I think I saw a squirrel or something. Hey, another post. . . nearly a year later. Umm, it's about water.

I've never really liked swimming all that much. Mostly because I hate getting into cold water. It just makes me fucking grumpy. I'm feeling a little grumpy just thinking about it. And if I can't see and touch the bottom of whatever body of water I am in, I get a little freaked out. And don't pretend that you never for at least a few seconds worry about what kind of creepy monster-like creatures are in the water that you can't see through, because I know you do. I don't care how together and mature you are, that silly irrational fear never really goes away. None of our silly things like that completely go away.

Another thing related to my dislike of water is there was some point in time as a young girl I realized I was unusually white, or in the case of summertime, freakishly pink. The thought of exposing my pasty white legs and thus blinding every person at the pool terrified me. Not because I was concerned about actually damaging anyone's vision, but because of being singled out as different, the weird awkward kind of different, not the cool ethereal magical unicorn/pegasus kind of different.

Also, I'm just not very good at swimming. Every summer my siblings and I had a pass to Fairmont Pool (best babysitter EVER). My parents even signed me up for swimming lessons one year. This was when I gained the courage to dive off of the diving board, because I totally officially knew how to swim. But, I was kind of a lazy kid (now I'm just a lazy adult) and I hated doing anything other than dog paddling.  At one point in time, the life guard made me go to the shallow end of the pool and prove that I could actually swim.

I can't really blame them. I'm sure I looked like I was drowning. I flailed like an idiot plugging my nose because I had no idea how to not get water up my nose when I jumped in the water. . . I still don't know how to not get water up my nose. Apparently I am suppose to blow out my nose, but frankly, I just don't want to do that, it just freaks me out. Besides, there's this time vortex that I fall into when I go under water where time slows way down and one second feels like a kazillion seconds (yes, that's a word). Why would I breath out until I knew I would be able to breathe air and not water?

I feel like I've done a fairly sufficient job rambling about my non-water baby tendencies.  So, here's what I really wanted to ramble about.

I've spent only a little bit of time near the ocean, and far less time actually in it. I was nearly 20 years old the first time I saw the ocean. I loved it of course. I mean, not to get all crazy hippie about things, but it is our first mom after all. Sorry moms, you are all important too. I love you. But, well. . . you know.

 I love standing on the edge of the wash where it just covered my feet, watching one wave recede back into the younger one. It always feels like the new wave was going to be huge, and it is, but its momentum would always be eaten up by its sibling's return assuring that I wouldn't be washed away by the tide. . . except for the ones that didn't. If I did this for long enough, it felt like the water was invisibly pulling me in to keep me FOREVER. This puts me into a super stoney trance, and it feels great. And it's a super plus that the mother ocean has yet to claim me for hers forever. . . not yet anyway. Thanks mom of all moms. You sure are swell. Oh man, I just made a pun. Did you get it? Swellll?? uhhh, sorry.

Anyway. . . 

It's fucking vast, and full of goddamn mystery. I mean, there's parts of the Earth under there that reputable folks thought nothing could ever survive in. Guess what? They were wrong. And it turns out, things can actually live where it is a kazillion degrees and many, many miles into the depths of the ocean. Okay, fine, kazillion isn't an actual quantity. Point being, there's some crazy scary awesome shit it that water. But, mostly the respect part lies in the power. Just listening to the ocean gives me goose bumps. That's some energy. It's overwhelming. And it's amazing. Ah-MAZING. And it scared the shit out of me. Metaphorically speaking of course. . . mostly.

When I got to Cambria, I found out that Brandon has two wet suits and two surf boards, and I thought to myself, "Ohhhhhh, here's an opportunity to experience something new and super scary." So, within the first week of living by the ocean, we went surfing. Well, I guess you could call it that. . . maybe more like going into the ocean with surf boards in tow.

Brandon's coaching for surfing was simple. 

