forever and ever. In fact, although I've already had dinner, I now feel compelled to go pour some hoisin sauce on some peas and call it good.
official portland summer: so far, so good.
today I biked 3 miles home in flip flops; with a bag not designed for biking slung VERY awkwardly over my neck/shoulder, messenger bag style; holding on one wrist a half gallon container of milk in a grocery bag, which I bought forgetting that I'd be biking home and which wouldn't fit in my shoulder bag. the headwind was atrocious, and my shorts -- not really bike friendly -- kept blowing up my leg high enough to give people a show. BIKE COMMUTING SKILLS: ACQUIRED
item #2:
sayonara, number 23. we've had a string of nice weather FINALLY OMG THANK YOU PORTLAND so I drove over to sellwood pool, brought a book, and lounged for a few hours. they heat the water to 84 degrees, so despite the fact that it's only now gotten warm outside, the pool was the perfect temperature. there were about a hundred thousand kids there. I ate an ice cream. pool admission cost me four dollars. everything about this story is awesome, guys.
item #3:
the pea trellis fell over.
it happened sometime between monday morning and yesterday. we've had a pretty steady north wind these past few days, and the pea trellis is, as I have mentioned, super janky. two of the wooden supports simply snapped from the weight of the peas. this comes literally on the heels of my thinking dreamily on monday, these peas are the most successful thing in the garden so far. go figure. I had to leave them when I discovered them yesterday, but today I bought a couple of heavy plastic stakes and tried to wire them to the existing supports. it's hard since the stand of peas is so thick. I have a suspicion their season is beginning to wane, so hopefully the thing will hold up long enough to harvest the last of them.
it was a good run. we have probably a 3 or 4 pound bag of peas in our fridge right now. I love eating them straight off the vine, but we have so many that I'm going to have to can them or pickle them or feature them in several recipes this week.
item #4:
the rest of the garden hums along.
italienischer lettuce heads, bigger than dinner plates
the whole greens bed. salad 4eva
herbs. the fennel is spreading everywhere, including into neighboring plots, oopsies. and it's like 4 1/2 feet tall
strawberries & their runners. they, too, are beginning to take over
one tiny successful tomatillo. there are three other plants, but none with flowers, and since tomatillo plants flower each other in pairs, I may not get any this year. HURRY UP DUDES
peppers. right now they don't look so good so somebody remind me to google pepper problems, k?
the pole beans are climbing very enthusiastically up the trellis.
the edamame is bushy. but not yet beany.
teeny tiny sunflowers! they need to be fertilized. hell, everything needs to be fertilized.
item #5:
I cooked the first of the chickens from the slaughter. I made the marinade from smitten kitchen's thai-style chicken legs, plus the accompanying mango slaw, and I pretty much want to eat that dinner forever and ever. In fact, although I've already had dinner, I now feel compelled to go pour some hoisin sauce on some peas and call it good.
official portland summer: so far, so good.
June 10, 2011
the list.
30 things to do while I'm 30.
1. bike to the island.
2. lookout.
3. finally start wearing my new glasses.
4. go by rail!
5. throw a surprise party.
6. hug.
7. renew my passport and
8. leave the country SERIOUSLY THIS TIME GUYS
9. pay a debt.
10. rehab.
11. worship at the church of elvis.
12. go to the desert.
13. make elaborate homemade ice cream.
14. get to 250 hours.
15. more boozetues!
16. float.
17. 50 books.
18. go chinese and japanese.
19. do the fruit loop.
20. go see the rollers.
21. watch a movie outside.
22. naked bike ride! *
23. head to the pool.
24. ride horses on the beach.
25. bridge pedal.
26. shanghai.
27. see the planets!
28. brave the nude beach.
29. plant a letterbox in forest park.
30. climb mt. st. helens.
1. bike to the island.
2. lookout.
3. finally start wearing my new glasses.
4. go by rail!
5. throw a surprise party.
6. hug.
7. renew my passport and
8. leave the country SERIOUSLY THIS TIME GUYS
9. pay a debt.
10. rehab.
11. worship at the church of elvis.
13. make elaborate homemade ice cream.
14. get to 250 hours.
17. 50 books.
18. go chinese and japanese.
20. go see the rollers.
24. ride horses on the beach.
26. shanghai.
27. see the planets!
29. plant a letterbox in forest park.
30. climb mt. st. helens.
