Peace, Love & Tofu

A few pictures from last weekend at the Oregon Country Fair.

Beautiful People

I'm packing up my conceptual patchouli and my cerebral tie-dyes as we get ready to head down for 3 Days of Peace, Love & Understanding at the Oregon Country Fair and there is nothing funny about that, although hopefully there were be plenty of laughs to go along with the music, tofu, and herbal scented air. I'd be sure to wear some flour in my hair to prove I can bake bread as well as chop wood and carry water, but I've lost all the hair I had except for what shifted downwards and turned white as it fell so the flour won't show up, and besides we are having a heat wave and baking bread doesn't sound like such a good idea. And truthfully I've had so many aches and pains I'm not really sure I could still carry water or chop wood, but in my mind all things are possible because nothing is real. Except LOVE.

We are taking time to celebrate because Papa Seed and I are celebrating our 18th Anniversary. That happened quickly. Some folks say "That's a long time", but my Mama and Daddy were married for 58 years at the time of my Daddy's death, so I've got my work cut out for me if I'm to follow in their shoes, and based on the number of times Papa Seed has started to refer to me by either my Daddy or Mama's name depending on what I'm saying or doing or worrying about I seem to be following indeed. It also isn't really that long of a time when I think of how soon we got here, and lately I've been somewhat consumed, if one can be "somewhat" consumed, with just how soon it has been.

We celebrate our years together by taking three teenage boys on a road trip, to camp in a State Park close to the coast, and to go to an event full of people who remember the 60's even if many of them weren't born yet. Papa Seed was born in the Summer of Love, but in so many ways, the ways that made me interested in a second and third and fourth and eventually 18th year full of dates, reminds me of my big sister who was one of the Original Hippies back in the day. She was the one coming home to tell me Mama about Love-Ins and marijuana and organic food and "Soul on Ice" and who taught me how to use chopsticks and the meaning of Yin and Yang and the use of Tiger Balm and that all people are beautiful. I miss my Big Sister, but there is some of her in many people around me, most whom never knew her, especially Papa Seed. I miss my Mama and Daddy too, although my Daddy and I didn't always get along but now I am so much a part of them are they are a part of me that they are always here.

I'd like to think that Mancub and Bouda and their Giant Friend who is joining us and who is part of our home often will someday look back and remember what Papa Seed and maybe even me gave them. Not the video games and black pants and hamburgers, but the things they don't always seem so thrilled to receive, like how to use chopsticks and the meaning of Yin and Yang and how to grow organic food and the joy of making your own beer and the healing power of Tiger Balm and that no one is a "bum" and that all people are beautiful. I might not be around for it but I hope it happens.


Papa Seed Cooks With Love

And I guess that is one of the reasons it seems right to celebrate 18 Years of Love with my man in a forest with hippies and trees and music and art and food and the teenage boys that have become our life, if not exactly how we planned it. I'll get irritated and they will get angry and they will hate my music and I will hate their freaking out when we are out of texting range, but someday they may say "Remember that time..." and they will be smiling when they say it. It may never happen, but it may happen quickly, like in 18 years.

I'm taking Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass" with me. It was the first gift Papa Seed ever gave me. He also gave me a love of the Blues, Kim Chee, Love & Rockets and Los Bros Hernandez, Homebrew, Yeast on Popcorn and a million other things and together he has increased my love of Dogs, Trees, Nature, Food and Learning Constantly. And we just got started. We'll just keep Truckin' On.

I'm a very fortunate guy.

Mickey Newbury

I often make mental, and sometimes hard copy, lists of my favorite music; favorite songs, favorite albums, favorite concerts, favorite Soul artist, favorite Country artist, favorite Blues artist, favorite singer (female), favorite singer (male), and so on.

With that last one there are several always at the top - Silvio Rodriguez, Bruce Springsteen, Al Green, Tom Waits, Issac Hayes - and while it is a bit ridiculous to have one favorite, if push comes to shove this guy would be it. Mickey Newbury's voice and his music give me chills every time I hear it, and I've been hearing it since I was very young. I must have been 12 or 13 the first time, and I then I heard it when this became a song that was played on the radio. Hard to imagine that this was played on the radio because now you have to search high and low to find someone who recognizes his name. Once Elvis took this piece over, it wiped out the last memory anyone seemed to have of this guy.

But not for me. I got the 'Frisco Mabel Joy album for Christmas the year it came out and I lived inside the cover photo surrounded by the music coming from my record player for years after that.

Skip ahead a decade and change when I was in Seattle and alone for the first time in my life - truly alone. I picked up a cassette of Newbury's - "In A New Age" a saw in a record store during a time when I had very little money, but after seeing it there for a few months I gathered together the dollars to buy it. It was a very rough period in my life. Depressed, I spent a long weekend sleeping, waking up to play the tape over and over as it healed me back into life.

