Love,
Kirsten Valentine
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Saturday, May 14, 2011
"Monks, everything is on fire"
The Decemberist Vespers at Trinity Cathedral tonight was a beautiful idea.
Holy one, you reveal yourself in the water of life that flows from a distant, unseen source; in the campfire that brings comfort in the dark; and in the first light, shining through the smoke, cutting through the void, bringing us the dawn. Your love burns so bright it consumes us completely. Help us to come out the the rain and welcome the light, and walk in it always.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Goal #3: With a litte help from my friends
`
Oh lord, guys, it's really happening. I'm going to Greece!
My dear and talented friend Sarah is creating genius with her bare hands at a writer's colony on a Greek island (I know, doesn't it just smack of romance?) and I will go and meet her when her time there is up. WHAT! I'm sorry, I have to shake my head a little after every sentence and realization that yes, this is indeed going to happen.
A vacation to Greece has been such a pipe dream of mine for so long - something I've done little more than ponder and picture when I can't fall asleep at night. But months ago Sarah announced she'd be going, and I declared I'd be coming too. Even then, it was unlikely - the same level of conviction with which my childhood friends and I declared when we grew up we'd all buy houses on the same street so our kids could play together. Yes, let's. What a beautiful dream.
But Sarah was really doing it - and me? What did I have to lose? Egg money burning a hole in my savings account, it was possible. And more probable now than it had ever been. And so, with much delay and anxiety (No, I have to concentrate on moving first. Oh, but I have to do my taxes before. I just won't feel right until my art supplies are organized and... Okay, okay, I'll do it now!) I bought a plane ticket. I nearly bit my credit card in half while pushing the PURCHASE NOW button, but dammit, there's no going back. Forward only!
So I've built my castles in the sky. Now I need to make foundations under them. Foundations made of sturdy backpacks, up-to-date immunizations, travel books and language CDs. And a million other things I haven't even thought of yet. I'm green. I'm new. I've never been off the continent. So...
Help me? Please? I don't really know what I'm doing.
You might. All you people out there, with your international backpacking language-speaking jet-setting experience. Any tips for a fresh-out-of-the-gate world traveler? I've got the loan of a backpack already I think will work nicely (thank you Sue and Natalie), but I have so far to go. Any of you know anything about Greece? Or possibly Italy or Istanbul? (Secondary destinations. The conversation went like this: "Any chance we'll be political prisoners?" "No, I don't think so." "Oh hold on, we can see whirling dervishes! And Turkish baths! Okay, let's go.") What should I pack? What shouldn't I pack? Do I need to buy more comfortable walking shoes? Do I need to learn how to say more than Thank you, What am I eating, and American Embassy in three separate languages? What's a hostel like? Teach me, world!
It's a place! It's a place I'm going to!
Oh lord, guys, it's really happening. I'm going to Greece!
My dear and talented friend Sarah is creating genius with her bare hands at a writer's colony on a Greek island (I know, doesn't it just smack of romance?) and I will go and meet her when her time there is up. WHAT! I'm sorry, I have to shake my head a little after every sentence and realization that yes, this is indeed going to happen.
A vacation to Greece has been such a pipe dream of mine for so long - something I've done little more than ponder and picture when I can't fall asleep at night. But months ago Sarah announced she'd be going, and I declared I'd be coming too. Even then, it was unlikely - the same level of conviction with which my childhood friends and I declared when we grew up we'd all buy houses on the same street so our kids could play together. Yes, let's. What a beautiful dream.
But Sarah was really doing it - and me? What did I have to lose? Egg money burning a hole in my savings account, it was possible. And more probable now than it had ever been. And so, with much delay and anxiety (No, I have to concentrate on moving first. Oh, but I have to do my taxes before. I just won't feel right until my art supplies are organized and... Okay, okay, I'll do it now!) I bought a plane ticket. I nearly bit my credit card in half while pushing the PURCHASE NOW button, but dammit, there's no going back. Forward only!
So I've built my castles in the sky. Now I need to make foundations under them. Foundations made of sturdy backpacks, up-to-date immunizations, travel books and language CDs. And a million other things I haven't even thought of yet. I'm green. I'm new. I've never been off the continent. So...
Help me? Please? I don't really know what I'm doing.
