Dog Days of June

Whew!  We survived the weekend heat dome.  I'm very thankful we were able to keep the house cool.  It's heat like this that makes me glad that I can run a fountain for the bees and birds.  I saw one parched looking hummingbird taking a rest with its beak held wide open and was glad it was able to get a drink.   Usually, they just land on top of the basalt column and take a sip; this one was hovering next to the column and drinking the overflowing water.  It's possible the water was too hot for a full on bird bath:  it was warm to the touch coming out until I renewed the basin's reservoir from the garden hose. 

The dog handled the heat fairly well, but the cats objected to be cooped up inside during the day.  We let them outside at night, once the pavement had cooled off.   On the up side, being forced to share space with the dog (who really just wants to lick them and say "hi" dog-style), seems to have made the cats slightly more tolerant of the dog.  They've gone from "OMG! A dog! We're gonna die!" to "Such a shame she wandered / into our enclosure ...."

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I went into work the other day; the office is still mostly working remotely, but I'm finding that I need to start transitioning into physically going in.  Even for summer term, campus is still sparsely populated.  My office Windows machine hasn't been updated in a while, and I think it took something like three hours for it to download version upgrades.  Part of the length of the upgrade may be due to the machine's age; it's easily from 2012.  It won't be able to handle the Windows 11 release (I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing).

My co-workers also came in for work, and we took a lunch break together.  I always forget that I'm kind of tall because everyone's the same height on Zoom.  It was nice to visit with folks who I've only met virtually since my hiring last year.  It was also weird to be physically present... and working on different machines than my personal machine at home took a little getting used to (I'm not a huge fan of web-based MS Office, and this summer I'm going to have to get MS Office on various machines running the same version).

Out and About in an Evil Genius Machine

It's 104F as I type this, Sunday afternoon around three oclock.  We've corralled the cats into the house.  Smokey, our big grey fluffy cat, seems to be dealing with it well, as long as the dog stays in our bedroom.  Cicero, our smaller black barn-cat,  is complaining and crying that he wants to go out.  Given that the road and sidewalks would probably burn his pads off, that's not an option for him.  

Today's adventure was an Arcimoto rental.  Arcimotos are essentially three-wheelers for folks who want to stay on road; they're electric tricycles with two wheels in the front.  I'd driven one briefly last April for about five minutes.  Originally, I wanted to rent one last week, but there weren't any available, so I booked for today -- easily the hottest day in June since the 1940's.  

My fantasy was to zip around like some science fiction evil genius or a member of Teen Force on a hover-cycle.  The rental I got had a black body with blue and purple detailing, which fit that plan.  The revving and de-revving sounds the motors make also contribute to a strong science-fiction vibe.  I spent the first forty minutes or so of the rental zipping around the back streets of Eugene, the fairgrounds, and Amazon park getting a feel for how fast I could go when turning and how much braking distance I had with the battery power reclamation switch.  

At least this time riding in an Arcimoto I was not passed by a car trailing so much marijuana smoke that I thought it might be bong-powered--but there was a moment when I drove through a dank cloud emanating from Amazon restroom, which inspired a chorus of "Smokin' in the Boy's Room."  Sheesh.

I'd say the biggest differences between driving an Arcimoto and a car are 1) you're in the center of the vehicle, not over to the left, 2) steering is easier when power is applied to the front wheels, 3) there's no windows, 4) or doors, so 5) you are more sonically connected to the street and 6) your hair whips around all over the place.  7) the wheels are smaller and they translate rough roads to the passenger more.

I picked up Mark at the house and we were off.  Mostly.  I had to put on some sunscreen first.  Then, sitting in the driveway, I had to work my way through the vehicle's power-up cycle.  While I was working out the sequence of pressing a start button while simultaneously pressing the break, then turning off the parking break, we discovered that wasps have been using the passenger's side mirror on the car I usually drive as a hive site -- they were annoyed that a new, smaller machine without their hive was in the driveway.   This was a moment that drove home to us that an Arcimoto doesn't have doors.  I managed to back out of the driveway without any angry wasps following.  Mark may or may not have made backing-up-beeeping noises.

We zipped over to the Hendricks Park Rhododendron Gardens.  I may or may not have gotten a little lost because I didn't see a sign directing us there.   I think this is the part where I noticed that some roads in Eugene are more rough than others.  

The temperature was probably 85 F by 10:15, but the gardens were shady and cool.  We got out.  Mark had packed some snacks, and we shared a ginger brew then walked around looking at plants.  We missed the rhododendrons blooming, but we did see a plant called "Bears' Britches" (Acanthus Mollis) that I think would make a good border plant.

