Portland, OR

Below are a few memories and fragments of my recent trip to Portland, Oregon.

The dark outside is lovely, it settled like the rain, softly but with purpose. This is another night of mine in the adventure of Portland. The kitchen light is on in the house on Holgate, and the living room is bare from the recent house party when we cleared the hardwood for a make shift dance floor.
My time here has been lovely in the rugged real life sort of way.
I remember so acutely the excitement that bubbled up when I saw the green trees and landscapes apearing through the clouds from my little plastic window in the 747 as I descended from the air.
      But that was nothing to the excitement, the surprise, of seeing Christian Thomas descending the escalator in his saw tooth vest with the biggest grin on his face; I dropped my backpack to the floor next to Erica and flung my bag down with it and ran to the start of the escalator and launched myself into his arms, legs wrapped around his waist and my incredulous laughter in his ear.

He had been planning this surprise for a few weeks, along with my room-mate Erica, and Mr. Jae, our good friend who we were all staying with in Portland. Christian is one of my favorite dancers- a lead, and apart from being an incredible human being, he's also one of my very, very, good friends. I hadn't seen him since June and when my ticket got booked for the day after he left, that we would be missing each other in Portland by less than 24 hours I was so very, very sad.
     So seeing him, standing there, grin on his face, same tousled sandy hair, same eyes. It was so much delight, especially after the last few weeks, when I have been struggling so much.

Now the time I have spent here, in Portland, has proved so many incredible moments that I can't quite command them all down to this page, but I will try and relay a few that shine.

In the line leaving the air port, waiting to pay our fee from parking: The line had slowed to a standstill and Johnny Cash's smooth voice came on the radio singing "God's gonna cut you down." Christian asked Erica to turn it up as he jumped out of the car and opened my door and extended a hand, asking for a dance in the dappling rain right there in the line on the damp tarmac.
     It was the first time we've danced since June, a lot has happened to me, emotionally and physically changing, for both of us; but the moment I slipped into my place in his arms, it was like coming back home, back to myself. I don't have to hold the barriers of my heart so hard when I'm there. My eyes were shut tight but I could hear the tittering laughter of the parking attendants and feel the eyes of the other fee-payers from the comfy seats of their cars watching us dancing in the rain. And I didn't care, really, I was glad to pass on my joy in some physical way, something that maybe, that just might be catching into someone else's day.
      The next few hours are a blur in my memory, spent driving around and getting lost, then eventually finding our way down town and walking the streets of Portland, going to Voodoo Donuts and tasting the delights of the food carts. We found our way into thrift stores and apothecaries, smelling tea and trying on vintage leather jackets. Finally we found our way to Powells bookstores and spent a good 3 and a half hours lounging and talking and perusing the endless isles and pages.


Sunlight shafting through the branches of the tall autumn tinted trees.
On a park bench, painted green.
Hands held in between.
Easy exceptance that this is how it be.


The porch light was on, illuminating through the rain. We parked on the side of the darkened road and made our way toward the light. The door opened slowly slightly swollen with the continued damp of the moisture rich and rain filled Oregon air.

Milo and Katy's house is adorable, complete with cute white kitchen and colored aprons for every occasion hanging on the back of the door.
There is music playing and the smell of deliciousness cooking on the stove.
I notice a framed cast iron skillet on the wall, it hangs there supported with twisted twine.  
Upstairs is like an art department.. stacks of magazines pulled from the Borders dumpster for collaging, they are piles in artist stacks.
Back in the kitchen I am put in charge of folding and stuffing the homemade tortellini while Erica feeds me french bread with bre and strawberries and the conversations are happy and involved, bouncing off the white walls and retro furniture.
We stayed late into the night, each of us making collages- spread out on the floor. I was still working on mine when we left at four thirty in the morning to drive home and find a bed in Jae's house to crash upon until morning.


Walking in the light rain, late morning, the 15 or so blocks to Mindy and Emunah's house for tea. After I found it, I walked lightly up the wooden steps and knocked, I was welcomed inside by a rush of people leaving and people welcoming me, but as soon as I stepped inside I realized that even though I hadn't recognized the house from outside, I had slept on the floor in the living room back in April when I was in Portland for UBR (a fabulous blues event) With my brother.
 Several hours were swapped in the comfort of conversation, tea, wonderful beet-cream soup and the camaraderie of that age old conversation of men. When I left waving from the sidewalk, I felt like I had friends. And a place I could come if, and when I need it.

Driving with Milo, in Potland traffic is an adventure and not one for the faint of heart. We caravanned to The Kennedy School, an elementary school turned into art gallery/hotel/hot springs/ movie theater/ restaurant and brewery-haven/ as well as event space. There was a wedding going on when I was walking around, exploring. The rest of my people went to go soak, in the hot springs, but I needed a little time alone, so I took myself out on a date.
     I sat and looked at art. I watched people and the way they move and speak and the things they like. I stretched my legs and walked around and then when Hunger overtook me I went and sat myself in a restaurant, outside in a courtyard, facing a big fire in a giant outdoor fire chimney it's smoke swimming into the low cloudy sky, rain softly endeavoring to fall. I ordered a burger and reveled in my adventure, in my aloneness and in my heart.
     The fellow stoking the fire was sweet, wearing a striped sweater he smiled at me, alone at my table with my water glass and my plaid scarf, he was cheerful, I heard my waiter call him Jack.
     When I got up to leave, I left the money for my check and underneath it a napkin that read this:

To jack,
Your smile is delightful, I like your stripes and your strong hands.
Thank you for existing.
xoxo the girl in the blue suspenders

I have no idea if my note found him or not, but sometimes it just feels good to know that the world loves you, even from the eyes or written words of a stranger.


These are just a few.. there are many, many more. But I have been slowly working on this piece for far too long and needs to be published so I can continue in writing what is relavent to my current life.
So ta ta for now.


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