Is it weird that this is one of my favourite places to walk?

It’s “nice” outside (air quotes for the locals/Californian transplants who are bundled up in parkas and toques), but it’s still winter, so it gets dark pretty early. Even if I head out for a walk right after work, the dusk/cloud/rain combo means that I’m grabbing some flashing lights. Portland’s streetlight/sidewalk game is not strong, so even with my lights I feel pretty nervous about being seen at that time of day. The options are to walk super defensively along the side of the road, ready to dive into the bushes when cars approach, or to squelch my way through increasingly dark forest trails, dodging tree roots.

Or the third option – hang out at the cemetery.

It’s actually quite lovely. Wide paved roads, few cars, no dogs, and very, very quiet. I also appreciate frequent reminders of mortality; when I worked in the office, I always found that reading the obituaries while microwaving my soup was a no-fail way to make my current deadlines and frustrations pretty much disappear.

And I like looking at the graves:

Nothing says “hey, your lack of an automatic ice-maker is probably not as big of a deal as you think it is” like a gravestone being reclaimed by the earth.

I like the stately ones:

Although some are a wee bit terrifying:

Like any Whovian, I noped away from this pretty quickly, looking over my shoulder every few seconds to ensure I wasn’t being followed.

But this one is my favourite so far – I found it way set apart from the rest of the cemetery, all by its lonesome on the edge of the forest:

Far from macabre, a cemetery is actually a comforting and soothing place. Perfect for contemplation and prayer and re-framing the day’s events.

Okay folks, I’ve been trying not to mention it. It feels mean-spirited and ill-timed and rude. Three things that I do not like to be. But IT is always there and I think about IT every day. And it’s really a big part of my Portland experience so far and I think I finally just need to get it out in the open.

I’m sorry to do this, but…

THE WEATHER HERE IS FREAKING AMAZING!

Ahem.

You’ve seen glimpses of it in tales of state park hikes and farmers’ markets and house pictures that have all kinds of green grass peeking through the windows. But that’s only scratching the surface. It is SO green here.

Check out these bad boys poking through and gearing up for spring!

Other than that weird snow day, it’s been all green grass all the time here. And I’m gobsmacked by the variety – so many types of bushes and trees. All still green!

And it’s warm. It’s usually somewhere between 5-10 degrees (uh, forties in Fahrenheit?). Our parkas and snowboots are in storage and we’ve all removed the warm lining from our jackets – all you need is something to keep the rain off and you’re good to go.

Yeah, it rains. But only about half the time is it real rain. Otherwise it’s that spitty, misty kind. And yeah, it’s cloudy. But not ALWAYS. And even though I’ve only been here a few weeks, I already LOVE the sun and as soon as it comes peeking out, I make a break for it outside.

It’s very true what they say – if you stay inside when it’s raining in Portland, you’ll never go outside. BUT if you tell yourself, PM, you’re not made of sugar, get out there! and you don’t mind a little mud on your hiking shoes, then you can get out into misty green warmth (well, “warmth” if you’re a Minnesotan Canuck) pretty much every day. I am absolutely loving it.

And that’s all Imma say about that.

There’s a day every spring when I get irate. Super angry. It’s a Thursday, in fact.

It’s the Thursday when I’m walking to work in the skyway and I cross Nicollet Mall and I see a little tent on the sidewalk. It’s usually still kinda grey and cold and blowy in that way of Minnesota springs, and yet peeking out from beneath this tent I see tables full of oranges and yellows and reds and purples.

It’s the first downtown Thursday farmers’ market.

Or should I say – “farmers’ market” (cue sarcastic air quotes).

Oh my, do I get mad when I see all those avocados and oranges and kiwis and strawberries in early May. Farmers’ markets are all about the local and the little guy and the relationship and the “hey, this salsa is called Curt’s Salsa and I totally just met Curt who was very nice and we chatted and he personally sold me a jar of his delicious salsa.” So I sneer and make fun of all the “local” pineapples in May while anxiously awaiting the Thursday when it gets legit down there and the stands are full of green.

(Like I told my friend – if it’s May and it’s not green, it’s probably not from around here.)

So I was a teensy bit suspicious when I was at the dentist this week and my hygienist mentioned she works for a little organic farm part-time (because Portland) and how she’d be at the local farmers’ market this weekend.

Me: Ah ind ah ood oo oo ahhv ahh a ahrmer’s ahrkeh ih Ahnooary?

Her: Oh, we’ve got a fair amount of greens. And some brassicas. And of course, the root vegetables.

So I took a little field trip yesterday:

Ummm, this looks kinda legit….

Holy guacamole! They had EVERYTHING! And it is the “off season”! There were apples and pears and mushrooms and seafood and dried beans and coffee (because Portland) and cheese and honey and kale and squash and leeks and radishes and salsa (no Curt as far as I could tell) and fruit vinegars and eggs and salmon and and and….

