Life is pain. Anyone who says differently is selling something.

I've been looking around on etsy for little gifts to buy for RockerBoy's family. Probably not the best thing to do before bed, but I needed ideas. Found a couple of cute things and then the "father of the bride" stuff started popping up and now I can't stop crying. As excited as I am to get married, I can't keep ignoring the part of me that is dreading it. Not because I don't want to be married, but because my dad isn't going to be there.  I don't know how I'm going to get through the day without him.  I don't know how I can walk down the isle without feeling his arm around me. 

I never gave a shit about weddings, never fantasized as a little girl what my wedding would be like someday. I wanted four things: a house, land, lots of animals and my family close by. Over the years, I developed this sort of bitter distain for anything wedding-related, and I fully admit it's because I'm jealous. Not for "bridezilla" reasons. It's just that I hate other women for having their fathers there to walk them down the isle. I kept thinking to myself, "I'm glad I'm going to die alone; if I never get married, I'll never have to worry about who's going to walk me down the isle."  It worked for a long time, and when RockerBoy proposed, I said yes without hesitation.  My dad is never far from my thoughts, but he has been more so lately, especially in the last couple of weeks.  I'm getting married in a little over two weeks, and every time I think, "Dad won't be there," I feel like I've been punched in the gut.

As time goes on, you adapt to life without someone who has passed away.  You never fully recover, but you move on because it's the only thing to do. I was okay for a long time because I never really hit any of the major milestones normal people do.  When I moved to Oregon, I thought, "If Dad were still alive, what would he say? Would he come with us?"  When I did the Warrior Dash for the first time and there was no one waiting for me at the finish line, I stumbled through the mud thinking, "Dad would be waiting for me with two beers and a big grin on his face."  When RockerBoy proposed to me, I knew it was right to say yes not only because I love him but because I know that my dad would have been proud to call him his son. 

I don't believe in heaven or hell except what we have in our own hearts, but there is still a part of me that has to believe my dad is "up there," somewhere, watching over me. It's absurd and implausible but the thought has guided me for over 20 years. I still talk to him, and I've been doing it a lot lately. More often than not, the one-sided conversation deteriorates into me curled up in bed, sobbing. 

One of the main reasons I wanted to get married at Voodoo Doughnut was because it wasn't a typical wedding and I wouldn't have to worry about "protocol."  The doughnut wedding evolved into a Star Wars wedding at the beach, and though I know that's the way it was meant to happen, I'm panicking at the thought of facing May 4th without him. 

There are two things making it possible for me to carry on with a smile on my face and joy in my heart.  One of them is that my mom and sister will be there. The second thing is this: love.  

Last summer, RockerBoy and I went back to Chicago to take care of some legal issues regarding  my mom's house. Our second day back home, RockerBoy's best friend (I'll call him BikerGuy) drove us to the cemetery where my dad is buried.  I hadn't seen my dad's grave in 23 years, and I still knew exactly where it was. RockerBoy walked with me toward the headstone and as soon as I saw my dad's name, I lost it. I was shocked that it hit me that hard; I thought after all this time I'd be tougher, better able to stand up against the pain.  I cried and cried and RockerBoy was there with his arms around me, crying with me, and I couldn't find the words to tell him this is what hell feels like: to be standing above the remains of someone you loved so much, you can still feel their loss, over 20 years later, like a wound that never fully heals. I asked RockerBoy for a cigarette, which he gave me without question or hesitation.  I crouched next to my dad's headstone and put the cigarette in the grass in front of it.  In my head, I talked to my dad. I told him about RockerBoy and that we were going to get married. I told him I wished like anything that he could be there with me. I told him that he would have loved RockerBoy, that he was a good, honest man who respected me and made me happier than I ever thought I could be.  Then we stood there for a while, just staring down at his name etched in stone.  After a few minutes, I told RockerBoy we could go.  He asked if I wanted to say anything, and I said no, that I'd already said what I'd come to say.  

What happened next, I never told anyone.  RockerBoy asked if he could have a moment.  I nodded and walked a few feet away.  Watched him crouch down close to my dad's headstone, bow his head. He was still for a few moments. Or a few hours. I still can't tell.  Then he stood up and walked over to me, took my hand and we walked back to the truck.  Later on that night, we were hanging out in BikerGuy's man cave. The side door was open and I could see lightning flashing in the sky.  RockerBoy and I stood in the doorway and looked up at the sky. It was a typical midwestern summer night, something comforting and threatening all at once.   I told RockerBoy that my dad loved storms. How he used to stand out on the back porch with a cigarette dangling from his lips, smiling and loving the chaos like a little boy on Christmas. "Get out here and look at this! The sky is GREEN!"  My sister and I would cower by the door, terrified but keeping an eye on our dad in case a tornado sucked him up and took him away.   Ever since his death, every time something significant happens in my life, it has rained. And every time, I have felt his presence. I know how ridiculous that sounds, but it's true. It's when I feel closest to my dad. Not so much out here in the Pacific Northwest, because the rain here is pathetic compared to the storms we get in Chicago.  But I can still feel him close at times.

