The Furious Spinner

From the sublime to the...very strange.

Did I tell you that we stopped at the food co-op on our way out of Portland and I discovered that I had brought the left shoe of one pair of running shoes and the right shoe of another pair. I'd worn my slippers to the car because I was too lazy to tie up my shoes. (To be fair, they're a pain in the ass to lace up.) So I was an hour away from home with no shoes for our trip. (The weights of the shoes are very different; wearing them would have screwed up my knees.) I decided I'd be able to find some cheap deck shoes once we got to Seaside so we headed out. Not long after, a white pickup with flashing lights pulled out in front of us. He had a big sign on the hood of his truck that said "test in progress." I couldn't figure out what the truck was doing. It just drove in front of us, flashing the "test in progress" sign. I said, "Okay. Hint taken. Move on." We passed him.

Shoeless Kim. Test in progress.

Ah well. Then today we went to Cape Disappointment to see the Confluence Project, the Maya Lin architectural wonder which will have seven stops along the Columbia River one day if all goes well. They were working on the one at Cape Disappointment, and the rude and snotty workmen wouldn't let us near it because they weren't finished. I thought we've driven three hours and spent a couple hundred bucks to see this thing, you should at least put something on the website that says the public ain't welcome. I said as much. They ignored me. That's the Western way. They think if they ignore you you'll go away. They don't understand that that just makes people like me furious. But I'm a changin' happenin' gal. I didn't let this get my huff up. We walked to another part of the park and communed with nature. I hung out with the foxglove and had a nice discussion. Mario watched the boats going to and from.

Later we drove to the lighthouse and walked along the trail. Huge bunches of cow parsley grew along the trail with the little yellow flowers I'd liked so well at Stillmeadow and another vine with tendrils that reminded me of the grape vines at Stillmeadow intermingled with the parsley and yellow fleurs. Now, I never touch anything in the woods (or anywhere else) unless I'm fairly certain I know what it is. That has been a good rule that has served me well for most of my life. I'm a country girl, wild child. It's a good freaking rule. However, I'm supposed to be talking with the plants as part of my faery doctor prescription, and I'm trying to loosen up a bit. I was tuning in with this beautiful plant, and I didn't think it looked like anything that could hurt me. So I stroked it, and Mario and I speculated on what it was. I went into the lighthouse and described this plant to the woman there. She nodded and said, "Oh, yes, that. It's wild cucumber and it's deadly poison." "Oh," I said. "I just touched it."

"You better go wash your hands."

Under-freaking-statement of the year. I left the lighthouse and felt all my old fears rising to the surface again. Trust, Kim. Come on, baby. You can do it. You can do it. Hang on. Yeah, trust. Rhymes with you'll turn to dust if you don't use your brains better. I went and washed my hands, shaking my head all the while. Mario tried to reassure me. I knew instinctively that it wasn't poisonous unless ingested (which turned out to be true), but I was still annoyed with myself. I remembered from the workshop that Tom and others had encouraged us all to be on our toes with this faery doctoring. I'm always on my toes. A freaking ballerina, me. I'm trying to learn to relax. Take off the warrior gear and the ballerina slippers.

I was still pretty wired all day. This wound up energy that doesn't seem to dissipate. I've had this before, usually after a wonderful experience, and I know if I can't get it to flow or move on, it'll fry me, like my own little electroshock therapy. On the way back to the motel, I remembered Linda calling me last night to tell me they were having a beautiful thunderstorm at home. She was so excited by it. I loved that she called me. I loved she knew that I would share in her excitement. It's difficult to be full of joy when everyone around you is a buzz kill. I would have no one to call during my moments of joy when she was gone. I started crying. I cried for Linda. I cried for Dave. I cried for Bill. I cried for missing them, I mean. I can't stand the idea of losing Linda and especially losing her so close to Dave's death. Losing her. What does that mean? Why do I keep using that expression? I won't lose her. She'll be dead.

We took a long walk before dinner. Felt like we went miles and miles. We looked for shells and didn't find hardly any. When we lived on the coast, I don't think I ever when shell hunting. They were everywhere; why hunt? We lived amongst them. Now here, the shells had gone missing. I dipped a bottle into the place where the ocean and the river met and got some water; then we walked back, into the wind, rain, and sand. I started feeling like I was having trouble breathing. I reached into my pocket to get a tissue and it blew away down the beach. I went racing after it, but it was faster than I was. I ran and ran until I had to stop, winded. And then it stopped, too, and I walked over and picked it up.

"What was that about?" I asked. I looked out at the ocean, no longer having trouble breathing. Beautiful, beautiful thunderous ocean. I closed my eyes and felt the ocean around the planet: One big giant ocean. I'm just a part of the Old Sea encapsulated in my skin. That's what the Old Mermaids would say. The pulse of my blood was the same as the pulse of this sea. That's why a good cry makes you feel better, the Old Mermaids say. Once you taste the salt in your tears, you remember where you're from. You know that the Old Sea still lives in you.

Thanks for the reminder.

