A Grand Day Out in Seaside, Oregon

It seems a few members of the Vegetarian & Vegan Meet-Up Group were scared off by the weather: it was supposed to rain in Seaside, where we were going to collect litter on the beach. It’s an annual volunteer event organized by an organization called SOLV, which stands for Stop Oregon Litter and Vandalism. I figured rain wouldn’t be a big deal; after all, it’s Oregon, so it rains a lot and it’s usually a gentle, calm rain, not the torrential grumbly thunderstorms of Kansas.

It took over an hour to get to Seaside, Oregon, which turned out to be a cute touristy seaside town with rows of old-fashioned flat-fronted wood shops and restaurants. We parked in a lot for free, a couple blocks from the Lewis and Clark statue at a turnaround on Broadway. The statue ends the road, because beyond that is the beach and the Pacific Ocean. By the time we arrived, the rain had gotten to be surprisingly heavy by Oregon standards. We walked in the rain to the beach, and despite the rain and chill I grinned and nearly hopped at sight of the white foamy waves under the grey sky, and the seagulls flying and walking and squawking.

Seagulls

We all met up on the beach and took big white and green plastic bags for collecting litter. Many other people, of more or less all ages, were also slowly walking on the beach in the rain, even though it didn’t look like an especially littered beach.

Many seagulls

We trudged along with our bags and I picked up many tiny bits of bright blue or turquoise plastic and bits of thread or string. I picked up something dark brown and curvaceous that I thought was a broken piece of a bottle, but I later realized that it was a piece of weird seaweed. I often stopped to take a picture or gawk at something extraordinary.

Guess what: even more seagulls.

In addition to the foamy white waves shushing and shushing in the ocean, and the seagulls swooping and gliding and walking along on the beach, I came across countless broken shells and broken sand dollars. I put some of these pieces in my water-resistant coat pocket and found a small white shell that was complete, but I never came across a whole sand dollar. But the most amazing sight, and the most unexpected, was the seaweed.

A walrus-sized pile of seaweed. Weird.

I had no idea that seaweed comes in many sizes and colors. It can be blackish green and dark green and medium green and grayish green and even pink. It can be as thin as the reel out of a cassette tape, or as thick as a boa constrictor. I kept seeing seaweed that was at least four inches in diameter, hollow in the center, and ending in a bulb with many talons sticking out of the top. The first time I saw one of these bulbs, I thought it was a dead octopus. The seaweed looks slick and slimy, of course. All along the beach were swirling arrangements of seaweed in different shapes and sizes. We encountered quite a few huge mounds of jumbo-size seaweed, like beached Cthulhu monsters, or gigantic plates of noodles. James actually arranged one pile of seaweed so that it had a hair of eyes and a mouth: spontaneous outdoor art.

Cthulhu comes ashore, creeping ever closer.

Chili peppers?

Imagine this wrapped around your sushi.

Yummy noodles

Bad hair day

I collected the remnants of fireworks and a few other plastic things besides the tiny bits of blue and turquoise, and some more string and thread, and several cigarette butts, but that was it. I didn’t fill much of the bag. By the time we had been out for, say, forty minutes, it was very windy and the rain was torrential. Someone later described it as like a tsunami. As we headed back, we were walking directly into the wind, and it was a vicious struggle. We were terribly cold, soaked to the skin, and eager to get indoors to a heated and dry place. We turned in our bags, which were certainly not very full, and wandered around the charming downtown of Seaside. We went into a mall with a lively carrousel in the center; the animals included ostriches, light blue sea monsters, and cats with fishes in their mouths, in addition to more traditional carrousel critters. In a toy shop a five-foot-tall sock monkey was attached to the window, as if it wanted to get out.

We went to a beautiful sushi restaurant, decorated with many paper lanterns and silk curtains, and I ate sushi for the first time. I’ve been to a dozen different countries, and here in Oregon I went to a beach on the Pacific Ocean and a sushi restaurant, both for the first time in my life. I went to the bathroom to wash my sandy hands and rearranged my bedraggled hair, taking it down and putting it piled up on top of my head, before I even looked at the menu. After I returned to the table and ordered, I placed napkins on my chair seat and they became utterly soaked, of course. I noticed what looked like a little tea house behind us, with silk curtains in the doorway and straw mats for guests to sit on, around a table over a sunken space.

