Fall Colors

Unemployed

The next day I packed my backpack full of coffee-shop things - the book I’m currently reading, my journal, my walkman. I was kind of looking forward to spending a day loafing around town, but I wasn’t sure it was an option. Was I supposed to start work today or tomorrow? I couldn’t remember, so I’d have to run by the work place first.

I came in through the machine shop door. Jan and Mac were standing there looking over their soldering tools, Mac with a welding helmet reclined behind his head and a box of plastic and wires in his hand. Jan listening on to the options. Finally Jan looked over to me. “Hi, how was your trip?”
“Good,” I replied. I didn’t think he wanted to hear about all the drunken debauchery, so I went onto the next subject, “I couldn’t remember if I was supposed to start today or tomorrow.”
“We need to talk about that,” he said as he led me to another room, away from the shop, and as I would realize later, away from others. “I’ve had to cut back on labor costs,” he continued. “Even while you were gone, I had to cut back hours for some of the others.” He went on for a while trying to explain his position and most of all trying to avoid the words, “you’re fired.”

I decided to cut to the point and make it easy on him. “So, what you’re saying is, you’re giving me the axe,” I said with a smirk on my face. I was happy to lose this job. Not only did it mean I wouldn’t have to bike through a cold and wet Oregon winter, but it also meant I didn’t have to go back to work for a little longer - a stay of execution. The only reason I was holding onto this job in the first place was the hope that it would get me into the bike shop, and I didn’t see that happening for some time.

“It’s nothing personal,” he said avoiding an answer in the affirmative. “It’s just been a hard month.” “Oh, I don’t take it personal,” I replied. And I don’t. I know he’s telling the truth.

He had a look of sad guilt in his eyes. He was obviously more upset about this than I. I tried to reassure him, “It’s alright. I’ll survive. I just have to get another job. Besides, I still have some money stashed away.”

We continued to exchange words, but he was still having a hard time looking at me. He could only do it for a few seconds before his eyes found their way back to the floor. Guilt. I was surprised how much it had a hold of him, especially when I thought it was pretty obvious that I didn’t have a problem with the whole thing.

So, I said good-bye trying to hold back a smile that was bursting to be free - I didn’t want to appear too happy. I told him I wanted to volunteer in the bike shop once I got a job. Then I walked away feeling like a dog that’s just been let off its leash.

Home?

As the bus made it’s way toward Eugene, I watched the open pastures of the Willamette Valley roll by – life as far as the eye can see. A thick blanket of clouds hung in stillness above, and a thin sheet of rain covered everything in silence below. Between it all, we moved on. I tried to recapture the feeling I’ve had so many times before – a feeling of coming home. But I couldn’t. I’m not so sure there’s anything in Eugene for me anymore.

Eugene used to represent my friends and a sense of purpose, but that’s all changed now. I’m just not as connected to my friends as I used to be. They’re moving closer and closer to the mainstream – home-ownership, SUVs, expensive vacations, and full-time jobs. That’s what they want. And I want to run away from that shit as fast as I can. There’s still a few people I feel close to, but mostly I feel alone.

As for my sense of purpose, I haven’t had one for some time. I used to think the world needed saving and that it could be saved. Now I’m not so sure. Worse yet, I don’t know if I really care. People are idiots. They deserve their fate. Besides, in the scheme of things, does it really matter? Life is based on death. You can’t live without consuming the lives of other living things. That’s just how it works and I doubt it only applies here on Earth. It’s a universal principle. Life. Death. They go on forever. Which is all well and good, but what do I do with myself in the meantime? I’m bored. Bored with it all.

“Welcome to Eugene,” the bus driver says. City lights and headlights break the darkness.
….

I walked the cool, autumn night to my house, pack on my back. I opened the door to a living room shrouded in darkness, all except for the light of my roomates’ laptop. They were there, on the couch huddled around the screen, faces aglow. It was like they were keeping warm around a fire.

They were happy to see me and I was happy to see them. “It seems like a lot longer than three weeks,” I said. “I know,” Sarah agreed. We talked, catching-up on all the changes, all the gossip. And as the night went on I began to feel like I was at home. Finally when I lay in bed, underneath a couple layers of blankets and reading by the soft light of the lamp, I looked around my room – my guitar, the open wooden floor, and the few possessions I hold on to. Eugene may no longer feel like my home, but this does.

New Baltimore Style

This is based-off a previous post...

Roger picked me up at the Greyhound station bright and early. His first question was "You want to get some drinks?" Of course I did. It was his birthday after all. So, we started the morning with Bloody Marys, then moved on to beer, shots of tequila, and finally Jaeger. By five o'clock we were gone, gone, gone. As you might guess, our memories get a bit foggy at that point. The one thing we both do remember is the pumpkins.

There was this church that looked more like a medieval castle than a house of worship. It was made of white-washed rock and stood up high on a grassy hill. Big, white clouds hovered in the sky above, and hundreds of bright orange pumpkins sat in a sea of grass below. We were drawn like moths to a flame. Almost. We weren't quite as benevolent as moths. While rummaging through the pumpkins, one broke loose from the pack and rolled down the hill toward the busy street. Apparently, the church people foresaw such a thing, because there was a barrier made of bales hay at the bottom. The rogue pumpkin thudded against it. So we had pumpkins, a hill, a barrier, and a busy street below. Our eyes lit up with excitement. Could we get a pumpkin past the barrier? Who knew. I looked over at the lady in charge. She seemed to be busy loading things into the back of her minivan. Maybe she knew what we were up to, maybe she didn’t. No matter. We just kept rolling along.

