Michelle Perin’s Blog

Saturday afternoon, I strapped on my helmet and headed into Eugene. I wasn’t going to the Saturday Market or to the library (which I love. If you haven’t been to the Eugene library, you really must go. It’s a fabulous, three-story book, magazine, CD-filled wonderfulness [Julie you’ve officially influenced my vocabulary]). My task was a little less hedonistic. I pulled up in front of the Westside Apostolic Church at 11th and Grant and backed my bike up to the curb. There were already half a dozen bikes there. Several bikers stood at the doors of the church which was a refashioned strip mall with blue and white awning. I walked away from the doors and went across the street to meet our ride leaders. Mary and Gene, both well into their 70s, busied themselves putting together poles and unrolling flags. A small group had gathered around them. Gene handed me a pole explaining he had just figured out how to put together these new ones made of light-weight PVC for less than a dollar. It was lighter than the one I usually carried but still felt substantial enough not to be blown away in the wind. Gene called out across the street asking if there was a marine who would be willing to stand with the Marine Corps flag. A volunteer stepped forward. Clad in jeans and a leather vest adorned with his club patch, several patches honoring fallen club members and his club name, he headed across the street to join us leaving his group behind. A small smile crossed my lips as I knew this man. Just the day before, I had been honored when he asked to ride to the funeral with me. Our two groups attending the same event–a funeral to honor a fallen club member and a veteran. Now we would be standing on the flag line side by side. He rides with the Clean and Sober Motorcycle Club; I ride with the Patriot Guard Riders (PGR).

As we stood waiting to line up, somebody said the words, “Have you heard…” Nothing good ever comes after those words. It’s always something bad happened like a death or even if it sounds good, like a wedding, it comes with a gossipy caveat like, “and he married his cousin.” This time the phrase was followed by the news of a Chinook being blown out of the sky in Afghanistan. 31 lives lost, most of them American sailors. Members of Seal Team 6 were aboard that helicopter, as well as, several Afghan soldiers. They were coming back from a mission and had fought side by side. They now died side by side. My heart fell at the news. We stood in that parking lot on a sunny Oregon Saturday to honor a man who had stood for our country during Vietnam. Before the “words”, we had discussed the coming Monday and our invitation to escort the body of a fallen soldier from the airport to his families care in Florence. Now there would be 26 more flag lines to stand in, 26 coffins to escort home and 26 sorrowful moments as friends and family weep while we stand holding high the flags their children fought under and for. Our soldiers died half way across the world. Away from the loving arms of their spouses, parents and children. And, unfortunately, away from the often apathetic, self-absorbed and self-righteous Americans who went about their daily business never thinking about those who continue to FIGHT FOR US. Our men and women are not around the world having tea parties and playing chess. They are getting into fire fights and dying at the hands of enemies who have sworn to destroy our country and our way of life. I do not agree with a lot of what Americans have allowed to become our values and therefore what other cultures believe we stand for. What I do agree with is our right to change, to grow and to evolve. As Americans we have the right to chose our own careers (including bouncing from job to job or not working at all), to raise our children where we want, to have the number of children we want to (whether that’s none or 20), to pick our own clothes (even if that means jeans hanging down around your butt cheeks), shop for our own food, listen to music (even if it includes more cuss words than anything else), see works of art (even if it’s a photograph of a flag in a toilet). I won’t get into how many of our choices are influenced by social factors therefore limiting them severely for many Americans. I recently watched The Stoning of Soraya M. and it changed my whole mentality about how bad our choices really are. Watch it. Your appreciation for life and for being born an American, even an American Woman, will go up exponentially. People around the world are still fighting to just have dignity, respect and the right to breathe. Americans are lucky. We have our servicemen and women doing this fighting for us. And they are dying doing it.

As I stood in the flag line, my red, white and blue symbol of freedom flapping around me, I said a prayer for all the families who had lost loved ones in that helo across the world. I said a prayer for those who are still out fighting and those supporting them. I said a prayer for America that all of us will wake up and behave like the kind of people we can all be proud of. I also said a prayer for my big brother serving in Bahrain. God Speed Brother. We miss you. Thank you for your service. Because of you, I get to sit here on this beautiful Wednesday morning and share my honest thoughts with the world.