You might. All you people out there, with your international backpacking language-speaking jet-setting experience. Any tips for a fresh-out-of-the-gate world traveler? I've got the loan of a backpack already I think will work nicely (thank you Sue and Natalie), but I have so far to go. Any of you know anything about Greece? Or possibly Italy or Istanbul? (Secondary destinations. The conversation went like this: "Any chance we'll be political prisoners?" "No, I don't think so." "Oh hold on, we can see whirling dervishes! And Turkish baths! Okay, let's go.") What should I pack? What shouldn't I pack? Do I need to buy more comfortable walking shoes? Do I need to learn how to say more than Thank you, What am I eating, and American Embassy in three separate languages? What's a hostel like? Teach me, world!
Passport, tickets, money. Passport, tickets money. Those travel sickness pills mustn't be working. I still feel sick and I've taken four already. And I've only traveled up and down the stairs.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
"and hide the wish that we were where you are"
.
American Sonnet by Billy Collins
We do not speak like Petrarch or wear a hat like Spenser
and it is not fourteen lines
like furrows in a small, carefully plowed field
but the picture postcard, a poem on vacation,
that forces us to sing our songs in little rooms
or pour our sentiments into measuring cups.
We write on the back of a waterfall or lake,
adding to the view a caption as conventional
as an Elizabethan woman’s heliocentric eyes.
We locate an adjective for the weather.
We announce that we are having a wonderful time.
We express the wish that you were here
and hide the wish that we were where you are,
walking back from the mailbox, your head lowered
as you read and turn the thin message in your hands.
A slice of this place, a length of white beach,
a piazza or carved spires of a cathedral
will pierce the familiar place where you remain,
and you will toss on the table this reversible display:
a few square inches of where we have strayed
and a compression of what we feel.
Monday, March 28, 2011
I can hardly contain myself
What've you been up to?
I have a lot of loved ones in distant places; and though I am an entertaining communicant (if I do say so), I've never been consistent. At the end of long intervals of quiet, I find myself answering the above question, which tends to follow on the heels of Man, it's been too long!
Lately I've been answering this question with, "Oh, I'm packing." "Not much, still in the process of moving." etc. But I'm here to tell you: it's all lies.
Food, clothes and bedding have been in moved in for awhile. A place for everything, and everything in its place - I'm even at the level of detail where I'm buying an over-the-door-shoe-holder (which fits perfectly. Win!). So I'm hardly still schlepping back and forth waiting until I can actually inhabit this new place. I'm here. Habiting. It's good.
So... what have you really been up to, then?
Excellent question. I believe I would call it sorting. Winnowing. Editing. Spelunking through cavernous boxes, unearthing 27 years of historical artifacts. And putting them in a big pile to get rid of.
Horrors! My scrimp-and-save upbringing + my career in museums drooling over authentic artifacts + my love of stories = a fear of getting rid of ANYTHING lest it become that much more useful and beloved and necessary the moment you drive away from the Goodwill donation box (and you can't reach back into those big metal boxes - your arm would get stuck and people would stare). But. A few things have happened to me over the past couple of years to wean me from that cemented way of thinking.
Once upon a time... I moved to Arizona. It was temporary, and I knew that going into it. I also knew that I'd be in a place that itself would keep me busy, doing interesting work and sharing housing that felt like summer-camp. Thinking ahead, I packed light. Which for me means one very full carload. In four months, there were few things I'd left behind that I truly missed, and some things I brought with me (volleyball, knitting supplies) that I never even used. And I survived - nay, I thrived! So the idea of what I "need" to live shrunk three sizes that day.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch... Then I moved back. Back to Oregon, to Portland, back to the same house I grew up in, three blocks from the hospital in which I was born. There's a lot of history there. And though it's all meaningful to who and how I am today, these things and locations and mementos are also snapshots of how things used to be - and aren't always relevant to how I want my life to be now. More than anything else, I think, that grated on me for those many months living back at home. It's hard to live differently when everything around you is the same. The fact that I was home during Dad's second bout with cancer (tko, btw) made it completely necessary that things be different from the last time I lived at home. We were all ready to put this thing to bed and move on; maybe in a different direction, but most important is to move.
When suddenly... So I did. Move. Hooray! The sense of accomplishment I still feel about that is far out of proportion for the act itself. Finding a place to live is a normal, adult thing to do; and pretty low on Maslow's hierarchy to boot. It's not something I should have to crow about. Anyway, then came furnishing a house - which I hadn't had to do in quite a while (temporary, well-stocked SCA digs didn't need my housewares). So I began a process that basement spiders will remember forever as The Great Upheaval. Boxes of flatware, wine glasses, salad spinners and the like were moved out of my parents' basement - a place they'd been since arriving from Massachusetts and my own Great Upheaval. Standing in a new and empty kitchen, pulling items out of carefully-wrapped newsprint (thanks, Dad) and repeatedly muttering, "Huh. I didn't know I had that," made me wonder if I really needed to have it at all.
