Bonjour

suddenly missing

My mom died in April 2003. She taught me how to make mud pies and ice cream made of snow. She would sweeten my milk with vanilla and sugar and show me how to use food coloring to make it even more fantastic. Halloween and every holiday, every day, was something to celebrate. Unbirthdays and birthdays were treated with equal fervor. She was a marathon shopper, an artist, singer, seamstress, chef, business woman, beach comber, swimmer, ice skater, gardener, beauty queen, dreamer, old movie lover, and was filled with great spirit.

She was great at everything she did, and she was always doing something.

Saying I miss her is an understatement. How much would your lungs miss air if it was suddenly, sadly, missing?

Wow

And what a year. I moved halfway across the country (again), left a job without prospects (again), but am so much better off when I last experienced this purposeful craziness. I am back in Texas, this time in Austin, and I love it. It was the right emotional decision to make. Financial? I'm still waiting to see that pan out but I have not yet begun to get desperate or to lose hope.

Quick Updates:

Texan in Transit

I'm beginning to feel like a writer again. For 24-hours, I have had music, two books, and now several pages of extemporaneous thoughts and staccato-like creativity.

I have been reminded of what silence provides. Silence provides Time. It is easy to forget this living in the center of a city.

Without my having realized it, I have been an expatriate these last seven years, a refugee among refugees. My Year in Paris has become a near decade in the Northwest. All experiences of being foreign and yet not, of being transplanted and earnestly attempting to shed the attire of one location for that of another, transforming from a relatively sheltered girl of the southern plains to an urbanite, would have been the same in Paris, minus the language difference. I would have become less American-seeming in France, but no less American.

The only real benefit of living in Europe is one of historical convenience -- and not the sort of historical convenience so often employed by the Swiss -- but convenience by way of proximity.

I am no less Texan for all my years in Oregon, despite my taking on very strange habits particular to the Northwest (more on that later). In fact, I'm a good deal more French than I am Oregonian, having had at least one relative of the tricolor variety.

As I return to Portland, I realize it is only a station. I will return to my apartment, worship the cat I left behind, and prepare to return to my country.

It is not a conceit. Texas is a nation, with at least five geographical states, multitudes of opinions, several dialects (even Dallas has at least two -- one that pronounces Dallas as Dah-lus and another that says Dah-liss, depending on which side of RL Thornton you dwell).

(Side story: I worked with a granddaughter of RL Thornton's. We did not like one another much.)

I did not realize, of course, that this would be the point of my story when I moved to Oregon. I simply wanted to get away from the sun (it worked). And I don't consider the possibility of returning to the surface of the sun something to look forward to. I did not realize, and could not have realized, that this would become a great experiment in expatriation. Had I realized it, I would have taken better notes. I would have written stories for Texas Highways -- a "Texan Abroad: Life West of the Pecos" or some similarly titled series of travel essays. I could have started this great colony of expatriates. I could have been the Henry Miller of exes from Texas.

Casual observations about Oregon, the West Coast, and the City of Portland

been there... done that

My friend Joi had this posted on her blog. I thought it was pretty cool. Here are all the states I've visited at least once (some I've been through more than once)...

create your own visited states map
or check out these Google Hacks.

but this shows I need to get out more...

create your own visited countries map
or vertaling Duits Nederlands

Template for Boredom

I like the apple but I'm bored with this template. I started the template search yet again, but ready-made templates are still too dominated by babies and kittens. I like the black and white thing, the sudden burst of color in red. But the gothic elements are just not in keeping with what's posted here. It would have been the perfect template for me... 10 years ago.

Oh well, back to the drawing board.

Sort of.

My (ongoing) Weakness for Surveys

My Weakness for Surveys

Three screen names that you have had: rowanf, adder, roannaflowers

Three things you like about yourself: my sense of humor (mostly wicked), my creativity, and my ethical center (not unlike the center of the tootsie roll tootsie-pop)

Three things you don't like about yourself: my quick discouragement trigger, panic, and envy of anyone ever published

Three parts of your heritage: Cherokee, Irish, Italian

Three things that scare you: death, creepy movies with kids in weird Japanese stop motion effects (The Ring et al), The Shining

Three of your everyday essentials: Giving cuddles to the silverpuss, walking, internet access

Three things you are wearing right now: Nike dry weave jogging suit, new red t-shirt from American Apparel, VS undies.

