Scratcher of heads, rubber of bellies
There are a bunch of courtyard dwellings in our neighborhood that were apparently built in the heyday of the streetcar era. It’s interesting how they adapted as we gave our cities over to the automobile, Avon Manor (which I think was built in the late 1920’s) is fairly unique in having a central garage with a shared entrance that sits just below street level. I love the archway and the little bits of art, but it was especially beautiful on this snowy winter day.
I got up early this morning to walk Ellie as we are in the midst of a heat wave with back-to-back days near or over 100˚, and it only cooled off to 70˚ overnight (and even then only for a short while), so I wanted to get her out before sun and temperature rose high. The early light was beautiful and since I had my camera with me I made Ellie pose in front of the same tree near the dog park as the picture below (which I’ve posted before). The two pictures are taken in the same spot and the same year, separated by six months, one on one of our hottest days, the other on our snowiest. Two different cameras too. Same great pup.
On that winter day she gave me an epic walk but a rather short one this morning, although she cut it short because of hunger not heat. Her stomach was upset overnight so she’s on a bland diet of chicken and rice for a few days until we’re sure she’s feeling well again, and she hadn’t had even that for breakfast yet. She kept reminding me all day that I ‘forgot’ to give her a dental bone this morning, her favorite treat. My pup keeps careful track of her treats. It’s going to be a long few days, but thankfully at least cooler weather returns tomorrow.
I’ve seen this painting on a door many times but was never sure what it was supposed to represent. Regardless I love photographing the artwork in our neighborhood and finally one day had my camera with me as I walked past, only to discover I was unable to approach the entrance as it was guarded by the most fearsome hound. Only a Jedi could get past to approach the door, I thought to myself, and then I noticed the sign that said ‘Women’. And suddenly I understood, right here in our sleepy little neighborhood is a little enclave of female Jedi, fighting the good fight, while the rest of us go about our lives. Each time they vanquish a foe, another little lightsaber gets painted on the door.
Just so there’s no confusion, now when I walk past I say out loud how much I admire Obi-Wan Kenobi and how that Darth Vader is a real jerk (and upon hearing that the pup even let me move in for a nice close-up of the painting).
There’s more than a little truth to that.
I was eight years old when Star Wars came out. There was my life before Star Wars, and my life after. If there’s been a day since that I haven’t thought about something from that world, there haven’t been many. I don’t recall if I saw it more than once in the theaters, but it didn’t matter, it filled my imagination. All of it. Jedi, the Force, lightsabers, Wookiees, stormtroopers, X-wings, TIE Fighters, the Falcon, the Death Star. Han and Chewie. R2 and C-3PO. Luke and Leia. Obi-Wan and Vader.
Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan changed my life.
As I came of age, I enjoyed a good righteous anger and seeing people get what was coming to them, and wondered why in the gospels we were told to turn the other cheek if the other was struck, why we were to pray for our enemies. About vengeance not being ours to take. I didn’t see that in the national policy of our supposedly Christian country, or in many people I knew. These were central teachings, why were they ignored? What was I missing? And what was their point?
“There are alternatives to fighting.” You mystified me, Obi-Wan. I loved you and needed to understand you.
I was eleven when The Empire Strikes Back came out. Obi-Wan was gone (spoilers!) after sacrificing himself in the first movie, but now I had Yoda. A tiny little kid had a tiny little hero. There’s a scene where Yoda is teaching Luke to become a Jedi and Luke senses his friends are in trouble far away and rushes off to save them, before his training has completed. I had seen enough shows and movies on TV to know how the movie would play out, that Yoda would shake his head at his eager apprentice, with a knowing grin and maybe even a wink to the camera, and then Luke would go and save his friends.
He was the good guy. Right beats might.
Except it didn’t. Yoda was depressed when Luke left. Luke didn’t save his friends, they had to save him. Han got captured anyway.
What? WHAT?
For years Empire made me think about life more than any movie before or since. I knew Obi-Wan and Yoda were fictional characters but I thought often of what they did, and why. About not giving in to anger, even righteous anger that I felt was mine to hold, about how it would harden you. Forgiveness wasn’t just for the benefit of those you forgave, but for yourself. Anger, even righteous anger, maybe especially righteous anger, could destroy you, slowly, without you noticing. Forgive. Seventy times seven. And again.
Stand up for what’s right. Don’t give in to anger. Forgive, forgive, forgive.
I was a quiet kid who kept too much inside, tried too hard to figure things out on my own, and perhaps it’s a little ridiculous that two fictional characters would make it so much easier for me to take messages from the gospels that I loved and apply them in my own life, but so it was.
So it delighted me to no end to see in the new Star Wars movies, The Force Awakens and Rogue One, women and people of color in central roles, unapologetically strong. Representation is important. I love that more people can look up on the screen and see people that look like them, and want to be like them too.
Ellie and I came across these washing machines (and other appliances) waiting to be installed outside a new apartment building in our neighborhood. I’m glad to see some (hopefully) more affordable housing going in, I’d hate for our neighborhood to mostly be a bunch of expensive old homes. We’re a part of a historic district, and I share the desire to not see the old homes razed and replaced with massive new ones, but neighborhoods also need to adapt to survive.
Ellie and I came across this archaeological dig in our neighborhood where the excavation has revealed several layers that allow you to see back in time across Portland’s geographic past. There’s the oldest layer on the bottom that dates from the Concrete Era. What creatures must have roamed the land back then! After that comes the brief Brick Era, followed by the Wood Era. Unfortunately the dig was accidentally left uncovered one night and has now been exposed to the modern era, the Moss Era.
I like taking pictures of interesting things in our neighborhood as Ellie and I go on our walks, like old garages, animal sculptures, outdoor art, rock ‘n roll vans with basketball hoops on top …
Mmm hmm. Wait, what?
I was hoping there was more to this van than a hipster having a laugh and indeed there is, it (and another van with different artwork) belongs to Bim Ditson and his band And And And, and in addition to being their normal transportation, is used for the Rigsketball tournament, a basketball tournament they put on each year played exclusively by Portland bands. The hoop is folded down in the picture but apparently extends to regulation height. There’s a nice video that explains the motivation behind the tournament, to me it’s the genuine part of the weird side of Portland, not an affectation but the building of a community of disparate voices.
Generally she’s very well behaved, but when it comes to food …
Continuing on the yellow theme, I recently had to shift my beloved orange New Balance running shoes to dog park status as the fabric was starting to tear. I like having bright shoes to make me more visible as I walk to and from the train so I replaced them straightaway with a pair of bright yellow sneakers, as this seems to be their current bright color of choice. Sitting between my feet is my Tom Bihn ID messenger bag with its lovely aubergine front, keeping my MacBook and iPad safe and secure as I ride the MAX to work.
Boolie 