Blog started in Jan 2005: 1st entries for Write in Every Genre. Then the REAL ME begins
|Every turn, description and direction have been well made to me by Kath, first via text, then stated .to me over the phone when I've called after landing because I couldn't get WiFi to go over those notes. My visit starts in Portland International Airport standing on the tarmac -- not as cold and windy as I associate with Chicago in November, but that's assuredly because it is the end of April and only threatening rain. My rental car pick up is textbook good. Nothing on the highway but the eventual connection to I-5 reminds me of Los Angeles County.
Impressed by the heads of Iris in a field being identifiable. I stop for a bite and a hot tea on the northern edge of Salem, and now, only about thirteen miles from the town my friend lives in.
I over packed -- again. Kath manages to hoist the duffel bag I've brought, out from the rental's trunk into the hands of a twenty-something neighbor. He deposits it at the top of the stairs before we both can finish the assent. Having seen the bag, and the trouble it has already caused, what lack of logic has me agreeing to immediately accepting some of Kath's clothes to take back to my teen? How can a visit to an old friend start with the gifting of hand-me-downs?
(It's family/friend history to often be in the midst of thrifting, that's how.)
Been interested in the tiny house movement, and now I'm in Oregon, West-coast capitol of the movement. It's not really why I'm here, but I feel it's a relatable thing to carry in the back of my head. I also have admiration already for how lovely citizens seem to be in the state. From highway driving, to cashiers and folks just waving, it adds to the smile theme I've decided to uphold while here.