Red Cedar

I want to write that I’m starting to feel normal again – but I’m stumped about what that means. I suppose it means I feel better than I did four days ago. That I’ve written out most of my angst and feel centered again. That I’ve given up fretting about the fact I’m going to be home very little between now and mid-December. That I’m halfway between writing and running, that I’m itching for a pint, that I’m well fed and glad, that I’ve got a book waiting for me to read when the clock strikes four and I get on the bus bound east to my retreat.

And I do, feel good, about the friend coming to visit tomorrow, and the fact I’m going to Victoria to meet him. That my stomach is settled and my jeans fit just right. And that if I have to make one more trip this year, at least it’s to St Johns, Newfoundland and not Toronto or Winnipeg. And the mystery cheque – let’s not forget that – unexpected money awaiting me at cheque distribution this afternoon. One quarter the worth of my new laptop purchased earlier this week. Oh!

A weighted cloak removed I can listen to french pop music and feel the secret smile grow in me again. What things I know and love. Who cares about the rest?

(Photo taken by Michael on our road trip. I have a good smile in it, which seemed appropriate for this post.)

I received a call last night from one of the women at Pandora’s Collective, a local writer’s organization that hosts a quarterly poetry contest. On a whim, I mailed my poem 15 minutes in a couple weeks ago with the $5 entry fee – figuring, what the hell – I might as well test myself against the world and see what happens. Then I forgot about it entirely.

Seems that I have won 1st place in their Summer Dreams contest and will be receiving a cheque for $100 in the mail shortly. The woman who called me not only informed me of my win, but further spent a couple of minutes telling me about the merits of my poem. I’m a little stunned. And happy.

It’s only a small thing, but I’ve read poetry from past contests and they do award good work from all over… It’s an encouragement that makes me wonder, “am I a writer now?”

A good road trip partner is a rare find. But one with the ability to keep up the chatter, put me at ease when under stress, and who doesn’t mind my refusal to ask for directions is even rarer. Lucky for me, my friend Michael offered himself for the trip to visit Darren in Sheridan, Oregon this past weekend. As much as I thought I was going to do it on my own, I was sure glad I didn’t have to.

Now don’t get me wrong. I like traveling on my own, and have done a lot of it over the last several years. My favourite version of going places is to do all the *going* on my own, meeting up with people at destinations to do things with. In keeping with that I had originally thought this trip to Sheridan would best be done solo (if only because I love the romanticism of self-isolation even if the reality of it sucks), but when Michael asked “Do you want me to come with you?” I found myself saying yes, a little surprised by both his offer and my response. There it was, an offer made and accepted found us hurtling down the I-5 together, shacked up in a little motel room in Salem, rifling the second-hand bookstore instead of finding dinner, eating spreadable cheese in a Safeway parking lot, and watching Resident Evil 3 for lack of anything better to do.

Although I stay away from character sketches of my friends on this blog, I will say that Michael and I are from very different places in many respects, hold oppositional views on some pretty important subjects, and have absolutely no overlapping social networks (even though we live a block away from each other). On the other hand we share a love for rare words, long cross-themed discussions, and good beer. And (as he puts it) we’re both altruistic narcissists (caring for others while simultaneously being self-absorbed) – I’m not really sure if this is a pro or a con, but it helps us understand each other. I had suspected we would make good road trip partners on account of these qualities, and I was not disappointed.

(A good road trip partner requires flexibility, good communication skills, a willingness to pull over anywhere if either party needs to nap, a keen eye for the police, a valid passport and driver’s license, and the detachment to deal with a car fire without freaking out too badly. It helps also if they can see the absurd, carry a credit card, enjoy placing silly wagers, and are not afraid of strangers. If one of you refuses to ask for directions, the other must be willing to. There can be no fussiness about food or restrooms – these just are what they are when between one place and another. Germophobes and princesses need not apply.)

So we did this thing, what seemed very quest-like to me and Michael described as a pilgrimage, none of which put me in a good and happy frame of mind. On the way down I was stressed and then self-pitying, at the end of both visits I was near speechless with emotional exhaustion, and on the way home I was scattered and tired. A great deal of these emotions were experienced on major interstates. It was a pretty intense ride all the way around. But besides being an excellent travel companion, my friend was also there for me – hugged me at the right times (but not too much), suggested distractions, and didn’t complain even though he was stuck without car while I visited Sheridan.

