A Week in Oregon
April 08, 2013
I spent spring break in Portland and Seaside, Oregon. Portland is my
home town, Seaside is the beach town we spent the most time in when I
was growing up. Many of my friends have moved out of Portland as I did.
With the death of my parents and the decision of our long-term
neighbors and friends to move out to the suburbs, there is very little
left that ties me to the city, or the state for that matter. My wife
and I spent many beautiful Christmas breaks at Lincoln City on the
coast, but that was half because we liked it (and the ocean) and half
because my parents could watch our daughters, giving us some alone
time. Our daughters are grown, my parents are gone, and there are
warmer coastal cities in which to spend a vacation.
I didn't have any serious business. I spent a few hours on Sunday with an old friend, which included a walk around a beautiful lake. We'd been out of touch for decades, but it is amazing how fast you can pick up again when you've been close to someone, even for a while.
Monday it was research at the Multnomah County tax assessor's office. I'd really like to know why my parents home is in a subdivision called Calman's Addition. Who was Calman? Turns out I couldn't find out. I found out the name of the guy who developed it, and saw the plat map, but as for the deriviation, I am still as ignorant as ever. Monday night, I had dinner with one of the children my mother provided childcare for. She is now in her 30s. That is hard to accept, since everyone in your life is always the age they were when you first met them.
Tuesday, more (fruitless) research at the Oregon Historical Society and the Main Library. I would have thought there would be more useful information in old city directories, old Sanborn maps and the like. Not so much. Tuesday night, off to Seaside, for a stay at the Inn at the Shore, which is directly on the beach. Nice little place with a fridge and microwave and a gas fireplace; I stayed two days. For my third night, I had to move across the street to the Tides, which had a complete kitchen, pots and pans, and a real working fireplace! I laid in three piles of wood and three presto logs, and was able to indulge in my favorite vacation indulgence; 24 hours in my pajamas without leaving the room. Bliss!
For years, I have not understood writers who need to be in a pied-a-terre somewhere in order to write productively. Now I understand. During those 24 hours, I got about eight hours of solid writing done. A lack of daily distractions, and just new surroundings, really make it easy to pound the old keyboard.
It was probably one of my last visits to Oregon. It was among the nicest. I will go back this summer for sure for a few days, in order to ride the coastal dinner train, but that could well be the end. Of course, it's funny, as I have noted, it is usually quite easy to spot the first time you are doing something, but almost impossible to spot the last time you are doing something, even when it is a conscious act of will. Plus, there is a saying in skiing: never ski the last run of the day. The idea is, if you know it is the last run, you'll get sloppy and careless and have an accident. I don't know if that applies to life. I didn't get sloppy and have an accident in Oregon--this time.
I didn't have any serious business. I spent a few hours on Sunday with an old friend, which included a walk around a beautiful lake. We'd been out of touch for decades, but it is amazing how fast you can pick up again when you've been close to someone, even for a while.
Monday it was research at the Multnomah County tax assessor's office. I'd really like to know why my parents home is in a subdivision called Calman's Addition. Who was Calman? Turns out I couldn't find out. I found out the name of the guy who developed it, and saw the plat map, but as for the deriviation, I am still as ignorant as ever. Monday night, I had dinner with one of the children my mother provided childcare for. She is now in her 30s. That is hard to accept, since everyone in your life is always the age they were when you first met them.
Tuesday, more (fruitless) research at the Oregon Historical Society and the Main Library. I would have thought there would be more useful information in old city directories, old Sanborn maps and the like. Not so much. Tuesday night, off to Seaside, for a stay at the Inn at the Shore, which is directly on the beach. Nice little place with a fridge and microwave and a gas fireplace; I stayed two days. For my third night, I had to move across the street to the Tides, which had a complete kitchen, pots and pans, and a real working fireplace! I laid in three piles of wood and three presto logs, and was able to indulge in my favorite vacation indulgence; 24 hours in my pajamas without leaving the room. Bliss!
For years, I have not understood writers who need to be in a pied-a-terre somewhere in order to write productively. Now I understand. During those 24 hours, I got about eight hours of solid writing done. A lack of daily distractions, and just new surroundings, really make it easy to pound the old keyboard.
It was probably one of my last visits to Oregon. It was among the nicest. I will go back this summer for sure for a few days, in order to ride the coastal dinner train, but that could well be the end. Of course, it's funny, as I have noted, it is usually quite easy to spot the first time you are doing something, but almost impossible to spot the last time you are doing something, even when it is a conscious act of will. Plus, there is a saying in skiing: never ski the last run of the day. The idea is, if you know it is the last run, you'll get sloppy and careless and have an accident. I don't know if that applies to life. I didn't get sloppy and have an accident in Oregon--this time.