Kathleen, Sarah, Petra, Pascal, dinner, Ron and Jennifer, Ron and Jennifer's guest house.
Hello from Port Orford, a tiny town on the southern Oregon coast where my old friend Bob-o lives. It’s sunny and in the mid-sixties, and I’m loving it!
Bob-o is from my Floating Point days, when I worked with him in a high tech company in Beaverton, OR in the eighties. We would hang out constantly playing various guitars (including his awesome Fender Stratocaster) and then would go to every concert John Fahey did, plus a bunch of Emmy Lou (who we both love) and even a Bruce Cockburn event. Bob-o is still a guitar maniac, and he’s been playing Roy Orbison, Bruce Springsteen, Beatles, and other great songs at me when I’m not practicing fiddle tunes or teaching his friend Lois banjo.
More importantly, Bob-o is a world famous scrimshander who does some of the most beautiful micro scrimshaw you’ll ever see. (Go to his site http://www.scrimshander.com/ to see some samples.) Those of you who have been to our house may have seen his wonderful piece he did for my mom years ago of our old New England house. It was a birthday present from me, and I am happy that she really loved it. We also have many of his prints around the house, including the picture of a mandolin being played that is all one line. He’s brilliant.
Bob-o lives in a great house full of crazy stuff and tools and heaps of things with his sweetheart Siberian husky Cuzco. It’s nice to have a dog around again since I am missing T-Lou.
Today we took a walk up on the Port Orford Heads (pictures), which is just beyond beyond. The endless blue and rolling hills, the row of rocks sticking out in the water like the backbone of some immense old creature, and Bob-o’s stories about his volunteer ambulance adventures, some of the stories pretty sobering, like a woman and her sons who went down to the beach to throw her husband’s ashes out to the sea. A freak wave came in and snatched her and one son, and they drowned. Very scary and mythic to me.
The sun beamed down today, though, and I did laundry and caught up with things, including school. We went out for an early supper along with Lois to The Crazy Norwegian, which has wifi. Bob-o couldn’t get his laptop to work and was frustrated, but I could and just went right to work checking in on folks and email. Home to a movie and some more work on the class. Sigh.
Leaving Portland
On Friday, I packed up and went over to Curves to work out. Then I decided to take a route out from Multnomah Blvd., past where my first husband and his wife lived (I didn’t drive past their house, just the area), then past the house where my Steve and I broke up, past the dismal apartments where we had to live when booted out of the house, past the route I used to bike to Floating Point (about 5 miles), past the old Beaverton landmarks. It was an emotional journey through a painful landscape.
I was heading over to KMK’s house, alias, Kathleen, who also worked with us at Floating Point. She called me on the phone just as I was getting there with a braces crisis her daughter Sarah was having, so our visit ended up being a drive into Hillsboro and back with the sweet and lovely Sarah in the nasty traffic of a Friday evening. It was crazy and wonderful!
Scary and Elegant
But I needed to get to my friends’ Ron and Jennifer Rich’s house for dinner and the night. They own two beautiful paper stores in Portland called Oblation. (http://www.oblationpapers.com/) I hustled out from KMK’s and still ended up trying to find their place off Skyline in the dark, which was just crazy and out in the middle of nowhere. Suddenly, there it was in the dark and mist—a wonderful house with a pony and glowing windows and dormers.
Ron and Jennifer are probably the most elegant yet sweet people I know—really amazing. They are building a beautiful house and have just moved in, but already, it’s gorgeous, lots of cool modern green and wide floorboards and windows and simple lines of beauty. Their daughters are Petra and Pascal (don’t ask me where they got these names), and they all did try to get me to stay in this igloo. (See above.) No not really. Pretty cool, huh? Jennifer and Pascal ride horses, and the pony was very talkative in the morning when I woke hearing coyotes.
We had an elegant dinner with scallops and a big pile of rice in each dish with cut up peas and herbs strewn around them in a circle. Woweee—these guys can do anything. They fed me wine and “chartreuse,” which, I found out, is not just a color but a liqueur. It does have that color, but monks make it, so I guess it’s fine! I liked it.
And breakfast! Oooo la la. Gruyére cheese, goat cheese, fancy slices of French bread, cream cheese, salami (where else but an Orthodox household—we have to get that meat in while we still can before Lent), boiled eggs, and oranges that I brought, those cool Satsumas (which, alas, actually weren’t that good, drat).
It was icy out but the sun was breaking through the fogs way up on the hills there. I had a little trouble backing out their steep driveway, but when I got on the road, things rapidly went downhill. My brakes were doing this shuddering little thing and making a horrible squirmy noise. But not consistently. I was terrified. I had only a little gas left. And then I got lost.