Mark wanted to go to a bakery called The Elegant Elephant, so we took a back-way out of the park and I drove us there.  I think during this segment of our trip was when Mark commented that one really did need to wear the cross-your-heart-dual-seatbelts providing four-point security.  There was also something about the back passenger seat feeling like a carnival ride from the lateral forces; I'm pretty sure that wasn't commentary about my driving, but more an observation of how the passenger is farther away than the driver from the pivot point of the Arcimoto.

Just before I got to the bakery, I realized that I had left the house without a mask.  This meant Mark had to order an Italian Soda for me.  By this time it was probably 90 F.  I re-tied my hair so it wouldn't blow into my face so much.  As I backed out of the bakery's parking lot, Mark definitely made "Beeep!  Beeep!" noises.   The Arciomoto is small and quiet, and I think he was worried we wouldn't been seen by other drivers or pedestrians (not that there were any others there).

We drove next to the Owen Rose Gardens.  Two seconds after I pulled in, a herd of Seniors on Vespas drove in and parked a little distance away from us.  It was one of those funny coincidences.  None of them looked like Evil Geniuses or members of Teen Force--although the Monty Python skit, "Hell's Grannies" did spring to mind.  I thought they were coming to see the roses, but about two minutes later, they all road off.  

We ate baked goods, and perambulated around the roses --an osprey flew over the river at this point -- and visited the 180 year old cherry tree planted by Eugene Skinner.   Mark likes peach or yellow roses, and the spirals in floribunda varieties please him more than the blooms of other types.   I want to say "Glowing Peace" was a favorite.  Then we looked at the Willamette River.  On our way we passed an impressive oak tree with a very straight trunk and tiny leaves.  

There was a little time left on the rental, so I suggested a scenic drive around Skinner's Butte.  As I backed us out, Mark "Beeeped!" again, and then we were off.  

I'd say the Arcimoto is cool.  I can see it being something one might take on a date to show up on the strip; if Eugene had a strip--the closest thing I can think of is 5th Street between High and Monroe.  I'm thinking if I had a hip, single, urban apartment existence, it might make a nice alternative to a car.  On a nice day with light traffic, I could see taking it to a winery, or possibly to Fern Ridge.  I'm thinking it might be less fun (but more wet) in November.  

And it could easily accessorize for that evil genius science fiction look.

Dreaming a Story

 I've got a few quiet moments to myself Friday morning.  

A few years ago, I used to regularly have about fifteen minutes in the parking lot at work for reflection and writing (school drop-off schedule didn't quite mesh with the work schedule).  With various life changes and the COVID pandemic, I don't always have that bubble of time to think about stories, or the latest dream, or various wildlife sightings.  

I must have tried to dream about my current fantasy short story because I dreamed I was a Merlin-esque character in a story Mary Stewart might write.  I had been pulled out of retirement or my hermitage, and was being accompanied by a young man to my old home in a forest of holy and oak.  As we were riding, he was about to tell me something important, when I motioned that he should stop.  A falcon or similar raptor flew out of the forest and alighted on the top of some trees; this indicated that there was someone nearby eavesdropping on us.  "They must have known that you'd come to fetch me," I said, "and have been watching me for some time.

There wasn't too much more; I found a spot next to some ancient trees where my stone house used to be... I have a vague sense that I lived in a stone treehouse.

On the wildlife front:  I'be been seeing the hummingbirds less, probably because they're up right before the sun rises and I am not.  However, we have had an increase in dragonflies, both the small ruby kind and the large sapphire kind.

Coming Out To Myself

About seven years ago somebody asked, "when did you know you were gay?"  I wrote most of this then, saved it as a draft, forgot about it and have recently re-discovered it.

In 1976, I instinctually knew that my sexuality was dangerous for me to express.  Well, OK, I had some help from disapproving peers: they used to point and chant, "Burridge got a boner!" during P.E., and those were the nicest ones.  For the record, there wasn't any one person or persons turning me on; I just felt sexy,  I guess--or more likely hormonal. With the power of twelve-year-olds, I invoked Mr. Spock and put a wall around my emotions and my sexual desires.  This was a protective insulation that I kept wrapped around me for about twenty years.  It made me want to be a particle physicist.  It also kept me from emotional connections of all sorts.  (I still find locker rooms uncomfortable.) 