September 2, 2010
#19
the vaux's swifts at chapman elementary school, number #19. they are a little bit impossible to capture, being so tiny, flying at dusk.
they gather in number for awhile, swooping in great arcs and spirals before descending in a whirl down into the chimney. occasionally a bird of prey waits in hopes of dinner.
pretty night for it, huh?
(what happens if I complete my list with half a year to spare? I worry about these things.)
they gather in number for awhile, swooping in great arcs and spirals before descending in a whirl down into the chimney. occasionally a bird of prey waits in hopes of dinner.
pretty night for it, huh?
(what happens if I complete my list with half a year to spare? I worry about these things.)
September 1, 2010
#15
almost forgot: we conquered #15 while we were at the coast a couple of weeks ago. now if only I could have remembered to stop at the natural spring (#4) on my way home.
June 7, 2010
vacating
This past week was the opera's third (and final) furlough week of the 2009-2010 season. I spent the first furlough riding my horse, cleaning the apartment, and generally enjoying a really wonderful week at home catching up on my loafing. The second furlough took place over the holidays; I was at home with my family.
I spent part of this final furlough with an old friend from high school, who came to town Tuesday for his first visit to the northwest, to be split between seeing Portland and backpacking.
We're in the middle of a seemingly endless wet spell, which is trying the patience of all but the most seasoned Portlanders. (Like some others, I am frankly about to lose my mind). We got lucky this week and the weather mostly cooperated.
We left for our trip on Wednesday, though much later than we had planned because we were both too tired Tuesday night to pack. In the end, it worked out swimmingly: it rained the entire drive but cleared up the moment I hit Olympic National Forest.
We hiked along the Duckabush River; it was fun to hear my friend's awed take on the intensely verdant old growth forest, a setting not uncommon around here, and one I've become surprisingly used to. We didn't start hiking until after 4 PM, but managed to make it to the five mile marker, set up, cook dinner, and hang our bear bag just before dusk, with impeccable timing.
I was really proud to remember a useful knot for the bear bag. Have I ever mentioned that I LOVE knots? I added about a dozen of them to my repertoire several years ago, while dating a boy scout troop leader. I even went so far as to create a knot board -- a display of the knots you've learned -- and was informally inducted into "the order of the knot." (I have the certificate to prove it). Sadly, though I have a sharp memory, it's impressively terrible at remembering how to tie cool knots. So it was a total kick to tie the hitch for our bear bag and have my friend sincerely admire it.
The next day we decided to leave everything set up and hike further into the park without our packs in order to cover more ground. It turned out to be a great plan; the weather started out nice but got progressively more ominous as the day wore on. We hiked about five miles before hitting a stream crossing that required too much effort and potential soaked-ness to cross. On our way back it was decided that we'd seen about as much as we could see on our current trail, which (although beautiful) did not intersect with any other trails for at least 15 miles. We concluded that neither of us wanted to sleep in the potentially pouring rain only to hike back out in the morning, so we came home a day early. It did in fact pour the entire next day, so I felt pretty good about the decision. Instead of backpacking on Friday, we met up with another old friend from school, drank coffee, and then played video games on my old Nintendo.
By the way, I gamed the system a little bit: backpacking in Olympic National Park has been on my to-do list for several years, but I did put it on the list intentionally this year knowing with certainty that it would get done less than a week later. The list's rules are always in flux, people.
My vacation was bookended by two deliciously lazy weekends spent in better company than I could hope to ask for. Today I have that wonderful, exhausted feeling of needing a vacation after your vacation. In this case it means the week was well spent. I'll take it.
June 1, 2010
29.
My birthday weekend was so wonderful, it almost defies description. I don't even know what to tell you about it, except to say that it was full of the things that make me happy. I actually don't much want to talk about it; it feels quietly sacred somehow. Suffice it to be said: I love twenty-nine so far.
I will tell you one of my weekend activities: I had a great jumping lesson with Cookie on Monday night. They've brought in a trainer originally from the UK to help the 4H kids with their jumping and dressage prior to their big show this summer, and have opened up those lessons to those of us who are interested. I haven't done much jumping in the last ten years, and Cookie has done hardly any, so I expected it to be sort of a disaster, especially given that her steering mechanism is not always so good. But she was a superstar. She jumped everything I pointed her towards, even if the approach was bad. And the physical memory of how to ride a jump remained in my body throughout all this time. What a gift. The last jump we cleared was probably over two feet, which doesn't sound like much until you're trying to get your horse over it. Cookie sort of sat back mid-stride as if she wasn't going to do it, and then surprised me by rounding up over it beautifully. Afterwards the trainer said, "Well, she surely is willing!" Sometimes she is so giving of herself that I feel wretched having ever been frustrated with her. That animal tries her heart out for me, and I am so grateful to her, and occasionally humbled.