Three of your favorite songs: Current favorites are: Blitzkrieg Bop by The Ramones, Un Jour Comme Un Autre by Brigette Bardot, This Guy's In Love With You by Burt Bacharach

Three new things you want to try in the next 12 months: Dating, doing a < 8 hour marathon, buying a house

Three things I want in a relationship: equality, fidelity, spontaneity

Two truths and a lie: I want to win the lotto and move to France, I want to find a mentor, I am a democrat

Three things you can't (can I say "won't"?) do without: writing, traveling, laughing/finding humor in life

Three places you want to go on vacation: Paris (next birthday), Florence, Vegas

Three things you just can't do: eat oysters, juggle, smoke

Three kids' names: Sabrina, Audrey, Tristan

Three things you want to do before you die: the Peace Corps, marriage (again), tango in Paris

Three Celeb crushes: Clive Owen, Ewan MacGregor, Ben Kingsley

Three people you want to know these things about: Shakespeare, St. Augustine, Einstein

top ten

Top Ten "Voice" Crushes:

1. Rufus Wainwright
2. Thom Yorke
3. Pierre Bensusan
4. D'Angelo
5. John Lennon (especially 1963-67)
6. Marvin Gaye
7. Sam Cooke
8. Nick Drake
9. Ewan MacGregor
10. John Mayer

downtown...

One of the main reasons for my relocating to Portland, Oregon from Dallas, Texas six years ago (and there were many, many reasons) was the vitality of its downtown. You can tell a lot about the consciousness and soul of a city by its downtown sector. In Dallas, people go to work then they go home. It's not a place you really want to walk around. Or drive around for that matter. The suburbs are so large that no one needs to leave, there's no reason to go to Dallas unless you're called for jury duty.

Downtown Portland is busy, constantly busy but in that casual northwest way, where no one is in a hurry to get anywhere, there's no place to be but walking around and people watching, like the people who are watching you walk. Cafes, shopping, sushi, the parks outside City Hall and Portland State University, free concerts in Pioneer Square -- I am most at home when I am in the center of things.

That is why I am ecstatic to finally be moving to downtown Portland. It's taken me six years to be in the right place at the right time but it's finally here. As hard (unspeakably hard, I won't even try to express it) as 2003 was for me, all of that has turned around in amazing fashion in 2004. New job (more money), new bureau, completing the marathon and now moving to a seventh floor highrise with Mt. Hood filling my living room window and Mt. St. Helens claiming a corner of it for her bad self.

As long as I am in this city, there is nowhere else I want to be. As much as I have loved Hawthorne Boulevard, with its extinct volcano Mt. Tabor in the background (a beautiful place to walk) and its wall to wall carpeting of pubs, hipsters and protests, I am so anxious to be downtown...

Walking to work...
Walking to the farmers market...
Walking to the Saturday Market...
Walking to one of three movie theaters...
Within stone's throw of the opera hall...

I will definitely be cranking the Petula Clark...

on being single...

The worst part of being single, and not just being single but also living without a roommate for the first time in...well...ever actually, is grocery shopping. It's the most mundane activity and is the absolute worst enterprise to do solo. I can take holidays alone, evenings, even movies -- no problem. Nothing hits home that you're really on your own like buying food.

(The same applies for eating alone at a restaurant, though cafes are exempt from the rule as it's not completely out of the ordinary or horribly rude if you pull out a laptop. Do that at Fernando's Hideaway and expect to get some odd looks.)

There is just no escaping the fact that you are Without Partner when you're cruising the produce section. One onion. One bunch of asparagus. One head of broccoli. On the plus side, it is cheaper, but that's a scant consolation.

I never liked grocery shopping that much to start with, but now I long for the days I was merely annoyed by everyone pushing carts against the stream, wandering around aimlessly or cutting in line. I find I meander much more now, looking at items without really seeing them, unable to make up my mind on even the most simple decision of what brand of bread to buy, and yet I have already cast my vote for the leader of the most powerful free nation in the world without issue.

No matter how one fills one's life, with sports or other activities, writing, reading, being social, when one shops alone one stares straight into the face of the reality of being alone.

Maybe I should do my grocery shopping in costume, make it more interesting for everyone involved. Independence shouldn't be drudgery. There has to be some way to make it less excrutiating without having to hire a male escort to go grocery shopping with me.

