Every Trip Has Bad Moments, Right?

December 14, 2011

It’s a good thing Bob is patient, because he has one cranky woman on his hands. All travel comes with bad moments as well as good, right? Well, my bad moment came in Windsor. We arrived in this lovely resort for five days complements of Bob’s Coast Guard Auxiliary buddy Chuck Woodward, where we were going to enjoy the charming old town of Healdsburg and an afternoon of wine tasting. I got sick. An annoying virus that’s had me by the throat for four of the five days now. The good news is that the suite is a great place to convalesce.

When we left Oregon last Sundy, we stopped in Yreka (pronounced “why-reek-ha), just south of the Oregon border. The notes in the hotel reported a Mark Twain tale of how the town got its name: some dude rode into town and saw a sign that said "bakery," but the sign was backwards. The hotel clerk said someone had shown up asking where the beach was. They thought they were in Eureka, which is on the coast. Plausible? About as plausible as the fact that when we got up in the morning, it was 12 degrees Fahrenheit(!) while it was above freezing in Minneapolis. How’s that for irony?

As we drove the freeway down the length of Oregon, surrounded by green hills and mountains, I was aware that we’d made this drive and others like it many times. I was feeling a bit jaded, thinking as one gets older that it all starts to feel like “been there, done that.” The next day, we continued south on Highway 5 and came to a stretch of the road near Mount Shasta that was much more mountainous and beautiful than either of us remembered. We looked at each other and said, “Do you remember driving through this before?” “Nope,” we agreed. And so the other side of the “being older” coin is that old things can seem entirely new. How’s that for irony?

The agenda for tonight is more convalescence – Bob cooking – watching The Wire (We’re a few years behind) – and packing up one more time. Tomorrow it’s on to Oakland where, if I’m well enough (keep your fingers crossed), I will attend Theo’s preschool holiday party. If not, Bob will be attending alone, and I will be an even crankier woman.

We hear from a reliable source (our “beloved” daughter, as she reminded us today) that the apartment we’ve rented in Oakland is “fabulous.” We are looking forward to settling in for a few months.

Wild Life and Wildlife in Portland

December 2, 2011

I love this town. Portland is bustling and sophisticated and beautiful. Charlie’s apartment is downtown and we can hop on the streetcar right outside his door, ride free anywhere in the downtown blocks. This came in very handy after a long night of traipsing between art galleries and drinking wine, which would have been more fun if we’d actually liked any of the art we found. Well, there were a couple of Dali’s that I fell in love with, but we couldn’t fit them on the street car so had to leave them in the gallery.

The downtown here feels like a young people’s town. It’s full of hippies and yuppies and who knows who else tucked into restaurants and coffee shops and wine bars and wandering among the brightly lit trees. A happening place. Completely forgetting how old we are, I think we just blend in. I am reminded of my mother looking at the assisted living place she was moving into and saying, “I don’t want to live with all these old people!”

The Park blocks make up the central corridor downtown—a broad walking mall of grass and trees for about ten blocks—a perfect echo of all the wild wooded parks that are tucked within the city limits outside the edge of downtown--every bit as beautiful and lush as the Olympic peninsula. The Willamette runs through town like the Mississippi runs through the Twin Cities. Outside the city center, there are many lovely neighborhoods with core shopping areas.

We went walking on the Oak Bottoms Wildlife Refuge along the Willamette. There we found an old steam engine pulling a holiday train for kids and their grown ups. Bob struck up a conversation with the volunteer engineer whose father had been the engineer on this very locomotive when it was operated by the Spokane, Portland and Seattle Railway hauling freight along the Columbia River.

When we came across this imposing mural rising above the wildlife refuge path we thought it must be a park building. Turns out it's a mausoleum. There were a lot of real live ducks lazing in the wetlands. One mallard in particular flashed iridescent in the sun. Felt like home.