Gratitude

If not for the gray-haired man on the beach

who stopped me to ask if my dog could have a biscuit —

his eyes welling with tears over the loss of his Lab just

two days before (leaving him without a dog for the first

time in 30 years and his pocket still full of treats) —

who pointed to a wave at "one o'clock" to site the

huge seal bobbing there and then noted a whale

was out there further, I'd not have walked on

(after wishing his heavy heart peace) with my eyes fixed

below the horizon, and would not have seen the joyous

spout ~ I called back to him and he nodded ~ and then

another spout to the right, indicating at least two whales

were there, and would not have seen the graceful curves

of two whale bodies shining in the early autumn sun.



Were not the three Monarch butterflies puddling in pools

near the cliffs, flocks of celebratory Sanderlings flying

switch-backs along the waves, and the companionship of

my precious dog already gifts enough to me this day?



I honor them all with Gratitude.

Friday Flash 55 — The beaches

I must have them for they
had me at foggy swoosh —
at hoods-up walks with doggy
at making seabreeze stories —
at one hand pulled by another’s
up to lips for a tender kiss
at sunset, later drifting to a
warm pocket where the day's
sweet find lay hidden in granular
grace. It is the beaches.

My post in exactly 55 words written for Friday Flash 55.

Visit G-Man and his Mr. Knowitall community for more weekly 55s.

♥

Valentine's Day is also celebrated as Oregon Statehood Day, and it is Oregon's 155th birthday today. This poem (that contains a few words from a favorite Avett Brother's song) is to honor my state's spectacular coast, my special connection with it, and my love for those who have shared time with me there, never to be forgotten.

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A sea-cliff plot full of grace: a poem

During my solo trip to the Oregon coast last weekend I stopped at Boiler Bay and came upon this scene when I walked out to the overlook point. There is a fence with no trespassing signs separating the public from the slick rocks and cliff edge. However, someone had an important mission to accomplish ...a journey of the heart just beyond the fence, touching eternity.

The grave was unmarked. Perhaps a pet was buried there, likely a dog in that case, or possibly the ashes of a human loved one, or...  I could not get a view of the face carved in the pumpkin. It is up to our imagination what expression it wore as it looked out to sea. 

(Video is 2:36)



A sea-cliff plot full of grace

You were loved for being kind.
We who find this poignant place
Are filled with awe at this spot,
A sea-cliff plot full of grace.

Here some fun, here some splendor,
Farewell gifts tender and true.
Mystic myst'ry in the sun,
Your death spun in misty blue.

Gentle petals near your heart,
Small pumpkin part of aweigh.
Life boils down to simple things,
Rock.Wind.Mem'ry.Wings. Sea-spray.

                       MLydiaM ~ October 2011

The poem is my first attempt at trying the Welsh poetic form called Awdl Gywydd: (owdl gow-widd):

Each stanza is a quatrain of seven syllables. Lines two and four rhyme; lines one and three cross rhyme into either the third, OR fourth, OR fifth syllable of lines two and four.

Many thanks to Alias Jinksy, who introduced me to Awdl Gywydd, when she shared her first one here. She wrote that the form had haunted her. It haunted me too and it seemed the perfect expression for my impressions of the grave at Boiler Bay.

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House on a Cliff at the Oregon Coast

 
House on a Cliff by Louis MacNeice

Indoors the tang of a tiny oil lamp. Outdoors
The winking signal on the waste of sea.
Indoors the sound of the wind. Outdoors the wind.
Indoors the locked heart and the lost key.

Outdoors the chill, the void, the siren. Indoors
The strong man pained to find his red blood cools,
While the blind clock grows louder, faster. Outdoors
The silent moon, the garrulous tides she rules.

