Two Weeks Ago
Not last weekend but the weekend before, we had a perfect summer weekend. Were you here? Did you feel it? Everyone knew in advance—weather apps had warned us all. You had to choose your happenings wisely because you only had two chances to get it right—Saturday and Sunday.
I drove out to the coast and laid in the sand. I mowed my lawn wearing flip-flops and my feet turned electric green. I laid on my belly reading and letting the warmth from the deck soak into me. I ate all my meals outside. I went to a barbecue and skated a backyard mini ramp. I opened all my windows to let the sun-toasted air of, like, mid June carry into my house on this late March weekend. It smelled very good outside.
Now here we are, back in early April Portland. And there's no way to rewind—it's gone.
Morning
Got too much shit going on to think about much right now—except for an hour or two in the morning when, on purpose, I move slowly.
I open my eyes around 8:30 am. No alarm here. I don't believe in em (unless I have an appointment, but I try not to have appointments). I splash water on my face and tell Lefty he's a handsome boy. We spend some minutes in the kitchen boiling water for coffee and scraping peanut butter on toast, then I pull up a stool and read my morning correspondance. The house is warm, the sunlight—if there is any—slanting in sideways. After about 7 minutes of computer work I get antsy, put a jacket on, and walk out the back door carrying one plastic bag, one tennis ball, and one dog rope coiled up in my hand.
I'm always happy to be outside escaping from office work. As partners, the dog and I head walking, which is much different than simply walking on your own. It's purposeful—the main purpose for both parties being looking at things and smelling what's around you. In fact, I always take the streets with the best smelling plant life—zigzagging through the neighborhood in hopes of piercing every possible cloud of blossom scent.
By, say, 10:30 I'm back inside and the calm is already fading—I'm getting kinda anxious, feeling the weights and pressures of things that need doing hanging like dark heavy clouds, and so, finally, now is when I tie on my shoes and head out to face the storm.
Soloist
Do you ever just go out to dinner by yourself? It's weird—even a little scary, but I recommend it. I ducked into this little French joint on Hawthorne and drank one glass of wine, ate one green salad followed by one savory crepe—all while turning the final pages of a book I've been reading. Eating's a good way to connect us with other peeps, but it's also nice when done alone, pondering and enjoying all the tangs, whiffs, and deep richnesses.
Why I Love Oregon—The Short List
February 14—it's an important holiday! No ... I'm not talking about THAT holiday. I'm talking 'bout Oregon's birthday! On this day in 1859 our fair state became a, well, a state. Although I don't have much to say about the historical significance of this, I do know how I feel about Oregon after these past nine (crikey!) years living here. I love you, Oregon.
1. Because of the green. Never a dead season here. Always something growing, something sprouting, something shooting up all hopeful toward the sun.
2. Because of the food. I have the stomach of a fucking hippy and Oregon allows me to oblige that.
3. Because of the homeys. Many, many good peoples here to be inspired by and to love and to laugh at and to throw chills with.
4. Because of my house. It's mine. I mean on paper, it's Wells Fargo's. But it's mine. A safe place.
5. Because of the skateboarding. For better or worse, it's shaped my way of life since I moved here. Create. Do things your own way. Want and need only the simple things. It's all related somehow.