My friend AC came over, and we talked writing for a while, then she, Lisa and I went to lunch. So far so good.
After that, it got a little weird.
Lisa and I tooled over to the Hawthorne district to get me a haircut. I'm just shaggy enough to need it, even though things are ridiculously short. Plus she'd never met John, my crossbow-toting stylist. That was a fine time, and my hair was much improved.
On returning to the Genre car, we found that the fig tree we'd parked under with the top down had dive-bombed the interior with a rotting fig. It looked like someone had vomited all over the back seat. In the process of dealing with this, I got fig poo all over my cane. I need to go to the auto detail place tomorrow and get the crusted fig poo washed out of the carpet and seats.
We then hied over to Portland Saturday Market to see artist Beverly Toyu. Ellen Eades had given me a gift certificate for a life mask to be made by Beverly. I sat for the making of the facial mold with plaster of Paris, which was a more than passing strange experience. Very intimate, very centering, and rather reminiscent of being laid out as if for my own funeral.
Plus the aftermath was pretty funny.
I don't recommend this process to anyone who's claustrophobic or has issues with having their face obscured or pinned close. Otherwise, it's damned cool experience.
Back at the Genre car, we returned to Hawthorne to buy cheese and bread at Pastaworks. On returning to where we parked, we discovered a flat tire. It was not dead flat, so I pulled around the corner to a side street. Being no longer capable of changing my tire, I of course called my stylist. Being a Hero of the Revolution, he walked the three blocks from his salon and changed my tire for me.
We eventually got to chez Team E— for dinner, only to discover I was supposed to have brought groceries which I had utterly failed to procure. This resulted in dinner at The Observatory (mmm, oregano fry bread), before we finally went home.
Team E— did have some marvelous peppers and whatnot at their house.
So, other than the exploding figs, plaster of Paris up my nose, and the flat tire, it was a pretty good day. Today I have not previously planned stops at the tire place and the auto detail place.
Ah, life. She is for living. Every day I wake up alive is a good day, but figs and all, yesterday was a better day.
Photos and videos © 2013, Joseph E. Lake, Jr. and Lisa Costello.
This work by Joseph E. Lake, Jr. and Lisa Costello is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.