It Pulls Me In

Cannon Beach from Haystack Rock

Give me mountains, give me deserts, give me rivers, give me forests and I am captivated—starry-eyed and serene.

Yet, the sea is so different. It pulls me in.

Cannon Beach

Its power is something I cannot fight, something I am willing to surrender to.

I am a happy slave to the sea. For I am so insignificant when I am around it, because it is greater than I will ever be.

Nothing feels better than being humbled and calmed this way. To know that all of my fears and worries are specks, like grains of sand easily swept away by the tide.

Sandals on the beach

With my sandals casually held in one hand and a salty breeze brushing the other, my toes sunk into the wet sand as I walked along the beach with my love by my side. He is always like that tide, pulling me in, soothing me and making me a better person.

I was away from the sea for too long. I need it near me, to remind me of the unknown.

That it is okay to just be.


 

Last Sunday Mr. H and I hopped in the car and drove to Cannon Beach to recharge. I got more out of it than I expected, including a little sunburn and a lot of peace.

Here are some fun pix to round out the awesome day we had.

We drank local pale ales on the patio…

Beer at Mo's Cannon Beach

We ate clam chowder topped with shrimp in sourdough bread bowls…

Mo's Clam Chowder Breadbowl

There was an impromptu showgirl moment…

Cannon Beach Showgirl

A cool Mr. H shot in front of Haystack Rock…

Haystack Rock

And, the big finale…

Haystack Rock

It’s so easy to get wrapped up in the routines we all create. 

If you haven’t lately, go out and find something that pulls you in.

Yin-Yang and Pop Tarts

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Last Friday I was cooped up all morning in my pajamas, a mad writer in the final stages of novel editing. My eyes were burning and I was barely on speaking terms with the English language.

As it was due time to see the light of day, I rode Silvie the bike through bustling downtown Portland and found some surprising tranquility.

There are things about Lan Su Chinese Garden that would normally keep me far, far away. It’s located in the city’s touristy Chinatown and you have to fork over nearly 10 bucks to get in the front door.

But, I gave it a go.

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I decided to geek out and take the walking tour.

The tour guide with the cheesy Yin-Yang baseball cap almost made me change my mind, but he had me with his calm demeanor. He even told us we could leave at any time, or wander away and come back.

There were covered walkways throughout, but the rain was a soft drizzle so none of us cared about getting wet. Rumor has it that a heavier rain at Lan Su is nothing short of magical as the rain slips off the ornate roofs to create a beaded curtain effect.

It was incredible to learn the meaning of everything encompassing us—the stories and poetry, the Yin and Yang from floor to ceiling.

Bridges were designed in a zig-zag pattern to encourage the walker to slow down and absorb their surroundings.

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At a leisurely pace I marveled at this island of serenity surrounded by noise and grime, lapsing into a walking meditation. Then I began to be awe-inspired by the Yin-Yang connection beyond the walls, in the way the city itself contrasted starkly with the garden.

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To finish my sweet adventure I stopped into the tea house within the garden for sustenance. Before you enter there is a sign requesting guests to silence their cell phones. Um…awesome.

For my first ever formal tea experience, I chose the Golden Monkey black tea accompanied by pecan cookies.

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Exquisite music struck up next to me and suddenly I noticed the man serenading us.

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I purposely abandoned my Kindle in my bag, sat back and enjoyed. There was no need to do anything else but that.

When I left the garden with sweets and tea lingering on my breath, my skin still damp from the rain, and a drunken grin on my face…it all changed. The traffic jarred my senses, and so did the man who yelled at me the second I was on the sidewalk.

“Hey! What’s in that helmet? Huh? What’s in that helmet?”

A homeless man, startling the poor tourist families passing by, had a thing for my bright green bike helmet. I crossed the street and hurried over to my bike. He made a beeline for me.

Sure, it’s noon in the middle of a city. But when an unstable man approaches me, I’m on high alert. I’ve been an urban bike commuter for the past six years. As such, I have two survival plans…

Plan #1: Unlock the bike with a quickness, then ride like hell.

Plan #2: Whack the attacker with my bike lock.

This is my bike lock.

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He was muttering incoherent things and flailing wildly while I unlocked my bike as quickly as I could. I realized that I would have to face him head on.

I gripped my bike lock in my right hand and stared at him without speaking.

He looked me up and down and said: “Alright.” He showed me what was left of his teeth as he smiled, then he gave me a peace-offering, which he carefully rested upon Silvie’s handlebar.

The brown sugar and cinnamon Pop Tarts.

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In Yin and Yang there are opposites which cannot exist without one another. Fire and water. Male and female. Light and dark.

Perhaps me and Pop Tart Man are another example of this philosophy. Or perhaps, I just scored a bag of Pop Tarts.

 

This Place is “Hideous”

Vista House in the Columbia River Gorge
Vista House in the Columbia River Gorge (aka The Looker)

As soon as we passed the Oregon border after our three-day jaunt across the country, cats in tow, our jaws dropped open. The final hours of our drive were alarmingly beautiful.

We kept oohing and aahing over every damn thing.

  • Look at the colorful train across the amazing river! Wow!
  • Look at the incredible rams chillin’ on the hillside! Bitchin’!
  • Look at the snowy Cascades way the hell over there! Cool!
  • Look at how freaking gorgeous everything is! Neato!

So being the smart asses that we are, we said enough with all of the goofy, pretty talk. To change it up, we now joke about how ugly everything is.

