Dystopian Paradox

Saturday morning, August 8

The wedding was my excuse for making this trip, but what I was really looking forward to is being with my sister Grace and her kids and their spouses. And then the wedding began at 10 a.m. and I realized that the wedding itself was why I came.

Erin in her simple white dress, pink shawl, with a bouquet of daises she holds at her waiste and a daisy in her hair, decending the walk to the beach with her bridesmaid, the sister-in-law to be in a simple brown dress, the wedding party on the beach standing in loose dry sand, waiting in a circle open to the east from where comes the sun, the force of life, the circle open to receive the bride, wherein waited her groom Matt and his father the best man, and the judge who would wed them, all in bare feet.

And Erin and her bridesmaid entered the circle from the east, and joined her groom Matt before the judge, the circle closing around them. And all there were barefoot, except me, and I removed my sandals and we were all barefooted and grounded in the sand of our Earth.

I was experiencing a wedding of a thousand years ago in the British Isles or Polynesia, outdoors as guests of nature, and all of us children of the Earth and grandchildren of all that is or ever was or ever will be.

Beautiful words the judge spoke, words chosen some by the bride and groom and some by the judge. And tears in the eyes of all. By the sea from which came life. All reaffirming life and our gratitude for the gift of it, and the opposites coming together as a symbol of hope for the renewal of life, a remembrance of those who have left us but are still with us, and those who will come from the joining of opposites.

The bride and groom kissed, and then it was over.

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There was a steady south breeze on the beach, fifty-five degrees on this cloudy wedding day morning, mist in the air, yet all of us barefoot. Someone found a spot in the sand maybe five feet in diameter that was warm, and some of us warmed our feet in it, wondering what caused the warmth.

A niece in-law told us about a small spot in California that stays at 800 degrees and no one knows for sure what causes it. I asked if there was a voice that kept saying, “I am what I am.” My ex-brother-in-law said, “Yes, Moses before the burning bush, and it announcing ‘I am that I am,” and my niece-in-law says “Yea, God and Popeye saying “I yam what I yam.”

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Everything about the wedding drew us together. The families of the bride and groom coming together including the extended families. While the wedding was going on, at brunch after the wedding, and that evening at dinner at the home of the groom’s parents.

Friday afternoon, August 8

Things picked up this afternoon when everybody got in town. All of the wedding party except for the groom’s parents went to dinner (Grace and Erin plus her fiance Matt, Grace’s other three children, all men and two of whom are married and so their wives, and Grace’s ex-spouse and his wife.) That’s ten people and a lot of fun to be with.

Graces’ ex paid for dinner and I didn’t put up a fight. After all, he isn’t putiing out for a big wedding for Erin. She’s getting married on the beach. I may send him a bill for my travel expenses.

We got to talking politics a little, with the John Edwards thing kicking it off. One of my nieces-in-law is from Edwards’ neck of the woods and she can’t stand the guy. Said he’s a low life ambulance chaser. Grace pointed out that I was a lawyer. I told my niece-in-law that I don’t chase ambulances unless there’s money in it

People bad mouthing lawyers doesn’t hurt my feelings. I expect it. I don’t like most of them either. My favorite lawyers are criminal defense lawyers because they protect our bill of rights. The executive branch of government, including prosecuting attorneys, are constantly trying to trash the bill of rights and our civil liberties. I do office practice, and trial attorneys don’t consider office practitioners to be real lawyers. That doesn’t hurt my feelings either. Used to irritate me a little though.

The grooms parents live here. The rest of the wedding party (except for me) are staying in condos that overlook the Pacific. The beach must be 150 yards wide beginning at water’s edge and terminating at a steep rise of 50 feet where the condo complex is located. Amazing view from up there, looking down on the beach and following the ocean to the horizon where it merges with the cloudy sky. My guess is that the subduction of the Pacific plate forces a constant rising of the terrain, and wave erosion accounts for the wide beach and its termination at hilly terrain that rises hundreds of feet above sea level within a mile of the beach. The rain forest begins less than five miles from the beach.

Saturday morning:

Six of us went to breakfast at a small cafe not a block away from Grace’s condo. We had a half hour to kill before the place opened at 7.30. We walked down to the beach. Being next to a beach is always a primal experience for me, looking out over the ocean where life may have originated on Earth. And knowing that there was nothing but water for 5000 miles between that beach and Japan.

One of my nephews and I got to the beach first. He’s married, working and getting his MBA. I asked him what he planned on doing with it. He said wherever it took him, but wants to do the entrepreneurial thing.

I encouraged him on that. At 32 years of age, he realizes that everyone is an entrepreneur whether they know it or not. No way to escape uncertainty by working for someone else, so I think its healthy to take responsibility for our perceived plight even if we work for others, rather than blaming it on jobs going overseas or whatever. Seems to me that taking responsibility for our circumstances is an aspect of the entrepreneurial mindset, and being an entrepreneur is not a precondition to having that mindset.

