Everything I Tell You is Hearsay

I have a fondness for getting the fuck out of town. As much as I love Portland, I also like to leave it. Not having had a car for some time now, doing that had been kinda hard, unless I wrangled some car owner into taking me along with them when they got the fuck out of town.

At any rate, now that I am once again a CAR OWNER I decided to take one of my most favorite girls  Hilary (Hodie being always and forever my first-most-favorite girl) out of town for a driving tour of the Olympic Peninsula and Parts Yonder.

We went on what turned out to be an ACHINGLY lovely fall day. While headed north on I-5 we felt our day was blessed by a higher source; namely Jesus.

I have never really understood this particular monument to Our Lord and Savior. He’s sort of looming over the freeway. He looks kinda menacing, and vaguely bizarre perched atop that rust-colored plinth and surrounded by some other figure I can’t quite make out, and what looks like one of those death-cages for motorcycle stunts. I’ve never claimed to be particularly religious, but I would TOTALLY go to the church that sponsored a looming-motorcycle riding Jesus. That’s even better than the Buddy Christ!

We followed 5 north to Olympia and then 101 beside the Hood Canal and out around Port Angeles. The weather was stunningly beautiful. Mild and blue. I assured Hilary that this kind of weather was nigh on unprecedented for the rainiest part of the continental US. She replied that all of her firsts with me have been kind of amazing, so this is pretty much par for the course. To defend her point, she cites the 7 person lap dance of doom, and I am forced to agree with her.

My original plan had been to take her to Seattle and show her the sights. She’s from Maryland originally, so there is much tour-guidery I can impose upon her. Upon further reflection, I realized that

1. I wanted to go back to the Olympic Hot Springs almost as much as I wanted to go on breathing
   
2. Hilary would totally be in to that
3. We could sleep in the back of my dandy new station wagon

and then there was no stopping me. So we drove for about 5 hours, but it seemed like less. As we talked about the strange statuary (see above) scattered all around the state, commented repeatedly upon the unusually glorious weather, talked about my new album of comedy country songs and it’s likely title “Prison Cheese” and featuring the breakout gospel smash “Jeusu: King of the Rodeo” the time just flew.

That being said, when we DID finally get there, we were DEEPLY DISAPPOINTED to discover that the hot springs were broken. Or, more precisely, the road to get to the hot springs were broken. Thanks a LOT Obama and your FUCKING STIMULUS DOLLARS!!! The old road was perfectly passable, except for where the tree roots had mangled the blacktop. SHEESH!

To soothe our disappointed souls and buttcheeks, we got out and looked at the view. It wasn’t so bad.

We were also consoled slightly by the fact that the typical cost of entry to the park was $15 but for some magical reason, it was a “FREE” day. I’m not sure if it was just the generosity of the semi-elderly park ranger or if there was actually a legitimate reason for it being free that day, he never bothered to explain. So we parked ourselves next to the water and engaged in various pagan rituals. We had some leftover river-float-rum-n-coke (Thanks Drew!!) and had a very relaxing evening.

It was only as the sun went down and I was a little too river-float-rum-and-coke-tastic to drive that I realized I had not really made any arrangements to camp. No reservations, no permit. Just kinda, showed up. Now, it happened that there were virtually NO OTHER PEOPLE in the park. It was probably due to the fact that most people, like me, assumed that it would pour down rain that weekend. Like it does 287 other days of the year. We had, so far had more sunshine than I have EVER seen on the peninsula, so I was feeling pretty smug, all things considered. But being that we were kinda stuck, and the park was mostly empty we decided on the following strategy: if a park ranger comes by, play dumb and mention that the guy at the booth said it was free and that we were just shocked to discover this did not include camping. Practicing my innocently confused look was exhausting.

We eventually crawled into the back of the car and hunkered down on the futon. It was quite cozy. It got a whole lot MORE cozy when, perhaps you can see this coming, IT STARTED TO RAIN!! Shocking, I know. And this was no gentle, atmospherically pleasing fall drizzle. This was pretty much a deluge. In the morning when it let up enough for Hilary to finally climb out of the car for a whiz, a neighboring camper came by and asked if we got wet. She assured him we were quite snug sleeping in the car, with it’s solid roof and windows. He and his companion meanwhile, woke up to a familiar, if unwelcome, sight for most campers in the glorious Pacific Northwest: Tent Lake. And people give me shit for my “futon in the back of the car” strategy. Suckers!

We woke up and headed back toward the mainland for our Seattle tour. However, when we stopped for gas on Bainbridge Island, Colgate decided he needed to rest longer than we wanted to stop. He effected this rest break by just failing to start. As we were some 200+ miles away from home, this was kinda stressful. After about 20 minutes of cooling down, he fired right up. I guess I’ll have to treat my new car a little more like an old pony; rest breaks after long trips.

From there we got on the ferry, which Hilary described as “The most luxurious form of public transportation in the universe” I also enjoy the ferry, but was charmed by her complete awe.

“It’s so clean!”

“This is really fancy!”

“These seats are really comfortable!”

“You can get BOOZE!!”

She liked it way more than this photo would imply

We landed in downtown Seattle but I was so nervous about Colgate’s intermittent ignition problems that I elected to just barrel back to Portland. Which, we did. Good times.

Don’t let your silly dreams, fall in between, the crack of the bed and the wall… ~My Morning Jacket

The beautiful simplicity of this song is it’s finest quality. One acoustic guitar, one gentle voice. Not every song can stand with its bare bones showing, and still be lovely. This one is best in its spare and unvarnished state.