(To avoid this sick humor being lost in translation, I will bold and italicize all sarcastic adjectives going forward.)

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Vista House Married Couple Selfies

Last Sunday we took a repellent scenic drive near the Columbia River with Multnomah Falls as the endpoint. The bridges were blah, the hills were drab, and there were revolting waterfalls everywhere.

And bonus, all of this vile nature is a short 30-minute drive from the city for us.

Eventually our road game shouting “Waterfall!” every time we spotted one fizzled out. After the tenth unsightly waterfall, we no longer acknowledged their sleazy presence.

They are disgusting after all.

You can easily spend an entire day on this offensive road, stopping at perverse waterfalls and hiking your ass off. Even though we were like kids in a candy shop, we reined in our enthusiasm and chose to stop at two.

As you can see here, the Latourell Falls are absolutely foul. But, I’m into those legs.

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Mr. H’s Legs and Latourell Falls

Two adventurers were frolicking around the top of the yucky waterfall. They’re a little hard to see, but they’re up there being batshit crazy.

Hikers on top of Latourell Falls
Hikers on top of Latourell Falls

Being the party poopers we are, we stayed safely on dry land. We meandered along the homely road, passing one grody waterfall after another.

We arrived at Multnomah Falls and joined the masses to marvel at this nauseating sight.

Multnomah Falls
(I have no idea who this family is, but I thought they were as cute as can be.) Multnomah Falls

After we fetched our chai tea lattes and fresh chocolate fudge from the little hut in front of the falls, we hopped in the car and headed home.

Overall, our day was very plain and uninspiring.

And, while we’re at it…these two really gross me out!

Aphrodite and Hazel Doing Their Usual
Aphrodite and Hazel Doing Their Usual

 Your turn! What’s the most “hideous” place you’ve ever been to?

The West Coast Girl Finds Her Way

keepsakes

A little over a year ago, I started to get an undeniable West Coast itch.

I visited a dear friend of mine in San Diego for a long weekend. I hadn’t been back to California in many years.

After I landed we had lunch and Bloody Mary’s right on the beach, where the smell of salty fish greeted my nose like a long, lost friend. Then it was off to a different beach, a stunner at that.

It’s nearly impossible for me to explain what happens when one approaches the Pacific Ocean, but damnit I’ll try.

We parked the car on a residential street on top of a hill. I stepped out of the car, plucked my bathing suit out of my crack, then I stopped and stared.

There it was. Glistening in the distance, purposely drawing me into its majesty.

The sight left me speechless. So speechless that my friends thought I was insanely jet-lagged, when really I was just awestruck.

I hovered in a meditative state. My toes wiggled around the warm surface of the sand and my fingers dug deeper to feel the cool layer hiding beneath.

It was home. And after that day, it stayed with me forever.

But, this isn’t about finding my way back to California. This is about a finding a new way, a very different West Coast locale. One where neither of us has ever lived, one where neither of us has any family.

A place that is green inside and out. A place that is kooky with drool-worthy food. A place that’s got something casually awesome about it.

Portland, Oregon. 

At the end of next week Mr H. and I and our two pissed off cats will be traipsing across the country on a 30-hour drive.

Why? Because it was absolutely the right time for us to do it.

We visited Portland several years ago, and we have never been to any place in the world more beautiful.

Yes, it rains…a lot. But that rain brings a magical brightness to everything it touches, turning the world every exquisite shade of green imaginable.

Uprooting our lives can be seen as something to fear, a perilous force writhing with anxiety, stress, and discomfort.

The lengthy drive with two cats will be the ninth circle of Hell. The cozy routine will vanish from our lives. The faces and places we have come to know intimately will fade. The unknown will be downright scary at times.

Yet, we are choosing to embrace this turbulent change for the sake of growth and inspiration. All of the new—the land, the culture, the people—will only feed our creativity and make us stronger.

Besides, my home is wherever my husband is. And together, we can do anything.

When I am me, I am free

Stunning Irish photographer Meticulous Mick and I have come together to provide this little number for you.

I first heard of his collaborative spirit when my lovely blogger pal Sheila Hurst teamed up with MM to create Pavement and Paint.

It’s not hard to be inspired by his ridiculously beautiful photos, so he sent me a couple of photos to work with. While they were both absolutely breathtaking, I found “Faded Colour” irresistible.

I thought of this boat as a breathing person, a woman neither young nor old, with doubts and desires. My mind went into a frenzy and I scribbled for a few minutes to create this random something.

I’m not a poet, so call it what you like.

Be sure to get your butt over to Meticulous Mick’s collaborations page if you want to team up.

Faded Colour by Meticulous Mick (aka John Grant)
Faded Colour by Meticulous Mick (aka John Grant)

WHEN I AM ME, I AM FREE

I could be smooth and new like them

Gliding along the sea in some infinite breeze

Without feelings, without pain

Like porcelain dolls never fazed by the rain

But, I am me

Weathered, chipped, and a little faded

I’m not expensive or high-maintenance

I’m a bargain with my colorful simplicity

Because I have traveled

Across the vastness of life

I remain lovely and bright

Sailing through the dark and the light

My generosity has carried so many souls

And they have guided me in the right direction

I have known life in all of its exquisite ways

Beneath me in the water, above me in the sky, inside of my earthly body

All of it made me real and alive

They made me beautiful

These journeys across the endless sea

When I am me, I am free