The groom’s parents live here, and I’ll meet them this morning at the wedding which is to happen circa 10 a.m. on the beach. I’m wearing what I went to breakfast in- shorts, sandals, shirt and a windbreaker. I may be overdressed.

So we did breakfast, which was good but uneventful. The name of the cafe is Nancy’s and I think Nancy was waiting on us. I liked Nancy. One of my nephews was thinking about taking some of the leftover pastry back to his place, and I said I’d like to take Nancy back to my place. Fat chance since I’m 30 years her senior, plus sporting several other characteristics repugnant to women.

Anyhow, Grace said there was something wrong with Nancy. I thought she meant mentally. Grace said no, it’s the way she talks. After that, I listened attentively when Nancy came around but I didn’t pick up anything wrong with the way she talked. Besides, if she’s got a speech impediment that could be a real plus. She might be self conscious about it and keep her mouth shut most of the time. I related this possibility to Grace.

Grace seemed to take offense. She thinks I’m serious when I say things like that. Maybe I am. Maybe my attitude toward women is my major handicap in trying to get women. Quien sabe. Quien preocupe.

It’s 8:30 am Friday morning, August 8, and I’m in a Spring Breeze Budget Motel room in Newport Beach, Oregon, typing-out my experiences to date on this adventure in progress. It officially began last Sunday afternoon when my sister Grace mentioned in an email exchange that she was crazybizy getting ready to leave for her daughter Erin’s wedding next Saturday in Newport Beach, Oregon.

What! I thought the wedding was in the fall. I didn’t receive an invitation because I change mailing addresses more often than Grace and I write each other. So I got on Priceline and scored a roundtrip airfare to Portland. Newport Beach by car is about three hours south of Portland. I got the airfair for a reasonable price. And a reservation for this budget motel room I’m sitting in for an exorbitant price, considering the lack of amenities.

From the looks of the exterior when I drove up yesterday, I expected to see Fred Flintstone at the check-in desk and Wilma cleaning rooms. Or vice versa. Figured they might have retired here.

I got my key and went in the room. Sure enough, it had a bed. And a toilet. That’s all I really need since I like to camp out anyway. Whoever owns this place should start a motel franchise and call it “Bed and Head.”

This morning, I went looking for a good breakfast along the historic bayfront. I passed a coffee house that was open and advertised breakfast. A bunch of cars were parked in front of it which is usually a good sign. I parked, got out of the car and could hear bull seals or walruses trumpeting (I don’t know the correct term for their mating call) in the distance. How quaint.

There were outside tables and a guy was sitting at one. I walked into the small coffee house and no additional patrons in there. Uh oh. Just two artsy types in the kitchen doing something. The menu on the wall looked ok, but here it was 7 a.m., and they had fairly-light heavy metal music going at several decibels too loud for me. I like that kind of music, but not for breakfast. The coffee house failed the quaint test.

So I left and continued my quest for breakfast and found a place kinda like a Dennie’s but locally owned. Eggs tasted like fish and the coffee tasted like the eggs. But I didn’t complain and did leave a tip. It’s not the waitresses fault, except for working there.

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Just got back from the only Starbucks in town and they don’t have WiFi, but the nice lady said the local library does. So I went to it and could logon in the parking. Great!

But I did buy a cup of Starbuck’s regular over-priced high octane coffee to determine if the coffee at breakfast was that bad. It was. At least jet lag didn’t screwup my tastebuds. I hope I can find some good crabcakes here.

Now for the good stuff. This is the first time I’ve been to the Oregon coast. To get here yesterday, I drove down Interstate 5 and took a right on State 20 which runs through Corvallis, and on to Newport Beach 50 miles west of Corvallis.

Corvallis lies in a valley just east of a low range of mountains which is a rain forrest (the peaks are maybe 2500 feet). This valley is an Eden.

Corvallis is the home of Oregon State University. I went to undergrad school at the University of Texas in Austin. It was a great town back then. It’s still a great town if you like wall to wall traffic and bumper to bumper people. Corvallis is still a great college town. I’m glad Vince Young didn’t visit OSU before he signed at UT.

OSU’s moniker is the Beavers. I checked www.osubeavers.com, and that’s the moniker for all their team sports, both male and female. I guess the feminist movement hasn’t made it to Corvallis yet. Or maybe a sense of humor and of irony prevail at OSU, essential characteristics for learning about life and getting the most out of it.

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I’m finishing up this post at the library. I’ve just decided I could live in Newport Beach. Not only can I bring my laptop into the library and use the WiFi for free, but there’s electrical outlets at the desks. Don’t have to worry about the battery fizzling, plus the thing works better plugged into the wall.

And Louis L’Amour didn’t write all the books in here.