K-60 and workin’ the Fall of 2007

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He was between Washington state and California.

All south of Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada,  from years ago.

He was in Portland………………….Oregon………………….living……………………and working.

The elephant still lived in the parking spot, after all these many weeks.

And now, two giraffes had joined her.

As fall hit the city……

  

…..and the TT-car entered its last lease days,

  

they just settled further in…..

……getting ready for their first big roadtrip in a long time……getting ready for their birthdays……and their wedding anniversary……..it had been a full and busy year since they wed in Toronto.

The blog would come eventually, but not until at least November, he had said.

More likely it would take him until the end of 2007 to actually write things down again.  Something to do with being

A KOREAN 60…………….and workin’ the FALL of 2007

.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/East_Asian_age_reckoning

Being now at this advancing age, he remembered what he had thought about “old people” when he was “the kid”, the young white boy.  In these brief 6 decades he had watched Life cheapen, become less valuable, less treasured.  All of what he was seeing and hearing and feeling put him in mind of something said by a friend further north on the coast of the Pacific North West.  She had said:

“When I was fifteen, my father  took me to see Zeffirelli’s “ROME AND JULIET”.  At the end, I wept uncontrollably for a very long time.  In fact, the theatre manager had to help my dad get me out of my seat.  I wept not for the dead lovers but because it was the first time I realized that adults ( Romeo & Juliet’s parents ) didn’t have all the answers.  In fact, the adults made mistakes which led to war which was the road to death.  Into my happy and sheltered life came the knowledge of my own mortality and of the fallibility of adults.  This film came at the same time as my adolescent rebellion stage and thus marked a turning point for me.  Externally the only signs of change were that I wore a beret and an occasional sullen look ( but I’ve never been able to successfully wear either! ).  Internally I was trying to figure out how to become a better adult than the ones portrayed in the film and the ones who were leading us to war.  It was 1968.”

The way she related this discovery to him in a letter truly struck a chord.  He saved the letter for a long time, looking at her words.  It was some time ago when he himself came to the realization that no one human was truly in charge.  That we all were these bumbling, decision-making or decision-avoiding human beings trying to do the best we could. For him there was both a sense of relief and disappointment in this.

 ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Things were happening again.   Good things and not so good things.

The good things he experienced with his new wife were so new he could barely find words.

Love did that, he thought.  Made one speechless, an unusual condition for him.

The not-so-good things began to start sounding like the ship-creaking he had heard twice before. 

When the Santanna Winds rubbed that big old California oak tree up against the leased SOCAL bungalow  by the olympic sized swimming pool ……. and then again, when the young animation company in Chicago began to make its own distinct creaking noises too.  But it could all be different this time……………

He certainly hoped so. 

He was tired of moving, tired of “running away”.

And then there had been some ”RUNNING AWAY”, that’s for sure.

He did not know how far back nor how many times it had happened.

Who knows what his GREAT grand parents did.

But the Grand Parents { on both sides } had run.

One side from the crushing poverty of a still Dickensian England, as children on the run to Canada.  The other side ran from the {almost official now} Genocide by the Turkish Army in Armenia, all the way to Detroit.

The parents, as children of Immigrants-On-The-Run, found it less difficult to run from the Racial Situation in downtown Detroit.

All of this accumulated and interwove itself into his own Life.
Blended with his growing up in the black & white era
of the LONE RANGER who always rode unexpectedly
out of town at the end of EVERY SHOW on their new tv,
and the cigar-smoking stranger with the poncho who would
appear and disappear at the beginning and end of each of his
outsourced Italian movies.

He had an aunt ( and sometimes absent uncle ) that taught him the joy of
FREEDOM ( one aspect of   r  u   n    n    i     n     g     ).
They traveled freely through Military Means, but showed him the lightness
and exhileration of instant travel,
of magical relocation.

It was only after he himself had succumbed to those feelings,

that rush, the particular exhileration of FREEDOM
that came quickly upon “running away”

( long after leaving home and family )

( long after leaving God and Country )

that he heard one of his Grandfathers described as “a Drifter”,

and then he knew.

He was one too.

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

 

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

In this new century with all its technological wizardry, talking searching engines ( http://www.msdewey.com/://www.entnet.org/ ) and virtual fishtanks that float over one’s head (  http://gizmodo.com/gadgets/ledscreen/worlds-biggest-fake-fish-tank-297359.php )

 It was in this century, that he went back to work.
The long time, long term, every month commuting of 3000 miles stopped. 

It took a while for all the after images of their changing life to catch up with them.
The trailing multiple images of all the changing things in their lives slowed, compressed, and collected themselves into the new moment.  Although still moving a bit, the moment felt down right stationary compared to the years before.

As they settled into their new place and traveled almost no where, he went back to work.   He felt the long missed strands and sinews of complete re-engagement with his work.
There was a thrill and satisfaction akin to other dangerous addictions.

 

Where he worked was unique. 

 

It took him back in time to other warehouse areas

that he had fallen in love with decades before,

when when he still thought he might become a forklift driver. 

