Well, despite Steve’s valliant attempts at ressucitation (thanks, Steve!), my iphotos are indeed gone forever. Sigh. I’m going to rebuild my library as best I can, so I’d like to make a request. If you have any fun digi photos from events you’ve attended with me, will you send them my way? If you were at What the Heck Fest, friend’s birthday parties, Blogger brunches, other fun shows, etc., I would love copies of your nice pictures. I think it would take the sting out of my iphoto disappearence. (It’s possible that talking about my “loss” is in bad taste, considering Katrina. I hereby acknowledge that losing my library is one mighty small peanut. But still.) My email address is wonderwillow@gmail.com. Much obliged.
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In other news, my students arrived today! They are so little, and they all showed me their loose teeth, and a group of boys went really deep with the pattern blocks, and all in all it was a success. It was just an open house today- a meet and greet if you will. Tomorrow we start classes for real, and students and teachers alike are PUMPED UP.
We had a faculty meeting this afternoon about the possibility of hosting some Hurricane refugees at the school. It’s sort of a big deal because we would waive the bazillion dollar tuition that families usually pay to attend this fancy private school. Each grade level decided how many students they could take while still maintaining the quality that comes with a small class-size. I think the expectation was that we would each take one or two kids. I was really proud when most teachers offered up spots for four or five students. It may not seem like much, but at a K-12 school it adds up. We’re also talking about fundraising for relief organization and other ways we can help out as a school community.
Liz’s wedding is coming right up! I bought my ticket yesterday, and it’s starting to feel real. I can’t wait to see old friends and do the funky chicken with my bestest ladies.

Some of my New Orleans memories:
*The trumpet player outside Cafe Du Monde
*Etta James grinding her hips at the Jazz & Heritage Festival
*Exploring a cavernous Catholic Church in the middle of the night on an Open School trip; discovering a swimmng pool in the basement
*Sleeping on a pew
*The palpipal feeling of Ghosts and Darkness on certain streets, even in the afternoon
*The heat
*Tarot card readers lined up around the plaza
*Playing the washboard with a cajun band on Bourbon Street, writing a little poem about it on a napkin
*Voodoo shop
*Hurricane stands (small storefronts that sold these sweet, alcoholic frozen drinks)
*Jazz funeral
This disaster is unfathomable to me. I cannot fathom it. When I get close to understanding, when I innundate myself with Talk of the Nation and the New York Times, I am filled with despair. Halfway through writing this list, I started talking to my friend Azmo who works at the coffee shop. He is from New Orleans, and he told me about his family. His parents house flooded, but will probably be okay. The grocery store they owned is gone. Literally gone. So is the neighborhood around the store. They won’t rebuild. But still, he says they got off light. Many of his friends lost everything. It makes me so scared and sad.

Hi. I think I forgot to mention that I would be out of town/offline for about a week in my last post. Didn’t mean to worry anyone or let y’all down. Sorry. Oh god. And just now I was on the ichats with my friend Steve, and I realized that I missed the Event of the Summer due to my internet absence. Apparantly the Bro Zone record release party/Steve’s birthday party was last night. He posted reminders all over the world wide web, but cave lady over here missed them all. It sounds like it was so super fun. Ugh. I want to throw up! Dear Internet! I will never leave you again!!
Since my last post, some exciting stuff has happened:
Catch That Beat,
A rad music event took place in Astoria Oregon last weekend. I had an amazing time. Here’s a link to Shayla’s photos of the event. There is a Willow Wonder Action Shot in there that is pretty sweet. Basically there were like, 1 million bands, and lots of really nice dudes, and we danced and ate yummy food, and I got high on a pier with Jah (remember him?) We slept on the beach, and there were these organisms called “biolumnescents” (I think) that lived in the water and the sand. In the middle of the night we went down to the sea, and as we got closer a million stars exploded under our feet. That’s right. These tiny glowy guys lit up each time we took a step. If I squinted my eyes the sand looked like the sky, and galaxies were growing from my feet. It’s possible that this was the most magical experience of my adult life. Possibly.