Which means he told me to hold the board above the water, turn around and hop on it, paddling real fast when there was a good wave. I wasn't really very comfortable with that. I almost started crying when he was pulling ahead of me in the water not understanding how freaked out I was, until I said, "I'm scared!! and about to cry!" Mind you, I was laughing at the same time, knowing that I must have looked silly as a 33 year old whiney like But he was great and said, "Nah, you'll be fiiiiiiiine. Come on!" For whatever reason, that totally worked despite the fact that I still felt like I had no tools to actually maneuver a surf board in the ocean. Besides, I trust Brandon. So, I guess that's all I need.

I trudged onward and errr inward? oceanward? The water was getting higher, and I was successfully jumping through the waves without getting knocked too far back. Then my feet were no longer touching the ground, and I was floating hanging on to my board. My feet eventually found the ground, and I took that opportunity to hop on and paddle my silly little heart out. I was knocked clean off the board, water and sand gushed up in my face and nose, and all the water around me was gurgling in my ears,  bubbly and clear as I looked up from underneath the water. Fully thinking I should be panicking, I totally wasn't. Rad! Also, ocean water in your nose is way better than fresh water. It was engaging, with simple predictable obstacles. I was exhausted quickly and felt like I had just gotten out of a hot spring on a wintery day in Idaho. I was super sold on being in the ocean.

So, it wasn't nearly as scary as I thought. 

What was really scary was when I went out with my sweet young adventurous friend Lauren. She's from Arizona, and at this time was in her wonderful floating-around-to-find-her-place kind of space.

Something I wish I would have done more of as teenager. 

But, I didn't, and that is okay too.

Lauren and I pulled on the wetsuits one evening and just. . .  swam out into the ocean. Which is way scarier than being on a surfboard in the ocean, for whatever reason. My favorite part was diving under the whitewash. Every time I went under, my body would turn so I was facing up, and I could see the sun shining through the white wash, and the bubbles washing past my face. THE BUBBLES. Oh man, they were the best. They just tickled all over my face, and in my hair. It was like when you tickle or kiss a baby, and they get all giddy and gross adorable. That's what it made me feel like. But, I got to do it like 20 times in a row!!! So good. We mad fit past the break. and we just sunbathed in the mean. Laying on our backs. Bobbing in that giant fucking beast of a body. I really wish I could tell you what it was like in a more conducive manner, but I just can't. But, it felt really great, and whole.

We started getting pulled out further away from land.

We were already pretty far out, so I said, "Hey Lauren, I think maybe we should go back while we can still see land." So we did. Let me tell you, that whole swim parallel to the land thing, it is totally true. we got back on the other side of the break, and as quickly as my serenity set in upon entering the ocean, the humiliation of getting my ass beat by those waves took it away. I was much less graceful getting out of the water.

But, I was also laughing a lot, and I think that despite the fact that water still is trying to humiliate me on a regular basis whether that be making me blind people with my nearly iridescent skin color, or kicking me while I'm down,  it seems to know what is good for me. I think I'll keep hanging out with it.

  

Domesticated Transients & Ravens

There are some things you just don't say no to.

One of the great things about my friend Brandon is that he is always up for an adventure. We were able to hustle with our duties in the morning at the hostel, finishing up a couple hours early. So when Brandon asked, "Do you guys want to have a Big Sur Day?" I just couldn't say no. . . I hope I don't ever have to say no to that question.

Brandon, Kim and I piled into the Honda and we were off. It was a regular day. A little foggy, but the sun still made your skin warm like a cat in the sunny spot. So warmmmm. We saw a sign  pointing us to the Hermitage up towards the hills, so we went. On the way up, there were numerous places where benches had been put in nice little scenic spots for one to sit and breath, listen, and watch the world go around or whatever it is that you want to do on a bench. The hermitage was a calm space on top of a hill overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I have to say, there was something special about the space provided here.  It felt. . . well, I guess the word might be blessed. 

This word has always been connected to my experiences in church as a kid where I had to be quiet and respectful. And QUIET, and RESPECTFUL. But, this place didn't feel that way. This place, in a weird magical way made me breathe deeper, and simply understand that I am blessed no matter what I do. I wish there was some way better for me to convey that feeling in a word that didn't make me want to roll my eyes and call myself a new age asshole hippie. Maybe I will just say in my own wonky way that it was just pretty fucking great and good to be there. 