Newbury didn't just create songs, he recreated them throughout his career - changing lyrics and parts of melodies and titles and moods. His sorrow is deeper than any recorded, and his soaring vocals are transcendent, ethereal and beautiful. His music is made up of birdsongs, clouds shifting, haunting strings, good-time porch music, rain and thunder, high lonesome and down and out. I hear parts of Newbury in other artists I love - certainly Springsteen, also Tom Waits (the poignant melodies, the drifting voice), Fred Eaglesmith, Steve Earle, and many more - but no one does it better.

I never got to see him perform live, one of the true regrets I have in my life. I remember finding out about his death and falling into another dark depression. I took to the bathtub instead of the bottle (although I'm sure I took a beer with me) because that is often where I go when I need to be alone with my thoughts and my tears. Since then I have found that there are others out there that were also touched by this man and his art, passionate folks from all over. They are keeping a part of him alive. I'm grateful.

July 4th seems a good time to post this - perhaps the greatest American singer of my time - I guess that could be argued, even by me depending on my mood. But there will never be another quite like him.

Food Porn Guide To Where I've Been - Part II

By May, life had taken new turns. In the middle of what is annually a very difficult time due to anniversaries of death and the birthdays of those who have died, my brother whom I have lost contact with after a short peace making a few years ago after the death of my mother, called seemingly out of the blue. He was asking if we would be able to take Rusty, my mother's collie/golden mix that I had promised her I would take in if anything ever happened to her. It didn't turn out the way I had promised since my brother had taken over all things Mama, but finally I was able to make good on the deal. He drove up from California with our newest bundle of fur. And then there were three. And it was good. And a couple of days later it was time for the Cheese Fest at the Market. Dogs and cheese. Life doesn't get much better, especially if the dogs are big and fluffy and the cheese is strong and plentiful.



Papa Seed entered yet another year of his 40's, and this year we kept it pretty simple with a dinner at Root Table, a Thai/Fusion restaurant with great food and woodsy tables and chairs. The original plan was to have a backyard BBQ with friends and beer making, but this has been a rough year for Papa Seed. He has been dealing with a still undiagnosed mystery ailment since the start of the year. He has been having what we now just call "The Symptoms" (including fatigue, spasms, pain, and ringing in the ear). He has seen several specialists and has had countless tests and yet everything comes back clear. He resolves to just "live with it" but within a day or two of deciding that is back in bed by five, unable to get through the evening. He has good days and he has bad days and he continues to make doctor appointments to see if they can finally figure out what is going on. "They" being people who spent a lot of money and time going to school to learn how to diagnose and treat medical problems.



He does, however, sometimes get the old energy and creativity back up, and makes amazing meals as he did the night he made the above totally delicious "local" meal, with many ingredients so local that they came from his garden. You put in some seeds and sometime later you get something wonderful.

And one seed we planted that we thought no longer would grow around these parts also returned in the Spring. Our wayward Boudu, who texted one early, early morning with an apology and a plea to be picked up at his girlfriend's - an hour drive from where we live - and taken to an emergency room. Many hours and a few prescriptions later, a horrible chapter had ended. We didn't know how often we would see him from that point on, but he clearly was back to his old self - not the crazed creature that had stormed out of our home and lives.

Food Porn Guide To Where I've Been - Part I

I didn't mean to stay away so long. Not sure how that happened. Facebook is to blame for a lot of it, but life also became too complicated to get a decent enough perspective to sit down and write about. I can't remember why Papa Seed was in the kitchen cutting up these leeks, and I can't remember what became of them, but he was really excited to get them from the garden. What I can tell you is that all of those little bottles on the kitchen counter are not just vitamins. There are also medications, and the medications around this time were increasing. The Great Nephew I will henceforth refer to as Boudu (see post below) left our home and entered a period of hard drugs, assault charges, juvie, and yelling at us in a juvenile courthouse to get out of his life (I won't repeat the exact words). Not long after this, Mancub became furious at me for some reason. Details now escape me, but he left because he wasn't going to live with us anymore because he hated us and hated living with us and we were horrible people. Art Linkletter was right - Kids Say The Darndest Things!

At the same time, my job became super stressful as we tripled in size over the first few months of the year. Construction, training, extra work load, new personalities, lack of breaks, long hours - what a way to relieve stress. Rodney was probably making some kind of leek soup to calm the bruised nerves.

Mancub returned back to our house after I took a week off to piece my life back together and clean his room which had turned into a dump. He wanted to come back sooner, but we wouldn't let him. When he did return, we set down THE LAW. We were no longer going to give free room and board for someone who was not working, cutting classes, failing every class in school, and staying out late every night and coming home stoned and drunk. School had to become a priority. Partying had to go way in the backseat, if not the trunk. We needed to see some participation with things around the house.




We stopped at this taco truck on our way home from going up to a farm to get our three newest hens; Exene, Faith and Bernadette. They are pretty wild teenagers, not the calm gentle ladies one gets from raising little chickies from birth. We decided it was time to get our coop full of chicken love and eggs once again, but I'm not sure it has really turned into a Love Coop. That pecking order is VICIOUS. Chickens, like teenagers, go for the blood.