Indoors ancestral curse-cum-blessing. Outdoors
The empty bowl of heaven, the empty deep.
Indoors a purposeful man who talks at cross
Purposes, to himself, in a broken sleep.

 ~~~

I will probably share a few more photos from my solo weekend at the Oregon coast, but here is one for today. The poem is of a much darker mood than the emotions I felt when absorbed in the scene. I was driving the old Otter Crest Loop road and stopped at this viewpoint to think. It was such a great spot that I stayed awhile and read a chapter of the book I am currently reading. 


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Inherit the sun

Shifting the Sun 
            ~by Diana Der-Hovanessian

When your father dies, say the Irish,
you lose your umbrella against bad weather.
May his sun be your light, say the Armenians

When your father dies, say the Welsh,
you sink a foot deeper into the earth.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Canadians,
you run out of excuses.
May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the French,
you become your own father.
May you stand up in his light, say the Armenians.

When you father dies, say the Indians,
he comes back as the thunder.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Russians,
he takes your childhood with him.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the English,
you join his club you vowed you wouldn't.
May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Armenians,
your sun shifts forever.
And you walk in his light.

~~~

I took this photo of sunset at Lincoln City, Oregon, last Saturday evening. We spent the night there with our two dogs and, quite frankly, my mind has not fully returned from the beach yet.

When I read this poem it seemed perfect for the image. I do not know why. I just feel that someone who has lost his or her father might come upon this post and find some peace.

I do know that, since scattering my mother's ashes into the ocean over ten years ago not far from this beach, visits there have grown dearer with each setting sun.

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Songs My Mother Taught Me . . . Ebb Tide

{This is the fifth in an undetermined number of songs my mother taught me I'm posting this month in her memory. For background, please visit the post containing the first song, Ivory Tower.}


Thursday and Friday, both days and both nights, were heavenly on the Oregon coast. The predicted storm hit as I was checking out of the motel on Saturday morning. So, once again, my October soul journey to the beach included hours walking on the sand. Thinking. Not thinking.

One thought that came into my mind on Thursday evening when I took these shots at Lincoln City beach was a song, one that I hadn't thought of for so long and that was not on my list of possibilities for this month's series of songs my mother taught me. It came gently into my memory as I marveled over the silvery sunset and the beauty of everything in my view. Ebb Tide.

My mother had an album with a photo of the ocean on the cover, and I think the title of the album was Ebb Tide. In any case, it was not an album that I, as a child, appreciated in the slightest. I don't remember any other songs on the album except Ebb Tide, and it was a ghastly organ piece that made me say Ewwww. To this day organ music (with some few exceptions in the classical genre) is about the only music that truly repels me. I hated this instrumental piece as much as my mother loved it. Even when the Righteous Brothers came out with their version in the mid-1960s I rejected Ebb Tide, while very much loving their other work.

So it was a real surprise for Ebb Tide to come to me at the beach, and an even greater surprise to find myself singing the song as I walked (at least the few words I remembered from hearing the Righteous Brothers version on the radio), and an even greater surprise to find myself actually enjoying selecting the version I liked best from numerous versions by many artists in videos at youtube. No surprise, however, that my favorite rendition would be sung by Frank Sinatra. I love Frank Sinatra.......and my mother? She hated him. She didn't have one of his records, so I came to my appreciation of his work later as a young adult. That makes this particular post a real compromise!

Ebb Tide. One of the songs my mother taught me because she so loved the ocean after spending her 'tween and teen years in Santa Monica. She was so content retiring in Oregon an hours drive from the coast, where we scattered her ashes as she requested, and where I feel closest to her.

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Sobriety: 24 years

Image via Pinterest



Ich komme aus meinen Schwingen heim

- by Rainier Maria Rilke

I come home from the soaring in which I lost myself.
I was song, and the refrain which is God
is still roaring in my ears.

Now I am still
and plain:
no more words.

To the others I was like a wind:
I made them shake.
I’d gone very far, as far as the angels,
and high, where light thins into nothing.

But deep in the darkness is God.

