I spoke of the gods in my last blog and their conquests of falling into one another. My life has fallen into similar crossroads. Is it just chance that this all doesn't smash together leaving behind ecdysis of ego, or are we destined to live these lives in perpetual rotation around the epicenters where Adam and Eve could have set up shop.
It is beautiful, it is outrageous in it's beauty. I grew up bragging about my proximity to nature in Portland, Oregon. Juneau, Alaska brags about natures proximity to humans. Looking up into the 3,500 foot peaks in my backyard I worry that a tremendous fart wouldn't expel bears, goats, porcupines, eagles, or hoary marmots(hmph!), causing them all to tumble down to my doorstep. It all brings a great turbulence in my life though, I don't know what to blog about. It is all too great and minute for words.
I can tell you this, we live in a rainforest. We arrived descending between snow capped mountains. What was once the baron peaks of our icy decent is now emerald mountains vomiting biomass onto our doorstep. I never thought I could draw a parallel between Cozumel and Juneau but there is one; If man evacuated, nature would erase our fingerprint from the land. Stephanie witnessed seven bald eagles in a salmon feeding frenzy, neighbors report bears and porcupines in our backyard. I still have only seen the largest bumble bees ever.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
We left, to the right?
In December we departed Portland in the absence of the mighty W's. Who, What, Where, Why, and When? We carried with ourselves partial truths to those questions and what we thought was concrete turned to sand by the tides of Cozumel. As if we were Artemis we chose a new path changing the currents of our lives and moved to Juneau. In the first three days of being here it is difficult to decipher the chaos in the wake of our travels.
Standing on the shores of our southern home one has the sense that Neptune might take that flat slab of limestone we call Cozumel and drown it, letting the people and iguanas swim back to the Yucatan peninsula. Standing on the banks of Juneau, though not truly on the opposite side of the planet, might as well be a completely new planet. Here the mountains cloister us in, we can only hope they are not slumbering giants with fitful dreams causing them to toss and turn burying this gold rush cliche forever.
Honestly it is beautiful, gorgeous, the buildings ruin it. I wish I could get in a time machine and see it unspoiled. It makes all the difference in our lives, our job forces us to live in beauty. We earn money where others empty their pockets to visit for a small sliver of their lives. The shame of it all is our psyches ability to make azure seas and glacial peaks into the everyday doldrums.
We are lucky in that like Apollo we can view our lives from a distance and squash the minutia, living with the giants our gods gave us to play with.
More will come on this blog about our fits and glees, this is all I have for now.
No bears... Yet
Standing on the shores of our southern home one has the sense that Neptune might take that flat slab of limestone we call Cozumel and drown it, letting the people and iguanas swim back to the Yucatan peninsula. Standing on the banks of Juneau, though not truly on the opposite side of the planet, might as well be a completely new planet. Here the mountains cloister us in, we can only hope they are not slumbering giants with fitful dreams causing them to toss and turn burying this gold rush cliche forever.
Honestly it is beautiful, gorgeous, the buildings ruin it. I wish I could get in a time machine and see it unspoiled. It makes all the difference in our lives, our job forces us to live in beauty. We earn money where others empty their pockets to visit for a small sliver of their lives. The shame of it all is our psyches ability to make azure seas and glacial peaks into the everyday doldrums.
We are lucky in that like Apollo we can view our lives from a distance and squash the minutia, living with the giants our gods gave us to play with.
More will come on this blog about our fits and glees, this is all I have for now.
No bears... Yet
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Heaven?
We have been frequenting the same beach on our days off, it is a beautiful beach but it has garnered associations of gastroenteritis as it was where Steph ingested the crippling contaminant. A new beach was needed and the name "El Cielo" had been drifting in out of our peripherals. With the translation being "heaven" how could we not go. Promised were deserted beaches, bay protected snorkeling, and a carpet of starfish so thick only to emulate the heavens themselves. Conventional methods of getting to El Cielo is aboard a boat, and we actually have plenty of access to boats with the friends we keep, but they still can be expensive with the gas prices down here and the tendency for boats to be gas hogs. My friend Jasibe and her boyfriend Miguel told us they had a way to achieve our goals of ascension without the use of boat, we would simply take the pilgrimage on foot. They warned us that 45 minute trek was to be book-ending our time in heaven, this didn't bother me in the least, everyone knows sacrifice is one of the keys to unlocking the pearly gates. I in fact took it as a good sign, our favorite beach in Oregon requires about the same atonement of time additionally traveling the hundreds of feet of vertical switchbacks. Cozumel being a flat island I expected the worst of it being hot, sticky and maybe a little boring.