The Family slowly being pieced back together, Papa Seed decides it is time to take Mancub to North Carolina to meet the paternal side of the family kin. I stayed home to dog and chicken sit, and spend 12 hour days at work. I was pretty worried that Mancub would have an adverse reaction to Grandpa, but they hit it off. He even got to porchsit with a Hard Lemonade and a little herbal medication. That is one to tell the kids back at school. Not that either were new to him, but to do them with family was certainly an unexpected twist.



Because I missed the big Southern Throwdown that Grandpa made, he shipped it to me at great expense. I had mine several weeks later. It does look like one giant stew in the photos above, but it was delicious. And fried chickens don't worry about the pecking order.

To be continued...

Stuff

It has been awhile since I've posted anything here. Instead of trying to think of something clever to say, or trying to summarize the last few months, I thought a meaningless little Sunday ramble might be in order.

Boudu Saved From Drowning

Looks like I've been AWOL from blogging for a month. I hit another rough patch. I have been reading quite a bit, and watching a number of films when I feel as if I can focus for two hours without my mind drifting into the Seas of Despair where I've dog paddled way too often.

It was a week or two ago that I watched Boudu Saved From Drowing on DVD (Criterion). One of those films I've heard referenced forever, but have never managed to catch. I had to read the piece on Bright Lights Film to realize I had watched the American remake, Down and Out In Beverly Hills a couple of decades ago. As much as I like Paul Mazursky, Richard Dreyfuss, and Bette Midler, I don't remember liking that film very much and I think I prefer the grainy black and white melancholy of 1930's Paris.

Criterion summarizes that plot as The Lestingois family decides to take in the irrepressible bum, and he shows his gratitude by shaking the household to its foundations. It was a good week later before I realized how my life imitated art once again (and once again, I think I prefer the grainy black and white melancholy of 1930's Paris). After six months of living with us, a stay which we assumed was going to continue on through the remainder of his High School years, our nephew left our home.

This isn't the first time he left. He lived with us several years ago, and returned to his family when they moved up to Seattle. That was a a difficult end for me, although it was without the drama and cursing and anger of this one. It left me sad. There have been many other times when he has been with us for extended stays, and even earlier in the year he was here for about 5/7ths of each week working on getting caught up in school when he was failing. We have been the emergency back up his entire life. It is a job that comes with almost no respect, and zero dollars, but plenty of stress and pain.

Do not misunderstand, I love this kid. He and his older brother have been de facto sons of ours their entire lives, and this one in particular has always had that proverbial special place in my heart. I feel far more responsible for him than I ever had the right. I can't imagine what my life would be like if he hadn't been a major part of it. But I guess it is time when that little boy leaves the dragon behind for his own drifting in seas. He has bounced around different homes his entire life, so staying in one place for six months probably seems an eternity for him. Even a week before he left, he was saying that he liked living here - bragging about it in fact to his friends. But like Boudu, he doesn't do so great with rules. He also isn't used to rules being enforced, having to answer to adults, and understanding the meaning of "No".

As my counselor, who I started seeing a month ago, reminded me two hours after the nephew left our home with a "Fuck Off" tossed to me, this was his decision. He wasn't thrown out. We just set the rules which we thought were pretty minimal - go to school, do homework, let us know where you are, return phone calls on that cell phone we pay for and do a little bit of work around the house. In return you get a place to stay, allowance, family outings to things like movies and trips to Washington D.C., which I thought was a pretty good deal. He thought school was stupid, raves were all important, marjijuana and E are better than stupid books and four in the morning is a perfectly acceptable time for a 16 year old to come home.

I get that - I really do. In spite of all evidence, I too was a teenager and I still hate rules and I think marijuana is pretty cool. But, I also think kids need to learn, and also need to learn how to follow rules. You can't rebel until you know what it is you are rebelling against.

I didn't see this coming. The boys have become our entire life, for better (and there are some "betters") and for worse (and there are some "worses"). But our boys came with lots of baggage, and they came to us at a time when teenagers need to hate their parents and love their friends and try to figure out who they are. At least with the nephew, we had a number of years with him as a small child and "tweener" when he actually liked us and let us know that. Folks say that at some point in the future, he will probably return to thinking we aren't so bad. I'm holding on to those things, instead of that final "Fuck Off". Okay, I confess, my parting words weren't much better. I apologize via email and Facebook. I'm sure he didn't read either.

But I didn't feel so optimistic after he left. I felt horrible. I felt sadder than I remember feeling in a very long time. There was guilt, worry, crying, isolation, and a couple of Bloody Marys. Around the house were all of these reminders of my false certainty of being able to save this kid - comic history books, movies that will change lives, nutritious food that will curb that candy tooth. I failed. Just like that bookseller in Boudu. I've got a house full of an education just waiting to happen, and a heart that wants to do good, but I really can't tame the anarchist soul of a young man who already knows what he needs to know.