:110528: I escaped, for a few weeks. I didn't go very far, but everything is different there. It is physically, emotionally, and intellectually demanding, but my soul is at peace.

This time more than any other, I experienced pleasant week after pleasant week, with my peers consistently giving me and each other exactly what was needed at precisely the correct time.

And I laughed. Harder and longer than I have in a while. Every day.

I am exhausted; I am rejuvenated.

:110311: Even if I'm a good swimmer, my captors still make me follow all boat safety protocols.

I spent nine months teaching (among other things) a Lake Study class to students from the Chicago area. Part of the class involved taking the students out on this pontoon boat, tooling around the lake for a bit, and doing some water quality tests through the trap door in the boat's floor.

Some students resisted the need for a personal flotation device, citing the hundreds of times they'd gone boating with their families when they weren't forced to wear one. My favorite incident featured the opposite reaction.

These boats were a bit finicky, and on this particular day, there was a crystal clear blue sky. The sun was shining, but it wasn't hot; it was a warm pleasant temperature. It seemed as though everyone in the area were out on the lake with their boats. I started up the pontoon boat with no problems, and handed off a radio to one of the employees scheduled to be on the dock that day, in case of emergencies.

As we pulled away from the dock a bit, I watched as the guy with my radio walked into the boat house and left the radio inside. He hadn't understood that I wanted him to carry it with him until we got back 45 minutes later. Oh well, we were out of earshot now.

In the middle of the lake, I cut the engine and we did our water tests. When I went to start the engine back up again, it wouldn't start. No problem, we had been trained for this. I tried everything. One of the parts of the engine that's supposed to, you know, move just wouldn't budge. It was completely stuck. I had no tools. 

But, here's the thing: worst case scenario is we sit on a boat in the middle of a huge gorgeous lake with a pleasantly warm sun beating down on us, and in an hour or so someone will realize we haven't come back yet and come get us. That was the absolute worst possible thing that could happen to us at that moment.

And yet, the students took this opportunity to freak out. They screamed at the top of their lungs repeatedly, "We're gonna die!" There was nothing I could do to console them. They insisted on screaming and waving their arms frantically at every boat that came marginally near us, hoping to be rescued from their predicament of having been stuck on a boat for 15 minutes. Finally, another boat came close enough to hear and towed us to shore.

I was really looking forward to my mini-vacation in the middle of the lake. Sadly, we made it back to the dock before anyone had noticed we were late. I hope those students were happy that they made it to their next class on time with no legitimate excuse to be late for it...

:110310: Appreciating the little things in life makes captivity bearable.

10 Simple Pleasures

1) small bits of things, waiting to become a crafty treasure
2) sorting lots of little somethings by color
3) glass jars with metal screw on lids, and the sound of the rotation
4) a room lit only with daylight coming through the window
5) the smell of unstained, unfinished wood
6) the wholesome color and texture of undyed linen
7) the sound of tiny buttons tinkling against each other
8) a single, leftover thread from a button's former life
9) dozens of distinct shades of white
10) all the purposeful details of my mother's craft room

:110305: My captors asked for a photograph taken with actual film. I dug deep into the archives for this one, taken with a 35mm film point and shoot, and a broken one at that.

I didn't know it when I took this shot, or the rest of that roll, that there was something wrong with the camera. I think there was a slowly increasing light leak somewhere. This was one of the first shots on the roll, and subsequent shots included ever-increasing strangely over-exposed shapes on the final prints.

This one escaped with only a mildly hazy over-exposed feel to it. I like it because it gives the shot a dream-like quality (matching my memory of the place) that I probably couldn't have done on purpose if I tried. This is a completely un-edited shot, and you can see dust specks from when it was scanned who knows how long ago, and a scratch on the print.

I spent 9 summers on this lake, and this image certainly brings back memories. I can hear in my mind the sounds of paddles gently tapping and scraping the sides of those plastic kayaks as kids tooled around in them exploring the lake. I can remember where every large rock is in that swimming area, and exactly where the deepest and shallowest parts are. I can smell those Ponderosa Pines, and I can feel the texture of the "grass" (not really grass, but it served the same purpose) in the meadow on my fingertips. The flavor of the juice we always requested whenever we cooked meals over an open fire is unlike any other, and the image of the stars we would gaze at as we fell asleep each night, framed by the starburst-shaped clusters of pine needles sticks with me to this very day.

I could go on, nearly indefinitely, but these are my memories, and probably not as interesting to you as your own. Leave a comment and tell me about a time in your past when you can remember with all five of your senses, with your whole being, every detail of an experience. What was your favorite part (if you can choose)? Which tiny detail had you forgotten about completely, but through the process of remembering the whole picture, came back to you as clearly as though you were there yesterday?

:110302: My captors wanted me to choose a favorite tree. I love trees. All of them. It took me many years to decide on a favorite tree, and even still I find myself questioning my resolve. I frequently become re-enamored with Douglas-firs, and what's not to love about a nice, stately Coast Redwood...