During our drive back down to the highway it was decided we would pull over and sit on a bench together in silence for five minutes. It was nerdy, and sweet, and perfect. And then we were back to the  winding road that is Highway 1.

One of our choice destinations was the Henry Miller Library. A place that you can sit, look at some redwoods, drink tea, and read a good book. Really, there are no bad books in this library. They are all good books by a host of authors. And it's sort of technically a store, but we don't have to split hairs. It's worth a visit. 

When you are driving down this particular stretch of Highway 1, there are a lot of twists and turns, cyclists to dodge, construction on all of the bridges. . . yes, ALL of them, and it seems like I see a dead baby deer nearly every time I drive on this stretch of road. . . Anyway, after leaving the library, Brandon was suddenly pulling over on one of the many turn outs where you can peer out at the picturesque ocean crashing against the rocky cliffs. It wasn't until we were getting out of the car that I saw why Brandon pulled over so abruptly: a man with long greying blonde hair wearing only a pair of tan tattered pants being held up by a rope. Oh, and he had a raven on his head. Or was it a crow? Kim kept her distance. As it turns out, she is not a fan of birds. But Brandon and I, we just couldn't stay away.

This man sang, and danced, and praised us in the kindest of ways. He called himself Campbell the Bunny Man. I asked why wasn't he called Campbell the Raven Man. His response was something along the lines of, "Well, there was an incident with the bunny and the raven. The raven ate the bunny. We don't need to talk about that. But I will say my raven seems to be of greater spirits since the. Do you want to hold the bird?" He laughed and smiled, revealing a few teeth that were hanging in there, and the raven waved his wings exposing where he had molted away his feathers, accompanied by his crippled little bird leg.

Of course I wanted to hold the bird that ate your rabbit in some sort of incident that you don't want to talk about. 

Besides, I haven't heard anything about bird flu in like 3 years, and even though Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds scared the holy living shit out of me, I thought, what could go wrong? So, I held the raven.

turns out, nothing went wrong.

I watched this man and his barely feathered friend play a game of catch with a five dollar bill that Brandon was kind enough to give for hanging out with us. So I put my bare arm out, and the raven gingerly hopped on. There was a bit of a struggle with keeping footing, since his leg had been maimed in what I can only assume was another incident, but he seemed comfortable enough. He sat there, cleaning and preening his feathers, looking at the Bunny Man. I thought that he may have taken the raven in due to his injured leg, but upon inquiry it was revealed that Campbell the Bunny Man was taking responsibility for that. How he was responsible? I do not know. I realized what kind of broken person he was. And he was just doing his best to contribute to this world in the best way he could, and in my effort to contribute to his well being, I felt it was best to not ask further inquiries.

There are some people that you can see the turmoil is so close to the surface, welling up in their eyes and throat. This man, he knows it's there, that it's going to rush up at him sometime again in the future. And that this is why he lives the way he lives. In his van, with a bird, virtually alone. It's a safe place for him. This is a thing that you can see in a lot of people, but the difference between this guy and most of the people that live in this state that feels so uncontrollable, is that he seems pretty well at peace with it. At peace with those inner demons, or whatever you want to call them. And I found myself for just the briefest moment wanting to be this man to see what that feels like. And maybe that's stupid. Either way, I can't be him. . . I can only be my own crazy person, which at this time didn't seem much different from Campbell the Bunny Man.

So, maybe blessed is a good word for it.

Sounds like "Bed Pan for Poopie"

I'm a little gullible and naive. 

Traveling alone might not be a good idea, but fuck it.

When I planned this excursion, I realized I was going to be attending a baseball game in Seattle a week before leaving for Cambria. Deciding to make a trip out of it, I figured I could travel by the seat of my pants and make my way down to Cambria through the week, crashing on couches, camping, and maybe splurging on a hotel room at one point. I thought, "Oh yeah, that will be perfect. . . It's the end of the season anyway, everyone is going back to school." I had the forethought to arrange a place to stay in Pendleton and Seattle but that's it. . . noooooo problem. It wasn't until about 12 hours before leaving that I realized I would be doing all of my unplanned travel during Labor Day Weekend. Crap. . . screw it, I'll figure it out.