Too bad that the next morning the cops came and busted everyone for sleeping on the beach. 22 dudes got $100 tickets in the early (really early) morning drizzle. I was lucky enough to have nature call just as the cops (okay, it was only one cop) arrived. I peeked my head out of the tent, assessed the scene, and uh, ran away. No ticket for me! I woke and warned as many folks as I could, but was sadly unable to rouse my friend Rebecca who got nabbed. We think the tickets will be reduced. People generally had a good attitude about it. Still sucks though.
Anyhow, many thanks and praises go out to executive/creative director Jona and managing director Steve for putting together an amazing event. Totally rivalled What the Heck Fest. (Wow. I can’t believe I just made that statement. I’ll stand by it though.)
Fancy Private School Retreat
So I returned from CTB on Sunday, then hit the coast again 16 hours later with the fancy private school that I am interning with this year. They rented three gorgeous houses in Arch Cape, and the stuffed us full of food and wine, and made us play embarassing games. It was great. I tried to sleep outside the first night, but this big ol’ raccoon started advancing on me as soon as I snuggled into my sleeping bag, and multiple screams didn’t deter him so I slept inside after all. The second night I shared a tiny tent with the second grade teacher. It was great. Some other wildlife I spotted:
*big crab
*pod of whales (well, their spouts anyway, off toward the horizon. They were migrating.)
*many bunny rabbits
*some dogs
We got back on Wednesday night, and on Thursday I won a gift certificate to Applebee’s restaurant in a raffle at the Health & Safety Party Gras the school sponsored. Oh Yeah! I plan on taking Steve to this fine establishment to make up for missing his Most Important Week. Free Pepsi refills, here I come!
So life is good. On Tuesday my students will arrive (!!!) and I will officially be a 1st Grade teaching lady (sorta). I cannot wait. Oh, and I moved in with Will, Lisa and the twins, and it has been great so far. I still have a lot of unpacking to do, but the vibe is familial and awesome. We just have dial-up right now though, which needs to be addressed ASAP. I’m hoping to have (cheap?) wireless jams pumping really soon. If anyone has advice on good servers, let me know.
And finally, on a personal note, thanks so much for those who posted their emo calling cards. So brave and nice. I like you guys.

I think all single people should have cards printed up with their phone numbers on one side, and their Issues listed on the other. When they meet a crush they can hand over their card and sidestep months of misunderstandings. Mine would say “Willow Wonder” on the front, and on the back:
1 Fear of Commitment
2 Only Child
3 Worrier
There could be fine print under each heading for qualifiers and clarifications. And maybe (to make this idea seem less emo) there could also be a Points of Pride list:
1 Good Communicator
2 Empathetic
3 Honest
We could avoid so much confusion and heartache! I could look at a card and see “Bad Communicator” on the back, and know I should stay away! Boom. And it wouldn’t just be for relationships. New friends could benefit as well. How about knowing right off the bat that someone is “Always Late,” or “Fair Weather?” You wouldn’t necessarily avoid that person, you just wouldn’t expect them to be on time or whatever. Or what about an emotional resume for job hunts? “Yells a Lot” would be good to know, or “Throws Away Stressful Projects,” or simply “Prefers to Eat Lunch Alone.”
What would your cards say, dear readers?

I am moving this week. I hate it so much! Putting all your stuff in boxes, and not all of it fits right, and you get frustrated and throw lots of stuff away that you immediately want when you’re settled into your new place (hangers, old magazines, etc.) I hate the newsprint that gets all over my hands when I wrap my dishes in the New York Times, and I hate that my dishes will probably break anyway because that is Just My Luck. I hate packaging tape, I hate carrying boxes, I hate thinking about how I’m going to move my bed, I hate asking friends to help me. Bleh. I do love writing content lists on boxes with Sharpie though. The best so far is:
*1/2 coffee maker
*1/2 blender
*bulk popcorn
*kettle
*chandelier teapot
*green tapestry
*New Yorkers
Whatever fits, man.
