Portland Glass

Too Many Jugs! (veggie oil collection woes)

I collect used Vegetable oil. It's becoming a habit. Through the summer, one veggie oil source provides the oil for me in nice little 5 gallon jugs (the ones the oil comes in). Very convenient for hauling them out and loading them in the van, driving away. And I can re-use them for my other source - who uses a barrel. I pump oil into empty jugs and load them up, haul them off. My problem - I keep on getting more and more! All I need is at most a dozen to get me through the winter. I bring home 2-3 / week. It's only for 5-6 months, but still, thats 40 to 60 jugs! And you google it... nothing.

Is this one of the dark underbelly parts of grease collection?

Do fellow greasers send this stuff on to the landfill?

That bothers me.

So much that I've been doing research.

My early assessments:

Recycling programs will only take these jugs if they're full, or if they've been thoroughly cleaned. Mine are neither - and the work to get them into one of those states is prohibitive. Recycling is out.

Reusing them - not so useful - there's only so many uses for 5 gallon number 2 oil and food encrusted jugs. Any ideas? none here.

And now, I've come across a company who can take plastics (amongst other things), apply heat in a controlled environment, and get petroleum. I'm going to try them. They said they'd make a trial of taking my plastics. I'm still not quite convinced it's the best treatment - but: I get rid of the jugs, and someone else is happy to have them and is actually going to make a little bit of money off them (they sell the petroleum they generate). I'll update this after I actually take them some jugs and see the facility.

roots

I ran into an old friend this weekend at a crafters show (she's a beader) at the convention center. I came away from the show with a few different veins of thought - one of them being gratitude toward a few creative folks who encouraged me to pursue glasswork. Three of them come to mind:

my dad, who suggested I try glass working - he had taken a class in stained glass, and didn't really feel it was his gig - so he showed me what he'd learned, handed me the tools, and off I went. Loved it. It made sense to me.

Cheryl Cook - at the time, she was a therapist in a mental health clubhouse, I was a volunteer for Jesuit Volunteer Corps (JVC). She saw me stressing out, and kept encouraging me to dig into my creative side - I hadn't done any glasswork for a year or two. Eventually, I finished my year with JVC, and moved into a house where I could lay claim to a shed for doing some stained glass. Now Cheryl is beading, and selling her necklaces and earrings in a handful of shops Portland, Eugene and Astoria. http://www.cherylcookjewelrydesign.com/about_me

David Schlicker - Shortly after I got my shed, my brother-in-law suggested I talk with David Schlicker about the possibility of apprenticing with him. He agreed and took me on. Taught me some crucial (and basic) skills - notably, how to repair stained glass. I appreciated his generosity. http://www.davidschlicker.com/

 

 

My experience of "race" - a ramble

Irvington Covenant Church is attempting to step into a dialogue re: "racial righteousness" - stressing honesty and humility in the process. It's gotten me musing. Here's the current product of that musing.

Part 1, one white man's response to racial tension / conflict:

1. Simpleness. As a child, though I grew up in rural Wyoming, I had a few friends who were not white (I believe they were hispanic and black). I realise I didn't clue into any racial dynamics at the time. A friend was a friend. A sweet time, but like a sweet wine, lacking in depth and complexity.

2. Avoidance. Getting older, I found racial tension uncomfortable, as such, a thing to avoid. Add that to fear of "other," and it made life easier to avoid people who weren't white. This wasn't difficult in Wyoming / Colorado, but became harder in college. I note, I had the luxury of being able to make that choice. Some can't.

2. Guilt. In college, I found racial tension unavoidable. I was struck by the intensity of anger coming from my non-white classmates. My immediate reaction was to duck. Avoidance didn't work, so if I took on a supplicating attitude, it made it more difficult for the anger to stick. "I'm sorry for what my people did to your people." is not a bad place to start. But it's not a good place to end. Also "I deserve whatever anger you have for my race, because of the awful things my people have done to yours." - not true.

