Year One Review

I forgot to celebrate the end of my first year in Portland. I am now officially two months into Year Two of my 5-year projected stay. Of course, the upcoming birth of grandchild #2 may change that schedule a bit.  Ohhhh the delights of babies.

So, how am I doing?

Four Signs that I am becoming an Oregonian:

#1 I bought a pair of wellies. Yep, you just need 'em if you are going to spend time outdoors, especially if gardening or walking with a grandson who adores jumping in puddles.

Okay, this is the best I could do leaning over to snap the photo with my phone camera. 

 Anna, of the wonderful African photos, where are you????

The wellies, just inside my back door, ready for action in the great Northwest.

#2  I grab a jacket with hood whenever I go out.  Mary gave me a jacket that I love (don't even THINK of trying to get it back from me, sister dear). So much better than the wool jacket I previously used - see below.

Although it is deliciously warm, this wool jacket gets damp in the rain and you know that wet wool smell? Not great. The new jacket, well the loaned/borrowed/I'm-sure-it's-now-mine jacket is warm AND water resistant. Much better for Portland. I walk around like a true Oregonian, popping the hood up when it starts to mist, pushing it away when it stops. So handy and it means I don't need an umbrella. My hands stay free. Lovely.

Okay, what about my bright neon yellow jacket from my time in Africa? Yes, it has a hood and is water resistant but it also overwhelmingly hideous. I have to be desperate to grab it. However, if I need to be spotted in a large crowd, it is waiting in the wings.

#3 I am now a pro on the bus. I will take it downtown early tomorrow morning to transfer to MAX, the light rail system, that will take me out to the airport to catch my plane to California. Oh so very urban!

#4 I am a kinder, gentler driver. However, given that I will be back in California tomorrow, I also know old habits die hard.


Four Challenges in my Transition to Life in Oregon 

#1 I'm not quite there yet with Oregonians who welcome the weather. What is outside my window right now? Hmm, what a surprise - gray skies, mist, trees rapidly losing their leaves and water dripping from the roof. Yes, it does have a certain "let's-go-sit-in-front-of-the-fire-and-read"ambience but almost every day? However, on the positive side, when the sun breaks through it is really appreciated, much more so than when I lived in California.

#2 I have now voted twice so understand the mail-in process. No in-person voting here; all voting is done by mail. It is certainly easier and, perhaps, by giving voters more time, voting is more thoughtful but I do miss that tingle of citizen-pride that I experience whenever I enter a polling booth. Such a precious right. This was especially true at my last California election when I accompanied Francia who was voting for the first time as an American citizen. I made sure everyone in the room knew we had a new citizen among us and she became the recipient of many smiles and nods of approval. She beamed and wore her I Voted sticker with pride. I miss those stickers.

#3 I am still adjusting to different conditions in the garden. Gardening in PG had its plusses and minuses. Technically just about anything will grow given its mild weather but I had to contend with deer that ate everything in sight including the tags that identified new plants as deer resistant. In addition the summer fog and hint of salt in the sea air meant that some plants didn't grow as well as they did a bit inland. I didn't even think of growing tomatoes but plants in big pots on my fenced deck (fie on you, deer!) grew prolifically. I had bulbs in the spring, herbs and bright flowers all summer and something green the rest of the year.

Here in Portland I share a small garden with my duplex neighbors. Just as the house is divided right down the middle into two identical units, so is the garden. My half is mostly paved; they have the back lawn and raised beds so I have returned to gardening in pots. I added them slowly, started with one on the front porch to greet neighbors, added a few along the back driveway to hold bulbs I brought from California (yes, I left lots of stuff stored in the attic in PG but dug up the bulbs to bring with me). In spring I filled two pots with primroses and in summer I filled three pots with herbs and two with strawberries (a Wesley favorite). They all thrived in the warm summer weather.

But now I have a problem - winter. The local paper warns that herbs in pots need to be moved into the ground. If not, the roots may freeze. Problem - the raised beds are in the neighbor's half of the yard. Could I use them? Probably. However I also appreciate that we carefully respect each other's space. I'd rather not invade their's. But what to do? I don't want to give up the herbs. I love picking them as needed. It seems that I have 2 choices - set up a indoor garden under a grow light in my basement or put them in the natural light in my kitchen. I chose the kitchen. I know, perhaps quite dumb given how small my unit is.

The plant on the chair is another problem child. My landlady left it with me while she and her husband went to India for a year. She loves it and I promised to keep care of it but it can't winter outside. The pot with the rosemary is the tall plant to the right in the photo.

The remaining herbs are on the other side of the table - ach, you can't see them - here is a close-up:

Parsley and thyme are in one, oregano, chives and another type of thyme are in the other.  I wonder how much time will pass before I grow tired of tripping over them and move them down to the basement and install a grow light?

I didn't think the bulbs would be a problem - they like the cold - but, oh my goodness, look.