Lewis and Clark statue (with a shaggy dog at their feet)

We had a pot of green tea with earthenware cups, and each of us held the cups with both hands and savored the heat from the tea, in addition to the taste as it warmed our mouths and throats. The server brought out sushi arranged on leaf-shaped plates and square plates. I’m more familiar with Indian, Thai, Vietnamese, and Chinese food (not to mention Nepalese and Tibetan) than with Japanese, and I had never tasted wasabi paste before. You’re supposed to use little rectangular dishes to mix soy sauce with green wasabi paste, which is made of horse radish. Then you pick up a sushi wrap with your chop sticks and dip it in the sauce. I discovered that the less wasabi, the tastier. The little rolls of sushi were dainty little works of art with vegetables, nuts, and plums in the center. James had ordered one of every vegetarian sushi dish, and he encouraged us all to help ourselves, and oh we did. I let others take some of the tempera sushi that I had ordered (along with a delicious plate of fried tofu in sauce). Since we were sharing all these dishes, someone commented that it was a communal meal.

After we stood up from the table and were no longer drinking hot tea, I found myself shivering convulsively. The meal was wonderful, but I would have liked the heat turned up more. I was still soaking wet, and remained so until after I got home and took off my wet, sandy clothes, took a steaming hot shower, and was wearing a dry change of clothes. Aside from the cold, wet, and wind, I had a great time. Next year I’ll be sure to have an extra change of clothes in my car and bring my Wellington boots and wear a trench coat instead of a short rain-resistant jacket. I now have raincoats for all occasions.

Another Thing About My New Neighborhood

I think that people who have long hair and cats should get a discount on apartments with hardwood floors. A big discount. This isn't St. Louis, where apartments with hardwood floors are common. Here you have to pay significantly more for hardwood floors, and it seems like the pretty buildings dating to the 1920s are more costly than these drab 1970s buildings.

But at least my apartment building is surrounded by pretty, brightly painted Victorian houses. And cats. They're all over. I've seen at least five in the parking lot already. It's the neighborhood in general--while I walked to Safeway this afternoon, I stopped every so often to pet cats, and one of them was a Himalayan with bright blue eyes. And yesterday while I was unloading my car and leaving stuff sitting outside my front door, the next door neighbor had their door open with the screen door closed, and a big black cat with yellow eyes sat right in the doorway and watched me in fascination. Soul mate. The call of the Cat Goddess. If people reacted to me the way cats do, I'd already have a job at Powell's Books.

My New Neighborhood

I'm right in the center of the Hawthorne-Belmont area, so I'm only about three blocks north of Hawthorne, which is full of independent (and in many cases eccentric) stores and restaurants. There are also plenty of bus stops along Hawthorne, so I don't have excuses for continuing to indulge in my bus phobia (it seems to be a combination of fear of getting lost and fear of getting yelled at by a bus driver--I had some bad experiences in St. Louis). Starting probably in April, there's a farmer's market just about a block from my apartment.

I'm planning on applying for volunteer work at a library that I haven't yet visited--it's the Belmont branch, on Belmont and 39th (I'm on Salmon and 21st), so it's within walking distance.

Today I took a walk to Safeway in order to get a jug of honey (I know it's extravagant, but it's for health reasons--my chain-smoking mother messed up my respiratory system during the first almost two decades of my life, so my throat gets clogged up easily). I saw a grey tomcat in the parking lot (I've seen at least five cats in the parking lot of my new apartment complex) and walked down the street past brightly-painted big Victorian houses, one of which has Tibetan prayer flags strung across the front porch and has a front yard almost entirely surrounded by dense bamboo. I came to a corner, turned, petted a big blue-eyed Himalayan cat, then a few seconds later petted a grey and brown tabby with white boots, and soon came to Hawthorne Blvd. Straight across the street was the Grand Central Baking Company (which is kind of like the St. Louis Bread Company), and about a block up the street was a fabric store called Cool Cottons (where I'm thinking I should drop off my resume). On the other side of the street, as I kept walking, there's a fruit and vegetable market in a tent called Uncle Paul's or something like that, with big neon hand-made signs with messages like "Kiwi 25c! Wow!" I was tempted to stop there instead of Safeway, but I decided I'll do that next time. Safeway (a regular grocery store) is on Hawthorne and 27th, a short walking distance.

Walking back from Safeway, I walked along the side of the street that Uncle Paul's Market is on, so I got a closer look, and I walked past the intersection where I had first gotten onto Hawthorne. On almost the corner of Hawthorne and 20th there's a little 1940's era movie theater (where I went with my dad to see the latest Indiana Jones flick) where I discovered they're showing Coraline at 3:30 on Saturday and Sunday. Tomorrow I'm going with the Vegetarian Meet-Up Group to the Coast for volunteer work cleaning the beach, but I'm thinking I'll be going to the movie on Sunday. I read the novel Coraline and am a really serious Neil Gaiman fan--Neverwhere is probably my favorite fantasy novel and I've read it 7 times.