There’s always a point on a road trip at which things become a blurry and exhausted and can either turn silly or grumpy depending on the participants. For us, this occurred on the trip home which we started at 5 in the evening after my last visit with Darren – rolling into Vancouver at 2:30 in the morning. At least three hours of that drive were sustained by a theological discussion that had both of us swearing and me at one point yelling that if I was forced to have kids I would kill them. It was excellent. And ridiculous. And made me realize that what I value most about this friendship is that we come from different places, can argue and retreat, can make serious subjects silly and mostly don’t take offense with each other. It’s a rare person I want to spend three days in a car with. I’m glad I’ve found this one out.

I don’t even know where to start with this post. It’s been so long since I last wrote and my head is crammed full of experience and exhaustion – I think it’s going to be a few posts of unwinding to get the whole story out. I haven’t even been writing in a journal lately, so it’s not as though I’ve got paper to refer to or copy from. It’s just been go, go, go and even though I’m here in my office once again I don’t quite have my legs about me yet.

To recap: I left for Ottawa last Monday for four days of collective bargaining meetings, returned to Vancouver Thursday night at 9:30, and then left for Salem on Friday morning at 6, stopping in Seattle to pick up a friend and arriving there by 4 in the afternoon. On Saturday and Sunday I drove to Sheridan and back (35 miles) in order to visit Darren at the FCI. For those of you not keeping track, this was the first time I had been able to have “contact” with Darren since I last saw him July 2005, and it was the first time since his arrest that we have been able to speak without being monitored over a phone line. I had two five-hour visits with him. On Sunday night, we drove home, stopping in Portland to pick up some belongings from a friend and made it back into Vancouver at 2:30 in the morning.

So right now I am feeling the cumulative effects of two air flights, a 3-hour time difference, 1500+ kilometres of driving, 10 hours of intensive talking, 2 years of held breath exhaled, and the scorn of prison guards at a major US Federal Pen. It’s kindof a lot. And I’m exhausted beyond words (my eyes aren’t tracking properly still; I have vertigo.)

But I do feel as though a great and difficult thing is behind me, and the regular nausea building over the last two weeks seems to have disappeared as of Sunday night. I take this as a good sign, though I recognize I have some recovery to do from the last few weeks of stress. Everything from now until Christmas is pretty routine – some work, some dating, some travel east and to the island – it all seems very easy compared to what I just did.

There is much to say, of course. And it will be said as I unfold from myself and lay flat my thoughts first in my own home and then on this blog. The short answer is – Darren is fine and is as good as could be expected. And I am grateful to my friend Michael who traveled with me and provided distraction, and to the universe for our smooth passage to and fro.

A few photos from the trip (it wasn’t much of a trip for photography) are available above by clicking on the picture.

Lately that I’ve been often surprised by the decency of people. Which should really be the other way around. How cynical have I become that I’m shocked when another shows good sense, compassion, or understanding? (Of course, I’m never shocked when my friends do because they are all so friggin fabulous).

I have stayed away from writing about my week at the end of August where a bunch of things became really clear to me… and I’m not going to start now except to say that one of the things I realized is the need to reconstruct some of who I am around my next phase as opposed to who I used to be. And because I am intensely social, that involves other people. Thus, if I am going to really write, I need to find myself a circle of other writers with whom to hang once and awhile. A regular writer’s circle, perhaps.

In Victoria I have friends who seriously write or are immersed in books in a professional way, and have realized what a pleasure that is, to be able to talk about writing and art with other people invested in it. But since I’m not moving back anytime soon (sometime, but not for at least a couple of years), I’ve decided that I need to find my way into a circle here. First, because I need active critique on an ongoing basis if I am to keep improving my work. And second, because I would like to find myself reading publicly at some point in the not so distant future. I haven’t done that in over a decade (playing my own music live replaced that) and with a little feedback and tightening of my work I’m pretty sure I’ll be in a place of sharing again.

So I’m putting it out there. I want to find or form a writer’s circle in East Van. This is not the only way I’m going about it, but I might as well make my intentions clear since this blog is read by a diverse group of localites from what I can tell. Let me know by way of comment or email if you are at all interested, or know of something that already exists.