Finding Oregon

The Holiday break is over, and I find myself back in Newfoundland.

Oregon had not changed. Portland was full of hipsters, young (18) and old (45), in eyeliner and tight jeans, smoking cigarettes and working in the service industry. My friend Lisa lived next to Pier Park in St. John's, and we walked amidst the tall trees, down the streets of St. John's. We ate Thai food until we almost burst, and had a few overpriced drinks from surly waiters.

Corvallis was time spent with friends from graduate school, and time spent walking with Em in Willamette Park; watching Pride and Prejudice (BBC version, obvs) with Jess and squealing over Mr. Darcy; playing Settlers; visiting thrift stores and wandering the aisles in search of bright colors and obnoxious prints; eating competitively against Thiel at the China Buffet; and generally marveling at the saturated green-ness and the air that smelled of life.

I drove toward home in a roundabout way, through Vancouver, in order to see my friend. Vancouver is the poorly planned, sprawling, strip mall-congested step-child of beautiful, hip Portland. I had lunch with Ry and oohed over her expanding belly. She told me she's having the baby at home, and we discussed the possibility that birth is not a medical problem over good salsa and cheesy enchiladas.

Driving down the gorge, the fog clung to the basalt and waterfalls were frozen mid-fall along the cliffs. I stopped in Cascade Locks to... um... cut my locks [ugh], and walked into a salon with a chirpy Vietnamese woman who cut my hair while telling me all about her time in the U.S. She gilded no lilies, this one, and told me straight about the difficulties of moving to a country she barely knew, to marry a man she did not know. But she was a wonderful hairdresser and an animated speaker, though her quick words flowed without hard consonants, so that I had to ask her to repeat herself a lot. My hair looked amazing.

I arrived in Hood River, where I played Settlers with my family, ate too much, and woke up every morning very early to go for a run with my dad. "We'll start out slow" he said at the start of every run. He has started every run with those words as long as I can remember. We shuffle off, discussing the various important topics of the day, including but not limited to: geography, history, religion, politics, TV shows, gossip, and scatological humor. I went shopping during the days, sometimes just walking among the shops and other times buying Christmas presents. I found a shirt I liked in a little shop: $200. For a shirt. I didn't buy it. My brother arrived home and we watched the new zombie TV show and all of us ran around the house, getting in each others' ways.

I headed toward the coast, first stopping at my advisor's house for dinner with his family and our small circle of radical devotees. We discussed things related to the College of Forestry, but mostly things unrelated to the College of Forestry, and ate lasagna made with homemade noodles.

NYE was spent with a group of about 17 people at some run-down, quirky little cabins along the coast, and I coined my new phrase: "happy nye!" which received mostly quizzically-raised eyebrows. We discussed meeting up at the beach house in the case of zombie attack, and that zombies in Oregon would be the most sustainable and ethical, keeping humans in free-range pens.

The next morning, I awoke with a mysterious headache and a 4.5 hour drive to The Dalles, where my dad's retirement party was held. I drove there frantically, stopping to shower and arrived at the venue, called Riverenza. I ran up to the door, not noticing that there were no cars. All was locked. Dear gods! No phone, no computer, and everyone expecting to see me! I drove to the nearest pay phone, which was oddly stranded in the middle of a parking lot, and deposited quarters. It didn't work. No dial tone, and the quarters just sat there, out of reach but not dropping. I drove to Safeway and used the phone, leaving messages on my mom's, then my dad's, then my brother's phones. Each one, um, hey guys, uh, I'm not sure I know where the party is, so I guess I'll try calling again. Yeah. Okay.

I realized, however, that there were only a few venues that could host such an event in town. I drove to the Civic Center, and upon seeing my father's car, practically wept with joy. On arriving, I saw an old boss from my cherry orchard days, and acted as though it was perfectly natural I should be flushed and flummoxed upon entering the party. The party was wonderful, full of Kellys and Taylors and friends of my parents.

After the party, some of my family went to a fancy hotel surrounded by magical fairy lights, where we ordered drinks and food. I sat between my dad and my uncle Terry, who reminded me why I have a tendency toward dark humor as they took turns stabbing me in the leg or side with their forks.

Ah, the holidays.