Tomorrow I'm headed out to Olympic National Park with an old friend from high school, who came to town today so we could get our backpacking gear situated. We were going to enjoy a day doing PDX sight-seeing things, but he got up at 3:30 and promptly arrived at the WRONG AIRPORT for his flight; I haven't had more than 5-6 hours of sleep since last week. We stopped at Powell's for ten minutes, ate crepes and french fries at the food carts, and came back here to play on my old school Nintendo before I dragged him to the barn so I could feed. We shopped for our trip, and now we're fully stocked but were too tired to pack. When we got back here, we stuffed ourselves full of sushi and promptly went to bed. It's supposed to rain rather seriously throughout our 3-day trip. I'm pretty sure we're going to come back covered in moss.
I will tell you one of my weekend activities: I had a great jumping lesson with Cookie on Monday night. They've brought in a trainer originally from the UK to help the 4H kids with their jumping and dressage prior to their big show this summer, and have opened up those lessons to those of us who are interested. I haven't done much jumping in the last ten years, and Cookie has done hardly any, so I expected it to be sort of a disaster, especially given that her steering mechanism is not always so good. But she was a superstar. She jumped everything I pointed her towards, even if the approach was bad. And the physical memory of how to ride a jump remained in my body throughout all this time. What a gift. The last jump we cleared was probably over two feet, which doesn't sound like much until you're trying to get your horse over it. Cookie sort of sat back mid-stride as if she wasn't going to do it, and then surprised me by rounding up over it beautifully. Afterwards the trainer said, "Well, she surely is willing!" Sometimes she is so giving of herself that I feel wretched having ever been frustrated with her. That animal tries her heart out for me, and I am so grateful to her, and occasionally humbled.
Tomorrow I'm headed out to Olympic National Park with an old friend from high school, who came to town today so we could get our backpacking gear situated. We were going to enjoy a day doing PDX sight-seeing things, but he got up at 3:30 and promptly arrived at the WRONG AIRPORT for his flight; I haven't had more than 5-6 hours of sleep since last week. We stopped at Powell's for ten minutes, ate crepes and french fries at the food carts, and came back here to play on my old school Nintendo before I dragged him to the barn so I could feed. We shopped for our trip, and now we're fully stocked but were too tired to pack. When we got back here, we stuffed ourselves full of sushi and promptly went to bed. It's supposed to rain rather seriously throughout our 3-day trip. I'm pretty sure we're going to come back covered in moss.
May 2, 2010
April 18, 2010
going bald
I'm officially two weeks away from conquering the terrifying number 24. on may 2, I'm headed to oaks park to have my head shaved by st. baldrick's, a charity whose participants go bald to raise money for children's cancer research.
I'm simultaneously excited and terrified. I've wanted to shave my head for more than ten years but I've never had the courage or the excuse. a few years ago my former college roommate shaved her head with st. baldricks and I was so. jealous.
cutting my hair short, which I did in october 2008, has been an interesting, though unintentional, exploration into my own feelings of femininity; as much as I wish it weren't so, by default I feel less feminine with short hair and therefore have to "act" my femininity harder than I ever did with long hair. with short hair I have been more likely to wear makeup, more likely to don dangly earrings; I think I might even dress differently now. it turns out that long hair equals feminine by default, which is something I never considered until it was gone. I don't mean to imply that I'm sorry that hair is gone -- I'm not. I do, however, occasionally lament the feeling that I'm slightly farther under the radar with short hair.
I can only imagine that being bald is going to throw me even further away from most ordinary notions of girlishness. I'm already mentally preparing myself for the potential looming desire to wear makeup EVERY day (these days it's only when I feel like it) since, after all, what little hair I now have left to hide behind will be gone. I'm also beginning to believe that it's likely I will stop wearing my glasses for awhile, although I've long felt as though they're one of my fundamental defining characteristics. I haven't found too many photos of bald women with glasses that appeal to me; without hair, they just seem too present.
in other words, let's turn everything on its ear, mkay?
but don't let all this pontification fool you. I'm really psyched to buzz off my hair. just imagine: weeks and weeks of not having to worry about my hair at all. short hair makes short work of hair styling, but baldness will get rid of the concern altogether. roll out of bed and go.
