• Another shot of an old gravestone

    A year and a half (how has it been that long?!?) I wrote about an old Graveyard near where I live where my cousins are buried. I wrote a little about it in that post.

    Before I moved here I had no idea that my uncle lived in Sandy in the sixties. We used to visit him in Portland so I just thought he always lived in Portland. But when my cousins were kids they lived in the community of Cherryville up here on The Mountain.

    His daughter, when she was two years old, drowned in Whiskey Creek and my uncle had her buried in the old Cherryville Cemetery. Several decades later he buried his oldest son there, as well. When he found out that I moved to Sandy he has been asking me to go to this cemetery to check on the graves of his kids. Curious about it, I told him I would. But I haven’t been able to find it. I even have a coworker who lives on Cherryville Rd and they were not able to help me figure out where it is. My uncle even drew me a map to the place! Still no luck. So the location of this cemetery has been this huge mystery for me for a long time.

    My cousin’s daughter got married in Battleground, WA on Saturday evening so my mom and uncle came to the area to attend the wedding. One of the things my uncle wanted to do while he was here was show me where this cemetery is. So Sunday, after spending the day in Portland with my mom and her gentleman friend, we met my uncle in Sandy and followed him to Cherryville.

    I would have never, in a million years, been able to find this place if he hadn’t shown me where it was. We had to turn down this very vague “driveway” that led to a grove of trees. I got out of the car, walked up to the grove of trees and was thinking it was just a grove of trees. There was no graveyard to be seen anywhere. But my uncle knew exactly where to go. He brought his clippers and lopped off a tree branch and, behold, there was a path. We walked into a grove that was covered completely in trees and moss  and ivy and brambles. There was barely any light coming into this sanctuary. But I walked a little ways and found the headstone that you seen in the photo above. Then, as I looked more closely, I could see several other headstones peeking through the brush.

    As we kept going we had to start bushwhacking our way to the back of the cemetery where my cousins are buried.
    Clearing a path
    Eventually we found what we were looking for. The graves of my uncle’s kids.

    My cousin's grave markers

    They actually looked pretty good. I think they were the only ones that weren’t overtaken with plants.

    It’s hard to tell in this photo (my terrible timing makes him look psycho) but my uncle is super stoked that he was finally able to get up there to show me the place.
    Uncle Will

    We spent some time cleaning up the grave site and tried to clear the path a little bit more.

    What a weird, surreal evening.

    What a weird, surreal place. It wasn’t creepy though. It was actually a very pleasant, beautiful place.

    More photos from my mom’s visit are on my Flickr.

  • Bridges

    Afterwards we went for a walk along the river and took photos. It was kind of a cloudy day so everything I took has a depressing quality to it.

    Preita and I were talking about her 365 self-portrait project. She has been keeping it going for a few years and I’ve enjoyed it’s progression through the years. A couple of other friends have done them in the past, as well. I find the 365 days project fascinating. Each person has their own unique spin on it and I find that uniqueness interesting. I’ve toyed with the idea off and on for a few years. At times I’m repelled by the idea. There is a judgey person inside of me who thinks it is narcissistic. But then there is that other side of me that likes to explore her creative side, and that is the part of me that is interested. So five days ago I started my own 365 days project that can be found here. I’m not sure I will be able to get through the entire year. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll be able to get through the entire month. Knowing how I am, I’ll probably get sick of myself pretty quickly.

    My mom is on her way here to visit this weekend and I’m so excited to see her!  We are going to a wedding reception this evening. My cousin’s daughter got married. So I’m looking forward to seeing some extended family later on today, as well. I’m planning on taking her to the Japanese Gardens tomorrow. Hopefully the nice weather will hold out for us.

  • Like everyone else in my family I enjoy a drink now and then. I come from a very Catholic family and Catholics like to drink. At least in my mind they do. Maybe this is just my family and not the reality. Regardless, I grew up around adults who drank (this included the Priest at weddings and funerals) so it seemed like the normal thing to do.

