Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Vulnerability Hangover ~ it's really a thing

“Pain grows bitter with age.” Dominic said in the writing class I took last week. How could pain do anything else? It sure can't grow sweeter with age. I have a “vulnerability hangover” from last week. I was somewhat familiar with this term from BrenĂ© Brown when I read some of her work six months ago. It's one thing to read about it and another to experience it on a somatic level.

It feels like some kind of “psychic surgery” was performed on me by a loving group of people who all seem to share my best interests. It went something like this… I revealed parts of myself to the18 other people through my writing, they did the same with me and the rest of the group. Then we pushed on inside of ourselves through creative writing to unhinge the bits we needed to express. I was forced to hang up my virtual suit of armor and talk about difficult things. Sitting with the painful stuff and drawing it out. Sometimes these things were the stuff where one doesn't want to bother others with such talk. It would be too heavy and crying would ensue. I cried my eyes out and sometimes couldn't stop. It was crying from a cellular level. Then sweet Elizabeth overheard me talking about crying “fuck the crying, I'm done with it” I had said. Elizabeth is 88 years young and she calmly replied “just be careful not to cry too much if you have grey hair, then they'll really lock you up.”

The week long workshop was taught by Ann Randolph at Esalen. We were also fortunate to witness Ann perform her LOVELAND to a private audience last Thursday night.  No other words can really describe how it shifted me on a deep level toward a sense of calm and peace, but shift I did.

inside the beautiful Porter's Yurt all week

Ann Randolph (Left) with me in the middle and Marcia McMullen

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Kite Foil ~ knifing through the water at great speeds

The first time I witnesssed a kite foil last Friday zip by me at about 20 knots, my mouth fell open. It's like watching something from the future. Or maybe we ARE in the future and this is proof. I volunteered working on the St. Francis Yacht Club Race Committee Boat stationed at the finish line for the second day of qualifying races. Ten races throughout the afternoon made me fairly famiar with the sport and the individuals. Below is my photo of Johnny Heineken taken as he crossed the finish line first in the first race of the day. The sound the foil makes at certain speeds at the mast as it slices through the water is a high wine as well as the constant knifelike "shhhhhhhhhhhhh" sound.

This video below was composed of a series of videos I took on my iPhone while documenting the racing. The one that really intrigued and scared me a little was the yellow jersey man who wiped out very close to our boat and I wondered if the foil was going to decapitate us for a moment. Also, here's an interesting piece of drone footage video of the action last weekend.

2015 Kite Foil GoldCup in San Francisco from Anna MacKinnon on Vimeo.
This video is about the international 2015 Kite Foil GoldCup held in San Francisco July 30 - August 2. These images taken from the finish line.

me at the finish line 7-31-15

Sunday, July 12, 2015

GS Trophy ~ First Women's Team this year

Since the BMW Motorrad GS Trophy began in 2008, it caught my attention but when this year they put a call out for women to submit their video application with cover letters, I put my piece together in three weeks. They're planning to announce the team tomorrow and I wasn't selected but they sent a nice note saying they had a total of 119 total submissions worldwide. I am glad that I am one of those women. I will try harder for a future submission with more intense video and ride style as well as brush up on my off-road skills.

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Bucolic life but look closer and you'll discover...

"We lost twenty five chickens last night, we think it was a pack of coyotes."

This was the answer to the 3am hullabaloo involving the dog barking that I briefly heard.

And this was about the third sentence after "good morning, did you sleep well?" that was spoken by Natalie the morning after I stayed at her beautiful cottage in Fall River Mills, California. I found this cottage using airbnb.com, a personal favorite I resort to whenever possible.

The fact that Natalie was my host and yes indeed the chicken deaths were unfortunate, I felt like I had been part of the family for less than 24 hours while staying in their vintage cottage. The history was alluded to in the guest book when one person wrote "we enjoyed speaking with you to learn the history of your cottage." The building was constructed and used by Natalie's great great grandfather as his dentist office. Years later, a woman named Mott had lived their for 30 years and babysat all the children in the valley for which my host was one. Present day, this self-contained place is a spot for weary travelers like myself to seek refuge for a night or several instead of camping or the limited lodging options in that area.

So that morning when I woke up to go pack my motorcycle, I noticed two large dog paw prints on my motorcycle's seat. I offered that perhaps the dog had tried to ride my motorcycle and Natalie said the dog had run away after the chicken massacre at 3 a.m. At 9am, I headout down their dirt rode admiring both Mt. Lassen and Mt. Shasta in the distant horizons. I spied a lone chicken wandering around near the ditch looking confused and realized it was one of the lucky ones that got out without being attacked.

view from the kitchen at the end of the day
For the next few hours in the crisp morning air, I ruminated about the challenges of farm living that few people would be aware of if not experiencing it first hand. Through the unique situation of airbnb, I was able to have that short term inside look at a different kind of living that looks so picture perfect from the veneer of just driving by.

nearby Burney Falls State Park ~ worth a stop just for the waterfall!

inviting cottage with green grass in a fenced yard

view out to the cow pasture from the edge of the property

Thursday, June 18, 2015

Tom Ritchey ~ the man behind the name

Tom Ritchey of Ritchey Logic visited A Bicycle Odyssey recently to speak with Tony Tom as part of the Odyssey's "40-years-in-business" celebration. Watching two masters (Tom and Tony) have a conversation about the evolution of cycling and the equipment involved was truly informative.