-from Rilke's Book of Hours – Love Poems to God

The Rilke poem may look familiar to those of you who remember my post for my 23rd sobriety anniversary. It is the same. I can't imagine ever finding a poem that describes coming to sobriety better than this one does, so I'll probably publish it again for my 25th, and on. The photograph is a change from last year's art, and I may not change it in years ahead. It's perfect.

I'll be keeping to my tradition of taking a few days and nights in October to be at the Oregon coast alone, and will drive over this afternoon. What began in 2001 as a spiritual trip in my mother's memory (she died on October 27, 2000 and we scattered her ashes at sea from a boat out of Depoe Bay) has in more recent years become that and more: my time to connect with my Self.

This will be my first time coordinating the trip on my sobriety anniversary, and I think it will start a trend for the future.  It seems fitting.

When I made my room reservations on Tuesday afternoon the inn clerk said the weather at the coast is indeed what has been predicted: stormy, rainy, windy -- making another first in my October solo trips there. But bring on the storms. I'll be in a beautiful room with private beach access and a book, lots of memories, and maybe some new insights. I'm going unplugged and will look forward to responding to your comments when I return home.

cloud clipart via A Perfect World

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Beach time, day two: gulls, whales, a buffalo

My second day of a short getaway trip to the beach began with a good breakfast at the Hilltop Restaurant, a landmark in Lincoln City, where Lenny Carr plays on the weekends. I'm sorry I know absolutely nothing about his bio but having heard him quite a few times now I would bet that he's had quite a musical career. Our family physician (who is about Lenny's age) has a beach retreat in Lincoln City and, according to the doc's wife, Lenny is a favorite of his. This elder musician doesn't miss a beat of any song in his extensive repertoire, that is as varied as the customers at the Hilltop. I saw a large Hispanic youth in even larger clothes walk over to Lenny's tip bowl to add to the good pile of bills there on his keyboard. The next tippers were a couple with gray hair conservatively dressed for church, no doubt. Then I came along with my tip and my camera.




The rest of the day I drove and stopped at different beaches heading north on Highway 101 (the Pacific Coast Highway) before turning around and heading back home late in the day.

At this stop I saw a large Humpback whale spout and followed it along with other whale watchers as it fed in the kelp fields and then began to swim south. It was too far out in the ocean to get a photo. A little girl who was tentatively feeding seagulls never noticed the whale. I thought her mother showed ingenuity or maybe just a sense of humor in her selection of gull snacks.




I had some mini apple-cinnamon cookies I'd bought the day before and thought that spreading them out on a picnic table for the seagulls was a good idea. Unfortunately, the gulls you see in this picture gobbled them up so quickly that the screaming others on the grass around the table didn't even get close to enjoying my offering.




~~~

I love the 500 foot elevation viewpoint at Cape Foulweather.





These visitors at the lookout gift shop .....


.....had spotted a juvenile Humpback whale with a white tail feeding so close to the point that when it spouted we could hear it. One whale watcher advised everyone that the young whale could also hear us, and suggested that we not scream out in our excitement. The whale wasn't much larger than some of the black kelp seen spotting the water in that area.






~~~

I went to Gleneden Beach next, where I parked and took a long walk in the sand. There may have been a total of 20 people scattered along the beach, and they were entertained by one surfer. Surfers in Oregon almost always wear wet suits because the water is almost always cold!



Along with several "For Sale" signs near homes-with-a-view there were about a dozen of these other warning signs posted in the (shrinking) bank, a sad commentary....

(click on photo to enlarge)

I came upon these two seagulls walking and talking together apart from any other gulls. The normally loud call usually heard when seagulls cry was, in their conversation, much lowered in volume and intensity. Only one spoke at a time, then the other responded. They walked, changed direction, stopped -- all the while in what seemed a contemplative discussion. Totally oblivious to me, they never looked in my direction even with the camera pointing in theirs. The scene reminded me of the Two Talking Cats video I posted awhile ago.




~~~

Back at Lincoln City I pulled over at the wayside beach to call Mike and get a shot of colorful kites in a row against the bright blue sky before heading for home.