It never occurred to me that I was gay.  In the seventies and eighties, the only gay people I knew were fictional.  The fictional Jack Tripper, who only pretended to be gay on the television situation comedy "Three's Company;" the fictional Bunny Wigglesworth, the gay, whip wielding twin brother of Zorro--played by George Hamilton in "Zorro, The Gay Blade;" the simpering subjects of various jokes about fairies; and the eponymous queer in the football game "Smear the Queer."  Oh, yes; The Village People... they didn't exactly count because because A) we usually only heard their music and didn't see them, B) it was Oregon, and the cultural significance of the Village was lost on middle schoolers, and C) we were too busy contorting into the letters Y M C and A to think about homosexual sex.

Because of this, I developed a persona that was "cute." It was my way of saying, "Hi. I'm harmless.  Don't hurt me. I'm cute. Like me.  Hey, I just want to do science."  I would go on 1980's dates with my female friends--we were both Manic Pixie Girls.

In 1983, my first same-sex desires were furtive and I was drawn to them several times only to recoil from them.  I wish my first sexual experience as an eighteen year old had been beautiful and affirming; instead, my first shared post-orgasmic words to my not-boyfriend-I'm-not-gay-fooling-around-with were "Um, that was kind of gross."  I spent the rest of my college life serial crushing on romantically unavailable women (he transferred to another college).

Apparently, from 1983 to 1995, many people assumed I was gay and assumed I knew (which explains some awkward moments).  Also, you had to hit me over the head with a clue-by-four if you were romantically interested in me (which explains some other awkward moments).

I came out to myself in 1995, after a highly symbolic dream involving a hallway of doors, hotel cleaning staff, message oil, crashing through a tenth story window, and women with Hair to Heaven singing, "Hallelujah, Amen!"  When I cast the dream into prose form and read it during an open mic night at Arcosanti, I instantly became Mr. Arcosanti Gay Resources (in spite of the fact that I was still single and there were other gay men on site).

Back in Oregon, after a couple of fun-but-confusing sexual encounters, I'd say my first beautiful and affirming sexual experience was 1996... and then I promptly worried that despite various safe sex measures,  I'd contracted something.   My slutty stage was cut short when I met Mark a week later.

Mark is the first person I've loved who has loved me back (no pressure).

Postscript:  I was very lucky.  Around 2002, I was contacted by my college not-gay-not-boyfriend via a random e-mail.  Once I was out to myself, I said to myself that if we ever ran into each other that I would say or write the following:  "Hello.  I wanted to apologize for my actions when I was eighteen.  We were sexually attracted to each other.  I was homophobic and I treated you badly.  I'm sorry."  He forgave me.

Airport Anxiety Dream

Last night I had a typical airport anxiety dream:  I had flown somewhere, and my old boss, M.B. reminded me that I had to return.  This did not prompt scenario where a I have to get to the airport and my car is broken, nor the one where I'm walking there and a series of labyrinthine, suburban streets block my path--but rather a new twist, where I was frantically searching for my airline ticket.

On one hand, none of the settings was the usual "I'm stuck" settings from Reed or Arcosanti.  And there was a Dream Guide Character sort of played by Kurt Russel.  On the other hand, I need to add "airport anxiety motifs" to my list of dream triggers so I can move beyond them.  I suspect this dream was prompted by a slightly upset stomach and today's trip to get TSA pre-approval.  

Solstice Ritual

It's officially Summer!  Yesterday, to celebrate the Solstice, I got out of the house before 7 AM and drew a spiral path in the intersection near our house.  Mark wondered why I hadn't drawn it somewhere else, like in a dead end, and at the time I didn't think to chime up, "because magic has to be done at a cross road!"  

At solar noon, I focused sunlight onto a candle, and kept the flame going until the evening.  Then I managed to carry the candle in a small copper cauldron through the spiral.  I quietly hummed "Center of the Sun," to myself as I travelled the spiral (I do miss working with a group and singing songs).  There's typically not much traffic on our street--I had just exited the spiral when a car drove up, which I took as a good sign.  

Afterward, I carried the flame around to the back yard circle and proceeded to have a solitary ritual.  It was more a self-guided meditation and journalling session than actual full-blown ritual, and what I got out of it were some insights,  some affirmations, and cognitive triggers to try to use for when I'm feeling stuck creatively.  

Last February was a particularly dark place, and I fret that the Summer Light hasn't restored me to my regular, energetic, creative place -- and that now that the sun has reached its maximum and I no longer have a smothering oppression wrapped around my chest, there's a nagging feeling that I'm going to plunge back into that numb, misty unworld where stories die on scanty word trails that dribble into bogs.  (I am hoping that a regular work schedule and a return to campus next fall will help.)