I'm also really looking forward to the st. baldrick's event, where several of the honored children will be in attendance and may even help cut our hair off. (I hope so!). a good friend of mine is also participating, and several of my friends will be in attendance to watch. I had hoped to raise $500 by event day, thinking the sum to be a little high for only two weeks' worth of fundraising, but my friends and coworkers have TOTALLY OUTDONE THEMSELVES and have already bumped me past that line. I LOVE YOU GUYS. Now I'm shooting for $750, which is the "VIP" sum that gets me my choice of shave times :)
If you are interested in helping support st. baldricks -- or you'd just seriously pay money to see me shave my head -- you can donate to my campaign at my participant page.
March 1, 2010
sitting practice
On Saturday, I attended my first zen meditation practice. I first became interested in zen back in college, when I was voraciously reading the memoirs of Natalie Goldberg, whose life (both the writing and non-writing aspects of it) was and is profoundly affected by her zen practice. She talks often in her writing of the discomfort of zazen (sitting meditation), of struggling to quiet her mind while in meditation, and of the things she learned from her zen teacher, Katagiri Roshi.
At some point not long after I moved here, I searched for nearby zen centers. I was struggling with my writing (and still do) and I was curious to try it out. But I never pursued it; I was daunted by the unfamiliarity of it, and I was often too busy. Or made that excuse, at least.
I have thought of it on and off in the past few months -- enough to add it to my very small but growing list of things I'll do after my next birthday -- and last week I discovered that Dharma Rain was holding a free "Intro to Zen Meditation" workshop on Saturday afternoon. I often put free events on my calendar with good intentions, and then inevitably I talk myself out of them because I'm busy or the weather's too good/bad, or something else comes up. Or I chicken out. I very nearly stayed at the barn on Saturday (Cookie was being such a sweetheart), but I didn't. I showed up to the zendo 20 minutes early, and though I knew the workshop was being held in the nearby Dharma House, I hadn't written down the address. The DH is really a house, so although I walked up and down the street looking for it, I didn't have any luck. I figured I'd try the zendo, hoping to find a person or at least a sign to help me out. I strolled in only to realize I'd walked in on a silent group of Zen monks seated at a table. I froze and slowly retreated toward the door, feeling awkward and a little terrified, frantically reading the flyers on the bulletin board with hopes that something would direct me. A minute or so passed and one of the monks came quietly over and whispered, "Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for the intro to meditation workshop?" I whispered back. He nodded and directed me to step outside; he was barefoot and in robes, bald-headed. He had the kindest face. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Once outside, he pointed down the street to a nondescript house on the corner. "It's there, in the brown house," he said. "You can go right on in." He smiled.
I thanked him and apologized for interrupting. "It's really okay," he said, and clearly meant it; I believed him. Later I discovered that the monks were in the middle of a silent retreat. I felt simultaneously mortified and grateful for his kindness.
I walked down the street to the house, which was on the opposite side of the road. I was still 15 minutes early so I strolled to the corner before crossing the street; as I stood looking for traffic a woman with flaming red hair called from the house steps to me.
"Hello!" she said. "Yoo hoo!" She was smiling, so I waved. When I crossed the street she asked me if I was looking for the workshop.
"We got here at about the same time," she said, "so I figured you must be coming here too. Go on upstairs! I'll be in in a bit."
I won't bore you with the details, except to say that I was pleasantly surprised to discover a natural physical affinity for meditation: My de facto seated position, in yoga and elsewhere, is typically half lotus (which I find easier on my knees than normal indian-style). Apparently it's uncommon to find many people who are comfortable seated that way. By the end of our 20-minute meditation session -- with eyes open, did you know that? -- the backs of my legs were asleep but I was otherwise OK. I was fascinated to hear feedback from the other attendees, many of whom were fidgety and uncomfortable; some of them fretted to the teachers afterward. Was I breathing correctly? I was focused too much on my stomach muscles. These are people whose main stated goal was to stop being so anxious, to stop overthinking. I had not considered zen practice for that reason, because I viewed it as a religion rather than as an activity.