~~~

On the road to our town some good people have raised this magnificent pet buffalo, a beast we've been slowing down to talk to for about ten years now. He's really tame and alert, and responds to a kind human voice. I think he's very much loved by his people. When I drove home Sunday afternoon the buffalo had just been fed a mound of hay which he was enjoying near the fence. Since I had my camera I took a quick shot as cars sped past me on the narrow two-lane road. There's something about this guy that nearly always brings tears to my eyes. He has a beautiful verdant pasture with large shade trees and a little creek running at the edge of the back fence. He has his own barn and I've never seen him left out in a storm or late at night. He's made the news. He is not being raised to become buffalo steaks. He has a family. A human family. When was the last time he saw another buffalo? Does he, deep in his DNA, have a knowing of the grandeur of the bison's past in this land? Of the bison's slaughter to near extinction?

What does this lone animal have to do with a two-day beach trip? Only that seeing him was proof that I was back home where the buffalo roams.

Beach time, day one: hazy, lazy and delicious

I've returned from two days and nights at the Oregon coast and feel refreshed. What a sweet thing for Mike to hold down the fort while I stepped away from the same-o, same-o routine here at the house. He enjoyed finishing up his week's vacation right here at home puttering and relaxing.

Here, then, is what my short trip entailed (in two installments: Monday and Tuesday). I arrived on Friday night in time to have a late dinner then checked into the motel in Lincoln City. The room was nice, but the people next door partied until 3:00 a.m. so I slept in on Saturday morning. When I woke up I was surprised to see how foggy it was, and it stayed that way all day in spite of a strong wind. Outside my window one seagull stood against authority.




After breakfast I parked the car at the 26th Street Access and took the steps down to the beach for a long walk. I love the beach when it's hazy-foggy but bright, and not cold. The weather on Saturday fit my mood perfectly.






I liked this sand teepee, complete with feathers, pebbles, shell, and petroglyph marking.



By the time I was headed back from my walk down the beach, waves had stolen the teepee's shell adornment. Sand sculptures are lovely, and fleeting -- reminding me to enjoy the moment now.









I walked down to the driving beach. There aren't many of them along the Oregon coast, thankfully. This one, however, served a special purpose for us in 2000, when Mike and I were able to get my mother down on the sand for a final time. Her wheelchair was really difficult to push in the sand, but we got her down to the shoreline.




The strong wind and waves masked all other sounds, except one buzzing-whirring sound that led to a fun discovery.






Back at my starting point I thought the remnants of the original 26th Street access steps were picturesque, but I wonder why they haven't been removed.





After some minimal shopping at the factory outlet shopping mall for basics (The Gap and Hanes got my business) I spotted a restaurant that I decided I'd try later on. I returned to the motel room to read and relax before dinnertime. I brought along the four books that I have on my next-to-read list, not knowing which one would appeal once I was at the beach. I curled up in a chair and started reading Free Play - Improvisation in Life and Art, by Stephen Nachmanovitch and it totally won my attention the rest of the trip.



I brought it with me to dinner and read while I waited for my meal, then tucked it away to enjoy this beautiful and superb repast. Yellow curry with tofu, ordered medium-plus spicy (4 of 5 on the hot scale, said the waiter). White sticky rice shaped like a star, topped with roasted seeds. Thai cucumber salad (rice vinegar was the secret). Green tea infused with herbs and flower petals (individual black iron teapot is between tea cup and timer-that indicated when my tea was steeped to perfection).



I recommend Andaman Thai Cuisine in Lincoln City, Oregon, to anyone living in the area or planning on visiting. There was a highly favorable restaurant review from The Oregonian near the front waiting area that called it one of the best Thai restaurants in the Pacific Northwest ("For better Thai food, go to Bankok"). The owner is originally from Thailand and has a Masters degree in food science. She's a master alright!