When I was packing all this up - a long time and many miles ago - it seemed important to keep these things. Holding onto the items that furnished my life was a kind of sea-wall between me and the vast unpredictable change I was facing. But relatively quickly I learned to love that change. It's never stopped being big and unpredictable, but I'm enjoying the ride. And in doing so, it's best to travel light.
So here I am, parting with what is long-overdue to be parted with. I'm still the conscientious eco-citizen with a 'mending is better than ending' mentality, so don't haul out the dumpsters yet. There's friends with similar interests to be gifted, donations to be made, books to be sold (hopefully). I'm hoping to get some photos of some of the noteworthy items up here, or get word of it out in the ether for those who want them - if y'all can forgive a Pollyanna kind of moment - I've found such joy in passing things along to people who I know will love and use the things I've been neglecting. It rivals the joy I get from finding a really good Free Box. We'll see which impulse wins out in the end (or if they come to a healthy understanding), but for now, Cinderella mice and I are sweeping out the corners, letting the light in. It's tough, and there are hurdles: saying goodbye to things that have been friends. But worth it.
From here on out, we travel light.
I have a lot of loved ones in distant places; and though I am an entertaining communicant (if I do say so), I've never been consistent. At the end of long intervals of quiet, I find myself answering the above question, which tends to follow on the heels of Man, it's been too long!
Lately I've been answering this question with, "Oh, I'm packing." "Not much, still in the process of moving." etc. But I'm here to tell you: it's all lies.
Food, clothes and bedding have been in moved in for awhile. A place for everything, and everything in its place - I'm even at the level of detail where I'm buying an over-the-door-shoe-holder (which fits perfectly. Win!). So I'm hardly still schlepping back and forth waiting until I can actually inhabit this new place. I'm here. Habiting. It's good.
So... what have you really been up to, then?
Excellent question. I believe I would call it sorting. Winnowing. Editing. Spelunking through cavernous boxes, unearthing 27 years of historical artifacts. And putting them in a big pile to get rid of.
Horrors! My scrimp-and-save upbringing + my career in museums drooling over authentic artifacts + my love of stories = a fear of getting rid of ANYTHING lest it become that much more useful and beloved and necessary the moment you drive away from the Goodwill donation box (and you can't reach back into those big metal boxes - your arm would get stuck and people would stare). But. A few things have happened to me over the past couple of years to wean me from that cemented way of thinking.
Once upon a time... I moved to Arizona. It was temporary, and I knew that going into it. I also knew that I'd be in a place that itself would keep me busy, doing interesting work and sharing housing that felt like summer-camp. Thinking ahead, I packed light. Which for me means one very full carload. In four months, there were few things I'd left behind that I truly missed, and some things I brought with me (volleyball, knitting supplies) that I never even used. And I survived - nay, I thrived! So the idea of what I "need" to live shrunk three sizes that day.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch... Then I moved back. Back to Oregon, to Portland, back to the same house I grew up in, three blocks from the hospital in which I was born. There's a lot of history there. And though it's all meaningful to who and how I am today, these things and locations and mementos are also snapshots of how things used to be - and aren't always relevant to how I want my life to be now. More than anything else, I think, that grated on me for those many months living back at home. It's hard to live differently when everything around you is the same. The fact that I was home during Dad's second bout with cancer (tko, btw) made it completely necessary that things be different from the last time I lived at home. We were all ready to put this thing to bed and move on; maybe in a different direction, but most important is to move.
When suddenly... So I did. Move. Hooray! The sense of accomplishment I still feel about that is far out of proportion for the act itself. Finding a place to live is a normal, adult thing to do; and pretty low on Maslow's hierarchy to boot. It's not something I should have to crow about. Anyway, then came furnishing a house - which I hadn't had to do in quite a while (temporary, well-stocked SCA digs didn't need my housewares). So I began a process that basement spiders will remember forever as The Great Upheaval. Boxes of flatware, wine glasses, salad spinners and the like were moved out of my parents' basement - a place they'd been since arriving from Massachusetts and my own Great Upheaval. Standing in a new and empty kitchen, pulling items out of carefully-wrapped newsprint (thanks, Dad) and repeatedly muttering, "Huh. I didn't know I had that," made me wonder if I really needed to have it at all.