The Christian fellowship I was part of at that time stressed Race Reconciliation as a major emphasis of scripture. That was trendy. They've moved on to other trends. Nonetheless, I left school with the impression that to follow Christ I would need to enter the inner city to live and reconcile with non-white people. Forth I went.

3. Capitulation. After college, I entered the workplace - human services. To start with, Residence Life at my alma mater. Then to Portland. First, the Jesuit Volunteer Corps - working with people with serious mental illnesses. Then into social work - focusing on an impoverished (white) neighborhood. Then into Neighborhood Mediation - a city-run, albeit black-focused, mediation program. I should clarify that - my understanding is that this program was the brainchild of black leaders, had been predominantly staffed by black staff, and was considered one of few city programs which actually benefited the black community to a notable degree (in contrast with many city programs). In becoming part of this program, I found capitulation as my next tool to attempt to leverage myself out from under a constant mist of racial tension / anger. I made choices to enter into, and stay in this tension, but had few skills to work around it. So many times in my life I just wanted a card - something to pin on my chest so I could fast-forward the whole racial tension / anger part of building relationships with my non-white community. Non-existent. In this stage I would choose one person to align myself with, and use that position as a shield against anger from other individuals.

4. Talk. About that same time, I initiated a reconciliation group at Irvington Covenant - invited black friends over to my house to meet with my white housemates and talk about race and reconciliation. I have much love for the black friends who came over, they did not merely humor me, rather, they honored me by coming and attempting this. We lacked what it took to expand this process into anything larger than the 8 of us, though we did grow closer as friends. Talk, open and honest, is good. But there's no way that we can talk, or hug, this out.

5. Listen. Talk has limited effect. Among friends, assuming good of each other, it can be affirming. Among acquaintances, where trust isn't established, it has potential to lessen that trust - bringing harm. Listening is a position of receiving. It can honor, and it has little potential to harm. It's a great tool in mediation. And it is effective, to a degree, in navigating racial tension. It can dampen racial anger. Though, I have found that silence, in the face of some racial anger, only infuriates, as there is a perception that white silence means dismissing or patronizing or simply ignoring.

6. Earnestness. So, I decided to simply attempt to honor my own state / heart, and speak out of that place as best as I can. Is there a single culture that doesn't respect that? I've found myself entering into fewer conversations about race and race tension though. But when I do, the results have more often been positive.

7. Genuineness. Humility and honesty. A shade different from earnestness. And I have fewer words to describe it since it's really more an ideal for me at this point. Speaking with honesty and humility, listening to, not my thoughts, but my spirit as it looks lovingly toward Christ, who leads me to love my neighbor.

And so, I enter this phase with my community with a mixture of trepidation and hope.

Fiction and Solomon

King Solomon is attributed with having said "there is nothing new under the sun."

What if he's right?

In the final chapter of Cities of the Plain (Cormac McCarthy, 1998), One of McCarthy's characters (Billy) has a dream. Another character then talks about how when someone exists in a dream, they weren't just created at that moment, but they existed before that. In fact, it's quite egotistical to think that we could actually create a person just like that, just for that moment, for our own purposes. He proceeded to describe how that dream person must have existed before that dream, in other dreams perhaps, and went on to walk through other dreamers' dreams as well.

Jung, on the other hand, simply described these characters and events as aspects of our interior life. Again, no creation there, just what's inside us taking on various forms.

How about fiction? or art? innovation?

Previously existing elements placed together in ways and relationships they've never been in before? What about those ways and relationships? aren't they new? Did they exist somewhere before? I've got a handful of windows which are original work. That is, no one's done it exactly like I did it. But maybe the only difference is in the details. Are those inconsequential? ... I prattle.

I'm a reductionist. In that sense. I am compelled to agree with Solomon (and Plato?). There's only one story. There's only one work of art. There's only one anything - and we're just working to try to get as close to re-creating that "anything" as we can. And hopefully having fun doing it.