I’m moving into a house with my friends Will and Lisa, and their twin 3 year old boys, Eban and Amedeo. It will be chaotic, but also nice to feel part of a family. Those boys are like my nephews- as an only child they are probably the closest I’ll get. They used to call me Aunt Gorgeous, but they’ve (sadly) phased it out. Now they just call me Willow, but they are little, so it sounds like “Wiwwow” which is also really cute. They have a new kitten named Frank who they cannot stop chasing (depite many time-outs.) Yikes.

I spent the bulk of my weekend with my friend Rebecca. Yesterday we went to the (very trashy) Lloyd Center mall for some Back to School shopping at Old Navy and Forever 21. We ate in the food court. We talked about our mutual desire to be classier dressers. We shared a strawberry malt at the pseudo 1950’s diner that lives in the food court but is sort of it’s own place. I love Rebecca. She reminds me of my dearest girlfriends, Liz and Heather, from my hometown. She is really funny, she is trustworthy, she is honest, she is crafty. And she has that good-friend glow- that companionability that just puts you at ease and makes you feel glad.
Today we had a movie marathon. We watched Whale Rider and Ordinary People (we didn’t get to To Be and To Have- it just got too late.) Shannon joined us for the second film, and we all ate popcorn and watermelon and Tofutti Cuties. Watching movies on a beautiful summer afternoon is such a guilty pleasure. You know you ought to be out hiking or swimming or something. But instead you tape blankets over the windows, shut the front door, and Get In The Zone. So satisfying.
Another pleasant part of my day was the suprise encounter with my coffee shop friend (/crush) at the Fresh Pot this morning. Actually, it wasn’t a huge surprise. When I woke up this morning and thought about going out for tea I just felt a certainty that I would run into this man. We always have nice conversations when we run into each other, and today’s was especially lengthy and deep. He recently started reading Perfect Heart, and we talked a lot about Meaning and Intention (I am a Capital Letters Queen today!) in the blogging expiriment. It was natural feeling and honest, to the point that I found myself furiously blushing on more than one occassion. It’s funny that I can write about my emotional life ad nauseum here, knowing that strangers are reading and judging, but talking about my blog makes me self-conscious. Or maybe it was talking to someone that I don’t know very well yet but like a lot about a part of my life that is so intimate (though public) that made me shy. In any case it was a treat to run into him, and I hope it happens again soon.
In the car I listened to the radio and heard the following songs (greatly adding to my wonderful day):
*Say it Ain’t So by Weezer
*A great Nirvana song that never got a lot of airplay that I love, but unfortunately cannot remember right now because it was instantly eclipsed by the next song
*Here Comes Your Man by the Pixies
Could it get any better?

Okay. Check out this amazing optimism-affirming story:
When Moose was visiting me last month his car got broken into outside my house. It was his last night in town, and he was hoping to leave early the next morning. Instead he went to load the car and found a brick on the driver’s seat, glass everywhere, and his big interior frame backpack filled with his winter clothes missing. Yes, it could have been worse. He’d been on the road for six weeks, and everything he owned was in the car- his computer, his music, everything. They just grabbed the first thing they saw and left the rest. But still. Luckily he had good insurance and only had to pay a hundred dollar deductible, and we got the window fixed that morning. Moose was a good sport about it. He said that he hoped whoever stole the pack needed some warm clothes. He kept the brick, brushed off the glass, and headed for the coast. It seemed like a short chapter in his epic cross-country adventure.
Then, two weeks ago, on the day I was leaving for Albequerque, I saw a handmade sign on a telephone pole near my house, “FOUND: Interior frame back pack near Freemont and Williams. Call…” I was elated! I called the number from my car, and talked to a really nice dude who had come across the pack in a semi-abandoned construction site nearby. I couldn’t believe it. I asked him what drove him to try to seek the owner? Why not keep it? He said that he’d had a lot of stuff stolen himself, and just wanted to help someone out. He asked me to describe the backpack, which of course I couldn’t- I’d never actually seen the thing. I described some of Moose’s clothes (that I remembered from our chilly summer nights together in the Rockies), but none of them were in the pack. He said that it was almost empty- just a sweater left, really. This made me sad. Moose’s favorite flannel shirt, which I always associate with him should have been in there, along with tons of other clothes. But at least the backpack was intact. I told him I’d call Moose and then call him back. Then I flew to New Mexico.
