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.

Now I'm jealous

I used to think that Utilikilts were the hottest functional clothing out there. Pockets and pouches in an un-bifurcated package that makes women ask all sorts of questions.

Well guys, parties over.  Ladies have their own gear now: tactical corsets.   Just watch out for that interrogation package.

The legacies we leave

My grandfather was larger than life. He was a big man with a sharp intellect, a sharper sense of humor, and a loooong memory. Must be those Prussian genes that, fortunately for my wife and friends, were diluted once they reached me. He was the quintessential depression-era farm kid and career navy man who retired to the good life in San Diego, the "land of perfect weather" as he used to say.  

I never knew Charles as a young man, being his grandson and all, but I will forever remember him for two traits that we all had to deal with in his later years. First, he was frugal to the point of ridiculousness and would risk social harmony or good manners to save a penny. Guests were often treated to the famous Costco hot dog special ($1.50 for a dog and a drink) rather than a nice meal out. Though to be fair he was a darn good cook, particularly when grilled meat was involved. Second, he loved tradition and had a long list of favorite sayings that the family still quotes to this day.  

Grandpa's most famous saying was that fish and guests smell after three days. This tied into his sense of propriety, as well as a deep-seated desire to be independent and self-reliant at all times and in all matters.  His second most famous saying was never skimp on shoes, tires, or a mattress.  His logic was that we're always relying on one of those three to get us around or through the next day, and to not pay for quality was to risk the health and productivity of both yourself and your family.  

It was this latter saying that kept popping into my head as I bought new tires today. A solid brand, not too expensive, and recommended by Consumer Reports (the periodical that guided my Grandfather's every purchase).  This is not something you normally spend a lot of time thinking about, but we recently buried my grandfather at Arlington National Cemetery and I'm still processing the loss. Alzheimer's had taken it's toll and it was definitely his time, but I miss him still and he's in my thoughts more often then not. Yesterday, I even had a Costco hot dog in his honor. I'm not a  believer in spirits or the afterlife, but somehow I felt his approval as I pulled out my Costco card.