Be still my veggie-loving heart!

I went just to look and see what kind of stuff they might have. So of course I cam home with loot:

Mama can’t say no to beets and kale. And VEGAN NUT-FREE PESTO!! And I believe you are contractually obliged to purchase honey sticks from farmers’ markets.

Astonishing. And totally not angry-making. If this is January, what on earth will May look like?

Do you love looking at people’s houses online as much as I do? Not so much the fancy magazine-type spreads that have been styled within an inch of their curated and “psssh, nobody really cooks in that kitchen” lives – much moreso the ones that give you glimpses into how people really live. I love searching the background of the kid candids on Facebook to find the clues, like who leaves laundry lying around and who was baking today and who’s figured out the best solution for remote control wrangling. There’s something so humanizing about seeing people’s natural habitat.

So let’s humanize this joint, shall we? I’ll admit to doing some moderate styling in the form of moving the most egregious clutter out of the frame and waiting until after Saturday chores to take some of these, but nonetheless, you can use these to picture where we’re hanging our hats these days.

First up, the livingroom.

Everyone in Minneapolis remember me trying to get rid of the piano? Well, I didn’t manage to re-home it, and now I’m kinda glad. Look how cute it looks in its own little alcove!

If you swivel 180 degrees, you’ll see the dining room:

Cute, yes? I’m loving the built-ins. They are the perfect place to put my beloved china – my own set and my grandmother’s beloved Old Country Roses.

Kitchen next:

I’ll admit the kitchen isn’t my favorite. I was super spoiled with my dream kitchen in our last house and this one’s a bit of an adjustment. But! I remember how excited I was to move up from a single to a double sink back when I was just starting my kitchen adventures. And then the holy grail of a dishwasher. And then I start thinking of Syrian mamas with babies who would consider this unreachable luxury, and then I am quite pleased with it. Plus, if Julia Child could make this work, then I have nothing to complain about.

image source

Moving on, here’s my favorite room in the house:

Yep, the bathroom. Despite having had two bathrooms in the past, we still somehow always end up squeezed in together sharing one bathroom. I kinda like it – I think it’s very good for us to practice graciousness and accommodate each other and do that gritty shoulder-rubbing work required to live in intimacy and community. But our two previous houses had only pedestal sinks and literally ZERO counter space. With this vanity, we can spreeeeeeaaaaaadddd out and it feels quite luxurious.

Upstairs we go to some munchkin rooms:

The Boy’s is the one on the left. He upsized his bed on the condition that he gives it up for guests. So, those of you with Hotel PM reservations, this is your room, too!

Finally, the basement. Can I get an AMEN for finished basements? We’ve had houses with and without and they DEFINITELY make for an easier life. You can keep your main floor relatively screen-free (who am I kidding – we all have phones and a laptop) and sentence the television and the computers (plus all the yelling that comes with football-watching and video-gaming) to the dungeon:

I’m not quite sure why The Boy requires a set-up sophisticated enough to launch a moon shuttle, but I am assured that four monitors are completely necessary. You can see the corner of my desk in that pic, too – we are cubicle mates but since we work opposite shifts, we don’t get in each other’s way.

And there you have it! Chez PM for your snooping pleasure.It’s definitely smaller than we’ve had for awhile, so all my pre-move purging was very necessary. It doesn’t feel like home yet, of course, but it feels comfortable and we’re all content.

Wanna know one of my favorite Portland things so far? 

 

(A compost bin? Really?)

Yup. Back in Minnesota I lurved composting. But it did not love me back, alas. I never knew how to find the balance between taking it out and waiting until the pail was full. And then after I bought my fancy composter for the backyard and filled it, I never knew what to do with the excess.

And oh did The Husband complain! “This is gross. I hate having this here. It’ll decompose in the landfill anyway. And your garden is already dead as usual so this won’t even help. And we are going to get raccoons. RACCOONS!”

So I’m loving that Portland makes it super easy. Just toss it in the bin every night (conveniently located right outside the kitchen door), wheel the cart to the street on Thursdays, and voila!

(And no raccoons!)

And the city definitely incentivizes. We have a huge compost bin and a huge recycling bin, both picked up weekly. Garbage? Oh that’s a teeny tiny bin that they only pick up every other week.

Institutionalized care for Mother Earth AND convenience? Love!

(Snicker. And you thought this was going to be an EXCITING blog…)

Truly, I closed my eyes just for a second. He was this….

And then I gave in to a long, slow, sleep-addled blink, and when I opened my eyes, there he was…

A teenager?!

source

(Did I listen to the good Doctor? Nooooo…)

He officially hit the teens this weekend. Reeling from the shock, we still tried to do up the day in style.

