Wendy Liddle, always cool and collected, setting out to drive herself to her own wedding.

Bussing between wedding and reception. That particular readhead bridesmaid is not me, but one of Chase's beautiful younger sisters.

Bustling the bustle before the big entrance into the reception. Regrettably this is the last picture I took that night. With chicken, friends, dancing and a bit of drink I was otherwise occupied.

We went to the Paschal family ranch and had the privilege of meeting all of Mark's tall brothers.

I always forget to take pictures. Mark did post some of the wedding weekend though at the www.raschals.blogspot.com. J took my camera and took this one of Zachie.

After Seattle, went to Portland, Oregon and stayed with J for a few.

One day J and I rode downtown to Chinatown. I rode Erica's bike and consequently learned to use toeclips.

View of pretty garden through the cracks in the wall.

J and Erica.

House I am staying at in El Cerito.

From my room.

View into the yard in El Cerito.

Publish Post

they weren't kidding about the fog.

Friday morning I waited, scared to move. Nothing happened, no pain. So, off I went to San Francisco! And it was a much better day than the day I prayed to The Lady of Guadalupe.

Things about San Francisco: people are mostly nice (except the ones who are mean and won’t let you use their washroom). In San Francisco holding a map makes for the most comical interactions. I started to write about them, but I couldn’t keep up; I could write a whole book full of sketches of all of the characters I’ve met the last few days. Let me just give you an idea: I’ve eaten pears in the yard with hippies at a Berkeley woman’s collective, nearly cried over a Turkish woman telling me about the children of incestuous marriages, ran away from a cab when the driver who didn’t know how to drive his cab insisted that he did, and raced some old dude in a wheelchair. Yup. Good times.

I’m going to post some of my poor and scanty selection of travel photos, then back to the house hunt.

Lady of Guadalupe

So Tuesday I began developing this head/jaw ache thing. Though by day I haven’t been anxious, by night someone must be chasing me again, or I'm just not in denial in my dreams, because I have been grinding my teeth at night. Wednesday, by the time I reached California my head was throbbing and I was heavily medicating with little result.

Thursday, I went to San Francisco! And hurrah! it was great and all, but really, I didn’t care- I couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t see straight- it hurt. I’m sure I walked five miles that day gazing at all the Victorians, and really they were beautiful, but no matter, it was a terribly bad day. I had a burrito (day three of burritos) at Mariachi’s at Valencia and 16th (I am keeping track for myself). It tasted wonderful, but I felt horrible. I was in stuck in the heart of The Mission and I wanted my mommy. On the wall was The Lady of Guadalupe. Beneath her, a plaque saying in both English and Spanish not to worry about health but to pray to the lady and she would take care of me. I was desperate. I tried it. Nothing. I walked around the rest of the afternoon further overmedicating to the point of concern, deep down, cursing the Lady of Guadalupe and questioning the basis of my current future profession. That afternoon I had bought a bite plane, but it only seemed to make it hurt more. Though maybe only on my own meager scale, I was in a quite a bit of pain.

By the time Thursday night arrived I was scared because if it hurt more I didn’t know what to do and there is no one to call who is close enough to come bring me a bowl of soup and rub my back or carry me to the doctor if that was what I needed. I was scared because you can’t take a break from pain; it is like a cage and I quickly and easily get claustrophobic. If I freaked out and wanted to just cry like I’ve been wanting to for months, but I knew it would just make my head and jaw hurt more- making me further claustrophobic. I knew I could call home, but what’s the use of worrying people when all that calling does is highlight that there is nothing anyone can do. So I just curled up in the fetal position, poured water down my throat, tried to sleep and when I couldn’t tried to read Sputnik Sweetheart to distract me alternately throughout the night.

Late morning the pain was gone. Suddenly I was all praise for The Lady of Guadalupe.

Well, well.

I like Portland. The night I arrived and was pulling baggage out of J’s car a man biked by and said, “Good evening. Welcome home!” This has pretty much been my experience of Portland. People are laid back and happy to be here, so much so that even though the job market’s oversaturated they are willing to work in coffee shops until they are thirty. The air is crisp here. There are some interesting varieties of plants. You can get a pretty sweet Vietnamese sandwich and coffee sold to you by a wheeling and dealing ten year old girl for three dollars. The local beer is good. The houses have big porches. There are a disproportionate amount of strip clubs, but because its Portland, even the strip clubs have bike parking.

Monday I explored by myself. That night dined and rode around with J and Erika and went to a bar that had PacMan. Several times this past few days I’ve felt the urge to say “Welcome to the USA.” Once was definitely when a round came to $6.75. Yesterday morning J and I rode down by the river and to old China town. Sunny afternoon we took tubes, sandwiches, and a six pack of tall boy PBR’s down the Sandy River. So spectacular and tiring I passed out on a patch of dead grass and forgot where I am. Last night J and Erika cooked some delicious tacos. Erika’s place is so cute reminds me of a little sailboat hatch. I hope I can fine one a quarter as sweet. Last night we drove toured the city and went to a couple of bars. All I wanted was icecream so instead of beer I got icecream in scotch. Brilliant. I’ve had an unequivocally nice set of days.