The Gospel of Departure
I could not find my way back. I drove and drove and drove. I turned around and drove back part way, but now I couldn’t even get back to Ron and Jennifer’s. I tried to call them. No signal. I turned around again, and decided to follow the sign I’d seen to Hwy. 30. At least I knew that and could orient myself. I ended up coasting down a road through national forest that went on and on and on. At least I was coasting. The brakes weren’t acting up anymore. I had a faint remembrance that maybe it had been ice making them act funny. And then I came to 30. I actually took out the Oregon map, headed back for Portland, found the road I’d originally wanted, cut over, and after quite a drive, found civilization and a gas station. As I filled up, Car Talk (htttp://www.cartalk.com/) came on the radio. I had been wondering if I should stop somewhere and get the brakes checked out.
I already felt pretty wonderful about having survived my scary mini adventure so far. But then, as I was driving west on Hwy 26, a guy called into Car Talk about his Saab’s brakes making a squirmy little sound (he made it and it sounded just like mine had) and how they felt funny. And Click and Clack told him—that’s what ABS brakes do on ice. I knew God had spoken just for me, just like He does through various weird things. Other people get visions; I get Click and Clack. And then, when they were over, just as I was out to Banks, I got KBOO’s program I remember so well on Saturday mornings, a great bluegrass show called Music from the True Vine. (http://www.kboo.fm/node/73) And it was a special gospel show. Some of my favorite ever Jim and Jesse cuts were playing as I turned off towards Tillamook, following the rushing Wilson River through the sparkling woods, mists, sudden sun breaks and squalls. Everywhere along the river people were fishing, and I felt wonderful.
A Plethora of Parks
Before I left, being in a fairly paranoid state of mind, not sure if I could reach Port Orford in one day from Portland, I compiled an absurd list of places to stay in every town along the Oregon Coast. I have to tell you—don’t bother. There are so many state parks alone, many with electricity, by the way, that those alone would meet my needs, let alone all the RV parks (admittedly, some of these scary) and other cabin and motel options.
The sun finally established itself and I had to turn off the heat in the van and open the window. Tillamook spread rich and green below me and then around me, and after a short while, I was out by the roaring, slapping blues, greens, and brilliant white foam of the crashing waves. I decided that rather than hang out at a park, I wanted to hang with Bob-o, so I drove and drove, about 300 miles, which is a little too much for this girl’s butt and hands. (Butt still can’t quite handle long times of sitting after landing in the dirt off a horse’s back this summer. Hands are slightly arthritic.)
But then, I was there, and before it got dark! And now, Bob-o is helping me and giving me cool CDs (copies) and he even promises to help with my Velcro project—Lois says he really likes Velcro—and we’ll figure out how to really stick those window things on.
Bob-o is from my Floating Point days, when I worked with him in a high tech company in Beaverton, OR in the eighties. We would hang out constantly playing various guitars (including his awesome Fender Stratocaster) and then would go to every concert John Fahey did, plus a bunch of Emmy Lou (who we both love) and even a Bruce Cockburn event. Bob-o is still a guitar maniac, and he’s been playing Roy Orbison, Bruce Springsteen, Beatles, and other great songs at me when I’m not practicing fiddle tunes or teaching his friend Lois banjo.
More importantly, Bob-o is a world famous scrimshander who does some of the most beautiful micro scrimshaw you’ll ever see. (Go to his site http://www.scrimshander.com/ to see some samples.) Those of you who have been to our house may have seen his wonderful piece he did for my mom years ago of our old New England house. It was a birthday present from me, and I am happy that she really loved it. We also have many of his prints around the house, including the picture of a mandolin being played that is all one line. He’s brilliant.
Bob-o lives in a great house full of crazy stuff and tools and heaps of things with his sweetheart Siberian husky Cuzco. It’s nice to have a dog around again since I am missing T-Lou.
Today we took a walk up on the Port Orford Heads (pictures), which is just beyond beyond. The endless blue and rolling hills, the row of rocks sticking out in the water like the backbone of some immense old creature, and Bob-o’s stories about his volunteer ambulance adventures, some of the stories pretty sobering, like a woman and her sons who went down to the beach to throw her husband’s ashes out to the sea. A freak wave came in and snatched her and one son, and they drowned. Very scary and mythic to me.
The sun beamed down today, though, and I did laundry and caught up with things, including school. We went out for an early supper along with Lois to The Crazy Norwegian, which has wifi. Bob-o couldn’t get his laptop to work and was frustrated, but I could and just went right to work checking in on folks and email. Home to a movie and some more work on the class. Sigh.
Leaving Portland
On Friday, I packed up and went over to Curves to work out. Then I decided to take a route out from Multnomah Blvd., past where my first husband and his wife lived (I didn’t drive past their house, just the area), then past the house where my Steve and I broke up, past the dismal apartments where we had to live when booted out of the house, past the route I used to bike to Floating Point (about 5 miles), past the old Beaverton landmarks. It was an emotional journey through a painful landscape.
I was heading over to KMK’s house, alias, Kathleen, who also worked with us at Floating Point. She called me on the phone just as I was getting there with a braces crisis her daughter Sarah was having, so our visit ended up being a drive into Hillsboro and back with the sweet and lovely Sarah in the nasty traffic of a Friday evening. It was crazy and wonderful!
