Into The West

We live between The Two Towers.

Disclaimer: We don't live in Middle Earth. And the towers aren't really towers, they are chimneys. They are structures that are taller than they are wide, built to take advantage of their height, at one time venting hot flue gases or smoke to the outside atmosphere. To me, they are towers.

The chimneys are remnants of days gone by. One is at the mostly-derelict Tilbury Cement Plant, formerly the Olympic Portland Cement Company. The plant is now quiet except for the constant squawks from the swarms of resident seagulls and the occasional screech of metal from dismantling equipment. The original facility was built in 1913, so the smokestack is a well-known landmark in the area.

The other is a remnant of the sugar beet processing plant. In 1925, the Utah and Idaho Sugar Company (U & I) bought the property and constructed a sugar beet processing plant at the site. The chimney was part of the drying process turning beet juice into sugar. The Oeser Company has operated a pressure wood treating facility on this site since 1942, producing mostly telephone poles. Decades of using creosote and pentachlorophenol (PCP) has led to this 26-acre property becoming an EPA Superfund site.

As readers of The Lord of the Rings know, any pair from the set of five towers in the story could fit the title: the tower of Cirith Ungol, Orthanc, Minas Tirith, Barad-dûr and Minas Morgul. A note at the end of The Fellowship of the Ring and Tolkien's final illustration of the towers gives the pair as Minas Morgul and Orthanc. Tolkien later indicates the two are Orthanc and the Tower of Cirith Ungol, but felt such an identification was misleading due to the opposition between Barad-dûr and Minas Tirith.

In my mind (and many others, I am sure), the two towers are Barad-dûr in Mordor and Orthanc in Isengard.

The wood-treating facility and the toxic waste surrounding it may not be as evil as Barad-dûr, built by Sauron, the Dark Lord of Mordor, but it's close enough. And while the cement plant smokestack was not built during the end of Second Age by the Númenóreans of Gondor, it is a reasonable Orthanc. This means we are located approximately in East Emnet, a wide grassy plain just west of the Falls of Rauros on the river Anduin.

It's not middle earth, and it's not journey's end, but it's home.

Year Of The Cat

Animal behaviorists say that when cats bring mice, birds or whatever they capture into your home, it is meant as a compliment.

After all, we give them dried cat food, so they must think things are tough and want to help out.

Our cats have always seen fit to bring us gifts. Recently it has been a bevy of shrews, both dead and alive. April is smack dab in the middle of the breeding season for these shirt-tail cousins to moles, so the availability is apparently pretty good.

It would almost be okay if they always left the offerings where we can find them. At least then they could get a decent burial (okay, a toss out in the empty field). Unfortunately they end up under the sofa or the bed, which means they typically are not seen before they are smelled. Trust me, it's not what you want to smell first thing in the morning when you're looking for the coffee in the pantry.

Shrews are new to our list of feline offerings. In Oregon, we were graced with gophers, mice and many a bird. And, just once, a koi.

That's right. A koi.

We found it on the laundry room floor, proudly displayed by Spot, a black and white tabby. The koi was about half a big as she was. What made it all the more impressive was she had taken it from a neighbor's koi pond which was down the block and across the street. How she managed to bring it all the way home, fully intact, was beyond me.

Spot was the cat who never met a person she didn’t like and could always be counted on warming a lap, even when you didn’t want her to. We picked her out of a batch of kittens at a shelter, the only one with a tail that was crooked at the end; we thought she was the runt of the litter, not enough room in the womb for her siblings and her tail. Many years later, I showed a picture of Spot to a colleague of mine; she had taken a kitten with a crooked tail from a litter of all crooked tail cats at the same shelter sometime before Spot picked us out.

We had to put Spot down last year as her kidneys had failed. While other cats have lived in our household, none spend as much time on a lap getting pets as Spot did. You could always count on Spot to spend the day with you in bed when you were sick. For me, that was always especially comforting.

When our present cats bring in small tokens for us, I typically thank them and ask if they have ever heard of Spot and the koi. As they say, give a cat a fish and he eats for a day. Teach a cat to fish and he will depopulate your neighbor's very expensive koi pond.

Hello, Goodbye

I honestly don't remember what started me on the Beatles path. Much of it came from a friend of mine who put me on the road to wanting more than just what the radio played. He was the biggest Beatles fan I had known to date and it must have worn off on me.

I was born in 1961, so I was just a child at the height of Beatlemania. I have vague memories of snippets from the radio, but nothing concrete. A driver's license allowed me to go to record stores on my time. A lack of funds directed my spending to the used record stores, where albums could be had for a buck or two.

Years ago it was easier to accumulate a record collection because, well, there were records. I remember dragging out my turntable to listen to an album and my then 8 year old daughter asking what that was. Like many people, my music today is all digitized and I carry around thousands of songs in my pocket. Very different from the days of big beautiful black discs that we played once to record on a cassette tape and then jealously protected from heat and dust, savoring the beauty of the artwork on the album cover and the unmistakable sound of soft static and often a persistent, regular, soft click.

As the years passed, I found himself seeking out original records wherever I could find them. It was a constant work in progress and one which was enjoyable...learning something I may not have known, trying to avoid counterfeits, digging through estate sale boxes, flea markets and swap meets.

Collecting was put on hold behind family, home and career. I always thought once things settled down I would allow myself to answer the siren call of Beatles collecting.

Life, as they say, has a way of getting in the way of living. January 2009 brought unemployment and the worry of making the mortgage payment. It was finally time to sell the Beatles records. The response was less than I hoped, but times were tough. The majority sold before we packed up and moved to another state. The balance would eventually be listed and sold, with the final sale on April 03, 2010.

Like many people, I have found having something is never as enjoyable as sharing it with others. While I miss the thrill of the chase in collecting the Fab Four, I am pleased others have taken up the same challenge and was happy to be a part of their hunt for the big score.

The Rain, The Park & Other Things

Is this Heaven? No, it's the Bellingham Farmers Market.

Located on Railroad Avenue at Chestnut Street is one of the largest farmers markets in the Emerald State. The permanent Market Square includes a covered structure built from steel recycled (of course!) from a local bridge. The market runs April through December. A great place to shop for fresh, local food, local arts and crafts, flowers and plants, and food vendors.

When did I become such a fan of Farmer's Markets? Things like this kinda sneak up on you. The one in Medford (OR) was nice, and the one in Santa Barbara (CA) is always a treat. But here...strolling in short sleeves on a perfect afternoon, being part of the community...it's different.

"I could have sworn it was Heaven. Is there a Heaven?"
"Oh yeah. It's the place where dreams come true. Maybe this is Heaven."

Ich bin ein Bellinghamster.