Utility kilts and cold fish: a Seattle state of mind

Had to cross the water again today: more of the same on the immigration front. Getting there is the usual patchwork of transports various. Public buses and Washington State ferry - the second most scenic ferry ride in the USA. Well it would be difficult to beat the Inside Passage to Alaska.

For a commute, the ferry isn't bad, though it is always a miracle to me that I actually get on it. No matter how much I plan ahead, there inevitaby seems to be a last minute scramble built into the undertaking.

At least the ferry ride gives me a chance to adjust the hair, collect my thoughts, buy a cup of the ubiquitous Northwest coffee (to get change for the bus). Mostly, though, today it is an exposure to the vast amount of work and quantity of products which go into making up the face of The American Working Woman. In the "restroom" on the ferry, rows of commuter women are lined up in front of rows of mirrors in a concentrated mass frenzy of powdering, lining, smudging, smearing, puffing, spritzing, adjusting and tweaking.

Outside this inner sanctum activity, Mt Ranier loomed magnificently in the haze on the horizon. The water has been cold and dark and churning for days now. I noticed this kayaking yesterday.

After the Tukwila Intl Blvd interview, I stopped off in Chinatown aka The International District. My supplies of green tea are running low. There's a little tea shop on Maynard street which I love. Every time I go in, it seems there is a tea ceremony in progress. One is always invited, with great graciousness, to take a seat and share the tea. Today was an oolong. Mild and gentle from delicate porcelain cups.

Next stop: lunch at Uwajimaya deli. Black sesame tofu and vegetables on brown rice seated at the long tables with the crowd milling about. As I am heading out for sweet bean cakes from "A Piece of Cake", my favourite Chinese bakery, my phone rings.

Wouldn't you know: Robert the Incomparable, flirting with the demon again, all the way from Port Elizabeth! I walked through downtown Seattle my cellphone on speakerphone, dodging buses and pedestrians, running up the phone bill in some faraway household. Someone lock the phone away from that man.
It is difficult to photograph and talk on the phone so I had to break it up when other Seattle icons caught my eye: Utility Kilts and fish on ice. Pioneer Square and Pike Place market.
Then the long reverse route home again. I didn't fail but then neither did I bring home the ultimate catch of the day. As is the way of all bureaucracies, there's more of the same to follow etcetera.

The ancestors don't like chaos

Started out just a quick drive-by photo assignment. Get a mug shot of Peg, a local tribal elder, for a poster promoting her art walk presentation. Ended up with Peg suiting up in full Suquamish Tribe ceremonial regalia in her longhouse, whilst she gave me the condensed version of Suquamish tribe traditonal crafts, regalia and history 101.

Peg is an accomplished artist, illustrator and author working in both traditional materials such as cedar bark as well as conventional modern art materials such as acrylic and oil paint.

Peg has thoroughly researched traditional Suquamish crafts, travelling to elders around the region to learn from them. She has also studied items in the Smithsonian and other mueseum collections. When the Smithsonian Museum of the American Indian opened in Washington DC a few years ago, Peg and her daughter were among the group representing the Suquamish Tribe, not only with their regalia and but also with the songs and dances they performed for the opening ceremonies.
The cape and skirt Peg wears in these images are woven from cedar bark. Similarly the conical hat and headband. The beads on the breastplate would have originally been obtained through trade and were a way of carry wealth. Thus the size of the breastplate is relative to the wealth of the wearer. Although they look black in the images, the dark beads are actually a rich blue. They were Russian. The white shells were also originally obtained through trade. The bands are secured and held apart by strips of leather and small brass beads.

Apart from creating traditional regalia for ceremonial purposes, Peg teaches the traditional crafts and creates imaginative and resonant two and three dimensional art works using a blend of traditional and modern techniques and materials.

"My daughter and I, we carry an Indian name, you know. We are from a high-born family, so we can wear white (fur around the neck of the cape). When you have an Indian name it is a great honour. You have to keep the name clean. Can't do drugs and get drunk, things like that. We have to take care of our name." Peg tells me.

When I entered the Salmon House, Peg's longhouse, she was sweeping up a pile of sawdust. "The ancestors do not like chaos. It is important to keep your work area clean. Keep your car clean. Keep your head clean. It is important to remember: the ancestors do not like chaos."

Or maybe not.....variations on the librarian theme

See a librarian for a good time

Signs and omens: rage against the dying of the light

Two hawks circle slow, directly above me in a clear blue dawn, setting all the little birds atwitter. In the methodical magnificence of the great hunters, I recall wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight.

It seems a time to watch for signs and omens. Even the crows go silent: hawks own the moment. Be aware.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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