Although, come to think of it, that's not a bad business idea. Call it Tea for Two or Bread and Butter Incorporated...

walkabout article draft

When I was asked to write about my marathon experiences as a first-timer, my response was a quick and as simple as my initial reactions to having completed the race: sure, no problem.

But as I began considering how I would begin to convey my experiences, I realized that much of what occurred has already blurred. In fact, I'm not sure it was meant to ever crystallize in a singular moment of significance. There are just the images of moments like photographs.

The start was a mass of nine-thousand hopefuls, veterans, novices, runners and walkers crowded in together on fourth avenue, singing the anthem. My body subconsciously lurched forward whenever the streetlight I was standing under turned green.

The start was the sound of the horn, and the waiting that followed it before it was my turn to move. It was the moment I took most for myself. The race had the whole of my attention.

The middle of the race was a swirl of pompoms, cups littering the road, sunlight in my face, and road-side M*A*S*H unit blister-repair. I think I gave permission for a film crew from Chicago to film my foot repair somewhere along the long turnaround point. I won't make a pun about footage. I just hope it's not on the Internet somewhere.

The sunlight and warmth, and the blisters they no doubt helped to inspire, began to conspire against my personal-best pace. In the end, speed was of no consequence. I am one of the slower walkers; I was already committed to the reality of a seven-hour plus event. It didn't matter to me when I finished -- but that I finished, and how.

Although I never hit The Wall, for a brief moment I did catch the course chuckling a little. Who knew that Interstate was the interminable highway? It never felt that long on the bus. There were signs reading 'You're almost there! Mile 24 Ahead!' for what had to be four miles.

But there was no stopping -- in fact, stopping hurts far more than simply walking your feet off of your body, I have learned. I wanted to see the Steel Bridge. I didn't care how many miles were packed into Mile 24.

I had one personal goal for the marathon. I wanted to come to the finish strong, and I finished like I wanted to finish. To the tune of 'Gotta Fly Now' from Rocky, I was up and over the Steel Bridge. I moved through Saturday Market to the Olympic Theme, and I closed the race with the theme to the 'Chariots of Fire' and to the sight of my friends waiting for me. It just doesn't get any better than that.

So, what am I taking from this experience?

I trained with Portland Fit to prove to myself that with work and commitment I could do whatever I set out to do, a 10-mile walk, a half-marathon, a complete marathon. Prior to my training, I had never walked more than four miles in a single outing. I was a treadmill walker. But I've now convinced my body that it was natural to walk 26.2 miles in a single afternoon, and not only was it natural but it was desirable to do so.

Hey, Mile 24 -- who's laughing now?

walkabout magazine

I was asked to write a short article about my marathon experiences for the next edition of 'Walk About' magazine. 'Walk About' magazine is focused, of course, on The Walker and has all sorts of nifty info. It's also published by two of the walking coaches from Portland Fit (www.portlandfit.com).

So! The rough draft is done. I'm posting it up here for my journal entry on the whole experience. It really is a blur.

Hungry now. Off for lunch.

is this thing on?

Alright, that's enough of the blank screen...

Poetry output has been minimal since marathon training began back in March. I have a few scribbled on post-its and stuck in my variety of cute purses. I should really get a secretary...

Marathon training. I started in March with 1 mile. I just completed a 21-mile stint and the Portland Marathon is this Sunday. An amazing program (www.portlandfit.com). It has really been life-altering.

I went to the Marathon Expo today to get my number (5252!) and a bunch of freebies. I was also asked to write about my experiences for the Walk About Magazine, which is edited by two of the coaches. I may volunteer my editorial and publishing skills to them next year. Maybe all that work with health magazines won't have been in vain after all!

My off-season will consist of continued walking with a few of my newfound friends and a return to fencing. I expect to love the sport so much that I'm already planning for next year. Las Vegas in late January is a possibility.

That rumor that marathoning is addictive? Totally true. I want to be the woman who is running her upteenth marathon at the age of 76, who doesn't look a day over 40. She's in our group. She's amazing.

I've also decided to add a new topic to this site ('Journal'), which I'll use to do these more typical blog-like entries. The work on the new novel is proceeding on schedule. I'm in the process of making my winter reading list, with an anticipated writing start date in 2005. I will be sure to update on its progress. Not sure yet whether I will post bits and pieces of it here or not. It has undergone some major reorganization of structure since I last talked about it.

I think the marathon has been a surprising help in the creative process as well, come to think of it...