Next installment, day two at the beach: What a difference a day makes in the weather, or, my sunburned arms really hurt!


(I'm anxious to catch up on reading your blogs and will hopefully have use of the computer sometime Monday afternoon once the window installers complete the windows here in the office.)

Raccoon's last tale

Because the heart beats under a covering
of hair, of fur, feathers, or wings, it is, for
that reason, to be of no account?
Jean Paul Richter

Let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life. John Muir

Blogging about the Oregon coast last week did the trick. Mike wakened me last Sunday morning asking if I'd like to take the dogs for a quick trip to the beach. Next question?

Traffic was bumper-to-bumper coming from Lincoln City back to the valley - those travelers from the three-day weekend thinking (erroneously) that they had a jump on the crowd heading homeward. Our trip from the valley to Lincoln City, on the other hand, was easy-breezy.

And breezy was the operative word for the day. There were 45 mph sustained winds at the beach, making the usual stroll on the sand more of a challenge than we or our two eight-year-old dogs had in mind on a summer day. Coupled with that was a troubling condition we noted in the waves coming onto the shoreline: they had a murky greenish cast to them and smelled strongly of rotting plant life. We decided to keep the dogs out of the water line where we usually walk and they love to run in the wet, packed sand. This forced us into the soft dunes of loose beach sand that slipped with our steps, making for an aerobic workout of sorts.

We grew tired. Mike scanned the hillside with its various little caves carved out by eons of wave activity, where huge pieces of driftwood become nice beach fire sites for some, and where we looked for a sheltered place to sit out of the wind for awhile. There was one such perfect spot that Mike pointed to and we headed over. Even the dogs were looking grateful for a chance to rest. And there on a rock slab in the hillside, just above where we had chosen to stop awhile, was this dead raccoon.

She had such a story to tell with her last movements, now hardened into place. Even in this sheltered spot an occasional burst of wind found the fur on her back and tousled it. The raccoon did not smell. Her dying ground hadn't attracted many flies or bugs. Abby and Bonbon showed an uncharacteristic lack of awareness that this corpse was nearby.

There was a dignity to the scene, and so we sat there only five feet beneath the slab where she lay. I took these photos so she could tell her story to you.

Flat Stanley on the Oregon Coast

This is the last of a four-part review of Flat Stanley's 2003 visit to Oregon. Before Flat Stanley flew home, via USPS, to my nephew's classroom in Indiana he had a chance to visit the Oregon coast with us and our dogs. One of my favorite spots at the coast is the beautiful little city of Astoria, the oldest American settlement west of the Rockies, dating from the fur trading post set up by John Jacob Astor’s men in 1811. It reminds me of a mini-mini-mini San Francisco. There is a quite large Finnish population living there and in the surrounding area, and in past overnight trips to Astoria Mike and I have enjoyed going to the authentic Finnish steam bath on the main drag in town.

In the picture above Flat Stanley is on the balcony of our motel room overlooking the Port of Astoria. The bridge spans the Columbia River.

The following morning we went to the Astoria Column, a favorite tourist site that I never tire of climbing for the view of the Columbia flowing into the Pacific Ocean. Spectacular! This link takes you to a one-page fact sheet about the Astoria Column that is so worth the click.

At the base of the Column there's a brass interpretive plaque mounted into the hillside, where Flat Stanley got the lay of the land.




Mike bought a tiny glider made of thin wood to take to the top of the Column. We posed Flat Stanley sitting on the glider as a joke for the kids in Indiana, then removed him before flying the glider off the observation deck.






We left Astoria and drove along the coastline (nice video at link), stopping at beaches along the way. The dogs demanded numerous stops to run on the sand, and we were more than happy to comply. Flat Stanley found a most attractive sand castle, complete with crab shell centerpiece.






As usual we lingered at the coast that trip with Flat Stanley. I never want to leave the beach when I'm there. Even on day trips staying to see the sunset and dream some in the gloaming before driving home is a must-do.