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Transported
Over wrought
Built square
Keeping in, keeping out
Shaded
Medicated
Well read
Wet
Stone
And a new season
Of chutes and ladders
Big butts and bridges
Cold feet and smiles.
The Fork in the road
Fork the man
Fork the condiments.
Are we just rats
With no escape
Conned into luxury
Dreaming of beauty
Dreaming of what might be
Or just looking, playing, spinning silly yarns?
Tags: Poetry
Back when I got home from my Shiva Rea yoga retreat, and I nearly drove the hubster nutty singing the praises of Bellingham and all its treasures, we scheduled a trip to prove I wasn’t hallucinating or a liar (tee hee), in what seemed a very far away time, at the height of summer. That far away date came in the blink of an eye, like so much in life, this past weekend, and I couldn’t be more pleased at the timing. Who knew in April that we’d be tearing our hair out at the comings and goings of plumbers, tile layers, and contractors and in dire need of a break from the house? Who also knew that it would be very Portland hot while we continued on our Goldilocks streak of weather in Bellingham? Someone very very kind, I should think, and to whom I extend my sincerest thanks.
We left in the pre-dawn light Friday, the hubster sleeping a little while I mastered the cruise control and softly sang Radiohead tunes (Not just once, not just twice…) and enjoyed the exquisite beauty of the Pacific Northwest. I love this place: the light, the trees, the smell. It’s home. We arrived first at Mount Vernon, a cute town about a half hour south of Bellingham and to the aforementioned Goldilocks weather after some heavy fog had me waxing poetic and slightly panicked, “If only you could see how beautiful it is right here Buddy. Mountains almost like Switzerland and sweet farms and the bluest sky!”
The shots down to the Telephone are the very Mayberry feeling Mount Vernon. This is the train station, probably the most modern building we saw.
You look mahvelous considering you’re nearly 130 years old. Hardly any wrinkles!
I love neon, even in daylight.
This place looks very quaint and sleepy but is actually quite large inside and packed with people eating delicious smelling food and the biggest cinnamon rolls we’ve ever seen.
The photo does not do it justice. It was tasty, but not as good as our favorite Grand Central Bakery variety. Since it was also very sticky, and I was dumb and didn’t request napkins, I washed my hands PWT style in a nearby fountain. No shame or class!
A sweet statue on one of the main streets, First Avenue, I think.
I love sights like this, old school and simple in their beauty.
Welcome to Big Rock Garden in Bellingham.
A small park , tucked in a residential neighborhood, it has a wide variety of sculptures of varying styles and material – a gem of a place.
It’s not terribly easy to find, unless you take the one sign quite literally, which we didn’t and had a bit of a ramble next to Lake Whatcom.
I don’t know why, but this makes me think of Aldous Huxley. Take your soma!
This was the hubster’s favorite. My sci-fi guy.
We were the only people at the garden and felt as though we were trespassing in some sacred place.
One of the many beautiful buildings I didn’t photograph last time.
Our next album cover: Encumbered Tracks
The G-Man enjoying the window seat at The Chrysalis.
No matter the hour, the view is lovely.
Wouldn’t you agree?
These views, though not from our window, were also quite nice, and just steps away.
Lovely!
Last Thursday, I ventured north to Bellingham, Washington for my long anticipated class with Shiva Rea. I had never driven that far on my own before (about five hours), and the writer in me created all kinds of awful scenarios in which I did not return in one piece (the price for creativity!). I prepared for many eventualities, every last duck in a row, and left very dark (seriously Spring, no need to be so shy) and early. Thankfully, the drive went off without a hitch, a succession of NPR news stories, jazz, and rock and roll.
When I exited the highway hours later, my stiff legs itching for a stretch (yoga!), I had the first of many indications that none of my visions of doom would come to fruition. The sun started to peek through the clouds and a Bald Eagle swooped over my car. Talk about a warm welcome!
