Memory

I don't have a very good memory. I suspect most of my memories of childhood are associated with pictures my folks took. I *do* remember (they don't have pictures of this to prove it) that I would spend hours examining our photo albums. Often when I am enjoying day to day life, Ed prompts me to, "get a picture of this," but sometimes the mood to record isn't there. I tell him that we'll just have to rely on our memories. I wish mine were more capable.

Things You Might Have Forgotten About California After You Became a Native Oregonian

1. Cars, when left in the sun, get hot.
2. Sand, when left in the sun, gets hot.
3. Sidewalks, when left in the sun … you get the point.
4. Fruit can transform from being so green it’s inedible to being so rotten it’s inedible during the course of a meal.
5. People over the age of eight wear two-piece swimsuits.
6. Tropical plants and flowers are beautiful in, you know, tropical climates. Hibiscus flowers are my new favorite people.
7. California and Oregon look exactly the same if you just imagine concrete and tall buildings everywhere you see a forest path and tall trees.
8. People still believe they can find their SLMT4LF is they put the right combination of letters on their license plate.
9. Sometimes it’s warm even after the sun goes down.
10. Some people have brown skin. They might speak languages other than English, or they’ll speak English with an accent. Strangely enough, these people are qualified to do work other than wash dishes or cook fast food. I really miss living in a place where some people have brown skin.

Two Days, One Night, One Anniversary, Three Adventures

1. Rocks and Rolls

For our anniversary, my folks spent two days with Wrig while Christie and I ran away to Hood River. We decided it would be fun to take a kayak lesson and, as always, we were right.

The first thing we learned is the skill known as a “wet exit.” Kayaks are notoriously flippable, and a wet exit is how you get out of your kayak when you happen to find yourself upside down in a river. Our kayak instructor, a very kind, patient man named Kani, took us to a calm little lake to practice this skill. In the parking area, he unloaded the kayaks from his trailer, and like a magician drawing scarves from his sleeves, he kept offering us piece of equipment after piece of equipment in a never ending stream. Helmets and lifevests and noseplugs, oh my!

When Kani had finally fully loaded us up with equipment, we had to squeeze ourselves into our kayaks. I can think of no other analogy to describe this act than the image of a supermodel cramming herself into size –2.5 jeans. A tight fit, to say the least.

My thought process, as it happened (I swear this is exactly what went through my mind):

1) Oh. My. God. It’s impossible to get into this thing.
2) There’s NO WAY I can get out of this thing if it flips.
3) Trapped. Underwater. I’m going to inhale water through my nose.
4) Oh. My. God. I’m less than 15 minutes away from drowning. There’s no way I can do this. I. Am. Going. To. Die.
5) Wait! He didn’t ask us to sign a waiver. This can’t be that dangerous at all. I’ll be just fine.

As it turns out, I was. It happens to be much easier to get OUT of a kayak than into one. Neither Christie nor I had trouble slipping out of the canoe or when we actually flipped in moving water.

Here’s my thought process when my kayak flipped in the middle of the river (I swear this is exactly what went through my mind):

1) OH SHIT!!!!!!!
2) Wait. Kani said curl and pull.

So I curled and pulled. Piece of cake.

The rest of the day was a breeze. Kayaking is not easy, not by a long shot, but it’s not as difficult as you might imagine. Paddling upstream was a wee bit of a challenge and the next day I discovered aches in places I had long forgotten, but I highly recommend a day on the river if the opportunity comes up.

By the way, as we were packing up at the end of our trip, Kani says, "Oh! I forgot to have you sign your waivers." Maybe I'm going to drown after all.

2. I Quibble With Your Definition, Sir.

On our way home from Hood River, Christie and I decided to take a hike. We have a new book that we were eager to explore. As we were planning our trip, we knew we would be a little sore from kayaking, so we immediately excluded all the “difficult” hikes. All the difficult hikes were long, anyways, and we would have eliminated them based on time alone. So we settled on a nice, moderate hike: 4 miles, a loop, with a fairly decent 1500 foot elevation gain.

Wednesday night, as the muscles were beginning to tighten up from an afternoon of death defying paddling, we looked for an easy hike: 2.5 miles, a loop, and a mere 600 foot elevation gain. The best part about it was the name of the hike: Starvation Creek Trail. Who could pass up the opportunity to enjoy a picnic at Starvation Creek?

The walk got off to an unimpressive start: the first .8 of a mile of the 2.5 mile trip was pretty much right on the shoulder of I-84. Granted, the view to the left was lovely and pastoral, but the view to the right (and the accompanying roar) was pure rush hour. Soon, though, the path diverged from the highway and into the woods proper, and we sat by a waterfall to eat.

After lunch, we continued on our way and quickly encountered a somewhat steep climb. According to our book, we gained 200 feet in elevation in a little over 1,000 feet of path. It felt good. We haven’t been on a real hike in, oh, about five years, give or take. We got the blood pumping, the heart pounding. We felt mighty proud of ourselves.

And then the hike got serious. Switchbacks. Lots of ‘em. Narrow paths. Lots of ‘em. Steep inclines. Forty mile per hour headwinds. And this was the easy hike? According to Christie, an “easy” hike is a hike you could take your grandmother on (no offense to any grandmothers who might be reading this and could probably hike circles around us).

The only thing worse than climbing up a steep hill is, of course, scrambling down a steep hill, particularly a hill covered with loose dirt and gravel. The task was doubly complicated by omnipresent poison oak, which inhibited our ability to rely on the cliff wall for support. Christie perfected the “squat method,” which involved squatting and sliding down on her heels. The advantage here is that when she fell, her bottom was just a few inches above ground. I preferred my method: close your eyes and hold on for dear life.