When I was packing all this up - a long time and many miles ago - it seemed important to keep these things. Holding onto the items that furnished my life was a kind of sea-wall between me and the vast unpredictable change I was facing. But relatively quickly I learned to love that change. It's never stopped being big and unpredictable, but I'm enjoying the ride. And in doing so, it's best to travel light.
So here I am, parting with what is long-overdue to be parted with. I'm still the conscientious eco-citizen with a 'mending is better than ending' mentality, so don't haul out the dumpsters yet. There's friends with similar interests to be gifted, donations to be made, books to be sold (hopefully). I'm hoping to get some photos of some of the noteworthy items up here, or get word of it out in the ether for those who want them - if y'all can forgive a Pollyanna kind of moment - I've found such joy in passing things along to people who I know will love and use the things I've been neglecting. It rivals the joy I get from finding a really good Free Box. We'll see which impulse wins out in the end (or if they come to a healthy understanding), but for now, Cinderella mice and I are sweeping out the corners, letting the light in. It's tough, and there are hurdles: saying goodbye to things that have been friends. But worth it.
From here on out, we travel light.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Goal #1: Home
Close on the heels of the last post, I believe I have a solution to Goal #1. And don't you dare accuse me of only reporting my hypothesis once I have a satisfactory result. Because I've already accused and forgiven myself, so there.
But the important part. Guys, I have a place to live!
After many a month Craigstlist emailing (getting duly spammed in return), driving to possibilities that were really too far away to be feasible, procrastinating, making excuses and procrastinating some more. After making lists and reading through checklist-filled books of Oregon Landlord and Tenant Law. After crying to the powers that be, "Why can't I just find a cozy carriage house somewhere? Some earthen hobbit-home? Is there nowhere in all of Portlandom that has a tree fort for rent? And what is that Welcome sign doing in those Pullman train cars over by OMSI?"
But patience and luck (and a number of reality checks) prevailed. Ta-Da!
Isn't it pretty? It's the upstairs half of this duplex, shared with a couple peeps. One of those windows way up there will be mine, probably by the middle of the month. Oh boy. It's insulated, gots new windows, and a programmable thermostat. The solar-powered lizard that regulates my body temperature purrs at the thought. It's a short bike ride, or even a walk(!) from OMSI. As well as some pubs (at least one of which has regular trivia, and another that has a fire pit and free jukebox), the Hawthorne food cart pod, Burgerville, a liquor store, oh man, this'll be awesome. Please come visit. I need to navigate my way to the closest public library, cheap gas, and WinCo, and then I will be Totally Set.
'S really all I need in life.
Now on, on to the more measurable to-do lists! The Tetris-brain of packing! The many milk crates slowly transformed from transportation to furniture! The LONG overdue and emotionally fraught process of Getting Rid Of. But I think I'm ready. I got nothin' but time, and the motivation to build a life I want to live in for awhile. Surround myself with the useful and beautiful, and pass along the rest of the Things (vivid sense memories and all) to someone who could get use out of them. I have this plan to force myself to cohabit with all my Things - whatever I'm left with after giving some away. Through that process, I figure I'll be better able to determine what I really and truly need. My hunch is "very little."
By happy coincidence, I just recently finished The Amber Spyglass on CD, and have been saving the last HP for just such a hands-busy, mind-occupied occasion. Purr, purr.
EDIT: It's done. We did it. We have it now.
Tonight my roommates and housing manager watched skeptically as every doorknob was jiggled and every switch got flicked. All the windows opened and securely re-latched. Shower turned on and toilet flushed - at the same time! Armed with tape measure, digital camera and WD-40, Butchie here put on her no-nonsense face, amended some legalese and when she finally walked out that door, silver keys jangling in her back pocket, she was reasonably assured of the stability and security of her cozy new nest. Boom.
But the important part. Guys, I have a place to live!
After many a month Craigstlist emailing (getting duly spammed in return), driving to possibilities that were really too far away to be feasible, procrastinating, making excuses and procrastinating some more. After making lists and reading through checklist-filled books of Oregon Landlord and Tenant Law. After crying to the powers that be, "Why can't I just find a cozy carriage house somewhere? Some earthen hobbit-home? Is there nowhere in all of Portlandom that has a tree fort for rent? And what is that Welcome sign doing in those Pullman train cars over by OMSI?"
 | |
| Really, is this too much to ask? |
But patience and luck (and a number of reality checks) prevailed. Ta-Da!
 |
| Mine! |
'S really all I need in life.