I am notoriously hard to buy presents for. And I can’t fake enthusiasm for a gift I do not like. One year, for my birthday my good friend Rob managed to get me not just one good present, but THREE! It was a never to be repeated perfect present storm. And one of the things he gave me was the Acoustic Citsuoca album by My Morning Jacket. It is a fantastic EP and charmingly, it was recorded on Halloween. This displayed a level of planning and sentiment I have still not entirely gotten over being touched by.

After Klaus’ sad demise, I’ve been without a car for a while. Was getting pretty sick of it. Being broke was getting in the way of resolving the problem. I’m still broke, but someone floated me the cash money to score some wheels. The fella was asking $1000, but I talked him down to $800. Yay haggling!

Inaugural beach trip this weekend. Who wants to camp in the rain with me??

And it’s Colgate cause he’s toothpaste colored.

so soon will burn. Without a noise, without my pride. I reach out from the inside~ Peter Gabriel

In Your Eyes

Every part of my body feels this song. And not just because Lloyd Dobbler stood outside Diane Court’s window boombox aloft in what might have been the singlemost romantic gesture in modern cinematic history (though it didn’t hurt). It is the heartbeat tempo, the echoing voices, the abandon in Peter’s voice, his willing submission to the passion he feels for this woman. This is a song I want to make love to, to sing at the top of my lungs, to inspire someone to think about me when they hear it. It is utterly romantic and hear-rendingly lovely.

The first sentiment expressed in the song is about his profound loneliness; and I can relate. Somehow there is an experience of peace and contentedness that I only seem to find when I’m in the presence of someone who has totally consumed my attention. It can be easier to find myself when there is someone else to help me look…

What’s deep inside, frightened of this thing that I’ve become~ Toto

Remember when I suggested there might be room for an embarrassing admission in my list of five? Yeah, this’d be it.

This one is all about the rhythm and the melody. The drums and marimba echo through my head. When I was a teenager I loved this song so much that whenever my parents would leave the house, I would crank the cassette player to full volume and listen to Toto IV over and over again. I remember one night being totally overwhelmed and lying around on the floor in the dark sobbing while I listened to Africa repeatedly for about an hour. God knows why.

Because really, though melody is crucial, it is usually the lyrics that reel me in. And the lyrics to this song are variously silly, strange, and nonsensical. That being said, it still causes something to rise up in me and grab me by the base of the throat when I hear it, and even more so when I sing along.

And that gets at the very core of how a song becomes a “favorite” of mine. It’s ability to grip me, consistently, every time I hear it, all the way down through the years and changes and time.

I thought you were wild. caught you returning, from the house you caught fire. But I knew that I was your favorite… And I said Amen~ Neko Case

It does not fail to dawn on me how amusing it might seem that one of my favorite songs is actually called “Favorite” but I sort of dig it.

Neko says this is the first song she ever wrote. It is very simple in it’s chord progression, and is probably one of the only songs I can play with complete confidence on the guitar. Like many of her songs, there is a haunting and ineffable danger implied in every line. She skirts the edges of risk and convention when she describes the object of her love. They are crashing their cars, and taking strange drugs, and setting things alight. Something or someone often dies…

This song has deep resonance for me. I assign great significance to certain silly things, and this was the first song I sang to my last great love. And though he never set anything on fire (at least not that I caught him at) there are things that she says that are so very true of us it seems the strangest synchronicity I would have chosen that song to sing to him when I did not know him at all.

I adore Neko Case, and there are a multitude of songs of hers that move me, delight me, and are an utter joy to sing, but in this instance, it’s easy to pick which is my favorite.

“I turned off the light switch and I,

I came down to meet you in the

half-light the moon left… “Bernie Taupin*

It can be difficult, with our glut of choices, to speak in terms of “favorite” things. When people ask, we are tempted betimes, to answer things that will explain us to that person more completely than time and more explicit verbiage might. I have adopted a policy of copping out: you ask my favorite, you get a list of five. There is room, in a list of five, for a breadth of answers, including the one that makes me look smart and cultured, the one that makes me laugh and cry, and the one that would elsewise be embarrassing if it weren’t insulated by being in the midst of other, worthier representatives.

And, oh, songs. How for me, to answer this. The funny part is how very easy indeed it is to do so. Because there are just some songs. For lack of other inspiration, I’m going to talk about them, one at a time…

Come Down In Time By Bernie Taupin and Elton John

I suppose that’s a harp in the beginning. And then there are the other strings. The melody is both spare and fully-realized. I like the understated way Elton sings this song. He can be prone to bombast, but there is no trace of it here; his voice is lucid and gentle, full of an understated passion and yearning.

This is a love song of simplicity and uncertainty. It is not strident or demanding. It has poise and poetry. It is quiet and communicates such longing, such anticipation.  It is unresolved, it is a song in the midst of the fall.

I got up early this morning and made her some breakfast. She wanted bacon and toast. No eggs. I poured her a glass of milk only to be informed that she doesn’t really like milk to drink anymore. I’ll have to start thinking about another way for her to get enough calcium I suppose. We talked about where she ought to keep her phone, and that it needs to stay on silent. That I’d want her to take out the trash for me when she gets home. How she wants to redecorate her room, selling her current bedroom set for something a little less little girl.

And she is less a little girl than ever before. When I mentioned I was excited for her to go to Outdoor School, and that it had been the best week of my life when I was 12 she looked at me seriously and said “Mommy, that makes me kinda sad.”

As she was walking out the door, she submitted to be photographed with relative good cheer. As I looked at her standing there I almost cried, but I think I hid it pretty well. My sweet daughter is not as prone to sentiment as I am, but she would have comforted me gently if I had. I wanted to spare her the energy of having to. She was utterly composed, but then, she is way cooler than I am.