(Poor guy. He always draws the short straw when it comes to birthdays. It’s so soon after the holidays/flipping the calendar page that somehow it manages to catch me unawares every single year. But he’s a good sport. And a pretty laid-back kid. Who likes to spend time with his family. [Which lottery did I win again?])

We had our usual cake for breakfast (see above for ice-cream-brownie-oreo-masterpiece a la moi). He relaxed his Saturday morning away on his computer and then we headed out to a retro arcade for nachos, Paperboy, and some Dance Dance Revolution throwdowns.

Boy’s got some good taste in pinball machines…

And the change machine seemed awfully apropos…

After that, a walk through The Pearl (downtown Portland) where his sweet sister bought him a birthday treat.

And then for dinner, a longstanding wish granted. Seafood at Red Lobster!

If you’re *finally* going to Red Lobster, then you’d better get The Ultimate Feast. And shock the waiter by ordering water and broccoli to go with it.

Truly, I couldn’t ask for a better kid. He is soft-hearted and kind. He’s smart (too much so a lot of the time), easy-going, and responsible. I’ve watched with delight (and, admittedly, a bit of surprise) how he’s matured so much over the past year – taking changes in stride, manning up to hard things, and learning to set aside selfishness for the greater good. So glad this one’s mine!

(Still not sure, though, how my baby is 13 when I’m fairly certain I’m only in my twenties. Must be one of those timey wimey things…)

When we were thinking about moving, one of the saddest parts for me was the thought of having to quit my job. I love my job. Like, capital L “Love.”

Back in the day when we took career surveys, “technical writer” wasn’t on the list. Besides, I wouldn’t have cared much – I was going to be an elementary school teacher. Then a middle school teacher. Then a high school teacher. Then a university professor. (Essentially every age group I tried had me thinking, “I wonder if I’ll spend more time on teaching and less time on classroom management if I move up a level.”)

While there’s lots about teaching that I loved, ultimately it just wasn’t the right fit. (And to those who say “do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life,” I humbly suggest that if you try to get paid for your passion, you might just turn your favoritest things into a J.O.B. and you’ll spend so much time trying to make it all work that you’ll forget what you loved about it in the first place.)

Since then, I’ve basically (and blessedly) stumbled upon a career that allows me to write AND organize at the same time. It fits like a glove – I spend my days translating geek into English and get to enforce standards, destroy wordiness, and pretty much save the world. (Hey, when you’re grumpy and you click the Help button on your software and you get the answer you’re looking for right away, don’t you feel like Dudley DoRight has just swept in and untied you from the railroad tracks?)

I not only love the work itself, but I love the people with whom I work. I work with the most generous, kind, gracious bunch. They are helpful and understanding and supportive. And we laugh every. single. day. A whole lot.

So you can see why I dreaded the thought of leaving. Turns out, I didn’t have to. Behold – the Portland satellite office of the best software company in the Midwest:

(Why yes, those are my awards for winning the office costume contest two years running. Imma makin’ my plans for next year already…)

Yep, my superduperamazing workplace is letting me keep my job and work in the basement. I get to let The Husband follow his westward dreams AND still spend my days doing what I love?? An embarrassment of riches to be sure.

I’m only two weeks in, so I don’t have a routine set in stone yet, but so far so good. We’re figuring out video chat (awkward but fun) and scheming how we can do DQ and Starbucks runs simultaneously/across the country. The hardest part is the time difference (that 8 am meeting means calling in at 6 am for me, oy!). Actually that’s a total lie. The hardest part is missing my friends terribly. Thank you Jesus for instant messaging, but holy guacamole, do I miss twirling my chair and saying, “hey, are you using paragraph level 2 or level 3 for your images?”

(Because we’re cool like that.)

Nonetheless, it is truly a dream and I’m so crazy grateful that it has worked out like this. It’s a joy to grab that morning coffee, kiss The Husband goodbye and say, “I’m going to work now!”, embark on that long 15-second commute, and hit the ol’ startup button, ready for another big day of bullet points.

Trigger warning: This post includes non-minus-a-bazillion temps and absence of face-destroying windchill. ‘Tobans and ‘Sotans – consider yourself warned.

It was our first real weekend here since the previous one was still boxtastic and we spent most of it unpacking/tripping over piles. This weekend held only a few hours of picture hanging, but after that we were free and clear.

And, oh my, so very clear! Yesterday we watched the horror that was the Vikings game (both in terms of the ending and the thermometer) and went out for a walk to take The Husband’s mind off it. Turns out we live only about a mile from Tryon Creek State Park, Oregon’s “only state park in a major metropolitan area.” Can you believe this is only a few minutes from my house?!

I actually was expecting to stumble upon a hobbit around every corner.

(Note: Not hobbit. Actually a husband.)

And can I push  my luck just a bit and post this? It’s not a schadenfreude flower count in February, so maybe it is okay?

