Reading The Tea

I needed shoes:

And found a great shirt:

And everyone should own at least one brass candalabra:

All for the low-guilt price of $54.48.

Some friends from back in the Brooklyn “day” are on a six-week trip driving across the US and back. They spent Monday evening and yesterday with Dustin and me, exploring Portland. Nothing like trying to give someone a sense of a city in 24 hours to make one stop and contemplate the city. We decided that a sampling of Portland restaurants was definitely in order. After much debate, D & I settled on Castagna, Pix, McMenamins Chapel Pub, and Farm. Then of course there was coffee: Stumptown and Albina Press. We also visited Powell’s, tried to see the view of the completely cloud-obstructed Mount Hood from the barren (Oops, wrong time of year…) Rose Garden, and wandered around the shops on Mississippi. If the weather had been better I think we’d have done more outdoor stuff, but as it was we filled the day. Of course, it was lovely to see them.

Michael, Sarah, me, Dustin

Last night, dreams of tangos past and somewhat future. Dances of forgiveness with people who weren’t quite.

I’d forgotten the joys of Oregon March. Today is drizzle dreariness, but yesterday the sun was shining and both D & I stripped down to our T-shirts on our Hill Walk. Yes, capitalization is intended. We are addicted to the walks put together by Laura Foster in Portland Hill Walks We did our 5th walk, walk 15 “Leach Botanical Garden to Mount Scott Loop.” Generally speaking, I have very little patience for guide books. This book has won me over. It’s like taking a walk with a friend. A friend who has a great deal of esoteric knowledge about the history of the area your walking through, and just happens to know all of the uses that native americans had for the specific type of fern you’re passing. Oh, and one who knows that the seemingly private drive right next to that person’s garage is actually public property, and that when you walk down it you’ll be in a tunnel of tree branches that seems right out of fairyland. Thus far we’ve done walks 1,2,4 and 6. Walk 15 had a marvelous start, wandering around the Leach Botanical Gardens and a breathtaking perspective of Portland amid all of the mountains from the Willamette National Cemetery, but the neighborhoods in between weren’t as delightful as the rest of the walks we’ve taken. It could also be that D & I both tend to hate houses that are less than 50 years old.

In the media consumption category, Lost has fully gained me back as a viewer. Yay for Brian K. Vaughn! I think (fingers crossed) that it might actually be going somewhere. Last night we watched the newest episode while sipping gin and tonics and ooh, not going to say more in case you haven’t watched it yet.

Last night D & I also watched The Big Sleep, the 1946 Bogart and Bacall film. Did you know that it could have been released in 1945? It was pushed back by the studio as they rushed to release all of the war-themed movies before they became too dated. A detective flick? It could wait. According to the commentary special feature with the film, it was a good thing for Bacall’s career. She’d been a big hit with their earlier film To Have and Have Not, but received bad reviews after her next film, Confidential Agent. Her agent contacted the director about his concerns about Bacall’s part in the original edit of “The Big Sleep,” and in January 1946 Bacall and Bogart (now a couple) shot some new scenes. While we watched I knit square 18 of my afghan. Yes, I’m very behind on posting photos of previous squares. Not to mention other knitting projects…

Recently I’ve been contemplating rock climbing as dance. Watching how people move across the routes. The light change-step across a hold. What’s the difference between climbing and dance? Could climbing be a form of dance? Is it about the intent, or the performative aspects? That falls apart a bit — in a dance class I’m not considering performance; I’m more introspective. And in the rock gym… well, I’d challenge anyone who says that some of the people climbing there aren’t performing. Something to consider more later. Concepts that help both my tango and my climbing: relax, breath, engage the core. Thought: wall as partner?

It’s always a bit odd to completely uproot and move across the country. Here I am, three years later, experiencing the disorientation again. It’s hard to feel settled. It’s also hard to believe in the last three years. There are many things about being back in the west that I’m enjoying — getting to see much more of some of my family, reconnecting with old friends, starting connections with new friends, rock climbing, hiking, breathing clean air, more dancing. I also miss a lot of my friends in NY like crazy. I also miss the centrality of NY culture. When you’re there you can at least believe that you’re in the nucleus of everything that’s happening. I have a bad feeling that no matter which side of the country I’m on I’ll be homesick for the other.

I’m also in a weird transition place where I’m trying to figure out what direction to head next. Hitting that late 20s point many of my friends seem to ask “Ok, what next?” Well, here I am, asking. I was talking to someone from my calculus class (Yes, taking a college class right now feels weird.) and we were discussing her full-time school, full-time job situation. She’s getting tight on money, and was wondering if she should load on an additional job, or take a term off of school. The overload reminds me so much of myself at her age. I remember thinking that it was just for now, just for college, then life would start. What a shock when I realized that a magic gong isn’t set to ring at a point, announcing the beginning of “real life.” Life is now. I’m once again at a cross-roads, waiting. But no matter what point I’m at, I need to remind myself that life is now. So there, self.

This Thursday a relocube will take up residence in front of our apt. building for four hours, while D & I scramble to get all of the boxes and furniture down and play real-life Tetris to get everything to fit. The past couple of weeks I’ve been packing and sleeping intermittently, but mostly sleeping. Transitions do that to me — I get the urge to hibernate. Unfortunately that doesn’t inspire the boxes to pack themselves. However, the past two days, much to the cat’s chagrin, we’ve been on task putting everything into boxes. So far I’ve sold the Huffy bike, the black dresser, and put a bunch of stuff out on the street for free. In the next couple of days people are coming to look at the couch and the kitchen wood block, and someone’s coming tonight for the kitchen table. Did I mention that I really don’t like this process? When I start to feel grumpy about it though, or the urge to take a nap, I just remember that I’m not at work…
In any case, we’re off to Portland on Sept. 1. I bought one-way tickets today, so it’s really happening.