I left Moose an excited message, and he called me back with a description. But I am Willow. And part of being Willow means losing track of important information. By the time I got back to Portland I had lost the good samaritan’s phone number. And of course the sign was gone. Fuck.
Still on the case, I made a sign of my own: “You found my friend’s interior frame backpack. I lost your number. PLEASE call me…” I taped it to the same pole the samaritan’s sign had hung. The next day my little sign was tattered and falling down. I got a hammer and nails and put it up again, saying a little prayer that it would be found. A week and a half went by. Nothing. I went to Denver and called Moose to tell him the bad news. I decided to print out my cell phone records to try to find the number- I planned on calling every unfamilliar Portland number I saw. I felt so bad about flaking on my dear Moosey friend. How could I let the pack slip through my hands?
Then, tonight, just after I walked in the door from Denver, my phone rang. “Hi, this is Coby, I found a backpack a few weeks ago…” !!!!!! Yay! And not only that, but he’d been back to the site a few more times and found a bunch of Moose’s clothes stashed under a porch and scattered in a field. Was the favorite plaid shirt in the mix? You bet. Coby’s girlfriend Claire had seen my little sign, pulled it off the pole, and brought it home. It turns out they live on my block, just a couple houses down. I called Moose to tell him the good news, went to Chevron to buy some beer, and walked over to their house to retrieve the treasure.
Coby and Claire are amazing. They keep chickens in their backyard. They gave me six fresh eggs. I gave them the six pack, and we all had a beer together. Claire has beautiful Art Neuvoe (sp?) tattoos on her arms. Coby has a blond ponytail. They both seem like they might have been goths when they were younger, but aren’t anymore. I told them that they had earned some really great karma wit this whole thing. I mean, they were so persistant about finding the owners. They deserve some love from the Universe, you know? Coby replied that he didn’t believe in karma. There was too much suffering in the world, too much injustice. He said that yeah, what you get comes back to you, but only because people hear about it and you get a reputation- for better or worse. Claire and I disagreed, but the topic soon turned to more worldly things. Coby and Claire are excellent scavengers. Their sweet house is filled with furniture and art found in dumpsters or thrift shops. We all sat on the floor and looked at crystals that Coby had retrieved from broken chandelliers. He was planning on stringing all of them (there must have been over a hundred) from the windows to fill the room with rainbows in the morning light.
And then that was it. I told Coby that I thought his act was even nobler because he didn’t believe it karma. He wasn’t looking for recognition or compensation from the Universe. He was just doing something nice for a stranger. I put the pack on my back and walked the half-block home. Next week I’ll take it to the post office and mail it to Granby, Colorado.
It’s funny. In a couple of weeks Coby and Claire will probably stop thinking about the backpack. They’ll have told the story a few times, discussed the weird bubbly earnest girl who came to their house to collect it. Whatever warm feeling they have from their good deed will probably fade after a while. But Moose and I will tell this story forever. To us it will become legend- part of our shared history, part of his American cross country epic, part of my struggle (especially in this time) to believe in the Goodness. For a faltering optimist, this little story is a fucking beacon. Gives a girl some hope, you know? Me and Moose and Kevin Spacey, now. Paying it forward.

Dudes, I just reread my entry from last night, and I feel like I didn’t accurately represent my feelings. I am intrinsically an optomist, and I really do believe that things are going to be okay for me soon. But goddamn, it hurts real bad right now! I think my entry yesterday was all smug and “I’m so at peace with the universe.” It’s just not as tidy as that. I am hopeful and relieved, and disappointed and sad. Also sheepish, embarassed, resigned, and in-tact. Got any other adjectives? Fill them in here. I think writing about Jake makes me feel so vulnerable that I gloss over my actual feelings, which is antithetical to my Perfect Heart mission. So, uh, sorry.