So, a 2.5 mile hike with 600 foot elevation gain should be easy, but let's do a little math. A full mile of the hike was dead flat. That leaves 1.5 miles for 600 feet. But half of that distance is up and half is down, so that is a 600 foot incline in .75 miles, and a 600 foot drop in a similar distance. You call that easy? I quibble with your definition of easy, sir.

3. Where the Furniture is Flat

We finally made it to the brand spanking new Portland Ikea. Here’s a money saving tip: visit Ikea when you are completely physically exhausted, perhaps after an easy hike in the Columbia Gorge.

Frankly, we weren’t too tempted to spend a ton of money. A few things caught our eye, but nothing really met our furniture needs. They do have nice dishes pretty cheap, and we did buy (and promptly return) some shelving.

The absolute highlight of the store are the two “small living spaces” showrooms. These rooms featured living, sleeping, dining, cooking, and bathroom facilities, all crammed into 273 feet and 375 feet respectively. I don’t think our family of 3 could live comfortably in such tight quarters, but the displays did speak volumes about the potential of dorm rooms.

Free Time

We always say that Portland is a really easy town to raise a kid. Case in point:

A few Saturdays ago, we took advantage of our wonderful Portland Art Museum to take a FREE art class with Wrigley. The instructor was excellent. She was able to connect with kids without talking down to them. It was clear she truly loved art and was excited to share the museum with kids. She had great ideas for looking at art and talking about art and creating art. It was a pretty exhilarating experience.

But wait! That’s not all!

After we left the museum, Christie remembered that the library was holding a celebration in honor of the tenth anniversary of the renovation of the downtown branch. More FREE art – a cool thumbprint activity and clay. They offered face painting and balloon animals and free junk food. To top it all off, one of our favorite kids' bands, Cap’n Bogg and Salty, was playing a free concert at two pm!

Since it was only one, we toddled off to Pioneer Square where we stumbled upon a FREE “chalk it up for literacy” event. More face painting! A ball toss! and probably fifty artists in action, creating simply beautiful chalk drawings with themes related to reading and literacy. There was live music here too, but not! Cap’n Bogg and Salty.

So back to the library we go. Though I love their music, I’ve never seen Cap’n Bogg play live. They are fantastic showmen. They’re funny, good storytellers, and they really know how to work a crowd. Much like the instructor at the museum, they are able to speak to kids and adults without insulting either. Plus, they rock.

So. For the price of a cheap lunch and a bus fare, the fair city of Portland treated us to nearly five hours of art and music. It must be true that there’s no such thing as a FREE lunch – otherwise we surely would have found it.

We Regret to Inform You

We will not be updating the blog for a few days. We won't be answering the phone or responding to e-mail, either. Other activities that may be ignored over the next few days include eating, sleeping, child care, and perhaps breathing.

Why?

Harry Potter is in the house, and he demands to be read.

Wrigley's Review

W: You know, Canada is a lot like downtown Portland.

Accentuate the Positive

Here's the score from our recent trip to Canada:

Number of oot's: 3
Number of eh's: 2
Number of bus drivers flipping off jaywalking pedestrians: 1

Three Failures

1. I did not write this post a couple of weeks ago, back when we were in Seattle, seeing as it is about our trip to Seattle. Ideally, the post about the vacation before the camping trip should be posted before the post about the camping trip. No matter what scoring guide you're using, my organization is a failure.

2. The Seattle Public Library, Central Branch. Don't get me wrong - it's a beautiful building. It's a rare building that offers panoramic views of other areas inside the same building, and the SPL offers several. The kids' section is well stocked and easy to manage, though Christie points out that it is noisy, sterile, and garishly painted. Christie thought the "spiral" design of the upper floors was intriguing and I thought the escalators were striking. I could watch the humongous computer display that tracks circulation for weeks on end. Look, here's a picture of how cool the escalators are:



But - forgive me if I sound old fashioned here - but libraries should be about books and, frankly, I didn't see too many books. This library is sleek and shiny, all glass and polished floors, and books are so ... well, paper and ink. The building gave me the impression that the SPL is incredibly proud of their hip, cutting edge architecture and a wee bit embarrassed by those musty dust collectors called books.

Here's what a library should look like: stack after stack of books piled to the stars, with maybe a ladder or two to help you reach them.

3. Me. Moi. Your faithful narrator and fearless blogger. The story goes like this:

Several years ago, Seattle was one of many cities that hosted a charity event where 30 or so artists decorated 30 or so giant pig sculptures, which were displayed at various locales around the city for 30 or so days. The pigs were then auctioned off to raise money for some noble goal and many (if not all) of the pigs are still displayed in various locales.

As we were walking towards the aforementioned library, we passed a pig named Pigmallion, which inspired me to tell Wrigley a somewhat inaccurate version of the myth of "Pygmalion and Galatea," an ancient myth that the Greeks told with the intention of inspiring the musical My Fair Lady. During my mistelling of the story, I (correctly) pointed out that the Greek gods and goddess often liked to visit mortals dressed as poor people and beggars to test their kindness, generosity, and basic goodness.

Less than a block later, we encountered a panhandler with very bad teeth and a pretty good line: My wife and I have HIV ... Social Security cut me off because I worked too much ... We just need $17 ... just to make it to the end of the month ... We've been to all the services ... just $17. He talked to us for the length of a block and gave up when we crossed the street.

Now, I have no (well, few) doubts about my kindness, generosity, and my basic goodness, but what if? Seriously, what if that just happened to be Apollo I rejected, or Athena? Maybe it was some plain old generic angel sent to the great metropolis of Seattle in search of a single act of human decency? Seriously, what if I was tested?

Well, the answer to that question is obvious.