Scary and Elegant
But I needed to get to my friends’ Ron and Jennifer Rich’s house for dinner and the night. They own two beautiful paper stores in Portland called Oblation. (http://www.oblationpapers.com/) I hustled out from KMK’s and still ended up trying to find their place off Skyline in the dark, which was just crazy and out in the middle of nowhere. Suddenly, there it was in the dark and mist—a wonderful house with a pony and glowing windows and dormers.
Ron and Jennifer are probably the most elegant yet sweet people I know—really amazing. They are building a beautiful house and have just moved in, but already, it’s gorgeous, lots of cool modern green and wide floorboards and windows and simple lines of beauty. Their daughters are Petra and Pascal (don’t ask me where they got these names), and they all did try to get me to stay in this igloo. (See above.) No not really. Pretty cool, huh? Jennifer and Pascal ride horses, and the pony was very talkative in the morning when I woke hearing coyotes.
We had an elegant dinner with scallops and a big pile of rice in each dish with cut up peas and herbs strewn around them in a circle. Woweee—these guys can do anything. They fed me wine and “chartreuse,” which, I found out, is not just a color but a liqueur. It does have that color, but monks make it, so I guess it’s fine! I liked it.
And breakfast! Oooo la la. Gruyére cheese, goat cheese, fancy slices of French bread, cream cheese, salami (where else but an Orthodox household—we have to get that meat in while we still can before Lent), boiled eggs, and oranges that I brought, those cool Satsumas (which, alas, actually weren’t that good, drat).
It was icy out but the sun was breaking through the fogs way up on the hills there. I had a little trouble backing out their steep driveway, but when I got on the road, things rapidly went downhill. My brakes were doing this shuddering little thing and making a horrible squirmy noise. But not consistently. I was terrified. I had only a little gas left. And then I got lost.
The Gospel of Departure
I could not find my way back. I drove and drove and drove. I turned around and drove back part way, but now I couldn’t even get back to Ron and Jennifer’s. I tried to call them. No signal. I turned around again, and decided to follow the sign I’d seen to Hwy. 30. At least I knew that and could orient myself. I ended up coasting down a road through national forest that went on and on and on. At least I was coasting. The brakes weren’t acting up anymore. I had a faint remembrance that maybe it had been ice making them act funny. And then I came to 30. I actually took out the Oregon map, headed back for Portland, found the road I’d originally wanted, cut over, and after quite a drive, found civilization and a gas station. As I filled up, Car Talk (htttp://www.cartalk.com/) came on the radio. I had been wondering if I should stop somewhere and get the brakes checked out.
I already felt pretty wonderful about having survived my scary mini adventure so far. But then, as I was driving west on Hwy 26, a guy called into Car Talk about his Saab’s brakes making a squirmy little sound (he made it and it sounded just like mine had) and how they felt funny. And Click and Clack told him—that’s what ABS brakes do on ice. I knew God had spoken just for me, just like He does through various weird things. Other people get visions; I get Click and Clack. And then, when they were over, just as I was out to Banks, I got KBOO’s program I remember so well on Saturday mornings, a great bluegrass show called Music from the True Vine. (http://www.kboo.fm/node/73) And it was a special gospel show. Some of my favorite ever Jim and Jesse cuts were playing as I turned off towards Tillamook, following the rushing Wilson River through the sparkling woods, mists, sudden sun breaks and squalls. Everywhere along the river people were fishing, and I felt wonderful.
A Plethora of Parks
Before I left, being in a fairly paranoid state of mind, not sure if I could reach Port Orford in one day from Portland, I compiled an absurd list of places to stay in every town along the Oregon Coast. I have to tell you—don’t bother. There are so many state parks alone, many with electricity, by the way, that those alone would meet my needs, let alone all the RV parks (admittedly, some of these scary) and other cabin and motel options.
The sun finally established itself and I had to turn off the heat in the van and open the window. Tillamook spread rich and green below me and then around me, and after a short while, I was out by the roaring, slapping blues, greens, and brilliant white foam of the crashing waves. I decided that rather than hang out at a park, I wanted to hang with Bob-o, so I drove and drove, about 300 miles, which is a little too much for this girl’s butt and hands. (Butt still can’t quite handle long times of sitting after landing in the dirt off a horse’s back this summer. Hands are slightly arthritic.)
But then, I was there, and before it got dark! And now, Bob-o is helping me and giving me cool CDs (copies) and he even promises to help with my Velcro project—Lois says he really likes Velcro—and we’ll figure out how to really stick those window things on.
3 comments:
There is also yellow chartreuse liqueur, which is not green. My parents sometimes use it to make a drink called "swamp water."
So lovely to see photos of Ron and Jennifer and the girls!
Enjoy your continued journey
(and - hi Scott!)
Why does it not surprise me that you would know this, Scott? I love it! Mimi, you have to see their pad. I should have taken pictures, but I was distracted....
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