A word about mean commenters. Some cyberfriends have assumed that I know these dudes, and they are giving me some weird tough love or something. Not the case. My feeling is that the meanness stems from one commenter, using pseudonyms and fake email addresses. It could be a stranger, but the paranoid lady in me thinks it’s probably some scorned-lover from my past just being an anonymous jerk. In my younger days I hurt some feelings (thus the heartbreak karma), and there are a few men out there who hate my guts. Anyway, just so you know.
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I feel the need to insert a funny story here. My last few entries have been sorta dark, so hmm… let’s see…
Oh, okay! Here is a classic Willow Makes An Ass Of Herself story. A couple of nights ago I went for beers with my high school friends Kelly and Marissa. (I fucking love those ladies, by the way.) I noticed that this business-y looking dude in a light blue button up shirt and drinking a bottle of Bud kept staring at us. I figured it was because we were such a handsome trio, right? I never looked him fully in the face because to me the shirt said it all. So many lawyers and Wall Street dudes I knew in NYC dressed like that, and they were super sleazy. Plus Budweiser? Puh-lease. (Okay, I actually drink Bud myself, but you get the idea.) So finally Blue Shirt man comes over to us, and says my name. Marissa says I gave him this intense death look before I realized that it was our old friend Zack from Open School! Zack who smoked a lot of pot and drank coffee with me at Village Inn for hours and hours on end and made me laugh like no other. Whoops! Shit. Of course I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Once I’d hugged him I went into this lengthy expanation of why I hadn’t recognized him- the shirt, the Bud. “If you’d been in a green striped tee shirt and skater pants I would have spotted you in a second!” I told him about the Wall Street sleazes and how he looked just like them. Then I felt bad, because I’d basically just insulted him, and apologized profusely. He and his friend joined us, and it was great to catch up (Zack is a lobbiest now!), but I still couldn’t stop with the shirt stuff! Even when I hugged him goodbye I felt compelled to explain that “I don’t think YOU are a sleaze! Just people who dress like you! No, wait! That’s not what I mean! Shoot! I’m sorry! You look great! Ugh!” SO awkward. Hopefully he’ll think I was just drunk.

I know that in the last few weeks I’ve been alluding to “crazy developments” in my romantic life. Many things barred me from blogging about it directly: my relationship with AJ (not wanting him to read things on Perfect Heart before I had the chance to tell him in person), pride (embarassed that I was still vulnerable and attached to my old relationship), and finally not wanting to jinx a reconciliation. You are probably going “huh?” right about now. Let me explain. My ex, Jake, and I have been earnestly trying to be friends since his visit here a couple months ago. It’s hard. Old feelings get stirred up- fond feelings, hurt feelings, hopeful feelings. The cummulative effect was that Jake decided to come visit me in Portland to determine what his feelings truly were, and to decide if he should move up here to be with me. Oh shit, right? Deep in my heart I knew I still loved him, but the aforementioned factors (boyfriend, pride, jinxes) made me build a wall. I tried not to think about his visit at all, tried not to get my hopes up or lose any of the ground I’d gained since the break up. Frankly I didn’t trust him. He hadn’t decided that he loved me and had made a terrible mistake, and was coming to Portland to win me back. He didn’t know how he felt about me, and was hoping that a trip to Portland might help him figure it out. Not terribly promising.
So anyway, he was supposed to be in Portland when I returned from Denver this weekend. But today I got an email saying that he wasn’t coming after all. He doesn’t need to see me to find out how he feels he knows. He doesn’t love me anymore. He respects me and cares for me and wants to be friends, but the our relationship is over. I just got off the phone with him (he called as I was writing this), and I feel okay. My hopes had gotten higher than I realized, and it was disappointing to not see them realized. But we had a great talk, and I know that it will be okay. He finally let go, and soon I will be able to too. We were young and we loved each other and we learned so much together, but in the end our destinys lie with other people. This is the first time I’ve actually acknowledged that. I think we’ll always be close. I hope so.
So that’s the update. I feel bad that I didn’t really address any of this in Perfect Heart until now. That sort of goes against my ideal of transparency in personal blogs. But too many people’s feelings were involved, and I didn’t want to unintentionally hurt anyone by purging my feelings in a public forum. I feel really insecure, even now, posting this. Really vulnerable. (Especially since I’ve been getting weird mean comments from strangers lately.) But my goal is to write about my life and myself honestly, even if it makes me look like a flake or a jerk.
