The Furious Spinner

Mario and I went hiking on a section of the Pacific Crest trail today, over by Stabler. It was supposed to rain today, but we drove out anyway. Falling Creek is still snowed in, so we decided to try this trail that a friend told us about. We walked over a wooden bridge, pausing to gaze at the stream below, and then we stepped into the forest: green moss covering the ground and root systems, lichen hanging from branches like tattered clothes, nurse logs bringing up baby trees, the sound of water a pleasant white noise. We walked on the dark cinnamon colored trail up and through the forest, some old growth maybe, but mostly third growth. We wondered why we hardly ever see wildlife in the forests of the Pacific Northwest. Mario thought it was because there are more places to hide here. In the Southwest we often saw wildlife—especially birds. No birds here. Nothing today except the sound of the water. And guns. I hoped no Dick Cheneys lurked in the woods today.

We walked to the top of the ridge where it opened up to reveal the foothills of the foothills of the Cascades and tree covered slopes of second growth, all uniform in their uniformity. Monoculture. I sat down on the stone and talked to the place. As I stood to leave, I noticed a small manzanita tree growing out of the stone, curling and curving its red-barked limbs against the stone face as if determined to have the best view in the house. We breathed deeply, said a little prayer to the place, and then we headed down again.

I wondered on the way down if animals have imagination. Mario asked for my definition of imagination. I said it was the ability to create a story or scenario that has not actually happened. In other words, make stuff up. He thought animals could do that. Doesn't a dog have to predict where the Frisbee is going to be thrown before she catches it?

"So you think a baseball player uses his imagination when he catches a baseball?" I asked.

"Not once they know how to do it," Mario said. "But before then, before they can do it they have to imagine being able to do it. So would the dog."

Mario pointed out that animals dream. But is that imagination? And how would be ever be able to research such a thing? Guess I better brush up on my animal linguistic skills.

Somehow this conversation segued into a discussion of Philip K. Dick. Another one who died too soon. Although that was not the heart of our conversation. What does it mean to be human was at the heart of Dick's work. As we talked I wondered what themes were prevalent in my work: loss of memory, loss of home, searching for connection.

As we neared the end of the trail, I said to Mario that I enjoyed this trail very much, but it wasn't like Falling Creek. There we are amongst our elders. Here not so much. Mario agreed and said, "This trail doesn't have the passion--"

He was behind me and I heard him groan. I knew he had fallen. I turned around. He looked all right. He had rolled with the fall he said. He got up and brushed himself off.

"Now what were we talking about?" he asked.

We couldn't remember for several minutes and then I laughed and said, "Passion. You said this trail didn't have the passion of Falling Creek. He didn't mean anything by it. He was just talking."

"Well, I guess we discovered this trail is a little touchy," he said.

At the bridge, we stood by the water for a time, then drove home.

Now we just finished lunch. Mario is doing the dishes. Later we'll probably watch The Gilmore Girls. We're on season three, I think. It's a fantasy, but I enjoy it very much. Tomorrow I'll go to the acupuncturist one more time. In the afternoon, I'll find out what time the surgery will be on Tuesday. I'm confident it'll be fine. I've been having terrible awful dreams lately. One after another of lions, tigers, and bears. I'm not kidding. A grizzly bear was eating up people. The lions, tigers, cheetahs, and leopards have been coming after me. I dreamed of a bobcat once and I turned away from it. Not sure why. I dreamed last night that I was a healer. I rubbed my hands together and put them on a woman who was dying. I couldn't imagine how I could save her, but I did it any way. I keep hoping Dave will come to me in a dream, but he hasn't. And we haven't heard anything about a funeral or memorial service.

This will probably be the last time I write here before the surgery. Wish me luck and good health. I wish the same for you. See you on the flip side.

May You Heal in Beauty!

All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.