The Bench Where Lovers Had Been

Pittock Mansion

Living in Portland seamlessly translates into spectacular vantage points. Tourists and locals alike wander around—to stare, to photograph, to be romanced.

It’s no wonder there are so many artistic people here. I feel like I’ve been injected with an inspirational serum myself.

We had one of our first crystal clear, summer-esque days last week. I had a little vendetta with a stunner of a view I tried on a hazy afternoon, so I repeated the 6-mile hike with determination.

To get to the view this way, you’ve got to work for it, uphill along narrow muddy trails. Once I reached my destination, a place called Pittock Mansion where visitors can roam freely on the grounds, I was not disappointed.

Mount Hood from Pittock Mansion

Suspended in the air was snow-peaked Mount Hood. Colorful downtown decorated the ground like a set of Legos. All around bright blue skies were intersected by cotton clouds.

A cool breeze soothed my flushed face and quieted my adrenaline. I sat on a bench, one where lovers had been.

I pictured different types of couples sitting side by side, holding hands, their heads resting against one another. Some of them became bold and tattooed their professions of love on the wood.

Bench Carving

Bench Carving

Bench Carving

Bench Carving

Carved Bench

There’s no telling what became of these couples after they left this bench.

Yet beneath the sun and the rain, until the bench is too fragile and must be replaced, that beautiful moment lives on. 

 

 

Yin-Yang and Pop Tarts

IMG_20140425_114232085_HDR

Last Friday I was cooped up all morning in my pajamas, a mad writer in the final stages of novel editing. My eyes were burning and I was barely on speaking terms with the English language.

As it was due time to see the light of day, I rode Silvie the bike through bustling downtown Portland and found some surprising tranquility.

There are things about Lan Su Chinese Garden that would normally keep me far, far away. It’s located in the city’s touristy Chinatown and you have to fork over nearly 10 bucks to get in the front door.

But, I gave it a go.

IMG_20140425_110436233_HDR

IMG_20140425_112657084_HDR

I decided to geek out and take the walking tour.

The tour guide with the cheesy Yin-Yang baseball cap almost made me change my mind, but he had me with his calm demeanor. He even told us we could leave at any time, or wander away and come back.

There were covered walkways throughout, but the rain was a soft drizzle so none of us cared about getting wet. Rumor has it that a heavier rain at Lan Su is nothing short of magical as the rain slips off the ornate roofs to create a beaded curtain effect.

It was incredible to learn the meaning of everything encompassing us—the stories and poetry, the Yin and Yang from floor to ceiling.

Bridges were designed in a zig-zag pattern to encourage the walker to slow down and absorb their surroundings.

IMG_20140425_114636318

At a leisurely pace I marveled at this island of serenity surrounded by noise and grime, lapsing into a walking meditation. Then I began to be awe-inspired by the Yin-Yang connection beyond the walls, in the way the city itself contrasted starkly with the garden.

IMG_20140425_114720937_HDR

To finish my sweet adventure I stopped into the tea house within the garden for sustenance. Before you enter there is a sign requesting guests to silence their cell phones. Um…awesome.

For my first ever formal tea experience, I chose the Golden Monkey black tea accompanied by pecan cookies.

IMG_20140425_120517379

Exquisite music struck up next to me and suddenly I noticed the man serenading us.

IMG_20140425_120538733_HDR

I purposely abandoned my Kindle in my bag, sat back and enjoyed. There was no need to do anything else but that.

When I left the garden with sweets and tea lingering on my breath, my skin still damp from the rain, and a drunken grin on my face…it all changed. The traffic jarred my senses, and so did the man who yelled at me the second I was on the sidewalk.

“Hey! What’s in that helmet? Huh? What’s in that helmet?”

A homeless man, startling the poor tourist families passing by, had a thing for my bright green bike helmet. I crossed the street and hurried over to my bike. He made a beeline for me.

Sure, it’s noon in the middle of a city. But when an unstable man approaches me, I’m on high alert. I’ve been an urban bike commuter for the past six years. As such, I have two survival plans…

Plan #1: Unlock the bike with a quickness, then ride like hell.

Plan #2: Whack the attacker with my bike lock.

This is my bike lock.

IMG_20140425_132111902

He was muttering incoherent things and flailing wildly while I unlocked my bike as quickly as I could. I realized that I would have to face him head on.

I gripped my bike lock in my right hand and stared at him without speaking.

He looked me up and down and said: “Alright.” He showed me what was left of his teeth as he smiled, then he gave me a peace-offering, which he carefully rested upon Silvie’s handlebar.

The brown sugar and cinnamon Pop Tarts.

IMG_20140425_123134666

In Yin and Yang there are opposites which cannot exist without one another. Fire and water. Male and female. Light and dark.

Perhaps me and Pop Tart Man are another example of this philosophy. Or perhaps, I just scored a bag of Pop Tarts.

 

I’d Much Rather Play Make-Believe

reflection in the city

I never stopped playing make-believe. And, I think it’s safe to say that at this point in adulthood, I will never stop.

Hell, when I put clothes on each day…it’s still very much like playing dress-up.

Last night I stayed up late, past midnight in my old age, and actually finished an entire movie without passing out in my chair. Wild night, let me tell ya!

I’m a bit late with catching this flick, but I watched “Stuck in Love” with Greg Kinnear (love him!) and Jennifer Connelly (love, love her!) from 2012. It’s one of those indie romantic comedy/drama films, the kind that are often very hit or miss for me.

This one was not a miss.

In fact, I haven’t bawled that much over a movie since the time I made the dreadful mistake of watching “Atonement” alone at an early matinee showing at the theater. Without a tissue in sight, let’s just say I barreled out of there with my sunglasses on to hide my red, puffy, snotty face.