Movie Reviews, Crumb and King of Kong

Both Documentaries Crumb, by Terry Zwigoff and King of Kong, by Seth Gordon

Both Incredible as for the candidness captured on screen. Post-notes were moving. And the DVD extras were well worth perusal. Zwigoff's intimate moments with Robert, Charles and Max were by far the most touching and stunning parts of Crumb. I don't know if that's simply a matter of choosing subject matter or if Zwigoff simply draws out the best, but I was riveted simply by that. Gordon, on the other hand just used massive amount of film - hundreds of hours - he caught both sides of important phone calls, candid moments of all the players, countless rabbit-trails. And boiled them down to 79 minutes. And the poverty of each minute was heart-breaking. His subjects were more than willing to be candid, even in the midst of incredibly poor decision-making. And the film - ranked among some film greats - e.g., Shane, Star Wars, (True Grit) - took on a mythological sheen as it pitted good v. evil - and came out with nothing good for anyone.

Watch them.

Goodbye to an old man who never grew up.

Charles Lee Butler, August 28 1920 - November 26 2010

My dad wrote a little memoir for his dad - and the recurring theme of it was, in fact, that he never did grow up.

My grandfather died last friday in Thermopolis, Wyoming.

This summer he turned 90. A good age. I only hope I can live so long so well.

For it wasn't until he was 83 before he stopped flying his airplane. Of course, he gave up the motorcycle long before that, but he did take up a motor scooter in the last few years (he stopped driving the truck). It wasn't until the 80's (1980's) that he kind of sort of retired from farming a huge dryland wheat farm in southeast wyoming. I don't know when he gave up his pistol - I guess that was in the 90's, probably close to the time he gave up smoking. He gave up golf in this millenium. And I think he stopped arguing with me in 2007. Meanwhile, he never gave up being cantankerous, telling jokes, arguing with my grandma (married 70 years, come Feb 2011), being generous, playing cribbage, and flirting with cute chicks (old or young). As my dad said, he never grew up.

And in memory, my best times would have been riding around in the farm equipment with him, drinking his coffee, watching him in the shop (best diesel mechanic I know), rough-housing with him, playing cribbage, and watching him enjoy my boys as they were just infants - the loving look in his eyes as he rocked them in their carseat. Oh, and I can clearly hear his voice in my head - calling me "Tommy" - whether I was in trouble, causing mischief, needing to wash my hands, or enjoying hanging out with him.

He's loved, and been loved. And he's been human - very much so. One day, he and my grandmother visited us in Oregon - and as he sat in our living room he confessed to "being a bit of a bore" (not much of a conversationalist). He isn't esoteric, metaphysical, iconoclastic or existential. He just was my grandfather.

We said good bye last summer. And now I'm saying it again. Good bye grandpa. Go well.

luck, and diatomaceous earth

It began on Thursday. My dad (visiting Oregon from Greeley, CO) helped me modify a 10-ft bamboo pole into an effective crab trap tosser. We visited Netarts (Happy Camp Hideaway) and started flinging this thing (a butterfly trap) into the bay and began pulling in crab (lots and lots of tossers, and, for the weekend, 5 keepers - one of them took a chunk off my dad's finger). We were doing at least as well as the guys in the boats with the big baskets were. Then Saturday night I kicked butt in dirty clubs (some silly card game my folks are into). We made it there and back to Portland using a half tank of veggie oil, and the Suburban did just fine! (and so did the boys!) Also, I had left the van on WVO accidentally (rather than switching it to diesel), and was concerned about running the battery down getting it started again - but I left the heater lines on an extra long time, and the thing turned over faster than ever!

Then on Monday, I participated in the Mississippi Pizza Spelling Bee! For the first time. And went head to head with a good friend, my mother, and a handful of spellers. Having had 3 pints of Jubel Ale - I was a little surprised to find myself in the final round with a spelling veteran. After several attempts at spelling impossible words - we worked our way backwards into an easier category, he missed his, and I got "milquetoast". It's a pitiful word to win on, but there you have it. Especially when I really should have won with "kieselguhr" (which means: diatomaceous earth). I forgot about the H near the end... Still wobbly with the Jubel, I collected my prizes (tootsie roll pop, hug from grandfather, spelling bee t-shirt, photo on the wall and $10 gift certificate - other contestants merely got a dumdum and a hug from grandfather). As I ambled home, feeling the smuggest guy on Mississippi for a moment.