We gathered ourselves and made the necessary pit stops along the way, gas, snorkel gear, bathroom breaks, microwave pizza, beers and other normal necessities associated with a small adventure for a group of twenty year olds. Our wagon train consisted of Jasibe, Miguel, Jasibe's sister, Simone, Nathalie, Simone's daughter, and the two of us. I was surprised to find ourselves pulling into a day resort parking lot, for some reason I was expecting us to park the cars on the side of a dirt road with very little clearance for other cars and hiking in through a rarely used but manageable trail that navigated its way through mangrove forests and open marsh land. Instead we were trespassing through the resort, thanks for the parking, and tromping down the beach. Jasibe had us take note of a point of mangroves extending into the ocean and told us heaven awaited on the other side. I could picture it we would wrap around the point and a secluded bay would be waiting for us. The distance looked manageable, it was the variety of hiking where Point A is in view of Point B and Brain tries to tell itself that the distance is too great, and tries to tell Body all of the downfalls of the distance, "You are going to be walking in sand you know." But experience has taught Body to just start trudging, and before any parts can complain to the next of the folly of their ways your Body is standing on Point B and Brain staring back at point A feeling stupid.
The sun was out and our jolly party of conch shell marauders started our journey. We came to the beach on a magical day it was hotter and more humid than what we were accustomed to, the sea was churning heavier than usual and we were most blessed by putrid seaweed the ocean had been vomiting onto our slim hiking path for the last couple of days. In some areas our sandy bath was interrupted by hundreds of feet of thick rotting sea vegetation with the accompanying smell one only finds with death. Every footfall was akin to the stench misting us as if we were stepping on the pumps of the most vile antique perfume bottles. Yet we continued because as Body predicted we were at Point B in no time, and there was no more decaying sea mass underfoot, in fact there was no more beach at all, we were standing at the tip of a great mangrove forest that had thrust a great finger of tangled of biomass into the sea.
I was starting to see that look on Steph's face, it's a look that tells me that she is being a trooper but the current situation should be changing as soon as possible. We changed the situation as soon as possible, we began bushwhacking our way through the mangroves in hope that Heaven would recognize the penance we placed upon ourselves and be open to us soon. As most bushwhacking goes we wandered in circles got tired and gave up. We couldn't go around the the tip of the finger either because of the rough seas, we couldn't see what is usually the white sand bottom through azure waters. We didn't want to step on broken conch shells, lion fish, or crocodiles. I've heard that there are crocodiles on Cozumel but I figure there are Crocodiles here like there are wolves in Oregon, I am not really worried about getting eaten by one, plus how big could they get in this dense forest.
We made do with sitting in a spot not quite vegetable rot and only a few feet from where as I exited from the forest hundreds of tiny beetles decided I made for a good transport vessel.
Steph was beyond reconciliation so we bided our time as the crew ate and we attempted to snorkel in swirling currents of flotsam seaweed muck. I gave up early grabbed our gear and we deserted our friends. I really wanted to take pictures of the horror of it all but I had a feeling my placing all the repugnance that was around us on a higher pedestal than Steph would have only ended up with my camera going for a swim. I had to play the mean husband and just start walking at a clip a little faster than Steph's. The key to our emotional survival was to not dwell on what was underfoot and focus on the checkered flag at the finish line. In no time I had Steph sitting in a chair drinking a beer back at the resort we had used for parking. Here I began to understand the true torture Stephanie was going through. One of her most hated things back home is walking barefoot on wet grass, that translation hadn't made it through my nerve endings but Steph's feet had made the translation perfectly and converted it into a few other languages as well as speaking in tongues. It was all over though and the rattled gang met up with us a little later as gathered ourselves in the parking lot next to a swamp mourning our disappointment over rejection from heaven. And hey look, some crocodiles, big crocodiles.
We gathered ourselves and made the necessary pit stops along the way, gas, snorkel gear, bathroom breaks, microwave pizza, beers and other normal necessities associated with a small adventure for a group of twenty year olds. Our wagon train consisted of Jasibe, Miguel, Jasibe's sister, Simone, Nathalie, Simone's daughter, and the two of us. I was surprised to find ourselves pulling into a day resort parking lot, for some reason I was expecting us to park the cars on the side of a dirt road with very little clearance for other cars and hiking in through a rarely used but manageable trail that navigated its way through mangrove forests and open marsh land. Instead we were trespassing through the resort, thanks for the parking, and tromping down the beach. Jasibe had us take note of a point of mangroves extending into the ocean and told us heaven awaited on the other side. I could picture it we would wrap around the point and a secluded bay would be waiting for us. The distance looked manageable, it was the variety of hiking where Point A is in view of Point B and Brain tries to tell itself that the distance is too great, and tries to tell Body all of the downfalls of the distance, "You are going to be walking in sand you know." But experience has taught Body to just start trudging, and before any parts can complain to the next of the folly of their ways your Body is standing on Point B and Brain staring back at point A feeling stupid.
