two more days until I wake up, grab my things, and have a friend take me to the airport in Portland, where I will then fly home to Arkansas to see my kin folk. My dad has made phone calls and has planned a family reuniion of sorts so that I can see kin that I’ve not seen in five to fifteen years. I was talking with my landlady today, telling her that I have a friend coming by to check on my cat (she MUST be petted every single day) and I was explaining that I was ready to go home to Arkansas, but I was already ready to be back home in Oregon. I tried to explain to her the great dichotomies within me, the intense love and desire that I feel for my nephews, but the dis-satisfaction and alienation that I feel in that society. There are parts of me that are typically Southern and will probably always remain so, but there are large parts of Southern culture that I’ve thrown out wholesale out of my mind and heart.
I am still reading Ivanhoe at night and Don Quixote during the day. Humorous companions to read at the same time.
More thoughts on Amelie. I notice and appreciate that Raymond Dufayel is painting a different painting at the end of the movie, no longer the party at the boat landing. I also wonder if there is a connection between losing her goldfish, blubber, to the canal and her latter habit of skipping stones on the canal to relax. There are more thoughts that cross my mind now and then, but for the moment I am too tired to think of them.
It is almost five am. Yesterday I had went to the corner grocery store to buy a cup of coffee, some diswashing fluid, and two tall vanilla candles. I’ve found some great little candles, better quality wax, very low on the emitted ash, good smell, for cheap. The lady at the store was, as always, very friendly, warm, smiling, and rivaling the sun in brilliance and beauty. It may be possible in two or three weeks to rid myself of my current car and to acquire another one. I am, for the moment, forgetting about buying a classic mustang in favor of something that I can take out on a logging road in the mountains. As far as town is concerned, I do not go much any place. Where I really want to go is to rivers, in the back country, through mountains. I would really love to make it to Ashland for the Shakespeare festival this year, as well as a hike into the Strawberry Mountains in Eastern Oregon. Plus fly fishing season is upon us and my rod is calling my name, to go out once more into the mountains and to float a fly onto the stream’s surface. Ah… heaven. The sound of rapids, the scent of woodsmoke from the campfire nearby, the camp coffee, the quite moon-lit night, being alone out in the wilderness areas, listening for the sounds of cougar and owl, mule deer and tree frog. Plus if I get something more suitable for off-road traveling I can do what I wanted to do before my car died on me, volunteer to keep a vigilant eye on tracts of roadless areas for local environmental groups.
Speaking of environmental groups…. I am in complete support of the tree sitters in the redwoods in California. Pacific Lumber has shown time and again through their history of logging practices that they cannot be trusted above the bottom dollar. My thoughts and support are with the sitters. Perhaps with a truck I could be of more use to some environmental actions around herer, probably run supply routes or something. Who knows. We’ll see in three weeks if I have managed to pull of a deal or not to acquire a truck (cross my fingers… I REALLY want a jeep).