Okay, so back to “Stuck In Love”.

For readers and writers, it’s a goodie. A love of books and a struggle with the writing process are both a strong undercurrent throughout. Sure, it’s a touch unbelievable to have a family of writers — dad, daughter, son — who all miraculously get published.

But hey, that’s what make-believe is for.

Kinnear had a fantastic line, which he said during a speech with a knowing smirk.

“I’m not sure what it is that compels a person to play make-believe even when they’re an adult.”

I love that. We writers are the oldest children I know. We continually see the world as a playground, a colorful place to explore tirelessly.

I’ll never be the adult who has my shit together. I’d much rather play make-believe.

The Book Decor Workout

Kitchen with book decor

Last weekend I stumbled upon a new workout. It’s all the rage with the A-listers in Hollywood. (Not really.)

Here’s what you need to get sweatin’…

  • Tall ceilings with a daring, unreachable shelf.
  • Sturdy ladder that will keep you from eating shit.
  • Insanely heavy boxes of books (lots of them!)
  • Grippy shoes or bare feet, because socks on the kitchen counter are a safety no-no.
  • Stretchy pants that won’t split in the private area.
  • Balance, endurance, and a touch of insanity.

So, anyway.

We finally got around to some more unpacking after a two-week stalemate. Although our new Portland apartment and our old Milwaukee apartment are comparable in square footage, they are night and day in all other aspects.

Our 1930s gem we used to live in came with cute built-ins to solve all of our book storage woes. I showed them off last summer in the Show Us Your Shelves challenge that was going around the bloggerhood.

This sleek building we now inhabit is a different creature entirely.

Every bit of space counts when you’re living in modestly sized digs. Lining entire walls with bookshelves can destroy your chances of having anywhere to sit, eat, sleep, etc.. And while my books are the loves of my life, a little practical furniture goes a long way.

Luckily for us, we happen to have 12-foot ceilings and a solid shelf soaring into our kitchen heavens. Problem solved!

Side of the fridge…

books with guitar

Top of the fridge… (For funsies, I stacked a Hitler biography right above “Poems That Touch the Heart”.)

books above fridge

The very random corner nook with absolutely no rhyme or reason to the book placement…

corner bookshelf

The Yoga friends breathing deeply to remain calm hanging in their dangerous neighborhood…

yoga books

The Ken Follett region with my dad’s old guitar… (Fun fact, Ken plays the bass guitar in a blues band.)

ken follett books with guitar

And finally the glue holding this whole operation together, the champion coffee table books masquerading as a bookend…

coffee table bookend

It’s been a few days and even with my shoddy architectural design, we have not had any catastrophic domino effect. My comfy chair happens to be right below that cabinet cliff.

Just keep your fingers crossed for me.

When I woke up the next morning and, with the exception of my back and legs, had long forgotten the Book Decor Workout, I had a foolishly happy moment when I walked into the kitchen.

There were all of my friends. Perched high, their lives in peril but smiling back at me nonetheless.

Any of you book lovers can feel me on this. Until those book friends were freed from their boxy confines, I still wasn’t at home here.

It’s funny how many times we’ve moved and always looked accusingly at the books. The choice to give some up arises, and then we veto it and keep them all. Even the ones that were gifted and we still haven’t read. Even the ones that aren’t our faves.

Because the books make our home. Sure they’re heavy bastards, but they’re simply lovely.

Later that day I unpacked one of the last remaining boxes and guess what I freaking found? Ten more damn books.

Time to grab the ladder and get my book fitness on!

Have you ever tackled a home decor project that turned into a surprise butt-busting workout?

On a completely different note, I was absolutely tickled this weekend when my sweet friend Jessica from Notes of Nomads included one of my recent posts in her “5 Best Blog Posts of the Month” roundup. If you haven’t check it out yet, please be sure to take a looksy!

 

Home Is Where the Writing Is

Yes, those holes in the Yoga mat were caused by a no-good cat.
Yes, those holes in the Yoga mat were caused by a no-good cat.

Home Is Where the Writing Is.

Silly spin on a cheesy saying? Alright, maybe a little bit.

When I woke up today and looked at my tattered (fourth?, fifth?, sixth?) draft of The Bra Game, I didn’t feel overwhelmed. A goofy grin spread across my sheet-wrinkled face.

Since uprooting my life two weeks ago, writing has seemed like another planet to me. I thought I would be able to manhandle my creative drive and keep the momentum. But already I knew that I wasn’t the same gal I was before The Accidental Spirit Quest.

It’s not that I haven’t been inspired, it just seemed so impossible to become still enough to handle it. To give my writing the attention it deserved.

This week I began editing again. And, it feels really awesome.

The end of this crazy novel project I started a year and a half ago is in sight. Through a full-time job, a 200-hour Yoga teacher training, my mom’s breast cancer, and a cross-country move I am proud to say that I somehow persevered.

Writing was my constant through all of the change, as it always has been and always will be. 

I want to take a moment to thank the blogging/writing/reading community. After a few days of getting settled here, I hung out on my pretty new patio and opened my laptop with uncertainty.

Was my blog even still there?

Had it been hijacked or had it run away?

Or, did somebody finally realize all of the monumental gibberish I’ve been spouting in cyber public and hook my neck with a cane to yank me off the stage like a cartoon?

But, there sat my little blog. There you all were. Like a sweet place to come home to.

Getting back into the swing of things has been challenging. Thank you all for sticking it out with me.

I love the way we support each other, laugh our asses off, and share pieces of our lives. And to think…we are from all walks of life, from all corners of the map.

I mean, how cool is that?