It only took three months, but I finally compiled the notes and said goodbye to the Schmoo. It’s over here (on http://www.digitaldemolition.com/the-tail-of-the-schmoo/ in case that link isn’t working; it’s been finicky.)

Moving on…that’s motion, right?

Today started off pretty normally for lately. I woke up late. Threw together my stuff. Jumped on the VBA and barely made it to class on time. After class, I had to ride to Milwaukie to get the scooter inspected. It’s no big deal, just a VIN verification. It’s a 15-mile ride that’s estimated to take 30 minutes. My appointment is at 1:15, so I left at noon (right from class, which is at Peninsula Park), hoping to get there early enough to 1) establish I knew the location of the cop shop and 2) get some food in me.

MLK sucks balls. It always does. I hit reserve before the southbound-split and get gas at the 76. The bike’s not idling well, so after a few minutes of sitting in construction traffic, I pull off to give the engine a stern look and rev it hard a few times to blow out whatever might be gunking her up. Back on MLK, even my California ninja driving techniques can’t get me past this stupid traffic, so I cut over a couple roads, parallel MLK for a while, then cut back over right where the traffic lets up. I ask the bike,  “please please please, if you’re going to break down anyway, could you do it by the turnoff to P-town?” Maybe 100 yards after the turnoff, her clutch cable breaks, but luckily, it’s right before I have to commit to that long stretch of “no way outta this walled-in construction mess, you’re going to die.”

I flip around, wait for cross traffic to part and start that push-run, slam-it-into-second thing you do when you have no clutch … from MLK to 33rd and Division. I sailed through construction yelling to the guys, “no clutch! gotta keep rolling!” I executed questionable tactics to continue moving because I am so very out of practice at this push-run technique plus the way Portlanders like to stop all the damn time is not conducive to my mission: get to P-town without having to push her uphill.

The guys are busy, I know this. I don’t want to bug. Plus with all the Bleh that’s been lurking around lately, I have little hope of making it for my appointment. But I ask Patrick, “is there any way of getting my clutch cable changed and me getting to Milwaukie in … uh … 24 minutes?” “Let’s see!” he says, dropping everything to help me out. So he’s changing the cable on my bike, which has one of those pipes that’s right under the engine and gets really hot, while I answer the shop phone and chat with the guys. I call the place I’m going to ask if I can be a bit late because it’s 1:05. Answering machine. Patrick gets it all done and I’m back on the road at…1:20. It’s fine, and having a new cable makes the clutch all smooth and nice, so I’m feeling pretty OK about the day. I ride home, stop for some consolation Taco Bell, and plop on the couch to munch and watch Castle.

Oh yes, did I mention that I got to do this in the rain?

At 2:55, my phone rings. It’s the cops. If I can get there by 3:30, they’ll still do the inspection. I’m back on the road inside of five minutes. MLK is so ridiculously backed up that even lane splitting doesn’t help. So I cut over some random E/W street, zip around the Lloyd Ctr, and head down 12th. Traffic is flowing decently, especially for PDX. People are actually doing at least the speed limit. At some point around Sellwood, I pull over to check the map to see that I’m still heading the right direction. I am. I cut to the front of a line of three cars and sail through the just-turned-green light. I hear honking two cars back and know it’s for me. When I come to the turnoff for 224E, the honker pulls up next to me and says, “you can’t lane share in Oregon”. “I’ve heard that,” I reply, very chipper. “You just did,” he continued. “I know I did!” I say very happily as the light turns green and I leave him for 224.

Now I’m on 224, which is qualified as an “expressway”. Pretty much a highway. It’s the first time since I moved here that I have a chance to go as fast as I want, and traffic is actually going faster than me. I’ve got the speedo pegged and am sailing along a smooth road. (I really need the upgear kit; there’s a lot more vroom in this bike than she can do with the standard gears.) I’m having a wonderful time. Passing exits, none of which is mine. After a few, I decide to pull over to double-check the exit name. It’s 3:31. I don’t even bother to check the map since I’ve missed the appointment again.

I flip around and tear ass on 99E, maybe five miles, back toward the construction nightmare.

Then it occurs to me: I’m having a great time. It doesn’t even matter that I missed the appointment, that my wrists are killing me, and that my ass is still wet.

