Monday, October 3, 2011

Grist for the Mill

A little over a year ago I was floating down the frigid Snoqualmie river with my friend Brook, cold ass in the river and cold beer in the hand, clear sky and banks loaded with Evergreen trees.  We ignored the frat boys and barking dogs, reminisced about our previous summer's floats with skinny boys and limber acrobats, and soaked up the precious late summer sun.  I slept at her house on Beacon Hill that night, tired and warm from a day out in the wide world, and we listened to The Head and the Heart, a local Seattle band which was rapidly rising in popularity.

I put in on my i-pod and let these young Northwestern artists croon to me while I rode European trains and Texas buses, and bikes rides everywhere in between.

A few weeks ago, at midnight, I walked into a club called Antone's to hear them play an Austin City Limits after-show, and my eyes welled up with tears as they pushed their harmonies out over the crowd and filled the room.

It's a satisfying sense of serendipity, a testament to the level of raw talent being grown in the Northwest, and a reminder that life will bring you full circle when it's time.

I spoke with my parents recently in a moment of contemplation, wondering how long I might remain in  this wide open state, and my Pops replied simply, "I think you have a lot of living to do in Austin still."

It got me to thinking about some of the folks I have met in the past few months, and how being open to a new place and new way of being is much like harvesting grain, knowing that you need all that raw material if you're gonna make bread out of the whole thing.

I feel a particular fondness for native Texans, for their sense of humor, connection to land and family, and generally sense of openness and charm.

I had the pleasure of spending a few glorious night on South Padre Island with my roommates Emily and Dana, and friend Erin, and we spent countless hours curling our toes in soft sand and floating in clear blue water.  South Padre is about 5 hours from Austin, and considered to be THE vacation spot in Texas.  The drive down was painfully, noticeably boring, and made me thankful not have endured a small town Texas upbringing.  There were lots of Billboards for churches, along with full color photos of high school football teams.

We stayed in a sweet, slightly funky beach condo owned by Emily's aunt and uncle, and stopped in to visit them on their ranch.  Her uncle Carl has lived on that piece of land since he was born, and it is home to his sons, their families, and hundreds of Brahmin cattle.   The ranch house was old and sprawling, covered in family photos, cupboards full of dishes, and food cooking on the stove.  He told us stories about fishing, while Aunt Peg offered us bowls of chicken and lentils.  The youngest grandchild, a little redhead, is still called "Baby" by her older siblings.  The land, although now hemmed in by a golf course, is a wild place. If cows die they are left for nature to take her due course, and it is not safe to wander through the pastures where they are kept.  There are snakes, and motorcycles, and rusted out hulls of ships, and a sense of history and belonging that is rare to find in our glass cities.

I loved meeting them, and relished the few days where time stopped and we floated from one conversation to the next, letting our words slip away as we soaked in sunlight, and saltwater, and the sweet abandon that comes from escaping our cluttered lives for a few days.

I had left Guthrie the gigantic puppy with a neighbor lady, and she bears mentioning as well. Now retired, she lives in a cute white house with a bright green lawn, and watches dogs for extra cash.  I adored her the moment I met her, as she stood up from her lawn chair in her house dress, short hair and big smile, reminding me a lot of my own grandma. "OOOH look at him!" she crooned, "He's so big! And he's so quiet! Guthrie, are you on drugs?!"  She told me she has lived in that house since she was 2 years old, and when I asked if she had ever left she said with a snort, "Well I moved out when I was married, but THAT didn't last long!" She said she was in this residential neighborhood when it was still forest and fields, and she used to find baby skunks and bring them home to her Mama.  I love her.  Guthrie loves her too, and starts jumping around like a big bean whenever we walk down her street.

There are so many more quick stories that come to mind, like my co-worker Dan and I being gifted 5 pounds of barbeque meat at work one night, or the dive bar up north where a friend said he played pool with a woman with down syndrome, and all the decorations still have a christmas theme because the bartender's husband died during the holiday season, many years ago.

So in trying to put a timeline on my life here, I must remember that this is all grist for the mill. While we were on South Padre we took turns reading our horoscopes while we watched the sun disappear behind the masts of sailboats on the bay, and waited for the Friday night fireworks to light up the coastal sky.  Some of the other's girls horoscopes said things like, "you will struggle mightily for years in your work!"  Mine basically said, "Get out of your own way, and you will have an absolutely wonderful life."  I like to think that is true for us all.