time

Early morning, should be getting ready for work, but I do that every day. Last night we took the Canby Ferry across the river, the Willamette, I'm pretty sure, although I guess it could be the Sandy River, but I'm pretty sure it was the Willamette. It was only a buck and a quarter. Or, as the ferryman put it: a buck fifty with a twentyfive cent rebate. I will post a picture later. It only has room for 4 cars and we were the only one crossing. We had travelled out to Mollala for twin schwinns for 25 bucks and ended up with 2 drills, a buffer, a sawzall and the bikes. The guy just kept saying, "take this stuff. My friend died and I'm tired of dealing with it." Grief is grief. Like snowflakes, it affects no two people alike. I know that when my father died, my mother gave away all of our worldly goods... most notably an antique round oak table with ball-claw feet. That people took advantage of her is irritating, but it was to be her lifestyle from then on out, which was a little tough on the budding Martha Stewart in me. It was difficult to give her gifts. You'd see it the next week on a stranger who was sleeping on our floor. "Our reward is in heaven," she'd say. She really had the detachment thing down.

Writing early in the morning is like walking down a long road with lots of dark little houses along the sides. You don't really know what's inside until you cross the overgrown yard, lean across the unpruned rose bush, and peer through the window. Oh.... its just Mom.

So back to the here and now, or at least as recently as last night, we had dinner in Sellwood at a crappy Mexican restaurant that had an obscene mural of red peppers lining the women's room. Big red handpainted peppers.

I really do have a job. I really must exert enough force to extract myself from the vortex of this couch. I really must......