(“Oh look, PM – it’s your favourite flower. The only one you can actually grow…)

Okay, back to the frosty part of our post. Guess what else happened this weekend?!

Holy guacamole, that is MY SON! Playing HOCKEY! On the ICE!

(And yes, I am aware of the irony that my Canadian/Minnesotan son laces up his skates for the first time for real in Oregon of all places.)

It’s perfect. There’s a “learn to play hockey” league that takes all levels and gets them ready for the real deal. It’s all light-hearted and fun and “good for you!” and low-key – nothing like the “my son is the next Wayne Gretzky and he needs 8 ice times a week” pressure of Edina/Winnipeg.

Crossing fingers he takes to it! We’ll make a real Canuck out of him yet…

(Well, “half week” given that we only started on Wednesday.)

I need to tell you – I am so freaking proud of my kids right now. If I think back to my own junior high/high school days and imagine trying to negotiate all of that jockeying for position and crushes on Sheldon W and fear of not having the coolest slouch socks while ALSO being “the new kid,” my heart literally starts palpitating.

The closest thing I’ve ever had to a “new school” was walking an extra two blocks past the elementary school to the junior high where I had to get to know students from the other two small-town elementary schools. I’ve experienced a ton of guilt and anxiety these past months wondering “holy cow, what have I done, how dare I rip my kids from the loving arms of their friends and beloved (and not so beloved) teachers and thrust them into the cold, dark terror of NEW.SCHOOL.”

And yet. Despite a few sleepless nights, The Girl totally brought it. So far she’s figured out where all her classes are (didn’t get lost once!), where the bathrooms are, and where to eat lunch. She’s chatted with classmates, figured out end-of-semester game plans with teachers, and looked into some clubs. She even upped her cool factor with some meta attire:

Astonishing, yes?

The Boy has an equally strong “I’m the new kid and I don’t care” game. The Husband took him in for his first day and walked him to his classroom. The Boy turned to him and said, “don’t worry Dad, I’ve got this” and breezed on in. When he gets home each day we ask anxiously, “so?? How was it?”

“Fine.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep. Fine. I’m making a putt-putt in woodshop. And I dominated in floor hockey at recess.”

(He is hilarious. The guidance counselor told him on his first day that if he hadn’t found someone to eat lunch with by the end of the week, she’d be happy to sit with him. He considered that a threat vs. a promise, so yesterday he marched up to a kid in one of his classes and said, “hey, can I sit here?” And sho nuff, he now has lunch buddies. Heaven forfend he’d have to sit with the guidance counselor.)

We’ve also figured out the transportation, too. We live only a mile from the high school, so The Girl gets to walk (just think of the stories she can now tell her children – “a mile each way! uphill! in a blizzard!”). The Boy’s school is farther, but the bus stop is a block over and he’s already made arrangements to walk to the stop/sit with a kid down the street.

Resilience, thy  name is children. Truly, I’m astonished and grateful and kinda waiting for the other shoe to drop. This first week was beyond anything I could even have hoped for.

More like SleetPocalypse. Or FreezingRainPocalypse.

(If indeed that snow was a housewarming present for us, then I owe the city of Portland a HUGE apology.)

So the snow was pretty. Everyone went pretty happycrazy and it was cute seeing all the munchkins grabbing toboggans and racing around outside screaming and sliding down two-foot hills. Apparently the white stuff shows up once or twice every year maybe, and rarely a solid two inches like we had on Sunday.

But after the snow came the freezing rain. And with the freezing rain came a skating rink disguised as a city! An inch of solid ice + hills + no salt/sand/plows + Priuses with bald all-season tires does not a happy city make. In fact, it makes a crazycakes city. So much craziness (not happy crazy, the other kind…).

I was skeptical – I’m a good ol’ Canadian/Minnesotan girl and I figured that the Jetta had winter tires, I’ve got my winter legs already, no prob. But The Husband went to work yesterday (fortunately he takes the bus) and within half an hour he emailed “It’s crazy out here. Do NOT go outside today.” Apparently a guy at his bus stop actually had to get down on hands and knees and crawl his way forward to get there.

The only buses that were running yesterday were the ones with chains, and that did not include school buses. So they canceled school! And they canceled it again today!! Which means we STILL haven’t had first day of school around here. Cross fingers for tomorrow!

In more fun (but no less icy) news, we had our first Portland outing over the weekend. We went to see the Winterhawks play at the Moda Center (hockey, same league as the Brandon Wheat Kings, I think?). Good times:

Seems pretty normal, yes? Except for the craft beer available in the lobby (yes!), the kick assist (seriously – a guy kicked the puck with his skate straight to another player who then shot it in for a goal), and this:

Ice dancers! Dancers! On ice! With special shoes! And pom poms! Did I mention this was on ice?