This morning I crawled out of bed at 6:30. Yes it's a Sunday and yes I know
that's on a weekend. Those of you who know me well are probably a little confused by this, but as evidence I took a picture of the amazing sunrise. The child inside of me wants to believe that sunrise and sunset are those magical moments when God himself walks on the earth. Yet sadly the holiness of those moments rarely inspires me to witness them. My reason instead for getting up so early on a Sunday was Race for the Cure. This event raises money for the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation.
As part of a renewed commitment to my community (i.e. the world) and a desire to be more of a participant and less of an observer, I've decided to start participating in 5k walks (and hopefully, eventually 5k runs.) Ever the supportive sidekick, I dragged Beth along with me. And this is why from 8:00-8:45am we found ourselves sitting in Blondie, my semi-trusty Volvo, waiting in the traffic jam leaving I-5. Unlike most cars where you can entertain yourself by surfing through stations, Blondie's radio is temperamental at best. A favorite tune will come on and taunt you with a happy sing-along only to abruptly disappear and leave you hollering loudly like a gray-haired lady deep in conversation on the front pew when the organist suddenly ends the closing hymn. When this happens I have visions of pulling out a heart defibrillator to shock it back to life, but instead must patiently wait it out until something mystical occurs in the wiring and I once again have music. Sadly at that moment, we had no music and had to make do with our own brand of idle chatter. We hunt for restaurants in the phone book, comment on people in the cars around us and solve world crises. Trivial, but these are the moments that make life matter. Slowly we crept into downtown, parked and pushed our way into the pink melee that was Tom McColl Waterfront Park.
Now nothing says community like 46,000+ people wandering down the street sporting various shades of pink and wearing names like The Boobtrotters, Pirate's Booby, and BeeBee & Melons. Pink was splattered everywhere, from bright pink wigs and t-shirted pooches to bras worn on the outside of shirts and decorated with petals, sequins and tassles. Cheerleaders from local high schools were stationed at the sidelines shouting words of encouragement into the crowd. A couple of drumlines and a marimba band supplied peppy music to help us keep up the pace. Not everyone walked. I saw more than one wheelchair along the route, making me think of how important it must be to them, to be there. And how awesome a friend would have to be to push your chair for 3.1 miles.
Despite the overall bouyancy of the crowd, today was not without the gut-wrenching moments that occur when we are forced to acknowledge human frailty. Pink papers, pinned on the backs of fellow walkers, declared the names of people who lost their battles with cancer. Some wore pictures of grandmothers, mothers, sisters and daughters who could no longer be there to walk beside them. Beth pointed out numbers of old men who walked alone, sobering our happy moods. There was also the father and son who walked together off to the side discussing the weather through stiffly masked faces making me wonder if they were afraid to speak of anything else and risk falling apart. The crowd had that aura of happiness, the kind that only comes from knowing deep sadness.
I don't understand cancer, and by this I don't mean the scientific explanation of cancer. It's like snow, I know the science behind it, but everytime I see it, I still stare in disbelief. Only snow didn't steal my grandfather, the most beautiful person I've ever known. Cancer is a living thing that's purpose is to destroy life. Joining in with the body like an insidious "friend" while it rapes and pillages the life and joy of someone you love. It is the Axis II disorder of medicine. I don't know why God allows it to happen, but then I understand very little of what goes down in the world. I can only trust that when we stand back and take a look in the end, it will all make sense. What I do know is cancer is more treatable today than it was thirty years ago and that's why I'll keep walking.
Looking ahead:
Looking behind:
Flamingo posse:
The cheap seats:
Janet's team:
Please, tell me how you really feel! (freedom of speech is big in P-town)
There's nothing a bright pink wig and feather boa won't fix...
A little post-race celebration at the bandstand...
Beth and Anne and I went to the Christmas tree lighting in downtown Portland. It was quite lovely with lots of people singing and drinking coffee. There was a weird guy there promoting the Cricket telephone company. He was dressed like a green court jester and had some interesting dances for the Christmas carols. There were, of course (after all this IS Portland), the anti-Bush protesters bringing their own special brand of hate to the happy celebration with their signs about impeaching Bush. Even though I like 
Portland because of its activism, I didn't want it there last night. I had to agree with Beth that a Christmas celebration is no place for protesting. Even I don't want to think about the state of our nation during the holidays. Happiness is often about denial ;) After the tree was lit and the carols were sung, we walked around the city blocks enjoying the pretty window dressings in the stores, drinking hot drinks and eating a slice of pizza schmizza. Despite its lack of sunshine, I am going to miss this city. It really is beautiful and I like how community centered it feels. It's one of the best places to be if you're homeless, outdoorsy, an activist or a dog (I've seen surveys and studies done on all of those things). I'll miss Powell's (the wonderful bookstore), the food (Riyadh's, Papa Hayden's, Pastini), Wandering around and seeing all the street musicians and artists (wish I had
a picture of the guy covered in silver paint standing in a silver box, I'm guessing it was performance art?), and most of all, the people.
