Portland Couture

I am getting used to a new style - the Portland look.  It is very casual - jeans, t-shirt, sweatshirt, sneakers/boots, layers for warmth.  However, it is not that simple.  For example - this does NOT work.

This is one of my California sweatshirts.  Love it - has great pockets, it's warm, has good memories (got it for a winter trip to Italy).  Here is why it doesn't work - the sweatshirt doesn't have a hood.  One's sweatshirts MUST have hoods (hence the name "hoodie") if you live in Portland for a very simple reason - well 2 reasons:

 #1 It rains a lot here (I know - quite a shock) and

 #2 One does NOT carry an umbrella in Portland (or Seattle for that matter).  It immediately identifies you as a tourist - just like one immediately recognizes the summer tourists in San Francisco -  the ones wearing shorts and t-shirts, shivering while turning slightly blue.

No, they do NOT carry umbrellas here.  Never.  I know.  Amazing.  On the surface it seems crazy until you experience the rain.  It does rain but it's a light rain, almost a heavy mist.  Having said that, it did truly rain one day last week (for about an hour) and it surprised me. I hadn't realized how I had grown used to the lighter style that is more common.

Okay, given that it rains frequently but it isn't heavy, using an umbrella becomes kind of a pain.  Bothersome.  Hoodies are the Portland solution.  Everyone wears them.  Everyone. When it rains, the hoodies pop up.  When it stops, down they go.  I know, I know.  It means you may have a layer of damp fabric around the back of your neck but given that you are hopefully wearing several layers, the dampness is not against your skin.

Okay, now as you can see, the beloved sweatshirt has been replaced with one with a hood AND I have added another layer for warmth (it's February after all).  The layers include:  red jersey t-shirt, gray  hoodie, raspberry vest.   Note that the hoodie is pulled out so I can quickly reach it when it starts to rain.

So what if these are not enough layers?  Let's add some more.   Although this February has not been as cold as January, it still calls for layers.

Now, here I have replaced the vest with my wool jacket - over the hoodie mind you - with a scarf added around the neck AND new boots to keep my feet warm (I usually wear them under my jeans but are highlighting them here).

Look at that - TWO hoods.  If I don't have a hoodie underneath, the wool jacket has a hood.  I am REALLY prepared.

And look at these boots.  They are serious.  My feet are NOT getting wet, they are not getting cold.  Not in these boots.  The saleswoman swore they will be waterproof for a year (and was happy to sell me the stuff to spray on them next Autumn).

But I am saving the best for last. Biking is big in Portland.  Many many people ride bikes.  But it is cold and it rains so the Portland biker has his/her own unique style.  Here it is.  

Swear to all the gods above, people DO wear something like this while they bike around Portland in the winter.  Now, to be completely fair (and if anyone from Portland is looking at this they are probably saying, "What?!!?!?) my daughter, Stephanie, bikes to work and wears the true outfit - not juryrigged like this one.   She has actual biker shorts and shoes and leggings - I just put on what I had for the purposes of this photo-essay.  But, yes, the bikers do wear their own version of this.  Shorts (you get warm pedaling up and down the hills, across bridges, around traffic) but your legs need to stay warm (hence the leggings) and then the layers on top.

Let's look at these layers:

Note the same jersey t-shirt as before but I have added a black t-shirt over it and the raspberry vest, and a scarf to wrap around my neck so as to deal with the wind.  Yes, all may be needed and can be taken off, one by one, if not.

Now, the arms:

Again, layers - with the bottom one able to pull down over the fingers in case it is really cold.

Close up on those legs:

What can I say - just stylin!  Those are my Italian bowling shoes, by the way.  I think they are perfect.

And finally, the hat:

Now, I have to add a statement here.  This is Stephanie's hat that I gave her as a joke - or as a possibility to wear when taking Wesley Trick-or-Treating (I gave Dan a similar one of a dog).  But I do see people (mainly younger) wandering around wearing these animal hats.  I was really surprised.  To be fair, they are not common but they are seen.  What IS common is a very similar style.  Just replace this zebra pattern with one that is a muted wool.  Keep the two tails.  Keep the basic idea.  Just make the whole thing muted wool.  I call it a "Peruvian Hat" because it reminds me of Peruvian weavings.  I know you have all seen them as well.  Kids wore them at Carmel High.  I've seen them in Oakland when visiting Lee.  He probably has one.  At first I didn't understand why people of all ages wore these hats but now I do.  They keep your ears warm!  And on cold mornings my beret or cap does not meet that need.  Thankfully, my sister Mary created a knitted scarf/cap (it has a part that goes over the back and top of my head and then has long ends I can wrap around my neck) and I wear it when it is really cold.

