strike that

one downpour or another

My local coffee shop just started Summer Hours, which means I can walk six blocks from my new front door and eat a lemon bar on a sofa while listening to a band in the company of assorted Portlanders, until midnight. Which is what I am doing right now.

The down side of my new house is that it is very College. It’s exactly the house I would have wanted to live in eight years ago. While not one but three of my friend couples have this very month moved into new and improved abodes (congratulations Lauren & Marc, Kira & Andrew, Beth & Sarah!) I am taking a rather significant leap backwards, into a large but noticeably decrepit domicile with peeling paint and dusty furniture and (ACK) posters taped to the walls. This is officially Not Where I Want To Be At This Point In My Life. Not that I’ve had some white picket fantasy brewing since puberty, but I wouldn’t mind unpacking my grandmother’s dishes with the little orange and yellow flowers. I wouldn’t mind a garage for making stuff. I wouldn’t mind a place for a canoe.

In the mean time I’m living in something of a hippie house, which actually is surprisingly fine. I don’t love the décor but the folks seem so far rather delightful, and it is if nothing else a Portland Experience. Mine are not the only jars of bulk-bought dry goods in the pantry.

And we don’t have a washing machine or wireless or one of the clawfoot tubs I quickly grew used to, but we are within five minutes walking distance of the following things: At least three great, open late, coffee shops. At least six bars I like, half with regular good live music. Pix Patisserie for fancy desserts. Pied Cow for unfancy desserts. Powell’s used books eastside branch. Thai. Brunch. Laughing Planet veggie food. My favorite pizza in town. A permanent tent-style local produce market. Two cut-rate independent movie theaters, both of which serve beer. Gelato.

So tonight I did what I imagine I will do most evenings in the coming months: packed a bag with a book and a bunch of pens and strolled out into summer. Ate a slice and wrote letters. Chatted with the girl behind the coffee counter. Read Nabokov by sunlight at seven. And now I’m tapping on my laptop while a guitar/xylophone duo plays the Beatles and hits from the eighties.

So this change was unwelcome and unwanted and I can’t say I’ve fully unloaded my bitter about it, but I’m willing to accept that it wasn’t necessarily bad. It was challenging and demanding and more than I wanted to handle, but here I am on the other side with a lemon bar and a whole new neighborhood, and it’s not even June. Did I mention the gelato? Did I mention the xylophone?

posted by tortaluga @ 9:29 PM