I’m sitting in Terminal A5/A6 at the Eugene airport awaiting my 10:35 am flight to Las Vegas. Sin City!!!! Funny thing is you don’t have to even get to the City before things get strange.

Here’s my question about flying: Why, when everyone has a giant carry-on bag and a giant personal item (is that rally a purse or does it double as a giant suitcase?) are the bathroom stalls so small? You go in forward pulling your inevitable giant carry-on with wheels with your giant (definitely not a suitcase, it’s a purse) personal item, then you wiggle in place to turn back towards the door carefully switching the handle of the carry-on from one hand to the other hoping it doesn’t tip over (which they tend to do because some designer is laughing out there about how front heavy they are; I lost some French fries in a toppling debacle once. It’s not joke) and attempting to avoid knocking the “feminine item” box off the wall (seriously, why is that up there and not on the floor by the toilet or why can’t everyone just discretely take their personal feminine hygiene item, wrap it in toilet paper and carry it out to the trash can by the sinks? Too modest? Trying to hide the fact you have a monthly bodily function JUST LIKE EVERY OTHER WOMAN IN THE ROOM??!!

Once you’re in, you maneuver to face the door, push the carry-on forward and away from where you will attempt to sit down, and wiggle in place to pull down your pants. Then you sit and hope your bag doesn’t fall forward and knock you off the toilet. When you’re done reverse process and repeat. All airports bathrooms should be handicap size.

I make it back to my seat without seriously injuring myself or others. I’m sitting in the terminal waiting (I’m a good, instruction-abiding passenger who gets to the airport early…just to sit and sit and sit.)The Eugene airport is small enough and the TSA is friendly and competent enough I could probably walk in and get right on the plane, but my military training taught me to follow the rules, so I sit.

It’s not a bad thing. They guy two rows back is yapping on his cell phone. Why is it that people place that small device against their ear and automatically believe they are surrounded by a sound-proof bubble? Or maybe people (Americans) have become so voyeuristic by watching reality show after reality show they truly believe other people’s lives will be blessed and enriched if they hear the story with the opening comment, “You will never believe what happened in the Costco parking lot yesterday?” Number 1: I probably will believe it. (I am a former 9—1 operator after all.) and Number 2: I really don’t care…unless it involves a parking lot full of motor officers and a slip-n-slide. Anyway I digress.

The guy sharing his phone conversation with me is in his early 20s, short brown hair, brown eyes, average height and weight, wearing a gray t-shirt with no print and a black NY baseball hat. Typical state college boy (yes, I’m stereotyping but I can do that. This is after all my story.) So, he’s telling the person on the other end of the line, “I went into the kitchen in the middle of the night and drank half a pint of Jaeger and two bottle of Heineken.”

I’m thinking: “Well that’s a boring tale. For this alcoholic, that’s the pre-dinner refreshment.”
Him: “I couldn’t believe it; I’ve never sleep-walked before.”
Me: “Seriously? Why don’t you just admit you drank your friend’s booze?”
Him: “I was just amazed. It’s incredible.”
Me: “You’re an idiot, a thief and a liar.”

And, I’m not in disbelief. It would have been better if he had added the cops and the slide.

Damn, I have to go to the bathroom again. And this time I’ve acquired a full cup of scalding coffee. Stupid, “Don’t leave your bags unattended at any time warnings!

This time it wasn’t a personal item container (that they mercifully recessed into the wall). It was the toilet paper holder. After I successfully complete my Twister-esque bathroom maneuvering (I think it would be easier to guide a Tender into Port Loma without a tug), I went to wash my hands. I had to go all the way to the end because all the front sink spots were taken up by young (20s-ok, ok, the older I get the younger they get) girls refreshing (caking on more) their make-up. Dude, I just want to wash my hands! The sink and soap dispenser are all motion sensor activated. I place my hands under the spigot and thankfully water (not scalding; not ice cold) comes out almost immediately. That’s so much better than the rest area sinks, where you have to wave your hands frantically and practically play pat-a-cake with the sink to get the three second spray. Then, for soap, it also came out quickly, in a ladybug-size blob. Sigh, I would really like to go back to the days when I got to decide how much soap and water I needed to wash my hands. This is all about corporate control—Don’t get me started.