 Dan and Bev super rule. 

I stayed with the Kinsleys in Pendleton. They are a rad couple that have two guest rooms in their home on the outskirts of Pendleton, Or. After their kids were all moved out of the house, Dan and Bev one day decided to open their home to young poor touring musicians that were passing through, playing at places like The Great Pacific. Great food, beer and wine, and great music is to be had if one were to patron this establishment, not to mention a high quality food menu that will cater to my gluten intolerant self.

I have to say that every person I have ever met in this town has always been kind and genuine. Dan and Bev are certainly no exception. If anything, they are the folks that are setting the bar. I always know there is a warm bed and meal in Pendleton  should I ever need it. Not to mention a hot tub, a dog or a cat to cuddle with, and most likely a glass of wine to enjoy over good company. Dan and Bev graciously sent me on my awkward self away with a full belly and smile on my face so I could make it to Safeco Field in the best way possible. But first, I had to stop in Portland to pick up a friend that I basically forced to come to the baseball game with me.

Nick. . . well he's kind of a dick. 

But, he was willing to come with me to a baseball game in Seattle, forcing him to hang out with me for at least 24 hours. He can't be that bad if he's willing to do that. Nick Jaina has a way with words and makes music, he's really good at these things. At least, I think so. As a matter of fact, I like it enough to post a link to one of his music videos. So here's a song that he wrote called Sleep Child. 

I get to Portland later than I should, but feeling confident that we will still make it on time to the game. We get in the car and make each other laugh a lot because it seems that's what we are really good at together.

Also, he's not really a dick.

Yes, I know the Mariners suck. But we got to the game on time. 

Overview of the day in Seattle:

1. Trying to park when a cop directing traffic yells at us and makes me more confused and flustered than a cat with tape on it. He was just icky and mean. I hope the other cops in Seattle are a little nicer.

2. We saw the good game where they lost in extra innings because the pitcher done made himself a balk, and was the reason they lost the game. I had no idea what I was seeing.

3. I gotta see my fellow Doom softball team mates Rick and Whitney! GO DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

4. Apparently I met a famous guitarist. His identity is a secret, but I will totally give you a hint. . .  One of his band names sounds a lot like, "Bed Pan for Poopie".  He was a very nice guy, and his girlfriend was very nice too, which is really the main thing I care about in anyone that I meet.

Nick was kind enough to let me stay at his place when we got back to Portland. 

We ate Korean BBQ at Toji . It was amazing.

Of course I can get a first come first serve camp spot in the Redwoods. . . on Labor Day weekend. Why would I be worried?

The good news is that heading above this sentence is totally true. But it's only true because I was trying to find a camp spot on a Thursday, and even then, the site was full. The super REAL truth is there was a gal from the Bay area camping alone at my choice spot.  I showed up around dinner time, and she was kind enough to let me camp with her for a couple of days in exchange for splitting the fees. She was nice. I was feeling fortunate, double fortunate actually, as earlier outside of Grant's Pass I was pulled over for talking on my cell phone and going 15 over the limit in a construction zone. I had no idea that I had broken the law, oops. I thought I was screwed for sure. BUT, the nice lady cop let me off on a warning on both offenses. Then she was kind enough to let me know that driving while talking on your phone is also illegal in California. I super learned stuff that day. Yesss!

Anyway, I hiked through Fern Canyon alone for about 8 miles. At times it was eerily quiet. You can hear your own heart beating type of quiet. Quiet enough that I had my pocket knife handy, just in case I some how would be able to overcome a mountain lion attack. I totally had a fool proof plan all worked out in my head. I was for sure going to kick that mountain lion's ass. It's a good thing he decided not to attack me.

Okay fine, he would have eaten me, a lot. . . I'm really glad there was no mountain lion.