The video profiles some things we found interesting from our 90 minute interview. 

Tom Ritchey at A Bicycle Odyssey from Anna MacKinnon on Vimeo.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Babysitting in Portland

For several years now since the television series Portlandia has been on the air, I've had people suggest I watch it because "it reminds them of me somehow". Two nights ago I began watching some episodes on Netflix for the first time because I'm physically staying here in Portland so why not? Some of the sketches are good and spot on for me and some are like a Hieronymous Bosch painting, where they leave me with a sense of irony and ambiguity and wondering if I should be appreciating them while being stoned.

As I write this post looking out on a fog laden sky, I'm hearing from a neighboring house the occasional wailing screams of a baby. Therefore I have to share my favorite sketch I watched on the show which does indeed "remind me of me" and might be what I would have done with a baby.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

My race is run, beneath the sun

In 1973 my parents brought home the newly released Angel Clare by Art Garfunkel, his first solo record album. I was nine years old and I used to play this record by myself in the living room until the grooves practically wore out. I'd stare endlessly at this man's face who was my parent's age. He seemed so very nice from the picture and his voice and the percussion of the instruments would transport me so that I quite forgot myself.

This one song though (the second one on the album) left me puzzled. I'd listen carefully to the lyrics and wonder why in the world would sweet Art do these things to this girl Rose Connolly. It wasn't until I read the WIKI on it that I understood the origins of this ballad. To think that there is a whole genre of music called murder ballads is noteworthy and something a nine year old wouldn't really understand anyway. My Irish heritage understood some deep connection though for which this song can still touch me the same way all these years later.

To listen, click here :

"Down In The Willow Garden"

Down in the Willow garden
Where me and my love did meet
As we sat a-courtin'
My love fell off to sleep
I had a bottle of Burgundy wine
My love she did not know
So I poisoned that dear little girl
On the banks below

I drew a sabre through her
It was a bloody knife
I threw her in the river
Which was a dreadful sign
My father often told me
That money would set me free
If I would murder that dear little girl
Whose name was Rose Connolly

My father sits at his cabin door
Wiping his tear-dimmed eyes
For his only son soon shall walk
To yonder scaffold high
My race is run, beneath the sun
The scaffold now waits for me
For I did murder that dear little girl
Whose name was Rose Connelly

Monday, May 18, 2015

"The best water you've ever tasted" ~ said nobody ever

This morning my friend Dick drove me to Ashland, Oregon because he had an appointment. He dropped me off downtown for my self-guided tour. Before he drove off, he mentioned some things to see and then casually said while pointing over to a communal water fountain "and to taste the best water you've ever had in your life, go over to those fountains." I walked around for about an hour and then I couldn't resist the attractive water fountains that were obviously from an earlier time (as seen in the photo). The water bubbled out in each of the fountains and so with my left hand holding my latte, I carefully bent down and tasted the water.  The immediate sensation was the fizziness that obscured the flavor but then this "Lithia water" must be an acquired taste. I can describe the flavor as carbonated boot juice, like it had been marinating and fermented inside vintage boots from World War I. Of course my curiousity was immediately sparked after the tasting and so I read the Wiki (click here) to know more about the interest and supposed health benefits. I took comfort in the fact that perhaps by tasting one mouthful of this magic elixir, I have arrested some deleterious brain aging and perhaps prevented dementia. You must try it for yourself and report back what you think.

Sunday, May 3, 2015

Traveling between the space-time continuum and swimming through air

Riding through the Arizona desert late morning April 2, 2015 on day five of ten of a 2000 mile motorcycle trip – the air was warm and comfortably soothing. A bright spring sun was shining. The conditions seemed ideal for a perfect day but trouble was brewing.

I was with boyfriend Lowell and our friend Pierre. We'd been traveling for four days together, each on our own motorcycle. There is a distinct rhythm that occurs when touring over long distance and days when on a motorcycle. I could describe the feeling as some kind of meditative hypnosis and is the result of being outside for hours at a time, having all five senses stimulated and then being lulled into relaxation of sorts with the sound of the engine. This state of suspended hypnosis is my excuse for why I didn't step into action when Lowell told me at a gas station 30 miles south of Wickenburg that he was hungry. My response was “let's just push on and eat in Wickenburg”. When arriving in Wickenburg, I pulled up next to Pierre on his Harley and asked “how are you doing? Should we stop for food here in this town?” Pierre largely existed on only two meals a day at noon and six p.m. and when we stopped to eat at any other time, Pierre enjoyed what I referred to as “air sandwiches” and cigarettes. So of course Pierre responded with “let's push on and find a cafe just outside of town.”
It wasn't ten minutes later that I heard Lowell come on the communicator (a Scala G9 device on the side of our helmets), “what the hell, I thought we were going to stop for food?” then some minutes went by and again Lowell comes on “when did you two start making the decisions? I thought you said we're going to get food? What the f*&K?” Another minute and then a seemingly endless barrage of anger came through my communicator. I thought hard about what to respond with and nothing came to me. It isn't often I'm struck mute but my anger was percolating from my toes. Here I was just really enjoying the scenery of the barren desert and though my hunger was brewing too, I was putting that feeling at the end of my needs list.

