Road Trip and Art

This is the second year I’ve gone to Washougal to a mini art retreat with my sister. I drove down in “Dave” the blue Camry we inherited from Gil. Dave doesn’t have air-conditioning that works; instead, I used the sun-roof and driver’s side front window method. The drive was loud and hot and gorgeous. There are a lot of things that can get missed with the windows up. Stands of locust trees in full blossom peppered my route. The warm, heady fragrance is the kind of thing that would persuade Zeus to turn himself into a bumblebee just to seduce the blossom nymphs. Every part of the trip down had my senses on high. Mt. Hood, the clouds, the river, the sun fingers, as I liked to call them when I was little, were marvels.

Getting to paint in a place without the million and one chores staring at me was a gift. I ended up doing nine 6″x4″ watercolor painting postcards that I’ll be sending out in the mail to various folks. That’s one of the things I love best about art. I make it. And the more I make, the more I can make. It is its own furnace. I used to tie myself up in knots thinking I had to be good until I realized I just had to enjoy it. Does this bring me joy? Yes. Yes it does. And by some remarkable stroke of luck, it brings other people joy too. The best part of the art retreat was seeing my sister get the far off look and inability to speak when in flow. I recognized it and was so pleased she was there in that headspace too. There is nothing quite like the joy in creating when things come together.

Sadly, it was a short trip and I had to turn back homeward today. I’d gotten a little more savvy to the hot car situation so I doused my head and shirt with water, using the pseudo-swamp-cooler method. Much better. Today, it was bright and sunny–fewer interesting cloudscapes and the air getting hotter and drier as I moved eastward. The drive did give me a lot of time to think. There I go thinking again. Dang it.

Bryan and I would often take trips to Portland from our earliest dating days to visit friends or dear cousins of mine. There was always something fun to look forward to at the end of each trip. Heck, we even got married in Portland. And we always looked forward to coming home, too. But the drives themselves were so interesting. We could talk, and did, of any and everything. Bryan had an insatiable curiosity, but he also had a delightful sense of adventure and play. I never knew someone who was so healthy 99% of the time to like gas station corndogs so much. He drove. I made sure to apply the mustard. We laughed about the names of towns. We’d lament what had happened with the dams to affect Native American fishing at Celilo Falls. We would sometimes stop in Hood River for lunch and a beer or go to Multnomah Falls and do a hike. I’d often tuck my left hand under his right thigh as he drove. We were easy travel companions.

Coming back home, I stopped off for a brief visit in Hermiston to see my Auntie Lila who is 91 years old. She took care of me when my parents were divorcing. I always felt like I had someone solidly in MY corner when she was at our house. She’s getting frail. So little. But those sparkly blue eyes did light up when I told her my newest, naughty joke. I didn’t stay long because I needed to get home to my kitties and the million and one chores that are currently staring me in the face.

I will be making a full trip to Portland soon. It will be my first since he passed. Another milestone to tick off the list…