The sun was out and our jolly party of conch shell marauders started our journey. We came to the beach on a magical day it was hotter and more humid than what we were accustomed to, the sea was churning heavier than usual and we were most blessed by putrid seaweed the ocean had been vomiting onto our slim hiking path for the last couple of days. In some areas our sandy bath was interrupted by hundreds of feet of thick rotting sea vegetation with the accompanying smell one only finds with death. Every footfall was akin to the stench misting us as if we were stepping on the pumps of the most vile antique perfume bottles. Yet we continued because as Body predicted we were at Point B in no time, and there was no more decaying sea mass underfoot, in fact there was no more beach at all, we were standing at the tip of a great mangrove forest that had thrust a great finger of tangled of biomass into the sea.
I was starting to see that look on Steph's face, it's a look that tells me that she is being a trooper but the current situation should be changing as soon as possible. We changed the situation as soon as possible, we began bushwhacking our way through the mangroves in hope that Heaven would recognize the penance we placed upon ourselves and be open to us soon. As most bushwhacking goes we wandered in circles got tired and gave up. We couldn't go around the the tip of the finger either because of the rough seas, we couldn't see what is usually the white sand bottom through azure waters. We didn't want to step on broken conch shells, lion fish, or crocodiles. I've heard that there are crocodiles on Cozumel but I figure there are Crocodiles here like there are wolves in Oregon, I am not really worried about getting eaten by one, plus how big could they get in this dense forest.
We made do with sitting in a spot not quite vegetable rot and only a few feet from where as I exited from the forest hundreds of tiny beetles decided I made for a good transport vessel.
Steph was beyond reconciliation so we bided our time as the crew ate and we attempted to snorkel in swirling currents of flotsam seaweed muck. I gave up early grabbed our gear and we deserted our friends. I really wanted to take pictures of the horror of it all but I had a feeling my placing all the repugnance that was around us on a higher pedestal than Steph would have only ended up with my camera going for a swim. I had to play the mean husband and just start walking at a clip a little faster than Steph's. The key to our emotional survival was to not dwell on what was underfoot and focus on the checkered flag at the finish line. In no time I had Steph sitting in a chair drinking a beer back at the resort we had used for parking. Here I began to understand the true torture Stephanie was going through. One of her most hated things back home is walking barefoot on wet grass, that translation hadn't made it through my nerve endings but Steph's feet had made the translation perfectly and converted it into a few other languages as well as speaking in tongues. It was all over though and the rattled gang met up with us a little later as gathered ourselves in the parking lot next to a swamp mourning our disappointment over rejection from heaven. And hey look, some crocodiles, big crocodiles.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Maybe just a weather god.
A simple, beautiful weekend at the beach, with Moises, turned into hell for Steph. It was our usual day at the beach, Moises picked us up we got our usual of beers, chicken, salsa, and tortillas. We relaxed, swam and saw what amazing sights we could find. An infection decided to wreak havoc on Steph's stomach with the full evacuation of her bowels from whichever orifice seemed fit at 2 AM through 8 am.The doctors visit the next day confirmed she had gastroenteritis. She came through it like a champ, a crippled, severally dehydrated, feverish, exhausted dry heaving champion. We aren't completely sure what she ingested that Moises and I didn't, it might have been simply her immune system was too crippled from her cold she had from the previous week.
At 5 in the morning I was trying to take care of my wife who was curled up in the fetal position dry heaving bile onto the floor but I couldn't help notice the alien light falling against our living room wall through the window. The restaurant across the street was on fire and I had to be at work in fifteen minutes I, of course, still managed to get pictures. Of the fire not Steph.
At 5 in the morning I was trying to take care of my wife who was curled up in the fetal position dry heaving bile onto the floor but I couldn't help notice the alien light falling against our living room wall through the window. The restaurant across the street was on fire and I had to be at work in fifteen minutes I, of course, still managed to get pictures. Of the fire not Steph.
Vacation?
With all of the chaos of work I decided to make the commitment and spend a little cash so we could have a day of sloth. We work with tourists so our own time is usually spent avoiding the same market to the fullest extent possible. The draw of all you can eat buffets, unlimited beachside drinks and full use of non motorized beach sports equipment had cast it's siren song over us. The morning was beautiful, we ran a few errands and were giddy to spend the rest of the day lounging, swimming and being pampered at an all-inclusive resort on a day pass. We got settled on our beach chairs with margarita in hand and we watched our first thunderstorm roll through since we arrived here. I
guess all of my complaining about the weak storms here finally caught up with me. Honestly it barely rained on us but we didn't put on any sunscreen and we had no hints of having a darker complexion. Luckily we know how to make the best of our situation regardless of the external circumstances. We went kayaking down the deserted coastline of Cozumel, swimming in the Caribbean currents, and watching the local fishermen ignore their chances of reeling in the big one in hopes of catching another glimpse of Steph paddling around without her top on. Working up an appetite I ate one of the largest plates of ceviche I could muster, a hamburger, french fries, nachos, and whatever else could take up real estate on my numerous rotating plates. Every time we found ourselves in a rain shower we speculated on how much fell and tried to drink the likes in margaritas.