So there you have it - the Portland style.  I just signed up to volunteer at the main branch of the library in downtown Portland (two afternoons a month) where I will have to break away from the usual Portland outfit.  They actually dress up a bit down there.  So some of the clothes that have not seen the light of day since I moved here might actually get worn.  For the time being, I am stylin' with the best  of them here in Portland.  

I leave for a 2-week trip to California in a few days.  I promise that I do remember how to dress there, so don't worry if I am visiting you.  I will be appropriate.   But I also look forward to my return to Portland.  I am enjoying the very casual Portland style.  It IS unique.  

Running the Gauntlet of 4-Year Olds

I know that I am 100% responsible for the problem.  I created it – unintentionally, mind you - but I accept that it is my fault, and mine alone.  One hastily made decision that took all of one second to execute has created a daily event much anticipated by the 4-year olds and equally dreaded by the preschool staff and me.  And I am responsible.

Here is how it happened.  At 3:15 each weekday afternoon I arrive at Wesley’s preschool to pick him up.  He is in the 2-year old class.  His classmates are just as adorable as he is and are deep into potty training and language acquisition – in this case, two languages - English and Spanish.  This is a bilingual program.  To reach Wesley I pass through the classroom where the 4-year olds meet and this is where the problem arose.  In the first weeks of September, as I passed through their room, they would call out, “What’s your name?”  and I would I answer, “Donna.”   Each day they asked and each day I gave the same answer.  After a few weeks I found it wearing and realized I was answering "DONNA" through slightly gritted teeth.  Finally, it became too much.  They clearly knew my name, were having fun at my expense and I was tried of it.  This is when I made the fatal decision.  I am not sure how I came up with the smart answer I gave but it was a poor choice that has had great ramifications.  I looked at them and said, “Ketchup.  My name is Ketchup.” As I walked out of their room, I heard them draw in their breaths and let out a scream of laughter.  When I returned with Wesley they were ready for me. “Hi, Ketchup!” they called with delight as we walked by.  Their teacher tried to hush them but the damage was done.

If it had just ended there it would have been fine but I am dealing with 4-year olds here.  4-year olds are really into scatology, silly riddles and noises.  My joke was right up their alley and they still think, months later, it is hysterical.  So each and every day we live through a new rendition of the routine.  They no longer ask my name they just delight in greeting me. They have long since wandered away from Ketchup.  I am now greeted as “Mustard,”  “Relish,” “Hot Dog,” “Bun” as well as variations of my name – Dina and Dohnah are both popular.

The problem is bigger than the name calling, however.  When I arrive I walk into a room of completely calm children enjoying their afternoon snack but 5 seconds later, by the time I have passed through, they are at a fever pitch from calling out new variations of my name.  They try to top each other but, of course, remember they are 4 so it will go something like this: “Hi, Onion!”  “No, I’ve got it.  Hi, French Fries!” “No, No, listen to me, I know a better one.  Hi, Pickles!”  They are so proud of how very clever they are.  At least they remain somewhat appropriate.  I have never been called “Potty Pants” or anything like that. 

I feel really bad about it.  I taught for 34 years.  I know how hard it is to bring kids back from fever pitch moments and this happens every day.  If I were their teacher I would want to kill me.  I try to slide through without catching their attention and whenever the teacher apologies I apologize right back – I accept that I am responsible. The husband of the director is often at the school and is not  amused when he witnesses it.  I think he believes it offends me although I have explained that I know it is my fault.  He tries to get them to call me “Grandma Donna.”  They look at him with pity.  As if.

Maybe it is the weather, maybe they are finally getting past it but it seems that they have quieted down somewhat in the past weeks.  Some days they don’t participate at all and I count myself lucky.  Other days they greet me with a new variation but it is said with some thoughtfulness.  I try to help the situation by remaining distant.  Yesterday I walked in while they were sitting in a reading circle.  All the 4-year olds were intently listening to their teacher read a story in Spanish.  I moved quietly around the circle and, as I started to pass through the room, one of the girls caught my eye and said softly, “Hi, Milk Shake,” then returned her focus to the teacher.   I must admit it made me smile.  I know I should have looked stern but I couldn’t – it was sweet and she clearly meant it fondly.  And that’s why the problem will continue.  I am not consistent.  I know what I should do but I can’t chastise a 4-year old who responds to my original stupid off-the-cuff comment.  So I accept responsibility and heck, June will soon be here and they will move on to kindergarten.  I won’t make the same mistake with next year’s class and hopefully this set of 4-year olds won’t talk to the current 3-year olds.  If you know any of them, ssssshhhhh.