They are already growing! I know they won't bloom at this point but what is going to happen next March? Not much, I suspect. Drat. Those were precious bulbs. I know, I know, I can start over and find ground space for them somewhere along the driveway but it is not the same. I have nursed these bulbs through 5 seasons.

And, finally, the primroses - they will have to tough it out. I don't have any more room inside and I never seem to have luck with primroses anyway. You're on your own.

#4 Have not yet added Portland expressions to my vocabulary. They just don't trip off my tongue. The two big ones are "spendy" and "PDX". The first means expensive, as in "That restaurant is spendy." The second means Portland. I'm not sure how the airport designation got turned into a reference to the city as a whole but that's just the way it is.

I will be away for the next 10 days - home for Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday of the year. Have a lovely Turkey Day, everyone, here in PDX or wherever you are.

See I CAN start using those words.

Hunkering Down

It's getting cold and it's getting dark. With the departure of Daylight Savings, dusk now starts before 5 and, yesterday, I woke up in an extremely cold bedroom. I reluctantly took those steps that indicate looming winter - I turned on the gas fireplace insert for the first time and pulled out my hat, gloves and scarf for their winter storage on my grandmother's high chair that stands next to my front door.

As I look out my window I can see smoke rising from chimneys across the street. Our long Indian Summer is now officially a memory of the past. And of course this means gray skies and rain have come back as have all the hoodies on everyone walking by. The wonder is the leaf-turning. It is not as spectacular as the Connecticut Autumns of my past but it is pretty darn good. On our ride home from preschool each day Wesley and I note the difference in today's amount of leaves versus yesterday's. There is one stretch on McLoughlin Boulevard that we call the "Tunnel of Trees," where huge trees span the road to meet overhead. They are our gauge of the seasons. It seemed to take forever for the green sprouts to turn into full grown leaves last Spring and now they are slowly disappearing before our eyes.

Wesley loves to help me rake the leaves that fill my driveway and back yard. We use the old plastic rake that was here when I moved in last year. We add my full-size broom and his small one and then, at his insistence, we add the whisk broom - we might need it for small spaces, he says. When we create a pile of leaves Wesley decides if we scoop them into the garden waste bin or exuberantly toss them up in the air to come raining back down on us. Often it is the latter which means the job can take quite a while to complete. I could care less - time is something I have. The next step is stomping the leaves in the bin to create more space for tomorrow's session. I push the tall bin over to my back stairs. Wesley climbs to the top and then, from that perch, steps over the rim to stand on today's pile. Then he starts stomping. He is most proud of himself.

Yes, I know it's out of focus but it is me behind the phone camera - so I will suggest 

it is an action photo!

Cypress, my cat, is also adjusting to the colder weather. Her favorite place, right now, is on the mantle, above the fireplace. I have moved the clock a bit to give her more room. She snuggles against it.

She spends quite a bit of time here or as a lump in my bed. She slips in between the duvet and sheets. Wesley has learned to check any such lumps before bouncing.

Some other Autumn memories - Halloween was lots of fun, especially as this block is chock full of young kids. Wesley surprised us with his choice for a costume (which Stephanie and Dan created out of boxes, paint and a funnel - such clever ones!). Get ready . . .  he wanted to be the Sugar Cane Train. Yes, the same train on which we had our interesting adventure in Maui. Here he is - my first visitor to trick or treat at my door.

Another wonderful October memory - I spent my last full day in California (the day after my 50th reunion with my 8th grade classmates) with my good friend, Sally. She arranged for me to meet a new acquaintance of hers, Rhonda Giangreco, who works with the MS community nation-wide. I always hold anyone with MS close to my heart from all my experiences as a spouse of someone with MS and my 6 years of volunteer work as Executive Director of the MS Quality of Life Project in Monterey. Rhonda had a most interesting response to her diagnosis of MS. Instead of collapsing into the debilitating fatigue which so often accompanies this disease she decided to take on the challenge of celebrating and holding family and friends close by cooking and hosting a dinner every Sunday for one full year. And she did it - she started in January and prepared 52 consecutive meals. Her book, The Gathering Table: Defying Multiple Sclerosis With A Year of Pasta, Wine and Friends, describes this remarkable year as she copes with the realities of MS.

Our plan was to meet in a restaurant in Sonoma but, instead, she invited us to have lunch at her house. Was she really up for it? Yes, she insisted. When we drove to her house we passed a small park with an outdoor table charmingly set with tablecloth, napkins, plates and glasses. I wondered who was going to spend a glorious afternoon at this table, never dreaming it would be me.

It turned out that the unexpected brilliant weather (it was 80 degrees) inspired lunch al fresco but Rhonda and Michael had already put their outdoor furniture in storage for the winter. But she is clever, that Rhonda. She decided to use a bit of the small park around the corner from her house as our lunch site. We happily helped carry over the food and wine.

What a spectacular meal. It had everything - new friends, wonderful food and a lovely ambience - sun sparkling down as we sat at a table that bordered a Sonoma vineyard (look in the background of the photo above). Let's start with the food that Rhonda prepared (hint of its quality - she took cooking classes in Italy):

Perfectly grilled herbed pork loin with figs grilled on rosemary spears.

