My Tattoo

June 22, 2018 art No comments

For years I was tempted to get a tattoo. In Portland a tattoo seems to be part of the accepted tribal regalia. Even at my age, I figured any body art would just help me blend in

“She flies with her own wings”

with the highly decorated populace.

What gave me pause was my dread of prolonged pain for the hour or so the tattoo process would last. I also harbored a fear of operator error: What if the tattoo artist had a tremor? What if he or she was a lousy artist?

I already knew what words I wanted to use in permanently altering my epidermis. When a fitness instructor at my gym told me that the Latin words tattooed on her upper deltoid were actually the words of the Oregon State Motto, I thought, “Why not have that in plain English?” So, the decision was made at that moment. Someday I would get a tattoo that included the words “She flies with her own wings.”

And this being Portland, I was also inspired to put a bird on it. My initial thought was to have a Western Meadowlark (the Oregon State Bird) attached to the motto, but I feared its yellow and tan plumage would not stand out. So, just to liven up the design, I resolved to add a burst of color with a red-breasted bluebird.

The next task was to find a tattoo artist, one who was good at drawing birds. I started visiting websites of Portland tattoo parlors. Someone suggested attending a Tattoo Expo in Portland and choosing someone who was exhibiting there. However, I ended up finding my wonderful tattoo artist purely through happenstance.

Atlas Tattoo Studio

I was invited to a media event at a bar on North Albina Avenue. When I looked up the address on Google Maps, I noticed Atlas Tattoo Studio was just down the block. I checked out their website and perused some of the sample artwork. After perhaps too many cocktails I popped in and made an appointment with Brian Paul, whose birds I thhad judged to be exceptionally good.

When the day of my appointment arrived, I was as nervous as could be. Friends had warned me that I would suffer excruciating pain, or that I would be stuck with a visual disaster, complete with misspellings. Brian turned on his electric needle and I began my Lamaze breathing. Not long into the process, I accepted the fact that I could actually relax and enjoy it. I felt absolutely no pain at all. Brian carefully followed an ink template on my upper left deltoid and after a short break, he applied the color.

The entire process lasted about an hour and cost $160. Brian added decorative touches

Taking a break before Brian adds the color.

that brought the design to life. For example, he turned the motto into a parchment scroll that was being pulled through the air by the bird. As Brian was working his magic on my upper arm, I asked him if Atlas, this tattoo studio I had stumbled upon, was highly rated. “It’s the best,” he stated, and said that when he moved back to Oregon from New York, it was the only place he wanted to work. I congratulated myself on my excellent taste in tattoo parlors!

After coddling and caring for my healing skin for about two weeks, I unveiled my new tattoo for public viewing. I love it! How about you?

The finished product!

Interviewing Ursula Le Guin

January 29, 2018 books, personalities, writing One comment

The death of Ursula Le Guin on January 22 made me sad over our loss of the doyenne of Portland writers, but also put me in a nostalgic mood for the day in 1991 that I interviewed her for a People magazine profile. My story ran on November 18 of that year.

She invited me to her home on Northwest Thurman Street, where we sat outside and talked about her childhood. Raised by anthropologists who were particularly interested in nearly extinct Native American tribes, Ursula remembered a home that was full of activity from her three brothers and from a constant stream of Indians, one of whom, Ishi, was the subject of her mother’s famous book, Ishi in Two Worlds.

She showed me where she usually sat to write, on her porch overlooking the Willamette River. She wrote longhand on tablets and later entered her writing onto her computer in her office, which was on the top floor of the sprawling house.

As we parted, I asked if there was someone from whom she would like me to request a quote. She answered, “Joyce Carol Oates.” I gulped, said, “No problem,” and later panicked. I had no idea how to reach her. Fortunately, at the same time that I was a People correspondent, I was also a regular contributor to The Wall Street Journal’s Leisure & Arts Page. I called my editor there, Ray Sokolov.

No problem, he said. He and Joyce were currently both on a Pulitzer Prize judging panel and he could give me her home number. “Don’t tell her where you got the number,” he said.

Later I called Ursula to tell her how enthusiastic Ms. Oates had been about her. She was very pleased, but confessed, “I haven’t read a single thing by her!” As an afterthought, she said, “Don’t tell anybody!”

Shortly before the article was to be published, I got a frantic call from a People magazine copy editor. The photographer hadn’t provided much information about where he had photographed Ursula, and they were wondering the name of the “huge mountain” Ursula was sitting near. I knew that she had taken the photographer to her cabin at Cannon Beach, but nobody had said anything to me about going to the mountains for photos.

That was before the Internet, however, so the editor couldn’t share the photo with me electronically. I had to wait until the magazine hit the stands. I hurried to Rich’s Cigar Store, opened a copy and saw Ursula sitting in front of . . . Haystack Rock.

As Ursula would have said, with a sad shake of her head, “Those Easterners!”

Remembering Katherine

May 11, 2017 writing 2 comments

I just realized that today, May 11, marks the one-year  anniversary of the death of Katherine Dunn. Just as that realization hit me, I looked up to see a rather robust crow land on the roof of the neighboring building. It hopped to the gutter, reached in and pulled

A Clever Corvid

A Clever Corvid

out to be what appeared to be a peanut.

“Good going, Katherine!” I cried. You see, Katherine was fascinated by birds, particularly by the highly intelligent and crafty corvids: crows and ravens. Naturally, I would recognize Katherine’s spirit in a visiting crow.

But that crow wasn’t done. With the nut clenched in its beak, it hopped a few feet over and dived in to the gutter, surfacing with a second peanut. Holding both nuts in its beak, it flew away.

Since Katherine’s death I have thought of her often, with or without crows in my proximity. We were fellow writers but we bonded over boxing. For years we had a standing

Katherine & Chuck

Katherine & Chuck

date to go to the boxing gym and meet up with other women and our coach, Chuck Lincoln. I would pull up in front of Katherine’s apartment house and a few minutes later she would emerge, gym bag over her shoulder, smiling and greeting her neighbors as she came to the car.

“Hiya, Hellcat!” she would call to me.

I had the luxury of a ring name, Hellcat Hauser, given to me by a boxing promoter who had read my 1987 article about boxing in The Wall Street Journal. At the gym Katherine was just, well, Katherine, and that could be daunting enough if you ever faced her in the ring. We sparred once, and once was enough. Man, could she hit!

But most often when I think of her, I remember how selfless she was in promoting and encouraging other writers. Having Katherine in your corner, in and outside of the ring, brought the most wonderful and warm feeling of security in a tough world.

In a conversation with my daughter today (who was also part of our boxing group), I remarked how certain deceased relatives of mine were always seeking recognition, while cutting down people they saw as competition. “But to receive recognition you have to give it,” Meriwether wisely remarked. “Your appreciation and recognition of others is what makes you stand out to other people and gain recognition for yourself.”

And with that, my mind returned again to Katherine. As the acclaimed author of Geek Love, she was justifiably recognized around the world for her great talent as a writer, but among those who knew her she was loved for her generosity of spirit. She always had an encouraging word, a supportive pat on the back, a confident “You can do it!”

Now I’m more convinced than ever that the crow I just saw was Katherine. She found one peanut for herself, but took another one to give to a friend.

Rest in peace.

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