Schondecken’s

Portland loves coffee – do you think the weather has anything to do with it?  I’m not crazy about going into restaurants alone but coffee shops are another matter.  It’s a true pleasure to step inside, inhale the rich aroma, order whatever sounds good, find a comfortable seat and then sit and enjoy the experience.  It’s not unusual for a patron to be alone and, like everyone else around me, I find myself checking my email on my phone, reading a newspaper left behind by others, or catching up on a good book.  Folks are friendly, easy to engage in light chatter but also aware of a wish to be left alone.  I sit as long as I want or, as is more common, until duty calls – picking up Wesley from preschool at 3:15.  My little neighborhood has probably 10 coffee shops – from the ubiquitous Starbucks down to tiny drive-ups not much bigger than a phone booth.  Schondecken’s is my latest find - right across from our local post office. Usually when I am at the P.O. I’m driving and therefore focused on what is happening in traffic – bicyclists, availability of parking spaces, pedestrians carrying large packages to be mailed, etc.  I don’t have time to notice surrounding shops.  But today, while running across the street to drop a letter into the mailbox, Schondecken’s sign, “Coffee, Tea, Spices” caught my eye.  Spices?  I needed ginger – maybe I could get some along with a latte.  I walked up the outside stone stairs and stepped into a world far removed from Starbucks.

Schondecken’s is typical Portland - an old 1920s era Craftsman house converted into a store. The outside is painted bright red and needs some work.  The interior is dark – original wood paneling with lots of coats of paint on the trim.  I suspect if I looked closely I could find evidence of several earlier colors.  All the furnishings and woodwork are old and a bit tired.  There are maybe 5 small tables, each with two chairs, and all were empty.  The original porch (now enclosed) had a coffee mill for grinding any beans you might chose to buy.  There were piles of magazines on a side table –  fashion, housekeeping, women’s issues, news, environmental concerns, entertainment, animals, science - all higgledy-piggledy.  The counter had a limited amount of pastries made elsewhere (from Costco, I'm guessing) so clearly the quality of the “go with's” was not a major concern of the owner, a woman my age, who stood behind the tall counter surrounded by the paraphernalia of coffee.  Long shelves extended along one wall, each full of oversize jars of teas, coffees and yes, bulk spices. I found myself studying the owner and wondering about her priorities re: her business.  Was she near enough to retirement that she didn’t want to invest any more money into it? Did she even have money for improvements?  Did she believe that Starbucks-types wouldn’t come in anyway so why bother with change?  Or was all this presumption on my part – perhaps she likes it just the way it is.

I brought the jar of ginger to the counter and she weighed out an ounce - $1.40 – and then made my latte.  I sat down and picked up a magazine.  I haven’t read Better Homes and Gardens in years.  Halfway through I found a recipe from Joanne Weir that I wanted to try.  I pulled out my phone and started typing it in, ingredient by ingredient.  Halfway down the list the owner noticed and said, with a degree of disbelief in her voice, “You’re not copying that are you? Take the magazine.”  I turned to her and said with gratitude, “Thank you, I’ll drop it off tomorrow.”  “Don’t bother,” she laughed, “They are there for you.  My customers bring them in.  You can have it.  If you have any magazines you don’t want, drop them off and add ‘em to the pile.”  That started our conversation.  She has owned the business for about 15 years and enjoys dealing with her local customers.  While we chatted a young woman came in to ask if she could use the coffee mill to grind her own beans.  I thought that was pretty nervy but the owner just shrugged her shoulders and said, “Of course” and pointed to the porch area where the coffee mill stood.  When the young woman had trouble operating it, the owner came from behind the counter to help. ‘Hmmm,” I thought, “This probably wouldn’t happen at Starbucks.” 

When the young woman left I asked how often locals came in with requests like that.  She said that the most amusing were the young men who lived a few houses down.  They like to cook on weekends for their girlfriends and will come in with recipes in hand.  They’ll ask for “1/4 teaspoon of cumin, 1 tablespoon of chili, 1/2 teaspoon of oregano” and she will measure it all out and sell it to them, little bit by little bit.  She understands they are new to cooking and not used to the concept of keeping larger quantities of herbs and spices on hand.  So funny.  As she shared more stories I realized what a gift local coffee shops are.  Don’t get me wrong, I go to Starbucks.  As a former economics teacher, I am impressed with the corporate culture and policies of Starbucks.  They are good to employees.  They offer a consistent product.  But they also don’t offer what Schondecken’s does – a wide range of service tied to a strong sense of local community.  I’ll be back – with magazines to add to the pile.  I also look forward to sampling each of the small coffee shops in my neighborhood.  How many other treasures like Schondecken’s are waiting to be discovered?