Tuesday came. The checking account (unmonitored for a moment) dipped too too low incurring nasty fees (no returned checks - and I remedied that situation today), and I lost horribly in dirty clubs. Though we did take the Suburban up to Sauvie Island for a little Pumpkin Patch experience - and the kids had fun, no one got hurt, AND it took all of 3 seconds for both the boys to pick out a pumpkin and we hopped right back on the hayride and hauled it back to the barn - which was perfect. So, not ALL bad luck, but I had been hopeful for a trend. Of course, now we've got the miners being rescued, the gulf is being cleaned more than polluted (maybe?), and the dow is looking positive. So, whatayagoingtado?

13 Cent Bob!

Did I mention that 13 Cent Bob is currently my favorite Portland band? Now you know.

Scott (lead guitar) is a friend and has been in bands probably since I first met him (1990) and he's really hitting his stride (not that I've ever seen him perform before!). 13 cent bob is apparently hip-hop / funk - they've got great writing, very listenable and danceable (and enjoyable) music and lyrics, hot dancers, and the musicians jam.

Apparently their next show is the Trick or Tease (October 7) at the Atrium Lounge in Vancouver (606 Broadway). I saw them for the first time at the Ash Street Saloon last saturday. Not a great venue, in my opinion - but the band was excellent.

They did just release their 1st album: King Robot, which has some great tracks, and (a big bonus) my kids like the robot voices. Music for the whole family! My favorite track is I love New York. Here's the Youtube video. Beautifully done.

Christ the eternal tao - book preview

as I haven't finished reading it (barely begun), I can't offer a review, so I'll make it a preview - for it's a book I've been looking forward to digesting for quite some time. It starts with a bang (bigger than the big bang) and approaches its subject from the disposition of one involved in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. Among other things, the author catches my attention again and again. Here's a sampler so far.

- making it clear that this is not a syncretistic writing - which reminds me of a speaker I heard many many years ago (Ajith Fernando) who made sure we understood his point, being that there is no religion that contains the truth; All religions POINT to the truth though, and that truth is Christ.

- The Gospel of John begins powerfully, talking about the Logos (word) being God and with God and all things were created through the Logos. An Eastern Orthodox translation of this uses Tao (way) instead of Logos, and they do seem to be quite interchangeable. In as much as Heraclitus recognized Christ as he spoke of the mystery of the Logos, Lao Tzu recognized Christ as he spoke of the mystery of the Tao.

- the author speaks of how seekers in america are leaving the teachings of the churches and studying eastern thought. His interpretation of this movement (certainly resonates with me) is that the image of Christ is seriously obscured in the grossly tarnished image the american christian church puts forth. Whereas, though in Lao Tzu's writing, and still in Taoism, though as a dim reflection, a purer image of Christ can be found. It is easier to be pointed to Christ via Taoism than by the american christian establishment.

- that even after immersing oneself in Taoism, there still exists the seed that Christ planted that draws you further into faith in Christ - which is what drew the author back into the Eastern Orthodox tradition. (Though it seems that Orthodox tradition already has a fair openness to Taoist thought if only for its strong presence in and proximity to China.)

here's a few links:

A short bio on the author (Hieromonk Damascene)

and the Amazon link to the book 

Highland Cattle

Yesterday, I was able to enjoy the hospitality of Ford Farms on Sauvie Island, owned by a friend of a friend. Ford farms keeps a herd of Highland Cattle - very sweet, curious and docile animals. Here's a few photos of the beasts. The reason for the visit is to gather images to develop a few windows for a scottish fellow building a yurt out in Pacific City.