One last assault of angry sentences came into my helmet and then I was suddenly filled with my own rage. It was like waking up from a slumber to find I had turned into a dragon and my hair was literally on fire. The surge of anger raced through me from the ground and I proceeded to shut off the Scala and rip it off of my helmet.  With all the force I could muster in my left arm, I flung it into the desert to the side of the road while doing 80mph. I no longer wanted that god damned device that allowed for communication because it was a conduit of pain. The resulting sensation was like stepping out of heavy cloying nylon clothes on a hot day -- I was free. I couldn't resist looking in my rear view mirror to see what Lowell was going to do. Sure enough, his headlight got tiny really fast as he immediately slowed to a stop.

I continued on at my 80 mph average with Pierre so far ahead, I couldn't see him. He had not known what had just happened as he himself was in that comfortable soporific state of riding trance. After about 15 minutes, I saw a motorcycle headlight getting bigger in my rear view mirror. In no time it was Lowell passing me and then from in front, he signaled me to pull over. It turned out he had broken his shift lever while traveling at about 150 mph to catch up to me. He extracted some tools from under his seat and did a make-shift repair that took about ten minutes while I honored the silence echoed around me as I studied the shape of the tumbleweeds. No traffic on this road whatsoever, highway 60 West Bound toward a town called Salome that I'd never been to. I didn't do my homework enough to know that there is absolutely nothing between Wickenburg and Salome. It is a 53.9 mile ribbon of 2-lane highway with an occasional abandoned building.

After Lowell's repair, he walked over and handed me my Scala device but for the life of me, I can't imagine how he found it. He said “put this on your helmet and let's hug it out.” I'll admit to being surprised at the state of perfection this little unit was in after the “flying lesson” it received. I apologized to Lowell as well and we both go back on the bikes and headed west into the unknown. About ten minutes later we happened upon Pierre on the side of the road, not even in the shade as he waited for us. Then as a group with me in the front, we pushed on and arrived at Salome, Arizona in the early afternoon.

Seeing the “Salome Cafe and Bar” sign was like an oasis after the miles we just traveled. The fact that the “Stanford inn” was closed didn't concern us. Salome is a place I felt could be used for the next Bagdad Cafe movie. The only detail about Salome that I found on the Internet is the notoriety of the town's founder Dick Wick Hall who was another stubborn Taurus like myself (his birthday being two days after mine)… born in 1877 and marrying a woman named Daysie May Sutton, he died young but spent his career writing in the genre of humorist.

The ensuing lunch was the quietest meal in the company of others that I have ever experienced. The inside of the restaurant was wedged just outside of the space-time continuum. A big open square room with probably 25 people sitting at a sprinkling of tables. These people ranged from law enforcement officers to retired couples sitting opposite one another and not breathing a word or even looking at each other. It was 2:30 in the afternoon and the bright sun was piercing through the windows as occasional murmurs from diners but mostly deafening sounds of TV news was the background sound. Even our waitress had trouble getting a full sentence out as we ordered our food. Several television sets were mounted from the ceiling in the corners of the room and all turned on to a FOX News channel. And though I didn't time it, the wait for food seemed interminable. When the meal finally arrived, it was a hamburger that looked like it had been in a warming oven since 1967 and tasted the same. At some point we managed to finish eating and though I wanted a piece of Apple Pie due to the suggestive advertising at the counter, I wasn't willing to wait in the uncomfortable silence a minute longer.

I took the opportunity after the meal to photograph an empty swimming pool next door to the restaurant. I couldn't help but listen to a young man sitting on a chair between the restaurant and the pool talking on his cell phone about personal details of his dating life, not caring that I heard every word. In the photo you can see the man just outside the fence near the building. This empty pool had a magnetic attraction for me. I posted this photo on my Facebook and a friend commented “Bikers Welcome, Swimmers not so much.” That summed it up. 
Salome, AZ ~ bikers welcome, swimmers not-so-much

To see the full photo album of our trip, all 110 pictures can be viewed by clicking here.

Saturday, May 2, 2015

Modern life best described by acronyms

Two years ago I heard what has become one of my favorite acronyms, FOMO. I don't feel I have this syndrome but sometimes say it in my head when I hear about people and their lives. Just yesterday when talking to my brother Ian, I had to tell him about it and I was surprised to hear it was new to him. I guess we're all getting old if we can't keep up with these crafty and helpful acronyms. FOMO has been written about extensively (just google it to discover for yourself) and whole areas of study are fueled by it thanks to the digital hand-held devices we all carry around.  FOMO comes from the concept that "you can imagine how things could be different" if only you had been there. And we all know how powerful imagination can be. That brings me to my second favorite acronym heard months ago, YOLO, You Only Live Once that we have a Canadian rapper to thank for in 2011 ~ pure genius.

stock photo used by escapefromcubiclenation.com