Dinner. Lay on the bed trying to relax, ground, stop the world from pulsing. Then another walk. We gave a offering to the sea in thanks for the pieces of shell we'd taken. My sweatshirt jacket was still wet from our earlier walk, so I decided to go back to the motel soon after we started. Mario kept going down the beach. I spotted the swing set as I was walking up the beach, so I decided to stop and have a swing. I hadn't been on a swing in years—not since the vertigo started, certainly. I began swinging, pumping my legs. I felt a little dizzy, but who cared? And who cared if I was wired? Being by the sea would eventually calm me. But maybe I didn't need to be calm. I was as happy as a pig in slop swinging when suddenly BAM! A big black dog leaped into the air and grabbed a hold of me from behind. I screamed at the top of my lungs. (I'm very glad I can do that.) At the same time I wrestled to get out of the grip of this maniacal dog who may or may not have been chewing on my shoulder. I also had the strange impression he was trying to hump me. Once I got loose from the dog, I leaped from the swing onto the sand and turned around to see where the dog was going.

He was loping back to some woman who was walking toward the promenade. I yelled to her. She didn't respond. In that moment, I remembered the truck "test in progress." I thought, "I am going to fail this test." I was so angry. Furious. Not at her stupid dog. But at her. When she didn't respond, I hurried up the sand and said something I am really not proud of: "You stupid bitch! You can keep walking, but I'm coming after you." Then the dog turned around and came toward me. I yelled, half-laughing with fury, "You better get a hold of that dog." Or the freaking dogs of hell would be unleashed and I'd be at the head of the pack.

She took a hold of her dog and kept walking. And I followed, talking the whole time, telling her she had better stop because I was going to keep following. Finally she stopped and turned to face me. I said, shaking with righteous fury, "How can you do that to another human being? Your dog just attacked me. He hurt my leg and shoulder."

"Oh, he didn't bite you," she said.

"Look at me," I roared.

"Well I can see he jumped on you," she said. "I've got a hold of him now."

"Your dog attacked me," I said. "How could you allow that?"

"Were you on the swing?"

WHAT? SHE KNEW HER DOG DID THAT TO PEOPLE ON THE SWING?

I was nearly mindless at that point, but not quite. I felt different than "usual" during these sorts of encounters. (Not that I've ever had a dog actually leap into the air to catch me.) There was sense in my fury. Except for that one name calling, the rest of my fury was articulate and cogent, kind almost. I was not afraid. (The woman was bigger than me.) I wasn't going to crumple before her. I was nowhere near tears. She had wronged me, and worse yet, she could have really hurt someone.

At some point as I'm yelling at her, she said, "Why are you mad at me? My dog did it."

"Because you are the alpha of this pack and you are responsible for keeping this animal in line. You are responsible. Get it?"

We went back and forth some more. She offered to take me to the hospital. I said I wasn't going anywhere with her. I started to walk away from her and then I stopped and turned around. "What if I had been a 50 pound child instead of a hundred pound woman?" I asked. "Think about what would have happened then if he'd done the same thing." She stared at me.

I went across the street and into our motel room. I was huffing and puffing. I began peeling off my dog-boogered clothes. And I started to laugh. Was that a greeting from the bitch goddess herself or what? Send in the hounds, woman. Don't get too sure you're all right. The ground is always shifting, baby.

I looked at my muddied jacket. It was lucky I had so many layers or the dog could have done a lot of damage. I rubbed my face. My legs were shaking. What kind of energy was I giving off if a freaking dog was trying to hump me. Geezus Louisus.

Some time later, Mario returned. I told him the story. He said, "Where was Bear?" I shook my head. "I don't know. Where was everyone? I wasn't hurt though. And I feel a little more grounded than I did before."

"Maybe she'll listen to you. Maybe you saved some kid from getting hurt."

"I doubt she heard a word," I said. "Makes me wonder about everything I've been doing and thinking." Except I kept laughing. It was funny. Even the scratches on my back, as if I'd been doing the wild thing.

"Man, I hope he didn't impregnate me," I said. "Don't dogs give birth to litters? Imagine all the teenage years I'd have to endure."

I paced the room. I said, "I need someone to talk to about all this stuff. I need a girl!"

Just then the computer beeped. I had an e-mail from my friend Pam. What a relief, a relief, a relief. We didn't have a phone in this motel, but I quickly wrote to her what happened and said I'd call her Thursday. She wrote back and said, "Don't worry. If the dog did impregnate you you'd never have to worry about income for the rest of your life, think of the press, Oprah, Natl. Enq etc."

Yep, I'd be the Bitch Goddess, all right.

Or something.

These are strange days, my friends.

May You Bitch in Beauty! 3 comments

3 Comments:

. . . . we're on the same wave length, Kim. I went off to the woods on the weekend wearing two different coloured socks and the colours were at opposite ends of the spectrum, a lovely clashing it was. There was a fantabulous moon though.

After a few such recent doggie events here, methinks the Old Woman and her hounds had better start manifesting and making their presence felt strongly - we need them.

By  kerrdelune, at 7:32 AM  

That was a "fantabulous" moon, my dear.

I'm still laughing about this event. So glad I felt that Amazon energy, bitch goddess energy, furious spinner energy flowing through me. Much better than feeling victimized. The scratches on my back are almost healed. Life's fun, eh? I've been telling this episode to my responsible doggie-owner friends, and they keep saying this sounds like atypical behavior for a dog, unless it was young. It may have been young but it was big. Probably 80-95 pounds. They also said the first thing they would have done was to make certain I was all right. People and their dogs around here can just be crazy mfers. It seems to me that if you really love your animal, you keep them out of harm's way. If I had been seriously injured or if I had been a child, the police would have taken that dog and put him down. Doesn't seem very loving behavior on the part of the doggie owner to me.

By  Kim Antieau, at 8:55 PM  

I a so thrilled to finally be mentioned in the blog! Any morning sickness yet? :)

By  Pam C-Y, at 1:22 PM  

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