I did discover that many of the things I do unthinkingly in my daily life have predisposed me towards meditation; early in the session one of the two zen prefects teaching the class said that even after eight or nine years, she still has to remind herself, convince herself, that going to zazen practice will make her feel better. I understood entirely; I do the same thing with running. Running is so much like meditation for me in many ways, as is riding. Learning to push through discomfort; learning to turn off the nagging voice in your mind. I still need help with writing, though.
I may or may not attend zazen on Wednesday. I might ride my horse instead. Who can say. Have I mentioned I'm also reading the Tao Te Ching?
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
-- mary oliver
At some point not long after I moved here, I searched for nearby zen centers. I was struggling with my writing (and still do) and I was curious to try it out. But I never pursued it; I was daunted by the unfamiliarity of it, and I was often too busy. Or made that excuse, at least.
I have thought of it on and off in the past few months -- enough to add it to my very small but growing list of things I'll do after my next birthday -- and last week I discovered that Dharma Rain was holding a free "Intro to Zen Meditation" workshop on Saturday afternoon. I often put free events on my calendar with good intentions, and then inevitably I talk myself out of them because I'm busy or the weather's too good/bad, or something else comes up. Or I chicken out. I very nearly stayed at the barn on Saturday (Cookie was being such a sweetheart), but I didn't. I showed up to the zendo 20 minutes early, and though I knew the workshop was being held in the nearby Dharma House, I hadn't written down the address. The DH is really a house, so although I walked up and down the street looking for it, I didn't have any luck. I figured I'd try the zendo, hoping to find a person or at least a sign to help me out. I strolled in only to realize I'd walked in on a silent group of Zen monks seated at a table. I froze and slowly retreated toward the door, feeling awkward and a little terrified, frantically reading the flyers on the bulletin board with hopes that something would direct me. A minute or so passed and one of the monks came quietly over and whispered, "Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for the intro to meditation workshop?" I whispered back. He nodded and directed me to step outside; he was barefoot and in robes, bald-headed. He had the kindest face. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Once outside, he pointed down the street to a nondescript house on the corner. "It's there, in the brown house," he said. "You can go right on in." He smiled.
I thanked him and apologized for interrupting. "It's really okay," he said, and clearly meant it; I believed him. Later I discovered that the monks were in the middle of a silent retreat. I felt simultaneously mortified and grateful for his kindness.
I walked down the street to the house, which was on the opposite side of the road. I was still 15 minutes early so I strolled to the corner before crossing the street; as I stood looking for traffic a woman with flaming red hair called from the house steps to me.
"Hello!" she said. "Yoo hoo!" She was smiling, so I waved. When I crossed the street she asked me if I was looking for the workshop.
"We got here at about the same time," she said, "so I figured you must be coming here too. Go on upstairs! I'll be in in a bit."
I won't bore you with the details, except to say that I was pleasantly surprised to discover a natural physical affinity for meditation: My de facto seated position, in yoga and elsewhere, is typically half lotus (which I find easier on my knees than normal indian-style). Apparently it's uncommon to find many people who are comfortable seated that way. By the end of our 20-minute meditation session -- with eyes open, did you know that? -- the backs of my legs were asleep but I was otherwise OK. I was fascinated to hear feedback from the other attendees, many of whom were fidgety and uncomfortable; some of them fretted to the teachers afterward. Was I breathing correctly? I was focused too much on my stomach muscles. These are people whose main stated goal was to stop being so anxious, to stop overthinking. I had not considered zen practice for that reason, because I viewed it as a religion rather than as an activity.
I did discover that many of the things I do unthinkingly in my daily life have predisposed me towards meditation; early in the session one of the two zen prefects teaching the class said that even after eight or nine years, she still has to remind herself, convince herself, that going to zazen practice will make her feel better. I understood entirely; I do the same thing with running. Running is so much like meditation for me in many ways, as is riding. Learning to push through discomfort; learning to turn off the nagging voice in your mind. I still need help with writing, though.
I may or may not attend zazen on Wednesday. I might ride my horse instead. Who can say. Have I mentioned I'm also reading the Tao Te Ching?
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
-- mary oliver
February 28, 2010
the end of february
today I rented some snowshoes
and went up to the mountain. which mountain? this mountain.
