Coming at you From the Left Side

Greetings from Eugene, OR!

Arrived yesterday afternoon after a relatively uneventful flight (except for the part where that four year old spilled water all over me, but it was only water--no big deal). After a short tour of our digs, Monkey and I met a couple of acquaintances for dinner at Bepe and Gianni's, a pretty nice Italian restaurant here in town. By 9 pm, I was feeling pretty sleepy, after an early wake up, a long day travelling, the two hour time difference, a handful of dramamine, a plate of ravioli in a bechamel, and one (yes, only one) glass of wine. By 9:30, I was sawing logs.

Today, an early run (so much cooler and less humid than NE) and then we're off for more visiting of old friends in Corvallis, just north of here. Tomorrow, we're off to Portland for more visiting, and Saturday, Andrew Bird and the Decemberists on their home turf. Should be spectacular. I will keep you posted!

The Slow Roll at the Top of the Backside

Does this sound simple?
--Sonic Youth, "The Sprawl"

A short breather at Monkey House Nebraska before heading to the Pacific Northwest and then the Rocky Mountains. I am psyched to get out of the flatland and into the mountains, and, of course, I really can't wait to see Monkey again (she's been away since the second (it seems so much longer)), but I am also starting to feel that "the end is near" feeling, and I am getting a bit melancholy about that. So far, this has been a good summer, relaxing, adventurous, and I expect it to get even better tomorrow, when I touch down in Portland. However, it seems that we've reached that point that we reach every year, and, each time I look at the calendar, I think, "Wow, I need to get ready for school." Is it a guilt factor, growing from having too much time without a work schedule? Is it a natural function of comparing the list of "planned to do" and the list of "actually done" and discovering that one list far outpaces the other? Or, is it a more deep-seated, Freudian fear, one in which, when I see the calendar move to mid-July, I think, "Ugh, only a few more weeks, and my mom's gonna make my brother and me wear matching denim pant suits to school on the first day...again!"

These are, of course, rhetorical questions. Just the pondering of an (occasionally) over-reflective neurotic. Feel free to discuss them amongst your friends, if you have little else to do. Otherwise, take them for what they are: further evidence of the complicated psychological cartwheeling that this boy imposes upon himself (subconsciously), on a semi-regular basis.

Tidbits

I've little to say except to divest myself of two bits that struck me as funny/curious yesterday.

First, while out running a few errands, I found myself at a light behind a Chrysler 300. A nice car, I guess. It looks luxury model-y. The curious thing, to me, was that the car had a license plate border that read "BMW of Lincoln." Really? That doesn't jibe, does it? I mean, if you are going to sport a "BMW of Lincoln" border on your plates, shouldn't you be driving something other than a Chrysler? You know, like, what, a BMW or something? I decided to take a cue from the dude in this vehicle and went right out and put a "Lamborghini of Ceresco" border on my Honda!

In the same span of ten minutes, I was listening to the sports radio talk shows. The comedian/actor/whatever Jay Mohr was sitting in for professional grumbler Jim Rome. In one of his rambly bits, Mohr was discussing the late M Jackson's memorial service. He pondered (I paraphrase): "Why did the casket look like a chafing dish?" I found this amusing and somewhat true. Did you see this monstrosity of gold and general opulence? Honestly, Jacko's casket outdid the sepulchre of many a Renaissance pope. And those dude's knew how to spend some church money on ornament. A chafing dish! And, a very expensive, ornate, gaudy chafing dish, at that. You are NOT going to keep a trough of instant potatoes warm in that chafing dish, let me tell you.

The Personal Connection

A year ago this time, I was regaling you with the long story of our trip to Italy. I have been thinking a lot about this trip, since it was such a wonderful experience, and we are at that point (an anniversary) when the human mind tends to reflection. In addition, I am currently reading Salman Rushdie's The Enchantress of Florence, which takes place in Renaissance Florence (and 15th century India, as well). It is an enjoyable read, thus far, and far more accessible than I expected (I'd never read Rushdie before), but the most exciting aspect right now, for me, is his description and mention of places in Florence that I have seen with my own eyes.

I always spend some time discussing with my students the strategies that good readers use. One of the primary strategies in comprehending and enjoying any text is making a personal connection, finding something in the text that you can equate in some way with your own life experiences. As I read the first section of the novel, which takes place primarily in India, I was making connections, but, for the most part, those connections were between the text and some other text I had read or seen, but, once the story shifted locales, the novel has taken off. When Rushdie writes of the burning of Savanorola in the Piazza della Signoria, I can picture the square exactly as I saw it (and imagine the Dominican monk horridly en fuego in the center of it). It is a vivid reminder of the power of personal connection and a pleasant stoking of the memories of a place that I hope to one day visit again.

Household Chores

A brief respite before we are back on the travelling caravan that is Summer 2009. Heading to CoMo for a wedding this weekend, then it's off to Eugene for ten days with Monkey (who is already there), before driving back and stopping in Colorado (Rocky Mountain National Park) for a week with the Ambassadors.

But, before that, it's painting time. It seems that if it's summer around here, I must be painting something. This year, we're painting Monkey's office. We had some of the living room paint left over from when we moved in, and she decided that would be nicer than the (I don't know) avocado (?) that was in there previously. It has been a longer task than I expected (isn't it always), which has included a brief foray into the bedroom to paint some awful closet doors with the white semi-gloss I got for the trim in the office. I must say, despite the annoyance of the detail work (I am meticulous on the edges), and the dearth of joy in a job done without my favorite painting partner (and queen of the roller brush), that the room looks a hundred times nicer, brighter, and cleaner.

Unfortunately, all that painting has cut into my usual routine of reading for eight hours a day (okay, an exaggeration), but I'll be back to that soon enough, I guess.

By the way, Monkey has the camera, and she sent some photos from the road (she and a friend drove out to OR). In Chapell, NE, she found this monstrous ice cream cone in some one's back yard.

That's all for now, a cheese sandwich is calling my name.