On a previous visit to the new apartment, before I moved in, I noticed a purple and green Victorian house with the sign Salmon Street Writer's Group out front. They have writing workshops and they do cost money; who knows, maybe someday I'll teach workshops there. Further past the writer's workshop is a deadend with a red brick school facing it, and next to the school is a plain park which, at the time, was full of seagulls. I have so got to take my camera there on a rainy day--it seems like I see more seagulls on wet days.

I moved across town to a new apartment!

And I'm exhausted.

I am now dwelling in Bohemia, or rather the Hawthorne-Belmont neighborhood in Portland. I went on an expedition, tunneling through furniture and boxes full of books to the far corner of the living room in order to set up my computer and phone. Priorities. The Internet is working, but I haven't gotten any calls from telemarketers yet. Still, if I can use the Internet, surely I can use the phone.

After the movers went away, I headed back to my old apartment to do some last-minute cleaning up before my 4 pm appointment with the apartment manager and her husband. Unfortunately, my vacuum cleaner died in the cleaning process, although not because of the long hair wrapped around and around the rolly thing. The clear plastic thing in the center wasn't filling up with dust and cat hair like it should; instead, dust and cat hair were building up inside a hose...and finally it stopped working altogether and I could smell something reminiscent of a hot iron. The managers said the problem is definitely in the big part at the bottom--the section that rolls around on the floor. I'm thinking I'll open it myself before looking for someone else to repair it. I'll probably find a huge, tumor-like wad of hair in the center. It'll wave its tentacles at me and say in a raspy voice, "I am the nucleus!" Well, that was my Doctor Who joke for the day. Sometimes I think I should move to London just so people understand my Doctor Who jokes.

Anyway, the apartment's lovely--slightly smaller than the previous one but with twice the closet space and a location that suits me so much better. I am not a soccer mom. This apartment has a groovy sunken living room with a fake fireplace that serves as an electric heater, and it's got a metal railing separating it from the slightly higher dining room. The two glass display cases flank my dollhouse in the living room, right in front of the railing, so you'll be able to see both sides of most of the sculptures. Unfortunately, there's carpeting rather than hardwood floors, so it's not perfect. I currently happen to be reading a book called The Search for Shangri-la.

Thubten Chodron on the Economy

This is from a dharma talk I attended at Matrepa College in SE Portland. Thubten Chodron is a Tibetan Buddhist nun and a highly respected teacher. I’ve read some of her stuff and she has helped me understand some important things, psychology-related things.

The Beatles song “Money Can’t Buy Me Love” ran through my head for a long time after this dharma talk.

Living with less, we feel more humble and more equal with everyone else. We can become more generous, because we relate more to people in poverty and can feel more compassion toward others.

Living in a less wealthy situation = great opportunity for dharma practice.
You can be happy living in a one-room shack with a dirt floor.
Abundance of wellness in heart = sharing with others, don’t feel poor even if we don’t have material wealth.

“I give without a sense of loss.”—saying with mandalas. [I certainly felt that way in India and after I returned from India and took carloads to thrift stores, but I didn’t feel that way when I took my youngest cats to a humane shelter, even though it was a no-kill shelter. That was one renunciation for which I was not ready.] It’s hard to give something away because you’re sure you might use it someday (cardboard boxes, containers, etc). Generosity—“we’re reluctant to give away a dusty, empty box because we might use it someday.” We can feel poor when we have a house full of stuff. Inner mental state—no matter what our living standard is, we can feel rich.

Having less could result in sharing with others, bring yourselves together. For instance, a family that has two TVs and watches them in separate rooms can instead have one TV and gather together in the same room. There is extraordinary potential, even with the economy going downhill; families could get closer together and feel more compassion and generosity. [In my case, getting close to relatives is unfathomably unhealthy. No, thanks. I’ll join a commune instead.]

Miserly, greedy mind = what got us into this mess. Living on credit, spending money we don’t have, buying stuff we don’t need. We can’t blame it all on AIG. We bought into it—the consumers lived on credit cards with high interest without thinking about paying credit cards debt. Obscene greed. [There you have it: no amount of pressure will convince me to get a credit card. So there!] Obscene greed = more broken families and alcohol abuse, etc. Getting more and more stuff didn’t make things better. [At the Nalanda architecture museum there’s a carving of a large face with a wide open mouth and hands in the mouth; it symbolizes greed. At the Portland Art Museum there’s a huge disturbing, dark painting that’s also called Greed; it has soldiers with guns, cigarettes, Coca-cola cans, McDonald’s lunches, and they’re shooting guns and killing a wolf and the canvas has a lot of gushing blood on it.]