I feel closure, finally. Ta da.

So here I am in Denver. My mom schedules many appointments for me when I come home to visit. So far I have been to the chiropractor, the naturopath, and the salon. My hair is more Miranda July than ever, my friends. Mom and I have also been to five shoe stores looking for some sensible/comfortable/cute Dansko shoes for me for Fall. I know exactly what I’m looking for, and they have them in Portland, but the dumb Denver stores are dumb and don’t carry them. Mom will buy them for me if we find them here, but in Portland I’m on my own. Weird unwritten mom-shopping rules. Oh well.
Last night I went to the Fortress of Awesome, aka my friend Mitch’s house in the Five Points neighborhood. A lot of people had gathered there to settle an argument between Sam and Perry. Sam thinks that Earl Grey tea smells like Froot Loops, and that Earl Grey milkshakes (made at a local coffee house) taste like Froot Loops. So we all acted as judges as Sam whipped up Earl Grey shakes and Froot Loops shakes. I didn’t get to taste the Earl Grey shake, but boy, the Froot Loops one sure tasted like Froot Loops.
This is the sort of activity my Denver friends invent on a Monday night. I love them. They are so creative and energetic, to the point that sometimes when I hang out with them I feel really old. They have prank wars and play Thundersneak, throw elaborately themed parties and do scavenger hunts. I uh, go out to breakfast sometimes. And sometimes I go to shows. Ooh! Sometimes I sing karaoke… sigh. Pretty boring in comparison.
I always feel slightly guilt when I’m in Denver, like I’ve never been completely forgiven for moving away, and no matter how long my visit lasts, it’s always too short. I love Denver, and I love my friends here, but I just don’t want to live here again. The urban sprawl is too depressing for me, the number of SUV’s per capita too high, the constant urban renewal too taxing. Year to year my hometown gets glossier, but it’s ultimate character chips away. Denver is a cowboy town come stipmall and it makes me sad. Of course there is an argument that Denver is experiencing a youth/underground renaissance, and I definitely see traces of it when I come back. There are some cool new bars (and to be fair my favorite old ones are still going strong.) The art/music scene is pretty vibrant, thanks in a large part to my friend Sam’s awesome theater company, Buntport. Buntport is a real hub of creative activity. If I ever did move back here the first thing I would do would be audition for one of their amazing, innovative plays. (And I’m not just saying all this because I found out last night that Sam reads my blog, I promise. Hi Sam!)
Tonight I’m going to a Colorado Rockies game (if it stops raining). I want to get up to my old camp for a visit, go to the Natural History Museum, see my dad one more time, and catch up with a dozen or so friends. I can’t believe I only have three days left!
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Before I sign off, I want to say a few words about Silver Plume, the town where my dad lives. Population: 200. Elevation: 9000 ft. I spent the weekend there, and got caught up on all the local news:
*A black bear has been cruising the town at night, knocking over fences and eating trash.
*A landslide covered the highway, making travel to and from Denver nearly impossible (as my Dad and I found out the hard way on Sunday.)
*Troy and Cass just had their 5th wedding anniversary.
*The Registers are at the lake.
*Some of the aspen leaves are already turning yellow up by Pavillion Point.
*The Silver Plume Irish Fest (organized my my dad) was a complete success last month.
*Grumpy’s Roadhouse, despite the recent death of its namesake, will remain open until the Register’s get tired of running it.
*Donnie, my dad’s drunk neighbor, has been shooting off his shotgun a little too often lately. (Here is a good Donnie/shotgun story: Last week a guy Donnie works with brought him a dozen homemade sweetrolls. This guy is recently on the wagon. Donnie told my dad, “that sober asshole and his fucking sticky buns! They tasted like shit.” Later my dad heard some shotgun blasts. He went out and found another friend of Donnie’s dropping the buns one by one off of the bridge. Donnie, who was positioned a little ways down the creek was blasting them as they floated by.)