Of course, the pea-size blob of soap must contain industrial-strength Borax because I can hear my skin breaking up and cracking with each passing second. And, of course, I don’t have any lotion because it’s little 3-oz, clear, marked bottle wouldn’t fit into the tiny, clear plastic bag allowed on the plane. Maybe they should start offering that on the snack cart.

“Coffee, soda, spirits, or some coconut-verbena body butter, ma’am?” (Everybody calls me that lately and it’s pissing me off).

I wish. By the way, the lady next to me just left her bags unattended.

The flight was delayed two and a half hours due to mechanical issues. A mechanic had to be called in since he (or she I don’t want to be sexist) had to come from another location (hopefully not the Brew N’ Cue). I suppose I’d rather get the plane looked at and cleared, therefore sitting in the airport for what feels like forever than the alternative (we won’t specify that now as I am currently writing this from in the air and am anxious my anti-anxiety meds will wear off). So, now I’m Vegas bound and ready to discover how many things from Da Book I can accomplish while child-free and in the happiest place on Earth (forget it Disney, have you seen the amount of ear to ear grins on people here, especially those with a 100-oz margarita in their hand or a jewel-outfit clad danger in their lap?) I’ll read through and report. I’m glad to finally be on my way, especially since I had to use the bathroom three more times…and I have to go again (damn you 4 cups of coffee and complimentary Diet Coke from the airline). Thank God, I don’t have to take my bags with me into the airplane restroom.

What would my life be like without hockey in it? From October through March, do I have an identity aside from being a hockey mom? What would it be like to have to drive over 2 hours to strap a pair of skates on and take a few laps around the ice? What happens to the kids who have been picked up by the Eugene Generals if they have no where to play even though their contract goes through 2011 and try-outs for other teams are over?

All of these questions and about seven hundred more have been racing around my head since about 3pm today. That’s when I got an email stating the Lane County Board of Commissioners is considering immediately shutting down the Lane Ice Arena. Although this ice rink has been around for 20 years, a study done while the county was considering the viability of the rink suddenly deems it a hazard. Because of this, they are stating they might not allow ice to go back in and that will be the end of hockey (as well as figure skating, speed skating and skate parties) in Eugene. But because of the distance to the next closest rinks (Portland or Medford), ice hockey will be essentially over for the Willamette Valley.

I hate to say I saw it coming, but when the County is already ignoring a facility that could be an immense asset and decides to remove the ice to “assess” any upgrades, it has to make you wonder what they will do when the ice is gone. Well, exactly what they are doing. Although, I thought they would honor their contract with the Generals. I guess I was wrong. Now, they just want to say, “Sorry it costs too much to fix and we have other priorities.” I don’t think they are looking at the whole picture.

We can’t afford to lose a safe, constructive place where our youth can go, be active and enjoy themselves. Ice hockey affords kids from 3-18 years old a way to learn team ethics, sportsmanship and dedication. If you’ve never seen a group of Mites out on the ice, you haven’t lived. They are probably the cutest, funniest things ever, especially a goalie when the gear is bigger than he or she is. When they fall, they look like a turtle. But they get up and keep going and growing. The Eugene Junior Generals Bantam Team took second place in both the San Jose Winter Classic and the State Championships last season. These boys and girls played hard all season long and improved exponentially under the tutelage of Coach Flint Doungchak (also the Generals Manager) and Ross Friesen (whose daughter, Nikki who plays with the Bantams was chosen as one of the elite to make regional Selects). Along with the youth league, there is an adult league with a variety of levels, a women’s league (Eugene Xtreme) and special hockey. This doesn’t even touch the surface of all that is offered at our ice arena.

The Board of Commissioners is supposed to make a decision on shutting down this valuable resource in the next 7-10 days. There is a petition you can sign to help draw attention to the value of the rink at http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/icecenter/. Donations are also being accepted to try and offset the $125,000 -1.2 million estimated to fix the rink. This is necessary if Lane County decides it does not want to find the money to save this community asset. I’m hoping this community will come together behind what it loves and won’t allow the government to say what is and is not important to us. After all, when I moved from Michigan, I chose to live in Creswell (15 miles from the rink) so that we would be close to the rink. My boys love ice hockey and so do I. It would be tragic to let the County take that away from us and so many others.