Now on, on to the more measurable to-do lists! The Tetris-brain of packing! The many milk crates slowly transformed from transportation to furniture! The LONG overdue and emotionally fraught process of Getting Rid Of. But I think I'm ready. I got nothin' but time, and the motivation to build a life I want to live in for awhile. Surround myself with the useful and beautiful, and pass along the rest of the Things (vivid sense memories and all) to someone who could get use out of them. I have this plan to force myself to cohabit with all my Things - whatever I'm left with after giving some away. Through that process, I figure I'll be better able to determine what I really and truly need. My hunch is "very little."
By happy coincidence, I just recently finished The Amber Spyglass on CD, and have been saving the last HP for just such a hands-busy, mind-occupied occasion. Purr, purr.
 | ||
Tonight my roommates and housing manager watched skeptically as every doorknob was jiggled and every switch got flicked. All the windows opened and securely re-latched. Shower turned on and toilet flushed - at the same time! Armed with tape measure, digital camera and WD-40, Butchie here put on her no-nonsense face, amended some legalese and when she finally walked out that door, silver keys jangling in her back pocket, she was reasonably assured of the stability and security of her cozy new nest. Boom.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Let's Go.
At first I thought, "Let's ease back into this. Like into a really hot jacuzzi (invented by the Greeks, as Shirley informs us, but let's not give too much away just yet...) or taking a small bite of the soup you know you put too much cayenne in, but you're going to eat it all anyway."
Then I thought, "Nah. Punch it."
So here's the short version:
January
New Year's drunk and dancing with the family. Dreams of punching a rhino in the face. Restarting ropes and silks class having lost untold muscle strength. House-sitting in leopard-print, pool-tabled, sunken-tub Mid-Century Modern finery. (Only locking myself out once.) Birthday brunch for a woman I deeply admire. Opening a new exhibit - Lost Egypt: Ancient Secrets, Modern Science - media, fancy-pants Gala, mummies needing security. Only slightly losing my mind.
February
Lots more OMSI. Nessun Dorma live! Keeping the flu at bay. Giving up three dozen eggs, having a very cute (though skeptical) ride home. First time snowboarding. White girl facilitating semi-awkward diversity training. Suddenly moonlighting for the Grants department? OMSI Educator Death Match.
March
Who can tell?
Now and now and now
Here's what I did want to tell you. I've had these goals, you see. Since mid-January, sure, but they aren't resolutions. I'm not going to call out parts of myself to say 'Stop' to. At the least, I won't do that here. Instead, I've got these things I want in my life. And I'm going to get them.
1. Get a place of my own to live in.
2. Hike in the Grand Canyon.
3. Go to Greece.
Oh yes, it will be done. This year, because why wait?
Then I thought, "Nah. Punch it."
So here's the short version:
January
New Year's drunk and dancing with the family. Dreams of punching a rhino in the face. Restarting ropes and silks class having lost untold muscle strength. House-sitting in leopard-print, pool-tabled, sunken-tub Mid-Century Modern finery. (Only locking myself out once.) Birthday brunch for a woman I deeply admire. Opening a new exhibit - Lost Egypt: Ancient Secrets, Modern Science - media, fancy-pants Gala, mummies needing security. Only slightly losing my mind.
February
Lots more OMSI. Nessun Dorma live! Keeping the flu at bay. Giving up three dozen eggs, having a very cute (though skeptical) ride home. First time snowboarding. White girl facilitating semi-awkward diversity training. Suddenly moonlighting for the Grants department? OMSI Educator Death Match.
March
Who can tell?
Now and now and now
Here's what I did want to tell you. I've had these goals, you see. Since mid-January, sure, but they aren't resolutions. I'm not going to call out parts of myself to say 'Stop' to. At the least, I won't do that here. Instead, I've got these things I want in my life. And I'm going to get them.
1. Get a place of my own to live in.
2. Hike in the Grand Canyon.
3. Go to Greece.
Oh yes, it will be done. This year, because why wait?
Another world, another day, another dawn. The early morning's thinnest sliver of light appeared silently. Several billion trillion tons of superhot exploding hydrogen nuclei rose slowly above the horizon and managed to look small, cold and slightly damp. There is a moment in every dawn when light floats, there is the possibility of magic. Creation holds its breath. - Douglas Adams: Life, the Universe and Everything.
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