I told RockerBoy about the rain and my dad and said, "I think he's happy I came home. When it rains like this, I feel like he's telling me everything is going to be okay."  RockerBoy said, "I think I got my answer, then." I asked him what he meant, and though he wouldn't tell me specifics (which I respected), he did tell me that when he asked for a moment alone at my dad's grave, he had wanted to ask for his blessing to marry me. I was so overwhelmed by what he'd said, I couldn't respond. I was so touched that he'd done this, and so unbelievably sad that RockerBoy would never know my father, and I would never have the pleasure of seeing them together, knowing how much it would have meant for my dad to finally call someone "son." 

I stood in that doorway and felt the love for my father and the love that RockerBoy and I have for each other, like it was something tangible and all-encompassing. I breathed it in and let it calm my heart. I know that no man I have ever known would have done something like that. The fact that he thought of it on his own, and didn't say anything until I told him about the rain, just reinforces what I know to be true: that RockerBoy is the man I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with. 

When I'm overcome with sadness, I take myself back to that summer night, standing in the doorway of BikerGuy's garage, when I came home again and found love waiting for me there.  

In two weeks I will marry the boy from back home, and I will carry my father with me in my heart.  I will smile and be happy and I will enjoy the company of the people that I love because Dad wouldn't want me to be sad.  I can be strong like he was, and keep my pain hidden until after everyone has gone. I will cry, and my husband will cry, and he will hold me until the sadness fades, and I will know that everything is going to be okay.  

Take a run and hide yourself away.

Went for a run this afternoon. Nothing particularly mind-blowing about that, except that I walked to the track. It's a 1.2 mile trek, one way, but the walk back up is the real ass-buster.    My house is at an elevation of about 1,000 feet and the elevation at the track is 500. So the hike home is uphill. A steep, winding mountain road.  It was around 80 outside and I was feeling it even before I hit the track, but my run actually went pretty well.  The walk back home went better than I expected, too, though that may be because I stopped frequently to stuff my face with the blackberries that line the road.

Blue is the GPS route. Grey is the actual route.

I should be able to sleep well tonight. Got lots of exercise, sun and fresh air. Now I'm off to the state park to see if I can't find Mars and Zubenelgenubi. 

Weird Wind and the Cat Couch

Last weekend I went back to Rockaway Beach for "girls' weekend."   It was me, my friends V and S and two other ladies I hadn't met before (G and D).  Lots of good food, too. My S'mores cupcakes were a hit.  

I got off work Saturday morning, drove home, picked up a few things, hugged Tank and headed to Rockaway. V and G had gotten there late on Friday and when I arrived, they were getting ready to walk down to the beach. I work graveyard with V, so she knew all too well how tired and in need of sleep I was, so I crashed in the back room and asked V to wake me up at two.  She did, and I think I slept for another hour, then got up and hung out with the gals. It was very quickly decided that another walk to the beach was in order, so we spent an hour or so walking by the water, taking pictures, talking, enjoying the sun. 

Basically, we just lazed around, ate, drank, smoked, etc. until dark, and then we loaded up the cooler with some wood and marshmallows and headed down to the beach for a fire. 

(G, D, me, S)

If you've never sat around a fire at night on the beach with the waves crashing (visible) nearby, you're missing out. Oh, it was lovely. I don't know how long we were down there, but eventually we packed up and headed back to the house.  More eating, smoking, drinking (arnold palmers and, I believe, oolong-infused whiskey? sooo gooood), bullshitting. Lots of laughter. I passed out on V's dog for a little while, and then we all went to our respective beds and konked out. 

In the morning, we had breakfast, cleaned the place up, packed up our stuff and hit the road. On the way home, G, V and I stopped at the Blue Heron French Cheese Company in Tillamook. They were there for the cheese. I was there for the petting zoo.  We didn't stay long. V and G took off and I stayed for a little while to wander and take pictures with my Nikkormat. Then I got in my car and headed home.  

