Perceptions of Time

Weather Report for 31 May – 6 June

High Temperature: 79.2

Low: 41.7

Humidity: High, 92%. Low, 35 %

Rainfall: .08

Wind gust: unknown. Gauge not set up yet.

 

Rich's New from Camp Webegone

Each time I drive to Prospect, there is a transition that happens when I start driving on Hwy 62. When entering the highway, I must get up to speed with the traffic - which is at least 60 miles an hour. As I speed up, nearing 40 I start to notice it feels really fast. 

That feeling reminds me of coming back from Haiti, which I describe as getting on an on-ramp to a freeway where everyone is going 70 and I am going 25. So it happens here too.

 

Bigfoot Rich

The ability to adapt comes in rapidly. And after a few minutes of driving at 60, it feels normal. And I realize that I have once again entered a new perception of normal. I had though 40 was fast, but now I am traveling 60, and it's normal (and it's still too slow for some of the other travelers on the road).

In Clinic I often would talk about the dance that massage therapists need to do with time. New students often have difficulty adapting to doing a massage in an hour. But doing so is necessary in our culture built around Industrial timeframes.  

The massage therapist must live in Industrial time yet be able to move into what I call organic time in order to do good therapy. Allowing the muscle to let go is an organic process, and the good therapist can monitor the session time and also go into the zone that is organic time. It is all perception.

Meditation takes you into organic time. Those moments in meditation when you are absolutely in the moment. Those beautiful, wonderful moments. It too is a perception.  

But because it is all perception, the moment you notice it, you are not doing it any more. You can intend it to happen, but you cannot make it happen. That too is perception.

So last night, sitting at the fire lost in the moment of making fire and the process of keeping it flaming, Cheryl asks what I am thinking. I was not thinking that I was in a Fire moment. But I was. It is a relaxing place. 

Perception of time changes often here in camp. Our morning routine is a structure that we embrace. And in the structured routine, we enter into a kind of trance. A trance we create that helps us get things done. And the time here seems to evaporate, and we suddenly find ourselves at the end of the day, and just how did that happen without us noticing, and what day is it anyway?

I think living in Industrial time is very stressful. Part of that stress is about preparing for the future, a preparation often driven by fear. Will I have enough resources (money fuel food etc.) to survive? What will happen to my family?

That is one end of the spectrum. The other end is thinking about time from the perspective of aging. Listening to someone on radio talk about being in his 70s and noting that for someone in their 20s, their perception of their life is ahead. They have 60 years ahead (they hope) and just 20 behind. The 70 year old has 20 ahead (they really hope) and 70 behind. So naturally the focus shifts. 

And how did I get here so fast? And it was fast and now 20 years seems like it is rushing forward....Time keeps on slippin slippin into the future...

But that is all it is...a perception....

OOPS!

Cheryl's News From Camp Webegone

Tuesday, June 2, 2015

Our Backyard

When you're camping, cooking is a lot more work than usual, so you tend to end up doing a lot of simple, go-to meal types. Which is fine when you're camping for a couple of days or even weeks. But it gets more than just a little old when you're camping for a few months. 

Well, this summer Rich and I decided to expand our dinner menu options. Which is a great and tasty idea. But (there's  always a 'but', isn't there?) it also requires more work on my part. 

Still, it feels like a good trade off. A happy tummy and taste buds, all  in exchange for at least 30 minutes of extra cooking prep. 

That's the plan, anyways. And so our saga begins.

It starts with our first grocery shopping and errand trip to Medford. Which is a 90 minute drive from camp. We leave at 10 am, do our shopping, and then arrive back at camp about 5 pm - way too long a day. 

Then it's time to put all the food away and.....well, it was a great idea to expand our dinner menu, sure. However I, we, did not take into consideration storage. In particular, very limited freezer space. Very limited freezer space and a whole bunch of meat we purchased.

Oops! 

Long story short, with a lot of freezer organizing, a little juggling, and judicious eating choices, I think we'll be okay. Whew.

Color me lesson learned. Rich and I are changing how we grocery shop in the future. We will still be driving to Medford one time a month, but no more going there regularly. No more regular all-day shopping trips. Instead, our regular grocery journey will be driving the much simpler 30+ miles to Shady Cove to shop for meat and veggies there. 

Not only will this save our sanity, we'll be saving money on gas and lowering our carbon footprint. Really, we should have realized and been doing this all along. But we are slow learners. 

Memorial Day

Cheryl's News From Camp Webegone 2015

One of the things we missed while we were at Webeback is wildlife spotting. Both Rich and I were eagerly awaiting our first deer sighting, and it at last happened on Memorial Day. We had spotted some well-used deer trails just behind the site of our camp, so we were hoping to get at least one sighting from our camp before the deer changed their route in order to avoid our campsite. We were lucky we were outside and at our camp at just the right moment. This photo is taken from our campsite. 

Rich and I wonder if this is one of the fawns from last year, now grown up, a yearling. 

Bonus Picture

Cheryl visiting our favorite tree.

The Theme: Minor Disasters

(Editor's Note: no date included on this one, but I'm guessing it's from the 22nd-24th. Enjoy!)

Rich's News From Camp Webegone 2015

At last, we set off on our return to camp hosting at Natural Bridge. However, a series of minor problems has been the theme of our journey. 

First, the Hitch wheel was on the pavement and I could not move the trailer until I jacked up the pickup hitch. That one wasn't too big a deal, but it continues...

Second, the black water tank did not empty. And it still has not. Theory is, it is blocked by paper... The solution? Wait 'til it clears, or get a honey bucket to suck it out....

Third, the electric lift for the hitch stopped and would not come back on.... Then it did... No idea why.... 