The north west part of portland was really a complete warehouse zone, with the occasional trucking or taxi company.  The streets and buildings were all somewhat clean, well painted and kept up.  
This was a unique Portland, Oregon trait.  Clean Even the grafittii tagging had to be painted out quickly, by law.

 

The cables for the cable cars of Portland Transit criss-crossed the streets on either side of their building, one going North and one going South ( and for right now at least……..free travel in this Downtown Fare-Free zone…..though this would probably change ).

The big, quiet, cable-cars moved frequently and silently along the smooth clean tracks headed North to Downtown’s shops and eateries or South to their place next to the Portland State University on the Southernmost edge of Downtown Portland.

 

She was a TRANSIT-GIRL, not a car-driver………but everything was so close at hand that she and he both found themselves walking more and more all the time Downtown.

 

Their place in the still not finished BENSON TOWER was very pleasant.  The “Water Feature” turned out to be an interesting facade and entrance to the building, with its waters rolling down the length of the building and under the front entrance doors.

Although the window coverings had not worked out quite the way they were supposed to  ( the firm they had hired, THE THREE BLIND LADIES, had not fully understood the meaning of the words ” eliminate all reflected glare from the tv and computer screens” ) the main living room was forming itself into their personal space and they were happy and grateful.

As the trees all around them turned their autumn colours, the waters continually splashed down the high side of the building on the hill, and rolled across stones to the low side of the building, just past the main entrance.

The lobby at the entrance sort of floated, moored to the sidewalk by the entrance path past the keyboard and the front doors.

The flow of Pacific North West abundant waters finally flowed out and down just past the lobby’s main doors.

Portland was an interesting and unique place and they were glad they came.

They listened to music in the clubs, with folks like MEL BROWN, originally from Portland but had spent time in MOTOWN and in major acts in other towns before returning to form a band ( several bands that work different nights ) back in Portland.

 

But everything about this city had its own unique quality.  One that made him smile and look up to the sky and say THANKS.

 

From the somewhat Grandiose to the Tiny-But-Proud, Portland felt good.

 

All of Oregon was living through the same hell all of the other American states were.  Trying to do the right thing but not liking the way things were and hoping for a change………………waiting for the November 2008 election.

But as bad as some things got, it was nowhere near as bad as it had once been.  When able bodied men ( and women ) were ‘disappeared’ from stores or taverns at street level to SHANGHAI-pens below ground level.  Having once been somewhat SHANGHAI’d himself back along the Pacific North West coast of Vancouver Island in B.C., Canada, back in the late 1960’s, he had more respect for these recent historical digs than most of the scoffing tourists.

 

But now, these days, in the present century, she and he tried to do some good things in their newly adopted city.

Alone in the town without relatives or close friends, the two of them volunteered to serve Thanksgiving Dinner to others at a community center across the river from downtown.  At this same time they learned about the big civic tree lighting in downtown Portland………………and the newly emerging Peace organization ( http://www.the peacealliance.org ) that was trying to legitamize the use of Peace as a federal government department ( what might have been called The Diplomatic Corps in earlier times, before the great Fear settled in with its partner of perpetual profit-centered War ).

He had read about it in a local paper ( also from across the river ).  The article quoted a woman named Peggy Mala as saying, ” We cannot bomb every person that we have a conflict with or simply put them all in jail.”  In the midst of a hard economic downturn, perhaps the first tangible sign of the lessening of the might and rule of the most recent USA, he felt things shifting, changing again.

 

But then his ‘bum’ ear was acting up again……

Boy, was he ever tired of ‘bum’ ear problems……

If they could map genomes and clone people,

Why couldn’t they ( we ) just FIX his ‘bum’ ear………?

He placated himself by imagining the ear as a DALI sculpture……

….or remembering the more drastic artistic effects of ‘bum’ ears.

 

…and then, seemingly all of a sudden, it was time for the HOLIDAYS…..

 

She was happy, beaming, getting ready to have a few new neighbours over…..

….before they flew the short trip to Los Angeles on Christmas Day.

He had told her lots about the city that his brother and his son and many friends and colleagues lived and worked in.

They would stay for a couple of days in Santa Monica, near the other ocean that he had not been able to show her yet.

But they would not be going in the water.

He always remembered his brother telling him, “Only the tourist go into THAT water.”

But they would fly South with all of those birds he saw each day leaving Portland.

They would visit with his oldest son and his son’s girlfriend in LA.  They’d try to get a rental convertible to enjoy NON-RAINY weather in December.  If the navigation system worked they might make it to the various sites he wanted to show her ( everything from DisneyLand to The Crystal Cathedral to the Ahmanson to see COLOR PURPLE on stage ), maybe even to RODEO DRIVE and HOLLYWOOD if they could find the time.

They would enjoy CHRISTMAS-BOXINGDAY-CHANNUKAH-KWANZAA-AL-HIJIRA, and then fly  ”Home” to Portland to begin living out 2008 in their new place in their friendly city.

More to come………………………….maybe in the Spring?