Up until now this has mostly just felt like a vacation to see friends. This afternoon I head off alone to Oakland/El Cerito all by my lonesome. Last night I started feeling a wee bit tumultuous, but overall I am optimistic. I found an old map of San Francisco yesterday and I plan on coating it with a review and record of all of the taquerias I visit.

Expect phonecalls soon.

ok. so i left halifax. left dartmouth. hugged and kissed some family and some friends. ambivalence. packed me two suitcases one hundred and fifty dollars overweight and took them to seattle. smooth sailing fairly enough except for on my first flight there was a medical 'situation'-trained not to say emergency- and so we emergency landed in montreal and good thing i had a long layover because in the end it was tight but i made it.

seattle. pretty, though unexpectedly, claustrophobically hilly. i liked pike market. liked it when a man tried to sell me chocolate and orange pasta. yum! seattle has a lot of coffee shops, indeed. went past the first starbucks. had some of the original roast. whatever.

wendy's wedding was lovely. wendy of course was a beautiful bride. the dress was beautiful; the beehive was beautiful; the bride was really beautiful. all went off pretty much without a hitch (i don't think we can count minor mishaps like unwanted foliage in the bouquets or complications with the bustle).

it was really good to see the kids again, as i knew it would be. great to see mark and johanna, even if only briefly, and anne. lots of fun to see tim- who drove 33 hours from chicago- and his lady who was really nice and sweet. great to see zachie. really great. i'm happy he's gonna come visit. great to see cate though i didn't get to talk to her as much as i would have liked it doesn't matter because i am going to see her in a month! and i forgot how great to be around mark. we went to his parent's house yesterday and it was funny to see him with all of his tall little brothers. i like how i can not see someone for over a year and then when i do it is as if no time has ever passed. i haven't been called d_mmons so much in my life.

i'm with j and erika in portland now and it is a beautiful day.

i'll write more about it and if i can find my camera cord i will post some pictures.

expect more from me in the future. i plan on keeping this thing better updated.

i haven't figured for what purpose but i want it.

run to the forrest.

learned new trick tonight. when the boyez try to touch your hips too much not playing basketball any longer too long and you trying to dance and they trying to get you drinks you say i gotta pee or i gotta go to the maitland bridge strawberry supper in the morn and you just bolt out the door in your silly lavender floral home away to safe because god knows you just want to dance and like some other boy and you feel pretty good home eating nacho chips alone.

My bridesmaids dress makes me feel like I’m on Titanic.

Apparently in Afghanistan everybody is so enamored by the movie that dire risks have been taken against the Taliban just to have ‘Leo hair.’

The new Get Smart sorely disappointed my childhood memories. Why do I go about things that I know can only end badly?

The cottage was so lovely this weekend it nearly broke my heart.

Three seasons of The Wire down, two to go.

Upon Devon's recommendation I read a good story yesterday. Symbols and Signs by Nabakov.

The boy in the story had a case of ‘referential mania.’ “In these very rare cases, the patient imagines that everything happening around him is a veiled reference to his personality and existence... Phenomenal nature shadows him wherever he goes. Clouds in the staring sky transmit to each other, by means of slow signs, incredibly detailed information regarding him. His in- most thoughts are discussed at nightfall, in manual alphabet, by darkly gesticulating trees. Pebbles or stains or sun flecks form patterns representing, in some awful way, messages that he must intercept. Everything is a cipher and of everything he is the theme. All around him, there are spies. Some of them are detached observers, like glass surfaces and still pools; others, such as coats in store windows, are prejudiced witnesses, lynchers at heart; others, again (running water, storms), are hysterical to the point of insanity, have a distorted opinion of him, and grotesquely misinterpret his actions. He must be always on his guard and devote every minute and module of life to the decoding of the undulation of things. The very air he exhales is indexed and filed away. If only the interest he provokes were limited to his immediate surroundings, but, alas, it is not! With distance, the torrents of wild scandal increase in volume and volubility. The silhouettes of his blood corpuscles, magnified a million times, flit over vast plains; and still farther away, great mountains of unbearable solidity and height sum up, in terms of granite and groaning firs, the ultimate truth of his being.”

Ever feel that way?

Last week James macerated apricots and bathed them in cream. Apricots and lots of things move from my hate to love list lately.

OK. Even with daily little joys and distracting tasks I can no longer deny that I move far away for a long time in no more than three weeks. It’s as if someone spun me around ten times and plopped me down. The future is thoroughly abstract and feelings I once trusted, thoughts and reasons, separate within me like the jewels within a pomegranate.

Last night for first time in as long as can be remembered I had a dream where no one tried to kill me or lock me up. Though I began a pauper, and chased as usual, instead of awaking to gunfire, there were secret portals, magic passageways, and someone carrying me away on their shoulders holding my hand down a country road to set me down to a mug of icecream. I’m going to choose to hope in this, even though I forget his face and always wake before I get there.

last night dreamed i was knocked up and left for dead or at least it felt that way. got some beautiful fireball flowers when i was in the country this past weekend. work and bonfires lately. life moves on and i struggle to keep pace.