Then and Now

My present neighborhood is nothing like those I grew up in. This should not be construed as a criticism, just something I’m reminded of every time I encounter urban funkiness that did not exist in the natural(ish) areas of my youth. With a few exceptions, most of my childhood homes were on the suburban edge of whatever city we happened to be living in. Empty lots, half built tract homes, and remnant woodlands became my playground and a stark counterpoint to the brand new houses and manicured lawns that were quickly encroaching on these areas. These neighborhoods were populated by families or retirees, often military and almost always native born Americans, and I never wanted for playmates of my own age.

Fast forward 20 years and my playground is a hip historic district in inner Portland, populated almost entirely by childless 20 and 30-somethings. There are no almond orchards or empty lots, just century old street trees and aged buildings being constantly reinvented and retrofitted to suit its ever changing denizens. Old Churches are now brew-pub/movie theaters and aged industrial buildings are now synagogues or swank tapas joints with bristled boar legs on display. Russian and Japanese tongues are frequently heard, not to mention the bits of Spanish that spill out of restaurant kitchens. As for children, you’ll see none except for those being bused to the adjacent Catholic school or the children’s theater across the street (also located in an old church). Older adults are either attending one of several cathedrals or synagogues within walking distance of our home, or reside in nearby subsidized housing for disabled adults.

I mention this because my parents are visiting this weekend and they have a hard time comprehending this narrow demographic. In previous visits, they're constantly asking "where are the children and old people?" It's funny really, because I see them all the time. Just not in my immediate vicinity....usually at local restaurants, work, or other neighborhoods adjacent to my own. Or so I say, perhaps we're secretly cannibals...

Odessa

Odessa manifests itself in many ways. The biggest is a large port city in the Ukraine. This metropolis of over a million people was founded by the Ottomans in 1240 AD and lies on the balmy shores of the Black Sea. In the last century many of its Jews migrated to Brighton Beach, New York, renamed “Little Odessa” by the locals and memorialized in a Hollywood movie by the same name. It probably sounds more exotic than it is, but I'd still like to explore the black sea by boat and peer into ages past. This seems like a good place to stop along the way.

In quite a different part of the world lies Odessa, Texas. Situated between Pecos and Midland, this dusty town looms large in childhood memories associated with my late paternal grandparents. While they did not live close by, “Midland/Odessa” was the source of all television and radio channels that played in their modest household in Kermit. The entire region reeked of natural gas and horizons peppered with mesquite trees and oil derricks, both awful to see yet strangely comforting and reminiscent of a happy childhood. Even today i get warm fuzzies when I pass by oil fields. That said, I am very much a creature of the urbanized coastal cultures and I’d likely be run out of Odessa, texas for my heretical beliefs and choice of personal vehicles.

All of these cities are exotic and inaccessible in their own way due to language, culture, and geography. Which of course makes me that much more fascinated by them. As in dating, my level of interest is often in inverse proportion to the ease of accessibility and the odds of success in understanding a place (just ask my wife, she still doesn’t understand that common trait in men). But by far the coldest and hardest of all the Odessas I have known is a new employee at our local trading post. It’s not often one meets a person named Odessa, and if asked I bet you would envision an immigrant grandmother rather than a blonde 20-something hipster in Portland. Intrigued by her nametag, both my wife and I complimented her on the uniqueness of her name and attempted to strike up conversation, but all we got was a cold silence after a polite thank you. Not unfriendly, mind you, but there was a clear wall of impermeability and unwillingness to embrace outsiders that one would similarly expect from a West Texan or former cold war enemy. Alas, I (we?) some places and persons are destined to remain exotic outsiders in my life.

Keeping My Powder Dry

Adjusting to the Portland climate is turning out to be very similar to my experience of living in England.  During the winter you simply expect rain at some point during the day, knowing you'll get wet regardless of how the sky looks as you drink that first cup of coffee.  The rest of the year you don't expect rain, but do get used to being wet.  I no longer blink.

Full Service Salon

This is a test

This is a test of the emergency burrito system. This is only a test.
Were this an actual emergency, you would be directed to the nearest
taqueria and provided your choice of red or green sauces.