beleaguering ennui

So today is my birthday and it took the excitment of my nephew to remind me of just how much fun they can be.

It started out like any other. Woke up, got out of be, dragged a comb across my head (well not really, but I did shower). Occupied my time with various activities, including planning for the evenings activities, as well as recieving various notes and calls of “happy birthday”. Then it began, Dinner included Gid-gid, Joy, Samuel, Mom, David & myself. Stuffed Pizza from Gepetto’s which was to be followed by my rendezvous with several friends at a local bar and grill. But of course what birthday is properly finished without cake… and so, let them eat cake.

Well Gideon is currently of the warewithall to make very important associations. One such duly noted phenomenon is that of the event birthday with the brilliance that is cake. Now, fortunately for parental units all over, there is a tool, which at least for a short time, regains them the upper hand when discussing such dangerous topis as C-A-K-E *wink, wink*. This became an important tool tonight as it was C-A-K-E that was on the table, if you will.

However, it wasn’t until our last plates had arrived that we realized that a lack of hype has no affect on a child’s voracious enjoyment of the sugar and calories in a piece of Rasberry Cheesecake with Whiped Cream and three cherries on top. None, none whatsoever. We laughed, he laughed & ate. We took pictures and he performed & ate. We were happy, he was happy too… & ate.

Well, some people know this story already, but to be inclusive I must tell it… I was in Arizona, doing a Sustainable Design program at the the Ecosa Institue. While there, one of the many inspired minds we were energized by, was that of John; It is his tale, which I like to think of as one of rags to—non-monitairy—riches.

Upon graduating Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University he went on to fly the biggest planes he had ever dreamed of flying. Felt somhow unsatisfied, quit, and kayaked across the country.

Now that is just so cool to me, and so ever since (Spring of 2003), I’ve been wanting to repeat the trip in some fashion. Thus began my logic… To kayak across the country, first one needs a boat. I don’t have a boat so I need to acquire one. If I’m going to get a boat, I want it to reflect my passion for sustainability and respect for indigenous wisdom. I should build a kayak. Now at this point I only knew what I wanted, but that’s it. I didn’t know what to call what I was looking for, where to look for what I was looking for or even what questions to ask, to figure out what I was looking for.

Now it was in this situation that I have often turned to Encyclopeidas or (at the reccomendation of my 8th grade Biology professor) Childrens’ books. They both offer often very general information, like a good appetizer, not satiating but a solid instillation of what good is to come.

The long and short of it, is that with desire it came to be that, 1 year later I began the building of my boat under the supervision of a Mr. Mark Rogers who, with the irreplaceable aid of his wife is Superior Kayaks. And now, ten months later, I am putting it in the water for the first time. Who knows what’s next.

For general info, it’s a West Greenland skin on frame kayak (qajaq) it’s made of White Pine with Oak ribs and canvas stretched over it—sealed with oil paint. It’s over 3x my lenth and the width of my hips plus a fist and a half. I’m working on a page dedicated to it, with more about the construction experience—I’m sure more pictures/stories are to come as well. As far as the name, I’m workin’ on that too. Any suggestions?

Strangely enough when my turkshead bracelet fell off last week, I had one of those “mom’s apple pie” moments. Having grown up in a house where, if my memory serves me, we were never without some sort of pet. Whether it was Iguanas, fish, hampsters, guinea pigs, rats, mice, parrots, cats, dogs, or even a pigeon; we were always packing some sort of food that we found strangely inedible. In fact, I don’t ever remember learning that there were seven dog years for every one human year( I’ve subsequently learned that’s not agreed fact; source 1 & 2, but rather something I just understood. I remember thinking about that, and wondering well, that’s kinda weird, because then it doesn’t snow for them every year, but rather as frequently as the locusts come for us! Wow and I thought my wait for christmas was long…

In the subsequent years I’ve often pondered the existance of other years. Are there glass years? Take the average life of a human over of a glass and voilà you have the number of glass years in human years. So by this logic things with a higher turnover tend to age really quickly. Grapes for instance last about two, three weeks at the most so to make it a nice round number, we’ll say they last .05 years:
75(?) hys / .005 gys = 15,000 or if you break it down, a grape lasting half a year is the equivalent of a person lasting to 100!

Food years tend to be high and are fun to figure out, other things are harder to figure out like computer paper, (you gotta be specific, because newspaper, or toilet paper are a whole different ballgame!) because some gets used right away—an unfortunate victim of bad ideas, or ill expressed concepts, quickly crumpled and tossed into the receptical with it’s felled comrads. Others may be used for a term paper giving them anywhere from a week to 50 years (whence they’re pulled from some dusty box, quickly overlooked for sentimental value and then recycled). Still others, may be fortunate enough to be used for some special letter, from the beginning of a relationship and sprayed with perfume. Every once in a while unfolded smelled, and read.

So last week when my turkshead bracelet of a year and two months fell off; in part as a result of general decay in part a result of my pulling it it for the smell of the decay, when suddenly occured to me, how old is it in bracelet years? and like the wofting olfactory sensation of mashed apples and cinnamon, memories took over my vision and made me feel warm fuzzies.

And it’s happed.. er.. going to happen.. I guess. My dad and companion tied his third, her second knot. Five, that seems like a good enough number.

They were engaged for some time, putting of the date to an elusive time where everyone would be in a place that was convienient and then while down in Kansas last month, all at once, decided to do it—her family reunion in Montana, later this month. So while that local was very agreeable to the half of the family that was reunioning there, it was not so much to the group of family (namely me Esther and Samuel) & friends located in and around Chicago.

The plan evolved into one of D&D leave on the 20th dirve to MT, get hitched, then drive to the cabin. We were encouraged to come for any and all of it, but with Esther wanting to focus on other desires, and me & Samuel not real keen on going to hang with the Ds in MT just because D&D were gonna kiss an slip on some rings. So I suggested they consider doing some ceremony here before or after MT/CO and Esther declaired that she wanted to leave Chicago before they leave Chicago so the task was set. In a modest two weeks or so, the D&D train was charged with concocting a ceremony for us. Said ceremony was this afternoon, at 4p, and it went off with one hitch — but the good kind (:

Or at least sometimes that how it feels I’m deciding. Deciding what you might ask

Perhaps there are several readers of these words, who are not aware of my probable plans (considering I know very infrequently myself, kudos if you were), but I am thinking of leaving Chicago. Headed to a land of the two largest US Rivers that empty into the Pacific; a place recieving so much rainfall that the Interstates are paved with gravel. It is referred to by some as the city of roses, known by many as the home of Powell’s bookstore (The biggest fuckin’ “independant” bookstore in the world). It’s name was decided by a flip of a coin; it’s a place where the largest dick in the city, belongs (appropriately) to the collective and is befittingly referred to by the name “the Big Pink”. Oh wait I’m not done, as it resides amongst the the most overcast of US cities, which are regionally the home to minds as depressed as Kurt Cobain’s and cabin fevered as those of Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, Jimi Hendrix & Modest Mouse to name a few. Yes, this place is none other than the northwest’s Portland, Oregon.

It is here that I find myself being drawn because of a particular program in, which I am eager to participate. Through the Portland Community College.

I am really excited for all of it. I’ve been thinking/talking about this for quite some time, but it is sad to think of leaving this city, which is so dear to me.