During ritual, I asked for the strength and endurance to keep going through the dark part of the year (which seems a little premature, as things typically don't get bad until January and February; but start good habits now, I guess.)   I wrote down the strategies and insights that came to me -- mostly along the lines of "when you recognize situation X, take action Y" (instead muttering "let's pretend to be happy" to myself or just wanting to fall asleep forever).

Then I thanked the powers, opened the circle, and enjoyed the candlelight in the starry evening.

Pre-Solstice Raptor Center

The other day I went to the Cascades Raptor Center.  The last time I went was just before the equinox.  

For whatever reason, the place was packed by 10:10 AM.  I was glad that I had pulled into the parking lot fairly early.  I'm guessing that it was a combination of many of the schools being out, the Olympic Trials being in town, and a recent lifting of some COVID restrictions.   There were lots of little kids, and I could tell when 11:40 hit, because (as I remember from a decade ago) that's typically when they hit the pre-lunch sugar crash.

It was peculiar to be there with so many other patrons.  

Since I've visited, the resident raptors' aviaries have moved around: Banjo has moved up the hill, Amazon's aviary is gone, Kali is living where Dante used to, and Dante lives where Archimedes was.  Other residents have moved, some have passed away, and there are new raptors on the site.

Danu is still chatty and still in her usual site.

I didn't clear my camera's memory, so I ran out of space for tons of pictures this time around.  I still managed to get a few.

The new thing I learned is that vulture's heads are iridescent.  Kali the vulture's head glimmered like the throat of a hummingbird when she was in the sun.  In the past I've either been below the vultures or the sun hasn't been out, so I've never noticed how dazzling red their head's can be when viewed at the right angle.

Non-virtual Co-workers

Today I went into the office for work.  The last time I went was... you know, I'm not sure—I think it must have been something like last September.  In any case, I was meeting up with a co-worker, who I haven't seen in person since years and years; we were working for separate departments before being blended into our current office.  We were hired remotely.  Our supervisor retired on our first full day on the first of July.  We were meeting up to meet a potential new supervisor.  In person.

I haven't met most of my supervisors and co-workers except in Zoom or over Teams.  Like most of the US, I've been working from my bedroom, dressed in in jeans, slippers, and casual shirts.  The result is that most of the rest of the staff feel a little abstract and unreal.  

Today I shaved, put on slacks, some dress shoes, and a jacket.  I drove to work and found a parking spot on campus, which felt particularly empty because it's the end of the Spring Term.  I walked to the building I've only worked in for maybe a total of six hours over the last year of working remotely.  My co-worker was there ahead of me: I saw her standing near the elevator, slightly turned away from me.  I didn't recognize her at first because she was wearing a mask, I was seeing her from behind instead of in a Zoom frame, and she had legs.  

She must have recognized my voice as I was checking into the building because she turned and said, "John?  I thought that was you.  You're still tall."

I was having some adjustments to seeing her in real life—the only time I've seen her walking, she's appeared to be standing still, with slight swaying, as her apartment moved behind her.  Seeing her move while the building stood still was different.  Later, we met up with another supervisor: the timbre of his voice had made me imagine him shorter than he is in real life.   When he and my co-worker were speaking and trading some contact information for the candidate, there wasn't text in the chat area, and I could see the backs of their shoulders.  

For a moment, I thought I wouldn't remember my desktop's password, but luckily, my fingers did most of the remembering for my brain.  There were a lot of updates to install.  I think that's going to be the metaphor for returning to work.

Last Week of Spring and Hugging

I think I'm hearing the distant roar of an outdoor high school graduation ceremony.

The last few days have been overcast and rainy.  We need the rain, but it would have been nice to see the crescent Moon sweep by Mars yesterday evening.  It seems so strange that we're in the last week of Spring, the Summer Solstice is in six days -- and then the days will grow shorter and dark again.  Oh well, best not to borrow from the shadows until they're actually here.  Better instead to appreciate the slanting northwestern sunlight making the arbor vita glow like green velvet against the steel and slate colored clouds, and wonder how the dying sun will stoke the clouds into coals.  Better to enjoy the cool evening, and growing perception of the trees' scintillating auras as the twilight deepens. 

There was a family birthday party over the weekend -- it was refreshing and weird to have all of us sitting down at the same table and sharing a meal.  Hugging people feels elemental.  Some people when you hug them feel like a river; some feel like knots of wood;  others feel like a layer of sand over solid rock.  Other people hug you like a half-closing door, their frame rigid while a part of them swings -- and you find yourself gingerly holding a doorknob when you thought you were going to press fully into a door to open it.  Some people hug you like they'd hug a cliff, holding on, fingers pressed into crevasses or around anchor points; or they are the cliff, steady and unmoving, while you find a purchase.  Sometimes, you feel the boulder in a person's chest, or the breath flowing in and out and in and out between you.   And some people aren't there yet, holding themselves in some pocket universe that's out of phase with the rest of the cosmos -- when you hug them it's like typing the word "hug" on a keyboard, or hugging them with arms that have fallen asleep, or it's like hugging a shadow.  

