Fairness is what justice really is.
- Justice Potter Stewart
Dear Uncle Mike,
My boyfriend invited some of the
people he works with to our apartment
for cocktails. I’m a little new at this. The
invitations say “from six to eight". My
boyfriend says we don’t have to feed them
because it’s not a dinner invitation. It
seems to me they’ll expect something to
eat. Should 1 at least nave some cheese
and crackers? There’s a rule for this
somewhere, right?
By Nora Karena
It was a beautiful, blustery day last week when my
roommate and I drove out to a friend’s house in the hills to
harvest moss for flower baskets.
In order to communicate the full significance o f this
event, I must explain that I am, as a former boyfriend frequently
observed, a dryad. In this case, I am not referring to the feminine
incarnation o f a tree’s spirit frolicking in the forest, but the
archetype she represents. Most people know at least one dryad (if
they are lucky!), and our fair village seems to abound with them.
She is that sensual, slightly impractical earth-woman who will drag
ou two miles down a muddy trail because “You have got to see
ft low
the morning sun falls on a patch o f trilliums under a budding
vine maple.” (And you had better appreciate it!)
This outing was custom made for dryads. The forest
floor was littered with newly fallen leaves. Overhead alders, elders,
willows and maples waved tneir shedding branches in the wind
and on the hills around us, the giant spruces slowly swayed. The
creek was beginning to swell from the rain. Dryads don’t mind
getting wet (It‘s actually kind o f fun!), and so clad in appropriate
layers o f flannel, wool, and leather, we eagerly embraced our task.
On the way to the alder grove, Steve enthusiastically
showed us around his place. H e told us about the elk, eagles and
salmon, pointed out his favorite tree...a giant moss covered maple,
and impressed us with his garden. H e spoke about his plans for
improvement. Here was a man who loves his land.
Our goal was to collect large, intact sheets of moss with
which to line the afore-mentioned wire baskets. It took a little
practice, but soon we had honed our techniques. .My approach
was to score a line down the trunk and then gently slip my fingers
over the bark, caressing the tree as I lifted o f f the choking moss.
I couldn’t help but think o f shearing sheep.
W e developed a playful rivalry. “Look at this one!”
Leslie would shout as she lifted a great fuzzy green pelt for us to
admire.
Did I mention that dryads have very fertile
imaginations? I was in heaven as I imagined myself to be tending
the trees. Surely they enjoyed having their bark exposed to the
cleansing rain. Perhaps tney felt the same smooth clean feeling
that I get after shaving my legs. Yes, the trees would certainly
thank me.
I began to observe the life beneath the moss; beetles and
bugs o f every description. Leslie uncovered a beautiful
salamander. Suddenly, I was filled with dread. Entire
communities o f insects were being displaced for our flower
baskets! Maybe the trees were not so nappy after all; maybe they
would be angry that we had disturbed the delicate eco-system.
Eco-warriors would surely protest in front our home if they knew!
I could see the placards and hear the angry epithets. The shame!
But wait! The bugs burrow into the bark o f the tree,
and eat away at the vital inner layers o f cambium. For the sake o f
the tree they must be stopped!
“Yes,” I thought to myself, “but that is the grim reality
o f the food chain. W ho am I to interfere?”
Being a diyad isn’t always easy folks, and by the time we
had filled our two Hefty Bags with booty, I was completely
conflicted. My companions were unaware o f my torment as they
merrily headed back with their ill-gotten gain.
Then I remembered something I had left by the first
tree so I set o ff to retrieve it. Alone in tne woods, I became
aware, once again o f the beauty o f the moment. The damp leaves
at my feet. The colors...green, brown and gold...that seems to
glow in the gray afternoon light. The smell o f life and death
mingled together as the trees seemed to dance to the rhythm o f
the wind. The forest was alive and I was simply a part of that life.
Many times I have wandered through the woods seeking
the treasures that are found there. Moss, mushrooms, berries,
herbs, and meat. Sometimes I go seeking only a little peace. Even
if I return home empty handed, I am never unrewarded. The gift
o f the forest is Herself. Moments o f silent ecstasy and awareness,
when the soul forgets itself and becomes a part o f something
greater.
As I approached the house, my reverie was shattered by
a stampede o f puppies and my roommate's laughter. I sent out
humble apologies to the creatures we disturbed and offered
prayers o f gratitude for the day, and for the moss.
New in Town
Dear New,
There’s a rule for everything, dear; but, since the massive framework of
etiquette (a French word meaning ‘ritual fussiness1) was bolted together by people
Uncle Mike would never allow in his home, he can be of no help telling you which
rule applies to your situation. In Uncle Mike’s experience, much of it too grisly to go
into, food of some sort is a good idea at ‘affairs de cocktail’, especially when you ask
your guests to show up at suppertime. It makes no difference whether you’re
supposed to feed them or not. An evening of chitchat with people drinking on
empty stomachs is an experience worth planning to prevent.
Dear Uncle Mike,
Does time really go faster when you’re having fun?
Leah R.
Dear Leah,
Strictly speaking, and we must, time doesn’t go anywhere. Like space, time
is a conceptual backdrop for perceived change. Or, more correctly, space/time is the
fabric of creation, the warp and woof of observable reality. This aoesn’t, of course,
mean that time is constant and unchanging. Space/time is related to velocity. As
one’s speed increases, one’s wrist watch (even if it’s digital) slows down. At velocities
approaching the speed of light, space/time disappears; and with it, you and your
stupid clock. Does time go faster when you’re having fun? This depends on what
you mean by fun. Time goes fastest when you’re sitting still. Unless you’re watching
championship bowling.