And yet, when I get close enough to a Madrone to touch it, I remember that the Arbutus menziesii is my power tree. Something about that cool, smooth green bark, with the papery russet-colored peelings reminds me that I love this planet which can spawn such beautiful things.

I was, at first, attracted by the peeling bark. It's difficult not to grab one of those curls and just give it a tug, or to rub one's hand over a stretch of bark and remove all of the loose bits.

This nearly irresistible temptation is part of the power of the tree. Anyone can peel the bark off. Not peeling the bark off allows for a whole new understanding. I can stand near a Madrone, crunch the formerly waxy fallen leaves beneath my feet, lean in close to smell the woody trunk, and find a green peely-bark-free spot to rest my palm. The longer I remain in silence, without disturbing a single irresistible curl of bark, the more the tree becomes my fortress of solitude: a source of power and knowledge, a beacon to draw me away from the hum-drum life of everyday humans, an emblem of all I have yet to learn.

:110223: When I was a young captive, I thought this would be the best job: cleaning the insides of the giant tanks at an aquarium, and holding yourself in place with a little suction-cup handle. I'm not sure what about it appealed to me so much...

For a while there, I wanted to be a marine biologist. Maybe it had something to do with that, although cleaning tanks is only obliquely related to marine biology. Maybe it was the free-floating aspect of it - the little suction-cup handle made it clear that without it, you'd have no leverage for cleaning the window and you'd float away. Maybe it was the appeal of being inside a photograph - the exotic colored fish in the impossibly green water wasn't real on this side of the glass, it was more like watching a movie. But on the other side of the glass, you were really there.

I can tell you now what doesn't appeal to me about that job. I don't really like the idea of not being completely surrounded by breathable air (which is why I'll never be an astronaut). I don't really like to have lots of people looking at me; performance gives me hives. I know I wouldn't be putting on a show or anything, but I also know that as an aquarium visitor, I'm much more interested in the window-washer than the fish. I don't really like to swim, nor do I like wearing the things you need to wear in order to swim—they're uncomfortable to wear, uncomfortable to put on, even more uncomfortable to take off when they're wet, and then putting on dry clothes afterward is uncomfortable, too.

Oh, and fish are creepy.

Good think I never became a marine biologist, eh?

:110222: One thing my captors love, and it happens nearly every time:

I go to a live performance, and find a little unexpected treasure. You know, like when you go to a concert with an opening band you've never heard of, and now the opening band is one of your favorites, like these blokes.

So, a little while ago (OK, August 2009), I went to see some live ballet in Washington Park accompanied by the Portland Cello Project. I love me some cello, and there's almost nothing better than free performances in parks. It seemed like a lovely way to spend a summer evening.

The unexpected part was this little bit at the end where Brian Perez lent his voice to the lovely collection of cellos. The cellos started out slow and haunting, and as John Brophy's bass guitar began, Brian Perez let loose that voice of his. I was taken aback by the clarity and power Perez packed into each note. Even with the wide open outdoor venue, and me sitting near the back of 3,000 people, Perez effectively filled the space with his slow croon.

I thought to myself, "who is this guy?" I didn't really wonder why I'd never heard of him. I don't really pay attention to these things. Interestingly, though, I haven't heard anything about him since. It seems Brian Perez is well known (on the internet, anyway) for that particular song, but there's not much else about him out there. No solo career, not much in the way of other songs that aren't bad video of karaoke. Oh well; I'll have to be satisfied with that one live performance.

You can see a video on YouTube or Vimeo of Brian Perez singing "One More Try" with the Portland Cello Project at the Doug Fir, or a lower quality video of the same song in Washington Park, where the above photo was taken. The Portland Cello Project's latest album is available now.

:110215: My captors were looking at the newspaper today, and they noticed an interesting headline on the front page. "Hey, check this out! Pretty cool, huh?"

I looked at the picture where they were pointing. "Yeah! I made that!"

"What?"

"I made that. The vest, the shirt, the pants..."

Turns out, they were pointing to the article next to the picture, which made my comments not make any sense at all. The article they were referring to was also incredibly cool, and you should read that one, too.

But what I saw was this:

My dear friend Loren Hoskins has gone and followed his dreams. He has been a professional pirate for quite some time now as "Captain Bogg" in the Portland-based (of course) pirate rock band, Captain Bogg and Salty. Every once in a while, he calls upon my garment-copying and modification skills to enhance his piratical wardrobe.

Recently, (OK, a while ago, but we're all just now finding out about it...) he and band-mate Kevin Hendrickson began writing music for the new Disney Channel series, Jake and the Never Land Pirates. The two fellas have such charisma and stage presence, that they became animated and live action characters in the series. How many people do you know who are Disney cartoons?

