Family Reunions

We just had a family reunion. It's an interesting concept. A bunch of people gathering due to their linked bloodlines. I'd arrived by train the day before the event, looking forward to seeing my cousins, aunts and uncles who I haven't seen in years. Instead, I spoke mostly with people I barely knew and will probably never see again.

It was nice. But.

I guess I think that we are all interrelated if you look back far enough. So why do we bother to gather with a bunch of long-lost relatives and try to make relationships that will probably never exist? It's not like I personally need to find more friends or more people who are like me. But maybe others do.

It's a mishmash- missing Oatie, trains, my new niece, and the old farmhouse.

I have to start with pictures of Oatie. Since I have this urge to call Molly's beautiful baby girl, Lily, by his name on occasion. Yes, I am getting that senile. I do think that Oatie is the cutest chihuahua on the face of this Earth. But I will stop now before I risk sounding like one of those annoying mothers.

Lil' sweetie...

Leaving the on the Portland train... see that guy in the green on the left? He had ridden his BMW motorcycle from Alaska down to the states but had some sort of mechanical breakdown and was taking the train home.

Me and the ceiling. If only they still made train stations like this, I think more people would travel.

Cute old man who was taking the train from Los Angeles to Fargo!

My happy new birthday present. I-pod which is larger than 4GB (replacing my five year old model.) And of course the pink sock camera case and hedonism notebook.

Stopping in Havre, Montana. My fellow passengers. Slightly different than Asia.

Neato sign.

Arrival into North Dakota. See, I wasn't lying when I said it was beautiful.

Lily. My little niece. We were hanging out in the backseat together. I tried to teach her to raise her eyebrows like I taught Molly but she hasn't quite caught on yet.

Here's the house where my mom lived until she was fifteen (no running water)- about 45 minutes northwest of Minot. The last time anyone lived here was in the 1960s, but my mom has been visiting the house with my sisters and me since the 1980s. It's still quite structurally sound, but time has taken its toll on the interior. Still a fun place to visit and envision the early life on the farm and not as spooky as when I was little.

I just like the silos. These, of course, are new.

Moving inside and upstairs to one of the bedrooms.

Just a little creepy doll on the floor upstairs.

Hmm. What sort of things did they REALLY do on the prairie?

Oh, then you go and confess it. And everything's just fine.

Perhaps the dress to wear to church?

No more pathetic stories. The only thing no one's carted away is that massive old stove.

It was a Fridgidare.

The view out the living room window, which you could see on the left hand side from the front.

Riding the rails home

I’m having trouble staying awake. The sun’s shining in the other side of the train. I realize looking at all my stuff that I’ve developed an obsession with orange somewhere along the line. I have an orange fleece, orange raincoat, orange sleeping bag and orange travel towel all in front of me. Plus I packed two orange t-shirts and a pair of orange plastic sunglasses. If you asked me, I would tell you my favorite color is blue. But now I am not so sure.

This is the sort of thinking that takes place after yay so many hours on the train, lulling along at a peacefully slow pace, the cabin as quiet as a library. It’s just about seventeen hours into the trip- eleven hours remain. No wonder I feel sedated. Or perhaps it’s the Ativan I took at 2:38 in the morning after waking up with painful lower teeth. Now that’s some heavy jaw clenching.

I’m sharing a two seat with a heavy smoker from Portland. I’d hazard a guess he’s about fifty-five, but I’m terrible at guessing once people are out of the single digits. He’s shaved his head and looks like he’s about seven months pregnant. I didn’t ask if he was the second male in Oregon with child. He’s wearing a grey hole-filled t-shirt under a blazer and jeans. I am clenching my jaws again. He just returned to our happy enclave and said, “Are you writing your novel? You’re too young to be writing your memoirs.” I thought about saying, “I’m older than I look” but then thirty three isn’t very old, even if I am old thirty-three, life-experience wise. Plus I just don’t want to have the conversation. Perhaps he’ll go away again for a while. I have my fingers and toes crossed.

Keeping dads alive

This morning, while reading the New York Times Magazine, I came across the article, "Sidewalk Phantom" on the back page "Lives" column. The author, Austin Ratner, a cousin of Harvey Pekar (who writes comics and also had a film, American Splendor, written about him) writes about his father who died at 29 of lymphoma and how he's always trying to figure out a way to work his dad into conversation, including one with his neighbour, Paul Giamatti, who played his uncle Harvey Pekar in American Splendor.

It's not a sappy essay nor a celebrity-stalking recountment, but rather a very honest description of the mental process of a child who lost his father at a young age and the internal and external dialogues he's created in order to keep his dad alive. Reading it was like reading my own mind.

On this Father's day, I thank my dad, Keith, for being a presence in my life. There'll always be a part of him to be alive inside my mind and outside it.

PDX and continuing ed fun

Store for special people.

Lulu's adorable sleeping boy.

My cabbie. Kyle.

The abstract Camry.

Nicole, walking the streets of Forest Grove, where I spent 1997 to 2001 in optometry school. You can tell she is from North Dakota too. She walks with purpose.

The Happy Shopper.

The Happy Shopper II.

Pacific Univ uses corn glasses. We are that enviro-advanced.

We were trying to pretend we were at the movies. I don't think we drank enough.

Nicole's self photos. I think this one was particularly nice with Nicole centered with people on either side of her.

She's a hottie. Did I mention she's from Fargo? That explains a lot.

How to lap your wine. In class.

Discreet disgust.

Crazy Fargo people. You saw the movie didn't you?

Abstract happiness.

Dear lord, help ,me.

ET phone us and beam us up!

Action shot.

Poor little Laotian boy. With eyelid infection. Preseptal Cellulitis.

Take us away! Please! How did I ever get through optometry school?

The answer is D. In case you didn't know.

Filling out the survey.

Optometrists learning. Look at the eagerness! The zest for new information! The thrill!