Also, the trees are ummm. . . GIANT trees, as you can see to the left here. You can also see how much I suck at using my panorama option on my fancy pants iphone. Some of the redwoods were burnt out, and the hollowed out tree was big enough to house a dinner party for ten. Those old trees really are something to marvel at, and a really good reminder of how tiny and vulnerable I am. A good reminder that there is so much we are not in control of. And that's okay.

This is what I decided to do after Graduate School. . .

So, I recently received a Master of Music in Cello Pedagogy. For the 99% of people that don't know that last word, it's the art of teaching. In this case, it is the art of teaching cello. Graduate school was lovely, and. . . well, actually, it was just really stressful, and at times left me wishing I were dead. I know, I'm a total emo-tard. I did learn a lot of things in graduate school. . . most of which were about myself as opposed to the art of teaching the cello.

I do not want to work at one job for 40 hours a week. Ever.

I actually already knew this about myself. . . that I don't find a 40 hour work week acceptable. 25 hours? That is acceptable. This is a realization I had in my early 20's. When I was in school I worked nearly full time and attended school full time. Which was a lot of work, but also, a variety of work. I thought there would be no problem entering the world with they typical 40 hour job, especially working in music. I was kind of bummed to find cello was no exception for me. sad. *sigh*

At Gold Bluffs Beach.

I am just beginning to discover who I am and what I want.

Fuck, I'm 33 years old and have no idea who that person is in the mirror. I always thought I would learn so much about myself and somehow thought that one day I would wake up feeling "grown up" through my college years. But I didn't. I just studied and stressed out, and twenty damn years later, I still feel like a stupid 13 year old kid.

The good news is that the stars seem to have aligned themselves as it were, affording me a much larger flexibility in my life. A flexibility that has provided me the space to think slower and more thoroughly. And one day about three or so months ago I thought, "I think need to get out of Boise for a bit." The best part was, I realized I could totally do that, and in a very reasonable manner because. . . 

I don't mind being poor. One of my favorite things to eat is beans and rice. good+ cheap=RAD!

I do not currently have a partner. I don't know that I could bring myself to leave my partner for extended months. So, even though my bed is colder in the winter, I feel like this is a really good thing for me.

My employer actually cares about self improvement and discovery. Besides teaching a little bit of cello, I work at a great little hole in the wall pizza job that has incredible flexibility in scheduling, so I could leave for months and still have my job and shifts intact. Thank you,  Guido's Pizzeria.  If anyone reading this is in Boise, you should eat there. Despite my intolerance for gluten, Guido's is still my favorite pizza, and they have always treated me well. They rule, and their business practice rules.  Go. Now.

So I decided to work in my friend's hostel for two months.

My friend Brandon Follett is quite the character. He is a super goof. And so great. Sometimes I think he has more stories and adventures in his memory banks than the library does. He now owns the Bridge Street Inn, a hostel in Cambria, CA. In order to help him maintain his madness in just the right order, he hires interns that can work 1-2 months at a time. Volunteers work about 15 hours a week in exchange for housing, and are required to do something (anything!) creative while you are in residence. So, I decided that I would load up the car with my sewing machine, cello, guitar, a borrowed looper and amplifier. Thank you to Dave Manion for loaning me your looper, and also thank you to Thomas Paul for the amp. If you are in the market for a guitar teacher or badass performers, these guys are both great. You can find them both at Old Boise Music Studios, along with other great musicians in the Boise area. Thomas also writes really great songs. You should check him out.

I, of course decided to throw just one extra thing on my plate and write a blog about this experience per the suggestion of my friend, Ted Apel. Ted is a brilliant electronic musician, and he is about a million times smarter than me, so I pretty much do anything he tells me to do, which hasn't failed me yet.  Right now Ted has an installation at Enso Artspace that will be up until October 11th. You should totally go. At least go for me, because I can't. 

Hey, I know some pretty great people in Boise. I love that town.

So, yeah. I guess that was a really long way of telling you that this silly little blog is my way of sharing my thoughts and adventures with you for the next two months. And I suppose I didn't even have to tell you all of that, especially because most of the people that might be wasting minutes of their time reading my rambling drivel already knows this. . .