We used to have black and white TVs, smaller screens, just one TV and the whole family stayed in the same room. Kids now have their own room with their own TV and iPod, etc—they don’t learn how to be a human. Bad economy could be good for us and get us to reach out toward our neighbors instead of locking doors and cutting off.

How else can I spend my time if I can’t run around meeting all kinds of enjoyment? [I confess that last night I went to the Bagdad Theater and saw Slumdog Millionaire, and the ticket was only $3, no concessions.] “I don’t have time” is our national saying. If we had more time people say, “Get a life.” What do you do? Have time to do a daily practice—what happens when your excuse goes away? Volunteering in the community instead of being too busy all the time. If you lose your job, you can volunteer [I’ve been doing that], instead of getting another job you don’t like just for the paycheck and shopping.

A simpler life is a great opportunity to reach out to others, share with others. 20% of the world’s resources = North America (I’m thinking I read that it’s more like 24%). Contentment and dharma practice. When you sit down to meditate, what distracts you? Everything we want? Content with what we have = less distraction while meditating. [Lately I’m distracted with what I’m willing to get rid of.]

This is a good time for us to think about how to prepare for our future lives. If we’re not so greedy in this life, we have time for it. We think of other people: You should be generous, and I’m glad to be you’re recipient. But do we turn it around and try to be generous ourselves? Do we cultivate a stingy heart or a generous heart? This is an opportunity to look at our own personal greed. It’s easy to blame Wall Street, but aren’t we like these people? If we had the position of power, would we do the same thing? It’s tempting to blame everybody else, but it’s good to look inside.

Because of greed and fear, we make up fearful stories about what may happen, getting all stressed out.

Money doesn’t buy us happiness, and the more we have, the more we have to lose.
A German millionaire lost an investment and committed suicide recently. He felt like a failure. Another guy kept watching his stock and seeing it grow and grow and watching it go up and up… from $18,000, it went poof and he only had $150 of his inheritance. He took that money and donated it to a Buddhist nunnery, saying it’s time he started investing in something more meaningful.

We should prepare for future lives, without practicing escapism. In this lifetime, we have to create the cause of a better world. We shouldn’t just pray, but rather take action. Cause and effect—What we’re experiencing now is because of things we did before. One good future life is good, but it’ll end. How about getting out of the cycle? How do I create the case? That’s why we study the dharma—what to do, to actualize spiritual states that we aspire, study and put in practice, create the causes for something you want (like to become a Buddha) = the process becomes joyful and exciting. Causes will bring results.

Being generous is one of the causes. Fortitude, effort, kindness, compassion, lovingkindness. But we have to do something, not just sit around and say that sounds really good.

For people who think they’re a failure for not having a job or not having a house, tell them they’re not. Everything, including the economy, is impermanent. We can encourage them to get new skills so they can go get a job they’ll enjoy more. If you encourage others to think big, you can think big.

We have so many walls around us—there are so many people who scare me, etc. Maybe you should go there—like do volunteer work in that scary area.

It’s hard not to be judgmental toward people who live lavishly. Could you be experiencing jealousy, or perhaps sadness because you know what they’re doing is not working? But when you’re feeling judgmental—you should reflect that “I have the same thing inside myself.” You cannot control what they do, so you should take care of that potential that’s in yourself. Other people’s behavior can help us to reflect and transform ourselves. That judgmental mind is not a happy mind—it’s implanting negativity in our own mind, and this brings about more suffering and negative karma.

Getting together with a friend and gossiping about how bad others are—this is not helping your karma or self-esteem [mindful speech].

Having things isn’t the problem—it’s the attachment and craving. Have things without being attached to them. How can you tell if you’re attached? If you think of something that you have, and the thought of losing it makes you unhappy, then there’s attachment.

Does this apply to loved ones? We’re very attached to someone, and someday we’ll separate—it’s inevitable. Thinking if you hold on good enough they won’t die—doesn’t work. For their benefit—how can I act in a way that will benefit them the most? Does it benefit them if I’m clinging and trying to make them do things they don’t want to do? Maybe it’s better for them to go do something else, go somewhere else. Do you care about them, or about how they make you feel? If you really are, then you let them do what they need to do. This won’t always be the same person that they are right now. They’re just a karmic bubble. You can’t hold onto them forever.

When you have attachment for someone else, how do you deal with grief at parting? Don't judge your emotions—what we feel we feel. But do we want to continue feeling it? Feeling anger: don’t label yourself a bad person for being angry, but ask if you want to continue feeling that way. Move away from grief—don’t always want to feel that way. We shared so much love, I’m going to take the love I had with this person and share this love with the world. It makes you feel so rich, you want to share. Honor the feeling of connection and recognize it doesn’t have to be with one person.