I don't mean to naively praise Portland for its hippy-dippy do-know-wrong polish (every city has its dark side) but seriously, it wears a damn snazzy polish.
Mother and I got into town in the early afternoon and headed to the harbor area for Sunday's
Saturday Market. The gig is basically an Ann Arbor Art Fair except it does not breach the line of overwhelming and there are better artists and more street musicians. I was gifted a promise of one thing from the market and managed to use my will power not to go for the first Nepalese jacket I saw on sale. Mother did however go for a hat with ear flaps since she had been envying mine the day before.
Across the tracks of their very snazzy monorail, we paused to listen to a couple of roadies singing a diddy about their upcoming adventures and getting a dog to go along with them. We both tossed them some funds and wished them well.
Mother's choice of purchase was a very cool painting that I would have picked out, had she not jumped on it first. The artist was a young self-taught man who was led to his profession through another job loss. It
way paid off. His work reminded me of a lot of my own doodles.
Here is the one she chose.
We were wowed by a number of other artists, anywhere from impressive to cutesy. A woman selling hand crafted clay animal whistles vied for our attention as she elaborated on her new, unique way of making jewelry using simple craft store supplies. I was tempted to get a whistle for some young person I know but really had no reason to.
Just after the child flutes, we came across my style.
A warm-hearted Randy Halslip took some time to speak to me about his craft and ways I might go about finding a more suitable native flute than the one I own. His prices were not nearly as high as some flute-makers I have seen so I will keep him in mind when I have the funding for a new flute.
Near the end our perusal, we discovered
Uli Kirchler. Not only was his work stunning, but the man was very personable and carried on a pleasant conversation with us, talking about his own Ann Arbor Art Fair experience when we mentioned we were from the deuce. If it was in our price range, I would have found my splurge.
Fortunately, right down the way was smaller-scale wooworking genius
Erik Swenson. My affinity for his work did not come as a surprise once I learned that Uli was his mentor. After making one more go-around, I opted on a pair of earrings tipped with turquoise and built up with a cut from a rare PNW wood that has properties used in a cancer-fighting drug. They have quickly become my favorite pair because besides the look, their weight is barely noticeable.
Try as I might, I could not manage to leave without a nepalese jacket. It was warm though, and I was cold. And I mean, it was really warm - the softest fleece lining around. Mother gifted that while I paid for an "eat local" shirt that had caught her eye for me early on.
On our way back to the car, a shady boisterous vendor tried to sell me his quartz pieces way cheap and I almost walked away without one until he practically demanded I pay a quarter for one. Since he'd been trying desperately for a dollar and I just wanted to get away, I gave him that drop in the bucket. Doubt it was anything real. But its pretty and clear.
We should have known parking was too easy. The kind city of Portland had graced us with a parking ticket while we were out. Apparently there was a sign we missed. Mother tried to call the next day to reason with them but they would not budge. I thought she made a pretty well-stated argument. Your polish rubbed off a bit with that one, Portland.
We headed across town to find our Bed and Breakfast. Shingles started to scream. Once we got everything in our quaint little room. I just lay on the floor, breathing. We were supposed to go meet my Friend Alex and his girlfriend at a highly acclaimed pizza place I'd looked up but when I asked my mom if she was ready to go, a combination of misconstrued tones and unclear responses exploded into our second fiasco. She had the first outburst and went downstairs. I rallied with a second retort on the porch and we were off to the pizza place. Walking alone.
I knew we needed to solve this before we arrived to meet company and I was trying to sort out how to communicate what I wanted to. To do this, I needed to get honest with myself and find what had triggered my discontent. When she caught up to me we were both just tired. "You have taken all of your frustration out on
me. not
anyone else. Just
me. And this trip has been really hard."
I knew it had been hard. I remembered the surreal turn of tone in the visit as I asked myself why this was happening again, why we couldn't just enjoy one another after so long apart.
But in this case, I had an answer. It wasn't an excuse either. "I know I've been hard on you. I put on a public face all day. And I am in pain. And you're family so you get the irritation and frustration underneath. You would do the same thing. There's always a different public face than family. I am sorry." I'd found my trigger, too. This whole trip, she was trying to offer answers to a problem that those answers would not solve. I needed to be heard. I needed to stop repeating myself and I needed her to trust that when I offer an option, it means I have decided to be okay with that option so she doesn't need to coddle. The dialogue was good and for the rest of the walk, we admired the picture perfect neighborhoods.