A few hours later, I was back on the road, headed to Portland to meet up with my friend A and her four kids (ages 13, 9, 4 and 2).  The plan was to go to Lents Park and see "The Goonies."  I had a great time, though the kids scattered pretty soon into the movie. It was an awesome crowd, cheering in the right places, yelling out lines, cheering for the Goonies. My people. I'm willing to bet I was the only honorary Goonie in that park, though. HA.

(me and the kids. the 13-year old takes great pleasure in being taller than me.)

On the way home, I stopped at Walgreen's because I lost my hair tie thingy.  Walking the store, I noticed two guys standing in the parking lot. One of them was honking. That's when I noticed four ducks standing in the handicap spot.  Long story short, I spent a half hour in the parking lot watching four ducks with two stoners at 1:00 in the morning.  It was awesome. I fed them some graham crackers and an Odwalla bar and me and one of the stoners tried to convince the other stoner that ducks are man-eaters, that they have shark teeth and prey on humans.  I said I'd seen it on National Geographic. We almost had him convinced.   Stoner #2 and I tried herding the girls down to the pond at the bottom of the hill, but they ran into some bushes and waited for us to walk away. Then they waddled after us.  That's when I shot this video:

Good times.  Eventually, I made it back home and the rest is history. 

In other news, I'm teaching myself to play "Wish You Were Here."  I was having trouble getting a handle on it and then I found THIS guy, and viola! 

If everyone taught songs by singing the chords, the world would be a better place. 

An adventurer is me.

My sister and I went on a little adventure yesterday, took a little trip to Vernonia Lake Park, site of the former Oregon-American Lumber Company.  I've been wanting to check this place out for a couple of years now because I knew there was an old building covered in graffiti on the site.

It was a bit of a drive but totally worth it. I had been expecting something like the Blair Witch Project, but the site is actually a park now with a bike trail going all around the mill pond (Vernonia Lake). There are even picnic tables and a couple of grills.  You could see one of the old buildings from the parking lot, west of the lake. It was a short walk and soon I was standing inside the old fuel shed.

I was in Goonie (not to mention photographer) heaven. My sister and I walked around and took pictures of graffiti for a while, and a teenage couple came in and walked around. They climbed up in one of the windows and asked me to take their picture.  The guy said, "Mine isn't as good as yours, though." Hee.  I had both of my Nikkormats and my stupid digital with me. 

I climbed up in the window after they left and my sister took my picture.

I really wanted to see the old refuse burner because there's a tunnel underneath it, and the toppled cyclone blower, but everything was covered in brambles and I'm not even sure if they're still there. I'm definitely going to look again this winter. 

I had a good time prowling the grounds and climbing around everything. Took over two rolls of film, and I can't wait to get them developed.

I love old, abandoned stuff. I wish there was more of it around here. 

Sing loud for the sunshine, pray hard for the rain 
And show your love for Lady Nature
And she will come back again 
The people turned away
The people turned away

Tank and I went to Rockaway for the Fourth. My friend's family has a little beach house out there (JEALOUS).  It was quiet and ... well, quiet.  I didn't have a good time, but I had a nice time. I got to be with my dog and just enjoy his company without being bothered by other dogs or people. It was bittersweet, though, because the last time I took Tank on an adventure, just the two of us, he was young and strong and unstoppable.  He's still a happy dog, but he sleeps a lot and it makes me sad. He's going to be 15 in September and it's hard for me to see how much he has aged, particularly because he's always been so puppy-like. Losing our other dogs really took a toll on him, and he hasn't been the same since. But he's still Tank, just slower. 

I had the Doggy Ride and we went down to the beach for a few hours. Tons of people around and Tank wasn't bothered at all. It could be because he's mostly deaf and kind of blind, but either way I'm glad he was able to relax. He's been "owner protective" his entire life and it makes him incredibly anxious. 

I took him back down to the beach later for the fireworks. He's never been bothered by fireworks, thunder or any sort of loud noise, but when they started up, Tank looked around in confusion, and I was worried he might start to get anxious so we walked back to the beach house. I gave him his Goodie Ship (stuffed with peanut butter) and he lay on his blanket and went to town. I watched "American Movie" and then "Wayne's World," had some dinner, played my guitar and fell asleep. 

I didn't want to leave, but I had work Thursday night and wanted to get home early enough to get some errands done and take a nap.  

I never got the nap and was dead tired at work, but it was worth it. Tank was so happy to be back home with the other dogs, it was adorable.

Getaway

I'm taking my dog to the beach on Wednesday. I hate the Fourth of July, but I need to get away and not think about things.

I'm taking the Doggy Ride my sister got for her (now deceased) dog because Tank is 14 and can't walk as far as he used to.  It'll be good for us. I can't wait. Going to bring my guitar, my camera and some movies and have a nice and hopefully relaxing time with the only joy of my life: Tank.