I can only imagine how strange it will be to go back to work in an office when it opens back up in September.

Anxiety Dreams

 It's not uncommon for me to find myself awake at 4 AM.  Usually, I blame the cats or the dog or having to go to the bathroom for my "what time is it" awakenings, but today it was an unpleasant dream.  I seem to be having more anxiety dreams lately, where I'm back in old places or with old bosses, but this is the first one where goons tied me up and tortured me to death (they wanted to know where Mark was, and I didn't know).  Luckily (?) I must have been aware enough in the dream that before things got too bad, the dream shifted and I was (possibly) Jamie Sommers (the Bionic Woman) ... but this time the enemy agents had kidnapped my six-year-old daughter and were using her to insure my good behavior for some kind of mind-control experiment.  

Huh.  It's just come to me that prior to all of this, in an earlier dream, I was walking alone on a beach (somehow this was connected to shaving), a little ways away from a group of professors (an amalgam of folks I've known from work at the university).  They were discussing how they had made recent story sales, and what writing projects they were working on, and how the markets were picking up again.  They started out behind me, and as we picked our way over tufts of beach grass and driftwood,  I wanted to join up with them, but they kept walking a little to my left and then they were ahead of me.  I felt left out and jealous of their camaraderie and trudged after them.  Eventually, we all climbed a dune or cliff and re-entered a house.  Everyone trouped through a sliding glass door, through my living area, and then out through another door (I have the sense I was living in an apartment complex or dorm).  I stayed behind and surveyed the living room, which had an undergraduate student decor.  

I fairly sure the second dream is the continuation of a short exchange Mark and I had as I was submitting a short story to a market that I've yet to break into.  

Market Analysis

I've finally taken a critical look at a handful of stories from this one market that I can't seem to get stories into.  In the past I've mostly just read what they've published, with the occasional jaundiced eye (especially when they publish a list story).  Typically, when I get a "guess why we didn't buy your story" form rejection from this market is the time that they publish something stunning and brilliant.

Probably my biggest mistake is sending them stories over 1000 words.  They'll publish up to 1500 words, but a 400-800 word story is more likely. 

My second mistake is using too elevated diction (I like playing with cool words); I need to keep story diction a notch slightly above conversational unless I'm purposefully making fun of Ye Olde Speech.  The list stories might have "literary" word play and imagery, but the diction in them will still be conversational.

My third mistake is sending them sword and sorcery fantasy.  Although they publish fantasy, it feels like they have a sci-fi or near-future preference.  The fantasy they do publish seems to be urban fantasy or magical realism or fantasy poking fun at fantasy tropes.

From the sample stories I looked at, I'd say a common theme is "discovering someone (or something) is not what it first appeared to be," with connections to "what makes a person real?" and issues of social equality (i.e. dealing with some "-ism").   Another common theme is post-apocalyptic or a end-of-the-world setting.

Finally, the ending has to be strong, preferably with an epiphany -- oops, I mean a sudden discovery.

Queer Books

For Pride Month this year, I've been posting photos of myself prominently holding up book covers of books from the gay male and queer theory section of my library.  Then I've posted little mini-reviews or summaries to Instagram > Twitter and Facebook.   My plan was to do a book a day for the month.  We'll see if I have enough books -- I'll be including books that overlap the NeoPagan and Gay Male/Queer community as well.

In a way, the books were my gay (and to a lesser extent my NeoPagan) community, especially over the long time period during which I was navigating my sexuality and sexual preferences in several small town settings.  I've discovered that my library doesn't have much in the way of gay male / queer theory past about 2000.  I've also discovered that some of my books haven't aged well.  My sense is that in the 90's, thinking about gender and orientation was much more binary -- so authors were focused on essential gay male consciousness, or on if they were assimilating too much into heteronormative ideals.  There was an awful lot of focus on gay men's (supposed) low self esteem, which in turn led to risky, promiscuous behavior, which in turn contributed to the AIDS crisis.  I'm not even sure if gay male low self-esteem is still even a thing.   Don't get me started on Iron John in Drag.

It's possible one reason I stopped purchasing queer theory books is that I found Mark, and I didn't need any theory anymore.  Another reason is that I kept hoping to find the gay male equivalent of Starhawk, but instead I eventually discovered Ronald Hutton.