On the street where
Apizza Scholls was supposed to be, we saw a bar and a theater. And a closed-down storefront. I called the restaurant number and when they described their location, I was relieved that we were indeed in the right place but still not sure where they were hiding. "We're right next to the bar...with that big crowd of people outside?"
So much for the movie we'd planned to catch. But on a sunday night with a line that big, there was no way we could pass up some quality pie. Alex and Gerri met up with us shortly after we got inside and we sat in the lobby eating appetizers and sipping drinks while we shared our big adventures of the last couple of months. The two of them were still in the process of moving into their new house and Gerri was currently writing atop a desk constructed from cardboard boxes. Alex had brought a few of his polaroid snapshots along and shared some groady stories from his most recent and short-lived job at Chipotle. We all made giddy little tourist comments about how we could never live in portland or we would spend all of our money in a week.
For its popularity, the wait was not bad at all. And it was worth it. Giant, classic slices of all the freshest ingredients with just enough oil dripping off to feel like a legit pizza experience. After dinner, we all drove down to a small Powells Books outlet and I got lost in looking for a new planner up until close. The time lapse was long enough to get me thinking about some of the dessert spots I'd read about back in our neighborhood and when my mom and I returned, we decided to seek out pie and when we learned it was closed, just walked randomly down the block to see if anything caught our eye. It didn't take long. We had to do a double take. Through the big glass windows of
Salt and Straw, we saw the whole thanksgiving menu in ice cream form. Definitely had to get our mouths closer to this. After tasting half the menu, we ordered and took our treats back to our room where I decided it would be suitable to watch an episode of Portlandia and we finished off the night with mom's official indoctrination to
Breaking Bad.
At first feeling like we would need to rush to the airport, our last morning ended up being quite pleasant. We discovered a sweet co-op down the road and finished off with a fresh breakfast at the
Detour Cafe. This provided a space for our last heart to heart and I got some recognition for the projection that I had been feeling from mother during the trip.
This is our lot in life. These triggers and turmoils can sometimes feel like we are going in circles. But every time, I like to think that we are unearthing new tools in our ways of communicating and that they chip away at that crux where our understanding diverges. It doesn't make the childish insults and fiery accusations any less painful when our emotions get the best of us but like scientists, it gives us an opportunity to explore our human experiment with new methods every time.
''There is a crack, a crack in everything. Thats how the light gets in. ''
Over the course of the weekend, I had gotten in touch with a Chiropractor in Morton and set up an appointment to coincide with my commute back home. Marvin Kunikiyo was by far my best shingles weapon yet. I knew shingles were perpetuated through the spine but it was telling to discover just closely the location of my outbreak correlated with my spinal kinks. For the second time in my life, I got a talking to about my potential for chronic back issues in my future if I did not correct the problem spots. Luckily, Marvin was very hopeful for me and after learning I was a vegetarian, was almost 100% sold that my main problem was not getting enough Omega 3 fatty acids which protect the nerves membranes around the spine. Having neglected my back long enough and already hating the consequences, I was ready to get serious in preventing any more premature haggard-ness. Marvin recommended I start taking fish oil and I promptly ordered some when I got home. After seeing him three times, my shingles pain has all but disappeared (now its just MAJOR itching to deal with) and he is almost certain that with the fish oil and a weekly visit once the shingles are gone, I will feel brilliant.
That time cannot come soon enough.
P.S I apologize for my lack of pictures. I realized how much I slacked off only in retrospect. I must have been so distraught with my body dealings that I was not in the mindset to bother.
We didn't end up taking hold of her ideas because of the time constraints but it gave me all the more reason to plan another trip. What we did do was rad, though. After we'd gotten a plan, we drove across the bridge to Gas Works park and walked and talked amongst some of the most beautifully reclaimed industrial space I have seen. At the top was an inlaid relief design of a sundial with all of the zodiacs and Dusty happened to point out that we had both stopped standing on top of our sun signs. Suiting for the day and the topic of conversation.
We had planned to hit up Capitol Hill next but it was nearing rush hour so to avoid the stresses of the bus commute, we decided to beat traffic and take the car. A far more night-lifey neighborhood, Dusty pointed out that this was a mecca of gay bars and listed some spots that would have been a kick to check out sometime. But we opted a more mellow route, stopping in a vintage clothing store and a buddhist/hindu novelty store before topping off with a stop at Dilettante, the pinnacle of decadence. While I wanted to order the entire damn menu (no joke, I don't think there was a single thing on there I would not have at least tried) we both opted for the Sea Salt Caramel Chocolate Martini. And I had to splurge on a birthday slice of Mocha Praline to take with us.