Add wonderful herbed biscuits and salad

And a grand finale of apple pie.  

It was an amazing lunch accompanied by wonderful local wines.  DELICIOUS!

I enjoyed meeting Rhonda and her husband, Michael. They are warm, welcoming and charming. And she is indeed a spectacular chef. I felt as if I had a taste of one of the meal experiences she described in her book. The great thing about wonderful memories is that, as I sit in gray Portland, I can close my eyes and be right back at that sunny table in Sonoma. Thank you, Sally, Rhonda and Michael for such a lovely visit. I hope we meet again. And if Rhonda insists on cooking, fine with me! I love being sous chef and will happily help.

So bring on winter. Cypress and I look forward to its unique charms - as long as my heater works.

50 Years Later

Oh my goodness - I am still processing the experience of meeting my 8th grade colleagues 50 years later. I had not seen most of them since we were 14 and we all had changed a bit. We each did the usual reunion move: kiss the person on the cheek while surreptitiously glancing at their name tag with their 8th grade photo prominently displayed . . . it's him! . . . it's her!

We met in the school's large hall (auditorium) and, to me, Mount Carmel never looked more beautiful. The original school, built in 1885 (at another location) was replaced in the 1920s by the current school building. It has classic mission architecture with all the beautiful woodwork typical of that era. I could not believe that the hallways had the same linoleum we ran along. Now that is quality! How many thousands of student feet have walked/run/skipped along these floors? The classrooms were just as I remembered with the exception of the windows - those old ones that required the use of long poles to open and close had been replaced by more efficient ones - oh, and there was carpet on the floors and the blackboards were now white. Gone were the erasers that we begged to clean each afternoon. What fun we had pounding them together while watching chalk dust float overhead. I was delighted to see that the "cloak rooms"(what do they call them now?) - a long closet that ran along the back of each classroom with an opening at each end - were unchanged. There were the same hooks where we hung our coats and the shelves above where we stored our lunch boxes. Wonderful.

50 of us started first grade together in September of 1954. Over the next 8 years a few moved away while a few others moved into our class. After 8 years together, however, we knew each other well. We knew our talents, our weaknesses, our families, our stories. About 25 of us attended the reunion. We spent the first 30 seconds of each interaction mentally adjusting to the new reality of a classmate who looked so different 50 years ago. Then there was the quick exchange of basic information and, if we were lucky, we were able to chat a bit more.

Those who had, for 8 years in the far past, shared lessons, sports, games, choir practice, recess, folk dance lessons, gossip, projects, and adolescence were now lawyers, teachers, nuns, a film producer, medical professionals, designers, non-profit leaders, small business owners, spouses, widows, divorced, parents and grandparents. Some were retired or planning for it; others had decided to use this time to start second careers. It was fascinating. When we shared thoughts over dinner we realized we had something in common, something that the nuns had pounded into our skulls over the 8 years they had us - that we are on this planet to make the world a better place. Seeking social justice came up over and over in our conversations. I am downright proud of us as are, I am sure, those gracious, stern, funny, warm women who taught us.

Oh, and I forgot - not only were 25 of us there - so were two of our teachers - Sister Cecilia (first grade) and Sister Andrew (second grade). I suspect they were just out of college when they taught us which puts them in their early 80s. It was wonderful to chat with them and thank them for their care. They also had funny stories to share. What I personally remember most about Sister Andrew is that one of her lessons showed how I was still a bit behind my classmates when it came to spirituality. It happened on the day of our First Communion when we were 7. She told us that, on this special day, we should ask God for something when we first spotted the chalice inside the open tabernacle. Okay, I could do that. After Mass she asked us what we had each prayed for. The others got it - they asked for world peace, to get to heaven, etc. At that point in my life I hadn't yet learned how to avoid telling unpleasant truths. Instead I admitted that I had asked for a bicycle. I think, way back then, Sister Andrew was a bit disappointed. However, I should state that I got my bike a few months later so clearly God was listening.

Specific memories from this wonderful evening:
1. The whoops of laughter and welcome that met each of us as we walked into the hall and someone recognized us and called out our name to the assembled group.

2. After first being surprised by the current reality of a classmate  I could still see reminders of each of their 14-year old faces looking back at me.

3. The wonderful hugs I got from each classmate as if 50 years had never passed.

4. The comment blurted from one of my classmates, after understanding who I was, "Oh, you were one of the nice ones!" So funny.

5. New secrets shared by some classmates. Today, of course, topics of secrets are far different but sharing them still lifts weight and I deeply appreciated their trust.

6. Seeing classmates exhibit behaviors that I remembered from the past - Mary still blushes a bit when she laughs. Steve still has the sardonic attitude that drove some of the nuns crazy. Several of the "boys" still tease each other as they did in years past. Ah, the joys of consistency.

It was simply a wonderful evening  but DRAT, I just wish we had many more hours - it ended way too soon.