    I didn’t start until I was in High-school. I don’t remember how it started. I’m sure it was with my friend Kelly, or maybe Udawna. And we probably snuck it from somewhere. And I’m sure it was pretty crappy, whatever it was we snuck.

    I do have specific, sad, memory though (now that I’m writing about this it bubbled up to the surface). I must have been 18 or 19. A group of my friends gathered together at this place called Rimrock. It was a place in the town I grew up, Spokane, where kids would go party. Which is exactly what we did that night. I was in love with a guy that was with us. He was my boyfriend the Summer before and we broke up a few months earlier and I still had feelings for him. He didn’t feel anything for me, though. He moved on and it broke my heart.

    Somebody brought a bottle of Mad Dog. Mad Dog is a terrible, horrible, drink that might as well be called “Turpentine With Cherry Flavoring Added” because that is what it was. We passed the bottle around and I quickly got wasted. I vaguely remember myself that evening. The more I drank the sadder I got about the situation with this boy. And, apparently, I threatened to fling myself over the cliff because of him.

    This boy died in a head-on collision a year after this, breaking my heart even further.

    It has been a long time since that happened. I don’t drink to get wasted like I did in my youth. When I do drink I like to enjoy a really good tasting beer and I usually only have one. Two at the most.

    I can think of many reasons to quit. First and foremost is that alcoholism runs through my family. I know that I’m not an alcoholic but it is a disease that I need to watch out for.

    Another reason to quit relates to my interest in Zen Buddhism. In Buddhism drinking is something that is not encouraged. I find myself drawn to the teachings of the Buddha so one of these days, if I really want to be serious about being Buddhist, I can see myself adopting the precepts (one of which is to not consume alcohol).

    But until then I will enjoy my one beer on Saturday evening after a hard days work.

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  • There I am in print!
    There I am in Black and White. woohoo!

    The sliding Glass Door by Scott Poole.R and I received in the mail yesterday a book that we both had a hand in the development of. The Sliding Glass Door by Scott Poole. R designed the cover of the book and I took the author’s photo. I wrote a little bit about it, vaguely, in April when I went to Live Wire. It’s crazy to see it in the flesh! To pick it up and hold it. To turn to the verso and see my name right there! To see the photo that I took on page 67. It’s all very, very exciting!

    This is my second photo credit for a book. The first was for a book called, The Real Work: essential slight of hand for street operators by Paul Price. I took some photos of hands demonstrating some of the tricks. I didn’t use my first name though. I am credited as M. Smith. I really regret that. I should’ve just used my full name.

    But the past is the past and the present is here and presently, I am holding this fantastic book of poetry in my hands. R did a beautiful job on the cover. I’m so proud of him! And of myself. This is a day to remember.

  • love – Photo by Moyan Brenn.

    I’ve thought about this a lot lately. Obviously, there are many people who have shaped me into who I am today. One person who answered this question on Plinky mentioned that they are influenced by everyone they meet and I would have to agree with that completely. Everyone I come into contact with affects me and makes me who I am.

    But I’ve lately been specifically thinking about my husband and how he has influenced me. He is the reason I am who I am at this moment. We have been together for the entirely of our adult lives, which is almost 20 years. We are best friends. We have been through so much together.

    We have real conversations. Like really real. About life, the universe, and everything in between. Politics. Right and wrong. Religion. He makes me think. He has always made me think.

    He actually likes to read stuff that I write and he encourages me in these creative pursuits. He gives me great feedback and suggestions. His feedback and encouragement have pushed me along, given me confidence to keep going and challenged me to see things in a different way.

    He makes me laugh. His twisted sense of humor causes me to see humor in things that I might not otherwise.

    I wonder what kind of a person I would be today if I hadn’t met him at Skate Church 20 years ago? I’m not sure I would recognize myself.

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