True to form, I do not acknowledge this mood until I get home (never declare victory until you’re out the door). Yes, I have to do some more creative carving around Grand Ave., the ubiquitous construction, and the idiotic Portland drivers (did I mention I’ve adopted a saying here? “Portland: take a breath, it’s going to be a while.” It applies to nearly everything.)

But when I pull into my garage, I am victorious and allow myself to revel in the feeling.

I scooted all over the place today.

My goal was never accomplished.

But I’m feeling better than I have in a long time.

Apparently I just needed to get out there and scoot. Fast. Just for a bit.

Motion. Don’t discount its ability to move your mood as well as your ass.

—————

Anyway…

Since last I wrote (nearly two months ago, for those who are playing along), there has been motion a-plenty. Gardens have been planted, my older cat has died, migraines have come and gone and come again, my forcefield, entourage, and various potions and talismans sallied forth into two airports and came out unscathed (though nearly scaleless) (not those kinds of scales), family visits have occurred, and I’m neck deep into some bookkeeping for a friend’s business in which the only thing that the quickbooks files and the bank reports have in common is that they contain numbers. (!) That’s just MY side of things (no details on Dave’s side of the motion). To sum it up: the the crisis/calm index of the Portland Cole household has ricocheted around like a ferret on crack.

Maybe I shouldn’t take so long between posts. But you know how it is: you get so sucked into the suck that you haven’t anything to write except alphabetical poems of how everything sucks. Which are best saved for 750words.com. The need to post something of value, or merit, worthy of publishing is a daunting foe. A good idea in the bath rarely makes it past the recorder on my phone. Sad, really, since I’m only here to babble about motion. Not for documenting Grand Prose, just for observing; for noticing motion; and for sharing these observations (hopefully with an ironically-still photo or two).

Most recent motion: we went camping and Morel hunting on the east side of Mt. Hood. Walking around the woods staring at tree roots and shady spots is immensely calming. It’s really amazing how much more you … ahem … notice when you’re noticing things. I kept forgetting what we were hunting for because I was finding so many other interesting things to study. I started taking pictures of other mushrooms, because the Morel is a Solitary Beast, elusive and wily (plus, it turned out that we were up against a camp of 25 other Morel hunters, so we really never stood a chance. They took pity on our meager scores and doubled our lot, which was very kind of them.)

I have a lot in common with mushrooms in general. We prefer the shade and the cool mountain air. We grow best when left alone. We don’t grow well in labs. We’re oddly shaped. When we’re close with one another, we’re very close, but when we’re distant, we’re far, far alone. (I’m waxing philosophical here, so we can omit the fact that some mushrooms grow well in shit, thankyouverymuch.) (Though my inner 12-yr-old would like to point out that I am sometimes full of shit.)

Score! Morel!

You MIGHT be able to eat these, with exciting results.

Yes, it really is a mushroom.

**sigh**

The past couple of months haven’t been particularly forward. Dave’s mom is really sick. His business is new and has “growing pains.” My 16-year-old cat is dying of cancer. We’re broke (even the apocalypse money is gone). My grandpa-in-law died. Our washer died. Death and dying seem to be our constant companions lately. Add to that my newly launched website that garnered two nibbles out of the many actual agency contacts I hit.

**sigh**

Some of my stroke issues are back and there are some new ones, too. So even if I did actually get a client, I wouldn’t really be able to do the job. Photophobia so I can’t look at my computer screen for too long, migraines, exhaustion, dyslexia, typing skills down the tubes, and lots more wonderful things. The sadness leads to me changing up my daily rituals, like long baths and shivanata, which then screw with the rest of my day. And the cat is too weak to go get food, so I bring him little snacks every couple of hours.

Though I get that without the downs we wouldn’t appreciate the ups, I think we’re due some good news. We did actually get some today, but I’m so stuck in the sadness rut that I could barely muster a smile.

Bunners are coming for a barbecue tonight, which should be very fun. And I can always hope that tomorrow will be better. Hope is a good thing. Sometimes it’s the only thing.

Comment notes: I’m just venting here, I’m not begging for sympathy. But if there’s been a period in your life where everything seemed to be heading the wrong way, I’d love to hear about it and what you did to reverse the flow.