During this all we realized we had a lucky charm for our days off, our friend Moises. When we head out with Moises the weather is always amazing, when we are on our own it is a game of craps with loaded dice. When we finally move back to Portland I will have to devise a way for him to live with us January through June.
guess all of my complaining about the weak storms here finally caught up with me. Honestly it barely rained on us but we didn't put on any sunscreen and we had no hints of having a darker complexion. Luckily we know how to make the best of our situation regardless of the external circumstances. We went kayaking down the deserted coastline of Cozumel, swimming in the Caribbean currents, and watching the local fishermen ignore their chances of reeling in the big one in hopes of catching another glimpse of Steph paddling around without her top on. Working up an appetite I ate one of the largest plates of ceviche I could muster, a hamburger, french fries, nachos, and whatever else could take up real estate on my numerous rotating plates. Every time we found ourselves in a rain shower we speculated on how much fell and tried to drink the likes in margaritas.
During this all we realized we had a lucky charm for our days off, our friend Moises. When we head out with Moises the weather is always amazing, when we are on our own it is a game of craps with loaded dice. When we finally move back to Portland I will have to devise a way for him to live with us January through June.
It is too bright anyways.
4 AM came in the same way that one realizes a limb has fallen completely asleep, it all just stopped working. Our ceiling fan slowed, the IPad turned on to say it was done charging, and a blanket of quiet smothered us like a fresh snow storm. The previous day on my walk to work I actually was pondering how I and my work would respond to a complete black out at the time when I should be shaving my face for my incoming clients. I texted my manger that I was going to be late because the possibilities of showering and shaving in the pitch black and being on time were negligible. The genius of it all was that Steph and I were finally on the same schedule, so I sacrificed what hot water we had left to Steph and showed up to work a half an hour late. What transpired upon arrival is why I have reservations of going to Alaska; I sat on the curb and hung out with my coworkers for an hour and a half while management tried to figure out what to do with us while no form of security existed on the interior of the building. And I absolutely love my coworkers, Steph loves hers too. I don't think we will ever meet a greater group of people in such a stressed out crazy environment, and they will not be coming with us North. As for the power, the entire island had no current because of a construction project severing a line and power was restored by seven AM. The entire incident was forgotten two days later, except we still mention the stars which made their appearance in this unnaturally bright tiny town.
The confused blogger
I have found myself in an interesting crossroads based upon the most benal sentence in my last blog but also the most important on how we live our lives, comfort. What do we see, and how do we see it. How does it shape our comfort zone.
I am becoming bipolar in regards to this blog, or how I reflect upon my life. When you have your toes wrapped around the cleft of a chasm do you scream in terror or do you melt and let the pure beauty of your situation overtake you. I have always been of the latter attitude, sit down and watch it all go by. Surprisingly Steph has unwittingly, unknowingly sat down next to me and let her toes dip into the chaotic white water that comes with the currents of our lives.
I am having a difficult time writing this blog, I have so many audiences I want to write for, or that is what I tell myself. Do I write for my parents, do I write for Steph's parents, or is my audience my friends? The real problem arises in the fact that I am more than one character on a stage. And each character comes out in a different way to take hold of my narrative. This is going to be a long post and highly disjointed, please read through as if it is a series of short stories by a plethora of authors.
Okay I am no longer a narrative blogger I am the author of non fiction short stories. Or something.
I am becoming bipolar in regards to this blog, or how I reflect upon my life. When you have your toes wrapped around the cleft of a chasm do you scream in terror or do you melt and let the pure beauty of your situation overtake you. I have always been of the latter attitude, sit down and watch it all go by. Surprisingly Steph has unwittingly, unknowingly sat down next to me and let her toes dip into the chaotic white water that comes with the currents of our lives.
I am having a difficult time writing this blog, I have so many audiences I want to write for, or that is what I tell myself. Do I write for my parents, do I write for Steph's parents, or is my audience my friends? The real problem arises in the fact that I am more than one character on a stage. And each character comes out in a different way to take hold of my narrative. This is going to be a long post and highly disjointed, please read through as if it is a series of short stories by a plethora of authors.
Okay I am no longer a narrative blogger I am the author of non fiction short stories. Or something.
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