I arrived at the class after a picture perfect afternoon (more on that tomorrow), a warm, light-filled room, with equally warm and friendly strangers of all stripes. Then Shiva arrived and the magic began. With the beat of a drum, the raven spirit invocation (even more auspicious, considering my deep love of crows and ravens), curious, mischievous, dancing and spreading his wings, inviting us all to fly. This was followed by a truly amazing, heart liberating kirtan with Dave Stringer (like this). I sang at the top of my voice, every cell pulsing, full of joy, and ready for practice. The sadhana was kick-my-ass challenging with moments of silliness too (Shiva is funny!), everything I hoped for, infused with grooves from Dave and his cohort, and a final round of chanting to bring the magical practice to a close.
It’s pretty amazing when someone you’ve admired for a long time lives up to your expectations, live and in person, and a bit of a relief, too. I’ve been practicing with Shiva for the past six years, her work, and ours together, inspiring me more than I ever could have imagined. So when it came came time to thank her, for everything, that in the flesh, no going back, she’s standing right in front of me moment, rather than take my hand extended in gratitude, she embraced me, a hug between “old” friends. A perfect day, a perfect sadhana, made all the more sweet. Namaste.
p.s. I hope to get a picture with Shiva next time!
Happy Tuesday, gentle readers. How are you? I am chilly-willy. It is freezing here, quite literally. Our thermometer has been hovering around twenty-two degrees since the sun came up, and I’ve got nearly enough layers to rival little Randy in A Christmas Story, yet my feet remain cold. Blasted poor circulation!
All is not lost, however. I am in good spirits and thinking fondly of our recent weekend getaway to Eugene and Depoe Bay. We went two weekends ago and had a grand time exploring. Eugene, if you don’t know, is the home of the University of Oregon (for my Colorado friends, think Boulder, circa the early 1990’s). It’s two hours south in the valley, a lovely drive through verdant pastures with volcanic vents like massive mounds of granite scattered by the wind. On the day of our drive, the skies were laden with heavy suitcase clouds, traveling alongside us, and the trees, oh the trees, a patchwork of emerald, gold, crimson, tangerine, and amber: the perfect portrait of Oregon in the fall.
Our home away from home was The Excelsior Inn, just west of campus. It has a stellar and quite beautiful restaurant along with lovely, quaint rooms named after classical composers. I chose Schubert, of course, and was very pleased. There are also a myriad of watercolor paintings from local artists lining the halls, so it’s a feast for the eyes too.
In another feast for the eyes, we visited the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art on the U of O campus. I have to say, it is probably the finest small museum I have ever seen, with an exquisite and well curated collection of art. The building is pretty lovely, too, and precisely what I conjure when I think of an art museum: fine ironwork, high ceilings, gorgeous marble, and shining floors. There’s also a nice cafe and a kids (of all ages) area with costumes and neat activities pertaining to current exhibits. For $5, it is well worth the price of admission.
We also had the pleasure of spending the evening with my former student, Matt, and his sweet and adorable girlfriend, Kelly (no pictures – darn!). We enjoyed their good company over dinner and drinks (still a bit odd to enjoy libations with someone I knew as a teenager!), along with a special screening of the Oregon gem One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. It had been a long time since either the hubster or I had seen it, and it didn’t disappoint.
The next leg of our adventure didn’t disappoint either. Though there was a thick blanket of fog and grave concerns on both our parts that we might not actually be able to see the ocean. I grumbled and fretted, bemoaning our predicament, but was ultimately redeemed when I not only saw the whitecaps crashing but could smell their delightful scent. There is nothing like sea air to buoy spirits!
As a perfect tie in to our Eugene adventure, our picture perfect Depoe Bay lodgings (The Channel House) were just adjacent to the bridge in the scene where Jack Nicholson’s character takes the gang fishing. Though we didn’t fish, we ate plenty of local seafood (Yaquina Bay Oysters and smoked salmon, among others, oh my!) and saltwater taffy so fresh it was warm in our hands. We also watched Oystercatchers, and a tenacious Cormorant catch its breakfast (very exciting!) while sipping hot tea and gorging on golden pastries, granola, and eggs. I think it’s what could be described as the height of splendor. Indeed. Sometimes it is nice to get away.