Plus I had an honest week’s work with my favorite client, Mekanism. More Facebook stuff, which, though tedious, pays the same as the interesting projects. If you have a FB account and you want to check it out,  it’s here. Not one of my top portfolio pieces, but at least there were very few moving parts, so it was an easy week. And it reminded me how much I love breaking websites.

There’s been lots of motion in my life, which is excellent, but not so much that really lends itself to images. I was practicing shivanata daily, finding more and more ways to challenge myself, and I kinda had a breakthrough/breakdown on Feb 25th. It’s really hard to explain, and I promise to try in another post, but the upshot is that I abruptly acquired several new neural connections. With those dead brain areas in my head, sparks suddenly igniting, bringing new knowledge and skills can be pretty startling. I wasn’t sure if I was a genius or insane. Danielle’s guidance on talking to your body helped me get through it, so I’m back to a regular practice now.

Physical motion-wise, I shoot for two miles of walking a day, but that’s been a little derailed. (I have been doing PT for my feet, so at least that’s covered.) I did four miles on Friday and another four today. Near the end of my walk today, as my tired legs and feet were complaining, I came across this scene, and realized that we all need rest. It’s part of self-care. Humans weren’t meant to gogogo all the time. Why doesn’t the US recognize the need for naps? Europe does. Mexico does. Apparently we’re supposed to be superhuman. But in the middle of Portland’s crazy warm-snow-hail-warm spring (I love love love the seasons here, even the rain is wonderful), things are blooming. And three out of four daffodils needed some rest. We could all take a little lesson from nature.

It’s fantastic, again for a variety of reasons, but one of the things that keeps me coming back is I can feel my brain healing. Coming out of the fog a little. Doing it in a group with a teacher is an amazing experience, but you can do it anywhere. Luckily, living in Portland, I know quite a few people who practice, and we get together sometimes for practice sessions because it can be hard to keep the momentum of a daily practice by yourself.

On Wednesday, Larisa came up with the idea of a 40-day challenge, where Shivanuts all over the world could try to commit to doing even a short daily practice, and check in with each other for support and questions and whatnot. The idea being to stimulate her own practice, and inviting people to play along working on their own daily dancing.

Larisa and I exchanged a few emails on Thursday and she came over today for a brainstorming session, which was possibly the most fun I’ve had being incredibly productive, building a blog side-by-side (typing madly on two Macs on the same desk), laughing and playing, and just cranking like crazy to create a simple place where people doing the 40-day thing could check in, share, and compare notes. In less than two hours, we’d built a site. If that isn’t motion in action, I don’t know what is!

It’s here. Check it out.

For my walk today, I tried making a labyrinth out of my neighborhood. The plan: from home, walk one half block north, then head east one block, south a block, then west a block. At the end of each circle, I’d expand the walk by another block, expanding two blocks, and then three.

On the second round, I realized that our neighborhood is bordered on the south by Fremont Street, which has an elementary school (which I could cut behind), but then it gets disorganized and industrial. No clear blocks. And to the west of us, I can go about four blocks out before I run into I-5. Bleh.

Next in my exploration of urban labyrinths, making an actual plan that starts large and winds inward toward my house. That’ll take care of the Fremont street issue, and if I plan it right, the I-5 issue as well.

Here’s a map of where I did go. As I was making my final lap (having already gone down Fremont twice) I found another swing set! Hell yeah! (Of course I stopped to swing.)

This little guy is my buddy, shown here in my nest for the day. When I get stuck on something, he likes to fly. Luckily the Playground has very high ceilings. Also, luckily, he doesn’t mind when I miss catching him on the way back down.

BREAK

BREAK

As my treat for visiting the doctor (and because my physical therapist said it was good for my brainmeats), I stop by the swings in a park across from the hospital. Every week or so, I hop into a swing and drift back and forth for a few minutes. Rain or shine.

The park has been mostly empty, but today a child and mom joined me. I was sad to hear that in the summer, my park will not be mine anymore. The gangs, gamblers, and drug dealers will rule the grassy area that comprises more than 2/3 of the park. Last summer a person was stabbed there. I guess I’ll be looking for another set of swings. Perhaps a longer walk on the west side of the river is in order…