Some time later, Joey picked us up in a parking lot across the street. When he pulled-up, apparently we were wrestling around with a stolen pumpkin in hand. I say apparently, because neither Roger nor I remember this, but two grown men wrestling in broad daylight over a pumpkin must’ve been some site to all the cars passing by.



Joey drove us back to Roger’s where a party was waiting for us. Roger made a gracious entry by opening the truck door and promptly falling on his ass. The night was off to a glorious start. The rest of the evening was spent smiling, laughing, and good natured partying. I remember Darin jamming on the guitar and me pouring my heart and soul into the harp. It felt good. Real good. I remember various faces and good vibes. I remember people asking where was the food that Roger had promised to cook-up. Sorry folks, we drank our dinner, you’ll have to do the same. I remember looking down at my leg and seeing a long-ass scrape go all the way down my thigh. How the hell did that happen?



The next morning we woke-up with our battle scars – the scrape on my thigh, along with matching cherries on my shoulder and knee. Roger had a small gash next to his eye, and other cuts and bruises. We didn't do this to each other. We did it to ourselves - climbing over fences and jumping off Roger's wooden patio onto the steep hillside. When we told our friend Jack about it the next day, he just responded by saying, "yep,” without even batting an eye. He grew-up with us. He knows all about partying New Baltimore style.



Tags:
drinking,
partying

Laura

Laura’s really into alternative things like Yoga and Chakras and healing. So you think she’d be this foo-foo flower-child type girl. But she’s not. She’s got a dark side. The first time I realized this was when she told me that one of the cashiers at the natural food store got on her nerves. “Why?” I asked.
“Because she’s one of those people that’s always so nice… too nice. Like you can be mad about something and talking to her about it and she’ll start saying, ‘It’s all good…it’s all love…be happy,’ Sometimes it’s not all good. Sometimes you can’t be happy.”
Right on, I thought. Then we went on a big discussion about the yin-yang of things. Laura and I are always talking about deep things like that.




Laura’s anything but superficial. I can ask her, “how’s it going?” And she won’t give me the typical bullshit “good” response. She’ll say something like, “actually I’m pretty depressed today.” And we’ll talk about it. And when she asks me how I’m doing, I know I can tell her just about anything and she’ll understand. No judgments. No illusions of superiority. Just understanding.

The day after Spencer’s Butte, Laura and I hiked the Metoulis River in central Oregon.



It was beautiful, but half way through it, right out of the blue, Laura starts talking about how it’s so hard to feel connected sometimes. Like you’re hiking among all this beauty of the great outdoors and you’re thinking, “damn I should be enjoying this more.” But you’re not. You’re just not there - not completely. I understood what she meant completely, because I was going through the same thing. So we talked about it and suddenly we were connected. We spent rest of the hike with a smile on our faces and a song in our heart. Then we drove home singing out loud to the Beatles.



Sometimes I think Laura and I have some kind of E.S.P. connection. This one time I was telling her I had this Crosby, Stills, and Nash tune going through my head all day. That’s all I said - “I’ve had this Crosby, Stills, and Nash song going through my head all day.” I didn’t tell her the song, or a line from the song, or anything. But then she starts singing it. She starts singing the very same song at the very same verse that’s going through my head… “Helplessly hoping her harlequin hovers nearby...”. Now if that was one of their big hits, I wouldn’t thought much of it. But it’s not. I bet most people haven’t even heard that song before. It was weird. It was one of those moments when you realize there’s more to the world than any of us really knows.



Anyway, these hikes were a kind of good-bye. Laura’s moving down to Ashland to go to school. I sure am going to miss her.

Sean

My friends Laura and Sean and I planned on climbing the South Sister. At 13,000 feet, it’s a healthy climb – the 3rd highest in Oregon. The weather had a voice in our plans though and apparently it wasn't happy with them. Clouds, cold temps, and rain aren’t too appealing anywhere. Add 13,000 feet to the equation and it’s just plain miserable. So, we decided on a day hike closer to home.

Spencer Butte is on Eugene’s southern edge and made for a great hike. We walked and talked and explored. At the end of the day we even spent a little time on the obstacle course.



Sean and Laura are good people.



Sean’s this cool, laid back kind of hippie guy. He takes everything in stride and always has a smile on his face. He’s the kind of guy that gets along with everybody. This one time we were hanging around downtown, sitting at a table out on the sidewalk. All of a sudden some guy comes up and sits in the empty chair next to Sean. He’s got all kinds of energy. I don’t know if that’s his natural state or if he’s on something, but Sean seems to know him, so he must be alright. “How do you like my shades,” he asks spinning his head around to give all three of us a good look. He’s got a big, crazy smile on his face and a wild look in his eyes. We can tell, because the sunglasses have no lenses. They’re just frames with his insane eyes peeping out. “The biggest problem with sunglasses,” he says, “is that you can’t see people’s eyes.”
“But I can see yours,” Sean replies in a playful way, and then they give each other a high five. The guy gets-up, straddles a construction barrier for no apparent reason, and is back on his way down the street.
“So how do you know that guy?” I ask Sean.
“I don’t. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen him.”
Typical Sean.