It was a graveyard smash.

Two of my friends and I went to the Portland Zombie Prom on Saturday at the Bossanova Ballroom. Got made up as zombies, had a great time. Didn't dance with anyone except my friend and her boyfriend (at the same time). I guess a pity dance counts.

After the prom, we stopped at the am/pm to get some snacks and when we came out (still in zombie getup), there was a police car parked next to ours.  My friend, R, started walking like a zombie and when we got to our car, the intercom on the squad car clicked on and the cop said, "Brrrraaaaainnnns..." Made my fucking year. So awesome.

I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

Sarah Linkof of the Back Alley Barbers:


'Nighthawks' was the inspiration for this one:

A Togetherness of Stars

Last night I brought my telescope (and a couple of backyard astronomy books) over to my friend's house and we packed up two of her kids and drove out to Crown Point to do some stargazing. Her daughter (I'll just refer to her as "P") is ten and really interested in science and nature. When I asked "A" if she knew any good places to stargaze that weren't too far outside of Portland, she immediately said, "Crown Point."

So we made plans to go out there, and she kept telling me how excited "P" was. I was excited, too, and happy to be able to share what little knowledge I have of the stars.

It was freezing cold when we got there, but I'd planned ahead and put on long johns under my cords, and I had on a long sleeve shirt, a sweatshirt, my super incredibly warm coat and thermal socks. Not to mention a hat, scarf and gloves. And I still froze my ass off. But it was worth it.

I tried to point out the constellations I knew and which stars they were comprised of. Orion, Canis Major/Minor, Cassiopeia, Gemini, Cygnus, Pegasus, the Dippers, Pleiades, Denub, Betelgeuse, Castor and Pollux, Rigel, Procyon, the winter triangle, Regulus, Polaris, Sirius and all the rest.

Unfortunately, it was too cold for "P" to stand out in the wind for very long, but I did get to show her the moon and Venus. "A" went back to the car, too, but I stayed out and did some more gazing. I saw the Orion Nebulae, which was awesome. Sirius, Rigel. I tried to get a bead on Betelgeuse, but it was too cold and I gave up. "A" had to be at work at 9:30 (we work together, I had the night off), so we headed back into the city. When I got back in the car, "P" was reading one of my library books. Inside I was all "Yay!" I don't want to squeeze out any kids of my own, but I'm happy to be a kickass auntie.

We didn't get to see as much as I would have liked, but I was still really happy to get out and enjoy the stars. Aside from light pollution, Crown Point is a wonderful, wide open place to utilize and enjoy your telescope.

I can't wait to go back.

It's going to be clear again tonight, so I'm going to take the 'scope out into the yard tonight and show my sister. Too bad I have to work. Arrrgh.

By the way, did I mention that a friend ("M") from work gave me her telescope?

Therapy is going well, though I've only had two sessions so far. I've booked appointments for the next two weeks; the next one is this Tuesday at 2:00, and then the other is on February 8th at 4:15. I'm playing around with times to see what works for my stupid night shift schedule.

She recommended I read a book called "Who Moved My Cheese?" by Spencer Johnson, so I got it from the library. It's only 94 pages, so it won't take long to read.

Next session we're going to work on relaxation techniques. That will help me a lot. I have a hard time relaxing.

I've been having a lot of trouble sleeping for almost two months now. It sucks. Nothing works. I fall asleep (with great difficulty) and wake up two hours later, completely unable to fall back to sleep. It got so bad that I sort of collapsed at work. And again last week when I was out in the yard with my telescope.

I hate insomnia with the white-hot fire of a thousand suns.

Lastly, the moon (with earthshine) and Venus.

The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.

...or the river.

A little over the week ago, I drove out to Sauvie Island. I hadn't been there in over a year, which is a shame because it's pretty much my favorite place in all of Portland.

A bunch of my coworkers had planned to meet up at the pumpkin patch with their families and do the corn maze and all that happy crappy.  By the time I got there, I was frazzled and anti-social. I couldn't get a hold of my friend, and the light was fading, so I bought a park pass and drove out to the beach to work on my wheelchair project.  My partners in crime:

• Reg - my Nikkormat FTn (loaded with b&w film)
• Frank - my Nikkormat FT (loaded with color film)

The wheelchair has been slowly deteriorating over the years, which I've allowed to happen, and now it only goes backwards and the right wheel locks up more often than not.  It was quite a trip lugging it up the stairs and down the sand dune, but I think it was worth the effort. Looking back, I wish I'd tried some different angles, but oh well. Sauvie Island isn't going anywhere.