Anyway, Loren's live-action wardrobe matched his cartoon persona, but didn't look like it was going to withstand too many live performances. Loren commissioned me to craft some replacements out of sturdier materials, with lots of double stitching, and based on past costume pieces I already knew would fit Loren pretty well (like this vest, of which I have made several copies. Oh, and you can't see the vest or pants that well, but this is my all-time favorite Pirate Rock Star photo of Loren).

Also: pockets. I mean, this is Peter Pan after all; I can be Wendy and sew pockets for my Lost Boy. A live-action cartoon Disney pirate rock star's gotta have a place to put his keys, you know?

If you have the Disney Channel and a young toddler at home, watch Jake and the Never Land Pirates for the everything. If you have just the Disney Channel, watch it for the music, music videos, and endlessly entertaining performances of Loren and Kevin.

:110214: My captors have no sympathy for my self-imposed torture.

I walked, once, from a few blocks from the Campanile (that bell / clock tower you see in the blue hazy distance) to a few blocks from where this picture was taken - about four and a half miles.

It seemed like a reasonable idea at the time. I didn't have a driver's license for the entirety of the time I spent living in this area, so most of my solo travel involved public transportation.

Much of the public transportation was underground, so I would emerge from the tunnels with an understanding of the immediate radius of the station, but not so much a clear understanding of how those radii connected to each other.

On this particular day, I realized that I not only knew precisely where I was, but I also could envision all of the connecting streets between my present location and my destination.

Knowing how to get from point A to point B makes public transportation obsolete, right? I'm pretty sure that was the rationalization I made to myself.

Things I had going for me: My understanding of my route was accurate, it was a lovely day, it was nearly 100% downhill, and I had no deadlines. Things I failed to consider: I had no water or sunblock, I was wearing flip-flops, I had already been walking around downtown Berkeley all day, and I had no realistic concept of the distance involved.

Parts of the route were quite lovely in their city way; Telegraph, Shattuck, and Solano Avenues are great for people-watching. Henry and Sutter Streets have broad, leafy trees. Mostly, though, I realized pretty early on that I should have just taken the bus.

I arrived at my destination sunburned, dehydrated, exhausted, and with sore feet. Also, I had nothing to show for it. So what if I walked? It wasn't so great a distance that it actually mattered. The dollar or so I saved in bus fare wasn't significant enough to mean anything. I got no sympathy for my exhaustion. Nobody cared. Nobody even really noticed.

Therein lies the lesson, the thing I can take away from that walk, and from subsequent instances in which I have decided it might just be easier to walk. It's not easier physically, but it's a form of catharsis that makes sense to me.

When the "easy" way will get me there too fast, the journey too banausic. When I'm not ready to be at my destination, but I know I have to go. When I want to take the time to see every step of my journey, no matter how many steps it might take. When I need to organize my thoughts before I get there, or before I get anywhere.

Little things happen along the way, which remind me of little other things, which remind me of still more little things, and I can't help but smile at how all things truly are connected. Nobody could possibly follow along with all the leaps my thoughts make as I walk. Even walking next to me and seeing what I saw, a companion could not comprehend how the scene before us translated in my mind to the interconnectedness of the universe.

So, I arrive, sunburned and sweaty, thirsty and tired. And grinning.




What took you so long?

I walked.

:091122: Though my cell is drab and grey upon first glance, closer inspection reveals magnificent colors everywhere.

Color is perceived by sensitive light receptors in the eyes of humans. Different types of these receptors, called cones, have differing sensitivity to a variety of wavelengths of light. These differences may even vary from human to human. My green may not be your green. No, it's OK. I'm quite fond of my green.

The human eye also contains rods, which are even more sensitive to light, but not to color. At low light levels, the cones cease to function, but the rods still work. This is why when you wake up in the middle of the night, you can see objects in your bedroom well enough, but the whole scene is in black-and-white. Never thought about it that way? Try it. It's eerie.

So, those rods are pretty amazing, but color vision is spectacular. The human brain distinguishes color by differentiating between responses to different wavelengths of light. Technically, this refers to physical responses in the photoreceptors in the eye itself, but think about how the human brain must distinguish between emotional responses, as well. There are colors that make me feel warm and happy. There are colors that make me feel relaxed. There are colors that make me uncomfortable. The emotional distinction reinforces the visual distinction in my brain, and it has done so all my life.

But what happens when more than one color is present in my field of vision? Do I feel warm, happy, relaxed, AND uncomfortable all at the same time? Not really. In fact, with all the colors represented harmoniously, I feel just that: harmonious. Something is right with the world when the full spectrum of visible light is represented.

This happens naturally on this planet, in the form of a rainbow. Though the colors in a natural rainbow may be perceived as distinct bands of color, a rainbow is actually a continuous spectrum. The human eye, and by extension, the human brain, distinguishes the separate colors because it is easier to think about them that way. The human brain cannot truly comprehend the infinite.

Rainbows are caused by the colors present in white light refracting through tiny droplets of water, and can occur wherever one finds rain, mist, spray and dew. Dew, is of course one of my favorite places to find rainbows...