Dear Uncle Mike,
I’m writing about a friend of mine. ‘J oe’ started seeing a woman about two
months ago and his life’s going down the toilet. She’s a nice person and all, but she
was dating another guy when she met Joe and she’s still dating him. My friend’s in
love and having her go out with someone else is driving him nuts. All he can think
about is how to win this woman. I’m afraid he’s going to bump into the two of them
some night and punch the guy’s lights out. On nights when she’s out with “friends”,
Joe drives by her apartment to see if the lights are on and waits till she comes home
to see who she’s with. I’m worried about him. He doesn’t listen to me and says I
don’t understand what real love is. If you were me, what would you do?
A Friend
Dear Friend,
If Uncle Mike were you, and loosely speaking he has been, he’d pour himself
a large mug of sour mash ana ponder the idiot mysteries of human behavior. Your
friend says you don’t understand real love. Uncle Mike’s not sure he does either, but
he does nave a pretty good handle on mental imbalance and obsession, which is the
sort of love your friend is exhibiting to an outside observer. If and when he starts
listening to reason again, tell him for Uncle Mike that he’s coming unwrapped over a
situation that is, strictly speaking, none of his business; and, depending on the young
woman’s game plan, possible beneath his contempt.
After looking and looking for many years, Uncle Mike has yet to witness
anyone winning someone’s love. Falling in love is the least rational of all human
pastimes and, unless the love object is a card carrying whacko, he or she won’t be
keeping scoring on performance. W e don’t fall in love with winners, we fall in love
with those it’s impossible for us to resist. The young lady in question is doing what
she wants to do. I f she wanted to make a commitment to someone, she would.
People are like that and your friend needs to recognize what is, and what’s not.
Tell the nitwit that short circuiting will get him nowhere, unless the young
lady is one of those who enjoy causing short circuits. In which case, he and everyone
else should avoid her like tne measles. Encourage him to back off a bit, emotionally
disengage and lower the voltage. Offer to help by strapping him to a kitchen chair
and giving him a soft towel to chew on. Explain that he’s being a hopeless mope and
needs to stiffen his spine. Tell him that with love, as with the rest of life, the only
way to win is by deciding not to compete. And that driving by someone’s apartment
ana parking there in the dead of night to see who the woman comes home with isn’t
just obsession: the authorities call it stalking.
O S B O R N E S T U D IO .C O M
F IN E A R T, S M A L L E D IT IO N
P R IN TS , C O M M E R C IA L
R E N D E R IN G S & G R A P H IC S
LIV E V IS IT IN G R IG H TS
BY A P P O IN T M E N T
503 368 7518
E M A IL V IA W E B S IT E
* «w> i & mu > ew
IL L A M O O
k
H E L A à Û
tKWE-$56s2î?8
N E L W ^ U S E lb B O O K 5
Casual D in in g
O verlooking the Hestucca River
E .C 1 A L O R D E R S
Spirits • hot Sandwiches
fresh Seafood Dinners • home Baked Desserts
150 A ve .U, S e a s i
Let the Dragon kindle
your Creative Fire
f/
Presents:
The 14th Annual Miniature Show
The Cannon Beach Gallery once again
presents its popular exhibit o f miniature works
executed by a wide selection o f artists;
a perfect opportunity to shop for unique gifts
fo r the holidays.
The works o f Cannon Beach artist Rex Am OS
1 show o f m iniatures.
Rex Amos’ collage and Chine colie pieces
are sophisticatedand meticulously crafted
im bi
combinations
o f various found imagery.
r Political,
u u iiv a i, 9
w u u and
t u i u erotic
c ru ti
social
themes
pervade Amos’ w ork, in
including
recent pieces dealing w ith the <
ongoing events
which began
7 w ith the te rro rist attacks
on September 11th.
November 3rd - December 2nd, 2001
Opening reception Saturday, November 3rd, 6-8pm
Cannon Beach Gallery
W in ter hours: Friday - Monday, 9:30am to 4pm
1064 S. H e m lo c k , C an n o n Beach, O R
(503) 436-0744
Paintings
Ceramics
Paint Your Own Pottery
Hard Clay Café
Classes
Parties
M ari
& Eeva
Rockett
Lantela
O f all men’s miseries the bitterest is this, to know so much
and to have control over nothing. - Herodotus (484-432)
(5 0 3 ) 9 6 5 * 6 7 2 2
pacific city , orcqom
1 2 3 South Hemlock
Cannon Beach, OR 9 7 1 1 0
5 0 3 -4 3 6 -1 5 3 3
Dragonfirestudios.com
Deborah A lb re ch t, L.M.T.
f '
Also Featuring
THE WORK OF REX AMOS
Sculpture
Gifts
craniosacral therapy
therapeutic massage
deep tissue
1.
\
5 0 3 7 3 6-0790 Gearhart
,
by appointment
SOARING CRANE GALLERY
Ground floor Inn at Cape Kiwanda
1-877-397-8444
Pacific City
Liberty! Liberty! In all things let us have
justice, and then we shall have enough liberty.
- Joseph Joubert
dfi RJE flftl^HftLL KOUS
r
finely selected
women s (^clothing
Portland
3556 SE Hawthorne
(503) 239-4605
'W
www.mfellin.com
4 UPfeR lcetcdsc nowi - ibcr zom
Cannon Beach
215 N. Hemlock
(503)436-1572
A dult F amily H o m e .
1777S. H emlock ,
POB ox
^ 3 6 - 2 .5 5 0
C annon Dtncii OR 77110
T3&-4&6.
P honl
P kgek
¿»J ennifer $TiEN S,LPM v'ftouiD tg~ L icensed ^ I nsured