Fourth, same dance with the refrigerator (although this one might be due to user error, as the fridge does not work according to its directions, so we may have simply forgotten our old steps to get it running).

Fifth, the generator won't start. This one is not minor, to say the least. Without it, we would have batteries for a few days, but after that: no electricity, no water pump, etc. 

So, I get to work on the generator. And I do get it to start, but it will only run for a few minutes. Theory: clogged filter or carburetor. Unfortunately, no place to work with it in the rain... Solution: a trip to Medford to fix it. We head over, but no one wants to work on it as it is hard to find parts.... Final solution: buy a Honda generator (which I should have done in the first place....) Will fix the other generator on some lazy sunny afternoon. 

Sixth, the heater in trailer does not start.... Then it does.... And had the same dance with the water pump. etc. etc. 

As tough as it sounds, though, through it all, we experience the simple joy of being here in our summer hang-out. To us, all these problems seem just minor bumps in the road. We will get through.

In other news, our first days are very very wet. But it is now dry, and we are back in the the swing of it all. In many ways, it feels like we never left. 

We are meeting some familiar campers, and some newcomers. There was a camper who is an accomplished musician, and a German couple joined us as we listened to the musician and sang along. We all had lots of fun singing old country songs. - Just one of those spontaneous moments strangers can create.

And we went a-visiting: to our favorite tree, and to Natural Bridge, and to the trail, and to the library (where we order an apple pie from the librarian....) It is indeed good to be home. 

Yes, this is home now, for us. Which has created some interesting conversations. "Where are you from?" they ask. 

Hmmm. 

"Well, we sold my house, and we're living in our trailer. I guess wherever my trailer is is where I am from." 

Funny how things change.

Rich.

PS: Since we went a-visiting, here is a video of one our favorite spots on the Rouge River.

 

It's Official

A Favorite Spot on the Rogue River

Cheryl's News

Rich and I received the official nod of approval today. We will be volunteer campground hosts at Natural Bridge Campground during the summer of 2015! 

Moving Out, Moving On

RICH'S NEWS FROM CAMP WEBEBACK: The process of preparing for our next camp-hosting adventure continues.

 
So, now I am in the final stages of getting ready to sell my house. Which involves letting go of 36 years of living here. (Well, it's actually more like 30 years of occupying the space, what with extended stays away.)

 
Leaving brings up a mixed feeling. Primarily it is one of relief at the excising of all of the costs and responsibilities. I have thought of my home as my retirement system, and earlier this year I realized that is just what I am doing – retiring. Except for some short one-day classes now and then, I will be finished with my classes at OSM. That is another 30-year connection I am letting go of.

 
Looking back, home ownership has been a wonderful, stable element in my life that has provided me with many opportunities that I would otherwise have found hard to do. This home has been good to me, and it has been a haven for many ex-residents. But now the house is becoming more and more expensive as it ages. (Actually, it has always required work, just a lot moreso now.)

 
The downside of letting go of the house is the loss of stability from knowing that even if everything falls apart, I have a home. Even if it was only an illusion of stability, it was still a comforting illusion. But now that comforting stability of owning a house will for the time being be replaced by a trailer. Still a home, just more mobile is all.

 
So far, what has eased my mind is that I will be able to establish a home base with Nisa, Julianna and Frazier. A place for the trailer to come to. A traveling mother-in-law (father-in law) (grandpa-in law) cottage.

 
The process of selling the house is, at the moment, quite stressful – figuring out all the things to move or sell or trash or give away. An accumulation of such wondrous things as hundreds of screws, nails, and odds and ends of wires and other stuff I have saved (horded?) over the years. As well as tons of wires, cables, electronic gadgets transformers connecting to ...??? Since you never know when you might need an extra float for the toilet. Right?

Problem is, I forget I have it or can't find it when I need it.

 
The biggest realization I have had is that the attachment to much of the stuff is memories. Every time I look at a certain plate or afghan, I think of my mother or Aunt Norma or ….. But, that memory fades as I let go of those things the memory triggers. Pictures can alleviate that a bit, but I am a kinestetic (hmm, that word is not in my spell check!) person. I need that touch.

Interesting bit of information from my realtor: When getting rid of things, have someone else pick them up, because when we touch it, it increases our likelihood we will not let it go. I understand that feeling.

In the end, it will be sad to let the house go, but a relief and a joy that someone else will create a space here that will sustain them, just as it has me. Though one fear I have is that a developer decides to demolish it. I would hate to see my home replaced by one of the many characterless modern houses being built in this neighborhood. Such things do happen around here a lot. Usually on double lots, but there are no guarantees for my single lot.

 
Still, letting go. I must let go of my attachment to the house and what happens to it. There is the Buddhist realization that the source of human suffering is attachment. I must let go.

When I went to Haiti I knew that part of the reason for my going was to get out of the trance that was my current life. Going there certainly did just that. And this move feels very similar to me. I will be moving into a new way of life, once again leaving the trance of this one.

And then there is age. As I near 70 it becomes abundantly clear I do not have the luxury of time. Like my brother said when my dad – who was 78 at the time – asked him about getting remarried. My brother told me his first thought was: "Don't rush into it." And then he thought, "Hell, he is 78. Why not rush into it?"

 
Yes, so why not rush into it?

Last summer being a camp host took me out of the sedentary life that I had fallen into here in this house. The experience was so good for me in physical, emotional and spiritual ways. From that experience, I can sense that it is time to move on. Perhaps it is not the style of retired life that we all have in our minds when we are younger. But that traditional vision always seemed too not me anyway.

I may not have had the vision of retiring into the life a of a camp host, but looking out upon the path now, as I prepare to embark upon it, it is but another a step along the path of service that has always been imprinted in my bones. 

I look forward to closing this chapter of my life and embracing the next. The road beckons in May.