I climbed up a big hill
and I almost made it all the way to Timberline but I got nervous because there were a lot of skiers and my legs were pretty tired. I wasn't sure if I could cross the ski path fast enough, and I wasn't sure what good snowshoeing manners were in terms of traversing the path with my crampons, so I went back down. but that's OK. when I got back down to the end of the trail I got in the car and drove to the lodge anyway.
hey, you guys? I have a guilty secret. I've lived here 4 1/2 years and I'd never been to Timberline. I know, I know. it's because, honestly? ski culture scares me. I have very little experience with winter sports -- we always vacationed in the summer and cocooned in the winter -- so being around all these alpine people is like visiting an alien tribe. there's all this gear, and I don't know what any of it is called or what it does or how to use it, and everybody seems really die-hard. and clad in gore-tex.
(I did go cross-country skiing once, in college. I loved it. everybody told me it was so hard, but it was like a cross between running and skating, two things I love to do. but I've never been since, and I've never been downhill skiing. it just goes so ... fast. so fast!)
what finally convinced me to go up to the mountain this weekend was a post on the Run Oregon blog about free snowshoeing trips guided by U.S. Forest Service Rangers. FREE! I like free. Snowshoe rentals from REI are only $20, which is almost free. So I was pretty stoked to learn about the aerial tramway from the 1950s, and Mt. Hood birds, and other things I imagined the ranger would tell us. only, see, that didn't quite work out, because the ranger couldn't make it. there was only me and one other couple waiting for the guided trip, so I debated for a minute or two about what to do in the absence of a CHAPERONE. but hey, snowshoeing is just hiking with pointy shoes! I can do that. so, I followed the trail we would have taken, and walked 2 1/2 miles up the side of the mountain. like, straight up. but that's OK! because in two weeks I'm running a 15K and half of that is also straight up, so I could use the conditioning.
anyway, I'm glad I got over my alpine sport aversion and can I just say, I want to sleep over at Timberline TONIGHT. or maybe last night. all the hewn rock and the giant wooden beams. also, the snow covering the windows. and the cozy fireplace. I'm a big sucker for cozy.
it's not exactly the same, but I'm going ahead and crossing off number 21, more in the spirit than the letter of the law. I just wanted to get in the snow.
Nub enjoyed the mountain too.
and went up to the mountain. which mountain? this mountain.
I climbed up a big hill
and I almost made it all the way to Timberline but I got nervous because there were a lot of skiers and my legs were pretty tired. I wasn't sure if I could cross the ski path fast enough, and I wasn't sure what good snowshoeing manners were in terms of traversing the path with my crampons, so I went back down. but that's OK. when I got back down to the end of the trail I got in the car and drove to the lodge anyway.
hey, you guys? I have a guilty secret. I've lived here 4 1/2 years and I'd never been to Timberline. I know, I know. it's because, honestly? ski culture scares me. I have very little experience with winter sports -- we always vacationed in the summer and cocooned in the winter -- so being around all these alpine people is like visiting an alien tribe. there's all this gear, and I don't know what any of it is called or what it does or how to use it, and everybody seems really die-hard. and clad in gore-tex.
(I did go cross-country skiing once, in college. I loved it. everybody told me it was so hard, but it was like a cross between running and skating, two things I love to do. but I've never been since, and I've never been downhill skiing. it just goes so ... fast. so fast!)
what finally convinced me to go up to the mountain this weekend was a post on the Run Oregon blog about free snowshoeing trips guided by U.S. Forest Service Rangers. FREE! I like free. Snowshoe rentals from REI are only $20, which is almost free. So I was pretty stoked to learn about the aerial tramway from the 1950s, and Mt. Hood birds, and other things I imagined the ranger would tell us. only, see, that didn't quite work out, because the ranger couldn't make it. there was only me and one other couple waiting for the guided trip, so I debated for a minute or two about what to do in the absence of a CHAPERONE. but hey, snowshoeing is just hiking with pointy shoes! I can do that. so, I followed the trail we would have taken, and walked 2 1/2 miles up the side of the mountain. like, straight up. but that's OK! because in two weeks I'm running a 15K and half of that is also straight up, so I could use the conditioning.
anyway, I'm glad I got over my alpine sport aversion and can I just say, I want to sleep over at Timberline TONIGHT. or maybe last night. all the hewn rock and the giant wooden beams. also, the snow covering the windows. and the cozy fireplace. I'm a big sucker for cozy.
it's not exactly the same, but I'm going ahead and crossing off number 21, more in the spirit than the letter of the law. I just wanted to get in the snow.
Nub enjoyed the mountain too.
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